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muzansfangs · 1 month ago

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A witch, a werewolf and a vampire

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader x Urahara Kisuke; mention to Jugram Haschwalth, Gin Ichimaru, Rangiku Matsumoto, Isane Kotetsu, Unohana Retsu, Yamamoto Genryūsai, Kenpachi Zaraki, Muguruma Kensei, Yoruichi Shihoin, Sui-Feng, Momo Hinamori, Tier Harribel, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Ryuken Ishida, Mayuri Kurotsuchi;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, fantasy au, misogyny, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, use of potions as birth control method, threesome (m x f x m), oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (Urahara!receiving), blood drinking, vampire!Aizen, werewolf!Urahara, witch!reader, hair pulling, murder, gore, horror, burial, death, language, dirty talk, competition in bed, criminals, morally grey reader, double penetration, anal sex, alcohol consumption;

Plot: It’s a rainy night and blood runs down the muddy streets of the town. Three supernatural beings, a witch, a werewolf and a vampire, find shelter in a disreputable Inn that attracts the wrong sort of people. All of them are on a run, secrets and horrific murders staining their reputations and making them quite notorious downtown. When the three of them end up forming an alliance, they realize something links them together. The thirst for blood, the gloomy atmosphere and the inhebriation leads them to give in to lust in a room upstairs.

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The croaky laughter of a drunk man slamming his fist onto the ebony table of the bar made you flinch. You were soaked, a puddle of water expanding from underneath your boots as you scrutinized the crowd of people dining all around you. Most of them were humans, without the shadow of a doubt. Men, to be specific. Predatory eyes sizing you up, offensive words piercing your ears, you knew exactly what they were thinking. A young, beautiful woman shaking like a leaf and looking for shelter was probably an easy prey for them. Unfortunately for them, you were not a hapless girl. Clamping your mouth shut not to draw attention, you resorted to lowering the tattered hood of your cape down on your face and you walked up to the innkeeper to ask for a table and a room for the night.

“That’s the last one. You’re lucky” the lanky man on the other side of the counter told you, handing you a rusty key and motioning with his chin at the last empty table somewhere behind your back.

You followed his gaze, eyes landing on a dimly illuminated area of the dining space. In a corner, a chair and a dusty table, waiting for you to sit at. You scrunched up your nose in disgust, already figuring the bedroom would have most likely been even worse than the chilling refreshment stand you were going to drink at. However, it was not time for you to be fussy and picky about where you had to spend the night. The guards outside were tracking you down and leaving this place would have only granted you the chance to experiment the same fate of your late mentor, the great witch Unohana Retsu. You had really screwed up this time, but the heavy money satchel hanging on the leather belt secured around your waist was definitely worthy the murder of Lord Jugram Haschwalth.

Your head turned back towards the grey-haired man, bony fingers tapping onto the wooden desk impatiently “It’s perfect. — you faked a smile — A bottle of wine too, please” you told him, before grasping your satchel and drawing out some money to cover up the price of the rent and your order.

Paying you little to no attention, he whistled loud enough for some tipsy men to complain about being brutally awakened from their slumber, but also to draw the attention of a beautiful waitress serving soups and beers at the tables. You wondered how such a pretty girl had ended up in a squalid barrelhouse like that. The gold band on her ring finger answered your question, as she cleaned her hands quickly in her lilac apron and jogged back to the counter with a kind smile adorning her plumped lips.

“Gin, honey, what’s the matter?” she inquired, sparing you a brief glance before refocusing on her husband.

Now that she was closer to you, the waves of magic radiating from her made you feel less in danger. Witches were not welcomed in the small town you lived in. Knowing the innkeeper’s wife was a supernatural being too made you feel more at ease, as if you were at home, safe from stakes and fire. Nevertheless, you never let your guard down, not after you had witnessed to Unohana’s ashes blowing in the wind, dissolved in the village square, a couple of years ago. Isane, your friend and the other apprentice your mentor had taken in, had fled right away in search for protection in one of the towns in the North of the Country. You had no idea if she was still alive, or if she had shared your teacher’s destiny. Hopefully, she had joined a powerful coven and she did not have to fight for her life anymore like you did.

Sometimes, you asked yourself why you did not follow her in her incredible adventure. The answer, sadly, was that you loved that place too much to move away and forget about your past. Also, you were seeking revenge. The Mayor, that old bastard, Lord Yamamoto Genryūsai, was still alive. You were working day and night to create a deadly potion to kill him once and for all. In order to get close to him, though, you needed connections and, regrettably, you were a lone wolf.

Gin grinned “Sorry, darlin’, but this girl here needs a bottle of wine. Be a dear and accompany her to her table with this” he explained, ducking underneath the counter to grasp a cheap bottle of red wine and a globlet. Drowning your demons sounded good enough, given your foul mood.

The curvaceous woman sighed and ruffled his hair affectionately “I got it from here. Take care of the rest while I’m busy, will you?” she cooed, winking at her husband before gesturing for you to follow her to your destination without further ado. You caught a glimpse of the man smirking, as you moved away from the counter, noting how pleased he seemed to be for the attention his companion had reserved to him.

The dirty comments the waitress and you received on the short walk to the table made your stomach churn and you had to suppress the homicidal impulse to set those swines on fire right on the spot. You really did not need cops to break in and arrest you. Not when your face was already printed onto numerous newspapers and you had an impressive bunty on your head. People chased you down the streets to turn you in and alert the authorities.

Tiredly, you slumped down onto the chair, chin propped onto the upturned palm of your hand, whilst you absent-mindedly observed the girl uncorking the bottle with expertise. For a few moments, she stayed silent, limiting herself to pour some wine into the goblet and sliding it towards you once it was filled to the brim “Here you go” she stated then, eyeing you from behind her long and dark eyelashes. She was most likely a charmer, the dangerous kind of witch that could bring a man to madness.

“Thanks” you shortly replied, only for her to glance behind her shoulder briefly, checking the area, and lean closer to you afterwards, her tone of voice low enough not to be heard from anyone else besides you.

Her light blue eyes locked with yours “No one is going to harm you, but two of our guests are affiliated to the Government. — she informed you, shooting a subtle look at a purple-haired woman, sitting by the window, clinking glasses with her colleague — You may think she is our ally, considering her condition. It turns out she has a secret agreement with the Mayor to grant her immunity from prosecution”.

You took a sip of your wine, narrowing your eyes in disgust at the unexpected news about the famous Yoruichi Shihoin switching sides to save her own neck. Becoming one of the Hunters was not a career you had ever considered in whole life. The last person you could imagine to betray the Supernatural Community for a personal advantage was Yoruichi. She was a wild spirit, a force of the nature. Clearly, something had changed in her life and, judging by the way the petite girl next to her was now running her fingers through her luscious hair, it was probably the unforgiving feeling of love.

“Who would have ever thought a shapeshifter worked for that shitface. Thanks for the information…” you trailed off then, not knowing how to address the witch saving your life for free.

She smiled softly at you and snapped her fingers to light up a candle she had pulled out from the front pocket of her apron “Rangiku Matsumoto, the one and only. — she introduced herself, positioning the candle into an old candlestick — I would like to chit-chat with a fellow witch a little more, but I really have to go lend my hand to my husband. Enjoy your wine” she excused herself then, waving her hand at you and venturing back into the intricate lines of the tables.

You watched her leave, bringing the goblet to your mouth again, but turning your attention back to the two women looking for the next head to bring to the Mayor on a silver plate. You did not fail to notice the amount of daggers strapped to their belts. At their feet there were bags full of newspapers and you could swear there was even an axe in one of them, but it was too dark for your eyes to make out the real shape of the weapon. It was decidedly better not to go anywhere near that table. You could defend yourself, you were powerful enough to force them to transform, or even cast a curse on them to perpetually turn them into animals. However, you could not assault them out of the blue and this was not a place to fight.

You were genuinely surprised a shady man with unkempt sandy hair and a smug smile on his lips approached them. Yoruichi seemed to know him, her yellowish eyes darting on the stranger immediately, upon sensing his presence at her back. While she began conversing with him, you switched your attention on the raven-haired Huntress at her right, her scowl quite evident as she stared daggers at the newcomer. Well, jealousy could do numbers on people, to the point of even attempting to kill the person who piqued the interest of your loved one.

It did not startle you the way she suddenly leapt forward and knocked him down onto the floor, pressing the sharp edge of her dagger on his carotid. Silence swallowed the room, the moment she straddled him and grasped his jaw roughly in her small hand.

“What part of ‘stay away from her’ you did not comprehend? Do you want me to etch it on your face?” the girl snapped, while Yoruichi disinterestedly finished her drink and slammed the empty glass back onto the table. She did not bother to step in to prevent her colleague to make a scene, or possibly slaughter a man in front of all those witnesses. All she cared about was being the center of the attention, as per usual.

The man sighed, hands raising apologetically to quell his aggressor’s rage “Woah, I got it, Sui-Feng! — he defended himself, his tone playful and strangely calm despite the compromising position he was in — I was just telling her my goodbyes! You know, I’ll leave this town in the morning” he explained, earning a scoff from the woman above him who begrudgingly sheathed the dagger back into its scabbard before jumping back on her feet.

“That’s the fourth time you use this pathetic excuse to approach her. It’s only natural for a merchant to travel. — she retorted, hopping back onto her stool and glancing at the dark sky outside — Too bad it’s not a full Moon night. I’d have loved to skin you alive” she added, a mischivious grin curling her pinkish lips as the man leisurely stood back on his feet and dusted some dirt off of his baggy clothes.

A werewolf? You had not met one in years. After Unohana’s death, Kenpachi Zaraki and his pack had left the town and the only werewolf still around was Muguruma Kensei, the smith who lived in the mountains. Who was this man, then? Why had you not met him before? Did he belong to a pack from another town, or did he get exiled? Whatever was his origin, all you knew was that he had caught you staring and he winked at you with a teasing smirk promising a conversation.

Straightening your back, you whipped your head to the other side of the room and found yourself wishing you could chant your beloved invisibility spell. You really did not wish to catch the attention of anyone in particular. Making bonds could be dangerous and that man radiated troubles.

“Let him go, Sui-Feng. — Yoruichi chimed in, silky voice resonating through the room — Kisuke was about to leave anyway, right?”.

“Of course, I was! You are probably in the middle of the hunt anyway and I should make my getaway before a silver blade takes me to the grave prematurely” you heard him jest, but you were not too happy to hear them share their goodbyes. You had a feeling deep in your guts he was about to head over to your table and you had no intention to die at his place.

Therefore, you stood up and sauntered towards the wooden staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. It was time to go to sleep and lock yourself up, maybe even protecting your door with some defensive spells to keep anyone trying to break him outside. With each step you climbed, you felt safer and, if it was not for a whimper echoing in the corridor at the end of stairs, you would have dared to say nothing threatened your life anymore. That moan, however, was pained one. Someone was hurt and you felt your heart thrumming against your ribcage violently as you wandered down the deserted area, expecting someone to jumpscare you at any moment.

There was an ominous atmosphere around you and it had become notably coldler with every passing second. You reminisced some of your mentor’s teachings about the temperature and atmosphere’s changings. Sudden cold usually was connected to the presence of ghosts, or beings capable of sucking the life out of their victims. In other words: vampires.

You truly wished the monster at the end of the road was not a bloodsucker, but you soon found yourself face to face with one as he dropped the lifeless body of a young woman down onto the floor with a dull thud. Glossy brown eyes staring at you, pale complexion, the corpse belonged, much to your dismay, to the kind nun Momo Hinamori. Too young to die and too devoted to think monsters existed, she had always refused to believe you were a witch. You wondered what she was doing in that Inn and how the dapper man in front of you had lured her into his trap.

He was handsome, this much was undeniable. Then again, she was not the type to melt for small attentions. You wondered what he had done to her, if he had used mind control, or some other devious technique to compel her to follow him so effortlessly.

He stood there, lean frame enveloped by a luxurious black cape as he wiped his mouth clean with a silky white handkerchief. Your presence had not bothered him in the slightest.

“Good evening” he greeted you, velvet voice caressing your skin warmly, a fatherly tone you despised with every molecule of your body. You felt your mouth going dry, your eyes averting from him to spare another glance at the victim at his feet.

You took a sharp intake of breath, your eyes hardening as you reached for the phial of holy water you always kept hanging on your neck and tossed it at him. The man disappeared from your sight, dodging your attempt to make his skin sizzle, and the glass collided onto the wall, exploding into a million splinters before your frightened eyes. Your head frantically whipped around, trying to detect his presence before he could get his hands on you, but the moment you realized he was at your back it was too late for you. Your cheek was pressed against the wall, one hand wrapped around the back of your neck to pin you on the spot.

“How much do you know about vampires, sweetheart?” he asked you, cold breath wafting over your jaw, when he dipped his head down to talk directly next to your ear.

“Enough to desire their extinction” you sassed, furrowing your brows in discomfort as he tightened his grip on your nape. You definitely needed to train in hand-to-hand fights. Against some monsters spells and curses did not suffice. The scar in the middle of your mentor’s chest was your daily reminder of how dangerous it could be losing focus in a duel.

The vampire hummed and magnanimously loosened his grip on you, but he cautiously took a couple of steps back to put a relatively safe distance from his opponent “You must be the witch everyone is talking about. — he noted, chestnut hues scrutinizing your face — The sketch on the leaflets doesn’t do you justice” he smoothly complimented you, causing your cheeks to heat up, but your brain to inform you he was probably trying to get in your mind.

You snorted, arms folding against your chest “Don’t tell me you won her heart with such ridiculous pick-up lines. — you taunted him, eyes darting on the late nun behind you — Now, unless you want us to respectively end up with a stake through the heart and flesh consumed on a burning pyre, what do you say about parting ways and leaving this small altercation behind?” you flatly suggested, eyes flitting back on your interlocutor who impassibly listened to you. He was unnerving. Too stolid and tranquil, he got on your nerves without even talking much.

Before dignifying you with an answer, he slicked back the single cowlick tickling his pointy nose, a placid smile adorning his lips “Is that what you wish for? — he queried softly, before ambling over the cold body of his victim and inspecting it with a cold indifference that made you question how many people he had killed throughout the years — Mala tempora currunt. Forming alliances is fundamental to survive”.

You blinked, swallowing forcefully to withstand the impact his words had on you. If the world once belonged to supernatural beings it was merely because humans feared those who possessed such abilities. Knowledge is power and, forging new weapons to eradicate the so-called monsters from the society, from hunters you had all become the hunted. No matter how powerful you were, you were constantly on the run and with no one to seek protection from. It was probably a matter of time before someone killed you. Vampires were surely powerful, albeit the sunlight was their greatest weakness. Their strength dopended on their biological age. The man in front of you looked like he was in his early thirties, but the confidence and charisma he possessed indicated he had most likely been around for a long time. Centuries. There was no doubt he was a skilled fighter, if he had lived that long unscathed.

“I don’t trust vampires” you countered back, watching him pick up the lifeless body of the young nun as if it weighted nothing.

“You shouldn’t trust anyone besides yourself. — he replied, glancing at you briefly before staring back at the girl in his arms — However, this is what happens to people who don’t make connections. I can offer you protection, a safe place to live, and only ask for a few favors in return. We don’t have to be friends to make an alliance” he reasoned, once again reminding you of how much you were risking by isolating yourself and working as a killer for a living.

You took a few seconds to ponder your next words. The temptation to accept the deal was alluring and, all in all, you knew there was a catch in this.

“If I refuse your offer, you are going to denounce me, am I correct?” you inquired, his smile confirming your inklings and earning a scoff from you.

Holy crap, you were screwed.

“How perceptive of you. — he said, his baritone voice caressing your skin like a silky blanket leaving goosebumps on its wake — My name’s Sosuke Aizen” he introduced himself, bowing his head cordially to make up for his temporary impossibility to shake your hand.

You did the same “I’m Y/N L/N” you curtly said, before letting your eyes flick to Hinamori once again. It was disturbing continuing your conversation in her presence. Your expression probably spoke volumes, for the vampire to sigh and indicating a window at the end of the corridor.

When be began to walk in its direction, you hesitantly followed him “Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to throw her out of the window…” you voiced your doubts, but the ugly look from him made you desist from pressing him with more questions.

You stood next to him as he hurled the corpse out of the window, the sound of it colliding with the muddy ground down below made you flinch, but you did not expect for a familiar voice to pierce your ears. You had had no guts of looking outside the window, you had limited yourself to check the stairs to assure the both of you no one had seen the sacrilegious action. Still, curiousity killed the cat; when you heard Kisuke’s voice coming straight from the yard, you peered down to check on him and there he was. Smug grin, disheveled sandy hair sticking to his forehead, he was mostly covered in dirt. At his feet there was a freshly dug pit in which he was tossing Sosuke’s victim.

Your mind went blank. That werewolf was in cahoots with the vampire! Probably, he had caused that commotion at the restaurant to allow his friend to feed without anyone bothering him.

“It took you so long, Lord Aizen! It’s freaking cold outside!” the werewolf complied, grey eyes gleaming in the darkness as he picked up the shovel at his feet to fill up the pit once again. It was definitely not the first time they did something like that.

“Actually, I got held up by this lady. — Sosuke retorted, making space for you to lean out of the window and granting his friend a look at your shocked face — From this day and for years to come, she is in partnership with us” he informed Kisuke, only for you to regret all of your life’s choices in a instant.

The perspective of being burned alive did not sound that unappealing anymore.

Kisuke stopped in his tracks, a smirk on his lips as he winked up at you “Welcome to our society, milady. I truly hope you will survive” he chimed, causing you to halt and look back at Sosuke dead in the eye.

“What does he mean by that?” you asked him, ready to hit him with a migraine spell right on the spot. Something about these two was off and you were pretty sure they were responsible for a long line of unsolved murders.

He sighed “The last woman who joined us tragically died in a fight against another supernatural brigade. You are clearly stronger than her, fear not” he tried to soothe your nerves, but you simply grimaced and took a couple of steps back to put some distance between you two. You hoped he was telling the truth. In times like this, fights were frequents to establish domain over villages and you knew about some beings who had succumbed recently.

Maybe, if you knew the name of that woman, you could surely tell if she had been involved into a battle.

“Who was she?”.

“You ask too many questions, sweetheart”.

“Don’t call me that. — you punctuated, folding your arms against your chest as you gazed out of the window, eyes lingering on the starless night sky — It’s only fair you share some informations with me”.

Sosuke took a sharp intake of air, chestnut eyes closing as he leaned his back against the wall in resignation “She was a mermaid I had encountered in the South during a trip. — he began, eyelids lifting leisurely to refocus on you — Her name was Tier Harribel. I thought she could keep up with our rhythms. My mistake” he stated, leaving a weird sense on bitterness on your tongue, after his words sunk in. A mermaid. You had never met one in person, but you had heard stories about them. While they were pretty powerful in their natural habitat, they could solely rely in their hypnotizing singing and peculiar beauty on the land.

If your companions were so invested into fights for power, you had to watch your back. What if they suddenly saw you as a menace and killed you off? Strategies were not your forte, but you knew your way around men. Maybe, you could keep them on check, while honing your abilities. You were a witch, you had learned to use not only your magical abilities to bend knees. The art of seduction was something every woman knew, but witches were trained to make a good use of it at very young ages. There were stages to go through and now that you were a full grown woman in her early twenties, there was no limit to what you could do. The carousel stopped when you decided to get off of the ride.

Realizing you had zoned out for a while now, you were pulled back to reality by the sudden appearence of the goofy werewolf next to you. The man had sneaked back into the Inn by climbing the giant oak by the window. Humans would have not made it that far, but his supernatural strength showed in his agile movements and the minum effort he had endured in jumping from a brench to the other.

“Geez, I definitely need a bath, but the room I’ve booked doesn’t have a tub” he stated, your eyes travelling up and down his body in sheer disgust. Yeah, he really stank of wet dog and dirt. His clothes were a mess and he would have drawn way too many curious glances, if he were to go downstairs like that.

Maybe, this could be your chance to prove yourself to them and, at the same time, to catch their full attention. It was better to have them on your side, than after you. It was clear they were not going to let you go. The vampire had made himself abundantly clear a gew moments ago. You were stuck with them, the new addition to that deadly duo, the wanted girl they would have not hesitated to sell out to Yoruichi and Sui-Feng, if she attempted to run away. You had to learn more about them and feigned kindness, wine and blood were exactly what you needed to make them talk.

“I have rented a room too. — you started, hand reaching for the key the innkeeper had given to you earlier — Let’s go check if there’s a tub you can use”.

Your words made the werewolf pause, grey eyes scrutinizing your face suspiciously, evidently still wary around you. Pretty faces frequently deceived people and witches were well-known for taking advantage of their looks to achieve their goals. He was right not to trust you, but you could not confirm his doubts. Also, it was not like you keened to really murder them. You merely wanted hold some kind of control of the situation and, naturally, finding out more about them.

“What’s with that face? Can’t a girl take pity on a man?” you queried sarcastically, sauntering towards the room with the number three etched onto the top section of the door without waiting for him to reply. Unlocking it, you pushed the door open and made sure they entered the room before you did. The show was about to begin. The moment you joined them, you locked the door behind you again and cleared your throat to catch their attention, temporary focused on the modest forniture decorating the space.

Once their eyes were both transfixed back on you, it was time to feign a polite smile and raise your hands, fingers flicking in the air to emphasize your next words “Considering the Huntresses downstairs and the horde of guards hunting me out there in the streets, I will put a protection spell on the door. No one will be able to enter this room, or detect our presence in here anyway, alright?” you informed your new comrades, who barely shared a knowing glance before allowing you to proceed without further ado.

Turning around victoriously, you kept in mind this was, without the shadow of a doubt, a bold move. Your intention was mainly to protect yourself and show them you were going to put your abilities on the table to defend them as well. Still, who would have protected you from them, if they simply decided to betray you, to kill you?

You were doomed.

Too distracted by perfecting the incantation to pay attention to them, you had not heard the sound of clothes rustling, landing in a pile on the floorboard. What you saw, however, made your eyes widen and you swallowed forcefully upon the indecent vision welcoming you back on Earth. Kisuke Urahara, fully naked, had entered what looked like a wine cask, but was actually the tub, without even bothering to let you know he was stripping himself. You stepped back from the door and made a relative distance between you two, careful not to lock your eyes on his sculpted body, littered with scars from the battles he had fought to survive. He was smugly smiling at you, splashing the water into the tub to rub off of his muscles the dirt and sweat sticking on his flesh.

“A brute, I know. No wonder all women decline our invitations to join our army” Sosuke finally spoke out from behind you.

The hair on your nape stood on the end, his cool breath tickling your earlobe as you gulped down nervously and turned your head to the side enough to meet his gaze. You had not realized he had gotten that close to you until he had talked. Vampires, the worst specimen ever created.

Kisuke scoffed, splashing some water onto his face, slicking his damp sandy hair back “Chastising me, when you are the one who sucks them dry after they refuse your offer is a bit ironic, don’t you think?”.

You grimaced and walked off to the nearby desk, hand reaching for a glass and a pottery jug you found over there. This place truly made your skin crawl, yet you had to give it credits for the services it offered. Pouring some water into the glass, you knew you had to do something to bring balance to the conversation again.

“There is no need to bicker. We are comrades now, things like this happen on a regular basis. Also, it is not like I have never seen a naked man before” you chimed in, mellow voice cautiously aiming to extinguish the fire ready to start between them.

You brought the glass to your lips, a single sip washing away the dryness your anxiety had left behind. You could perfectly deal with them, you could handle this situation like you had handled your mentor’s loss, your friend’s decision to leave and all the terrible crimes you had committed to gain money and earn some favors from some inhabitants of the hills around the village.

Biting on the rim, you observed the vampire ubuttoning the silver buttons keeping his black cloak draped neatly over his shoulders. Underneath, he was wearing an expensive brand of clothes he had probably purchased in the North of the Country. The white shirt and the black waistcoat were immaculate, his crimson cravat a striking contrast reminding you of the nun’s blood dried around the bitemark on her tender neck. Handsome like the devil and probably worse than Satan himself.

He caught you staring, impassible face lighting up in a knowing smirk “Do you wish to see me naked as well?” he inquired, your cheeks flushing up as you barely got to shrug his provocation off with a bemused laughter fueling his curiosity.

“You are all the same underneath your clothes. What would make a difference?”.

“The way we use our bodies to pleasure our partners” Kisuke interjected, still sitting comfortably in the tub, muscular arms resting on the borders of the bathtub as he eyed you in genuine shrewdness. He did not make a move to get out of it yet and, frankly, you did not know if it was better this way, or not. Things, however, seeemed to have been escalating quicker than you had anticipated.

You settled your glass down, your own cloak dropping from your shoulders as you tossed it over a nearby chair probably to gain some time to fire a smart answer back “I see. Men and their toxic tendency of being convinced they can pleasure a woman more than she can do it herself, even going as far as competing over who does it better than the other. — you rambled, rolling your eyes and allowing a soft chuckle to escape your lips while you flicked your gaze up to meet the hungry eyes soaking in your form, now visible for the lack of the cloak hiding your curves — Can’t any of you understand women know how to reach their ecstasy themselves? They are the only ones who know how to reach blissful climaxes, without a man attempting to find that spot, or… Well, find the clitoris”.

You were well aware you were walking on thin ice and feeding their imagination. Then again, you were kind of getting some thoughts that had been pestering your mind for years out of your head and, additionally, you could not stop running your mouth because the wine you had consumed earlier was really getting to you. Wonderful, considering you were in the company of two supernatural beasts that could easily snap your neck like a twig, thanks to your lack of concentration.

Sosuke hummed, arms folded over his chest, back leaning against the wall behind him “I don’t doubt your words. Nobody can say to know a body more than the owner themselves. — he gave you credit for your remark, pausing only to watch you kick your boots off of your feet and run your fingers through your hair to fix them, a vision making his pants uncomfortably tight — The exception to this rule, however, is clearly in practice and acute observation. Someone who has spent centuries walking this Earth, having countless people warming up his bed, telling him where they longed to be touched, my dear, knows how to break your mind” he replied confidently, stunning you in silence as you slumped onto a chair and propped your chin over the upturned palm of your hand.

He had a point. How were you supposed to reply to this? This smile on his lips told you just enough to let you know he had no problem in showing you the empiric evidence of his theory. And, damn him, you were pressing your thighs together to subtly relieve the throbbing need irrevocably growing in your heat.

The sound of water gushing out and splattering onto the wood made your head snap back towards Kisuke, who had raised tall on his feet and climbed out of the tub with an impressive bulge worsening your state. The room felt way too hot right now and you wanted nothing more than your clothes to evaporate at the moment. You straightned your back, eyes straying away from him to preservate your mind from what you were seeing. You were definitely not a prude. Not after Grimmjow, long ago, had showed you the pleasures a cock well stuffed into your core could bring to you. Too bad he had then enrolled in the so-called Hollow Army to bring war to a Country you did not even remember the name of.

“You may know the female anatomy better than me, alright, but can you smell her arousal? Because, to be precise, she is clearly dripping underneath her gown and it all started the moment she saw me naked” the werewolf earnestly stated and, bloody Hell, how you wished you could simply summon a fireball to throw at him to shut his mouth. He was telling the truth and your upper lip twitched in irritation for having been caught red-handed so easily.

You could not blame him for having supernatural senses, though.

Your palms were sweaty, eyes darkening in anticipation as you cleared your throat before Sosuke could blast his alley’s ego effortlessly with his silver tongue. Why restraining yourself now? You had started this, they had to finish it. What was better than sex to fortificate relationships? Everything was going according to your plan, fortunately.

You spread your legs tentatively, hand reaching for the hem of your plum gown to hike it up and expose your legs up to your thighs “Still, I don’t see any of you doing something to fix the problem…” you hazardously whispered, sly smile creeping on your lips.

Sosuke arched a dark eyebrow up, cocking his head to the side “Aren’t you going to pick your knight for the ride, dear? You just expect us to jump on you like two dogs contending a piece of meat, don’t you?”.

“You know, it doesn’t really matter to me who is going to fuck me. — you started, pursing your lips thoughtfully — What I need right now is for one of you two to help me out. I offered you a bath and a room and I have blindly accepted to partake to this association, whatever it is. Consider this a payback” you stated, watching Kisuke loop his arm around Sosuke’s shoulders and whispering something you failed to catch in his ear.

With the masterly art of masking his emotions, Sosuke did not let his facial muscles stretch to display his reaction to Kisuke’s words. You guessed this was a skill he had acquired after centuries of living in a reality in which the less you showcased the longer you lived. Therefore, when the other man took a step away from him, Sosuke gazed into your eyes, looking for sincerity in your offer. When you did not falter, he motioned for Urahara to proceed. You locked eyes with the werewolf instantly, hand reaching up to scratch the stubble over his chin, when he bent down towards you.

“Did you ask your buddy if you could do the honors?” you asked him, fluttering your lashes as he bit the tip of your nose playfully, before dropping onto his knees in front of you. Calloused hands slithering up your stockings, he seeked the garters to unlatch them and free your panties from the leather restrictions.

He chuckled, shooting a knowing look at you “Let’s just say we started a contest. Who makes you come faster wins” he cooed casually, fingers tugging at the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your thighs deftly, before clutching them in his hand and taking a long whiff of them. You squirmed on your seat, jaw dropping but closing soon, prompted by the cold hand of Sosuke now standing at your side with an obscure gleam in his caramel brown eyes.

“Relax. You are in good hands” he hushed you, thumb playing with your bottom lip, as you watched Kisuke’s head disappear underneath the layers of your gown, lips quickly finding your folds and tongue lapping at your arousal like a starving animal.

Right, this is what he was after all.

With the first licks he gave you, attention solely trained on your clitoris, you jerked over the chair you were sitting on. Your head lolled back, neck strained and chest threatening to spill out of the tight corset you were wearing. Your breasts, squeezed and pushed up by the fine item gifted to you by Lord Ishida Ryuken in exchange of Lord Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s head, were a sight the vampire could not ignore. He was a man too, at the end of day. No matter how composed and sophisticated he was: right now Sosuke Aizen only wanted to bury his face between those plush mounds and trace with his tongue a path leading to your jugular. A bite, some blood to taste you.

Fingers running through your hair, he brought his lips close to your ear, pointy nose nuzzling your cheekbone “Do you mind if I have a taste, sweetheart?”.

A taste. He wanted to feed from you. Mind fuzzy for the intense waves of pleasure provided by the werewolf’s tongue now swirling around your entrance, you moaned loudly and peered up at Sosuke in sheer desire “Are you going to suck me dry too?”.

“Don’t be foolish. I merely want to rinse my mouth from the nun’s blood. — he whispered, mouth already searching for the vein of your neck, eyes closed as he smelt the fragrance of your blood — I would rather have you screaming my name in pleasure every night than making you my meal”.

You shuddered, the tongue between your thighs was now accompanied by a finger stretching your pussy for what was yet to come. Your hand reached up to grab a fistful of Sosuke’s silky hair and tug at them, when his fangs pierced your neck. You whined, a pained one, the overflow of your blood invading his mouth depriving you gradually of some energy. The two mouths over your body were definitely robbing you of the last shreds of sanity left in you.

“Oh my Lord— Gosh, I’m close” you breathed out, a groan of approval rambling from somewhere deep in Sosuke’s chest as he pulled his mouth away from you. You felt some trickles of blood dribbling down your neck, escaping the wound he had left onto your neck, leaving goosebumps on their wake.

Legs spasming, you bucked your hips against Kisuke’s face, seeking more friction, riding your orgasm out with untainted hunger. It all felt like a lucid dream and, to be honest, you had no idea how you ended up naked over the bed after your orgasm. You remembered Sosuke pulling you into his arms, kissing you violently and spinning you around, whilst his fingers hastily undid the strings of your corset. Falling face first onto the bed, you were soon sandwiched between them.

None of you was covered, skin to skin, panting, you realized what was going on only when Kisuke’s length probbbed at your lips “Spit on it, babygirl. Suck on it, come on, make it nice and wet. You know, it’s only for the best. I don’t want to hurt that cute little hole of yours later, hm? Lubricate it”.

And you did. Tongue sweeping out of your mouth to twirl around the mushroom head of the hard cock in front of your face, you kept an intense eye-contact with the werewolf before taking as much as you could into your warm cavern. He grunted, hand resting behind your nape to push your head even more down onto him. But even though you had tried so hard not to show a gag reflex, you ended up choking on Kisuke’s cock, when you felt Sosuke’s ministrations on your puckered hole.

Tears prickled at your eyes, falling from your lashes as you took a sharp intake of air, and Kisuke sighed, hand ruffling your hair to comfort you “Sosuke, don’t be so rough with her. She’s… Ah, shit! She’s in the middle of a very delicate— Oh! Fuck, like that, shit! If you keep going like that, I’m gonna cum!” Kisuke’s protests towards the other man turned into a series of moans elicited by your mouth.

You had gained back some control, head bobbing up and down in a fluid motion, once you had adjusted to Sosuke’s intrusion in your most private parts. Before you could even properly realize it, in fact, he was already pressing his tip onto your entrance and the stretch left you breathless. Strings of saliva connected your mouth to Kisuke’s cock, choked out whines escaping your lips.

“Sosuke!” you cried out, a whimper leaving your wobbly lips, nails clawing at Kisuke’s thighs as a reflex while he held your face in his hands.

Your spine arched, eyes squeezed shut as the vampire groaned lowly, rotating his hips against yours to bottom out. Tight, warm, your hole was literally sucking him in. The spit he had used and the fingering had done nothing to make it less hard to breach in. Still, there you were, taking him like a champion. Your legs trembled, but gosh how beautiful you looked like that. Your ass, pressed up against his navel, was making it hard for him not to burst into you right on the spot.

Kisuke took notice of his colleague’s status and clicked his tongue “Oh, are you alright, man? Having a hard time holding on?”.

“Shut up, Kisuke” Sosuke admonished him sternly, fingertips digging onto your waist as you were now helped by the two men to raise better onto your knees and straddle Kisuke’s lap. You were out of breath, thin sheen of sweat beading your forehead whilst Kisuke gently slipped himself into your pussy. The feeling made your eyes roll in the back of your skull.

You heard them cussing, throwing insults at each others face, pointing out how loud you were because of their ministrations. Honestly, you had no idea of which one of them was blowing your mind more than the other. All you knew, when you forced them to kiss you contemporary in a messy dance of tongues and labored breaths, was that you were not going to betray them. Not that night, not in a lifetime.

When the three of you were done, bodies sweaty and numb, you were laying between them, spent, drained. Their seeds leaked out of your body, staining the sheets underneath you, while you absent-mindedly drew patterns on Sosuke’s pectoral and let Kisuke play with your hair.

“May my mentor be blessed, for she taught me how to make birth control potions” you muttered tiredly, huffing as Sosuke grasped your wrist and nipped at the veins to play with your emotions.

“Indeed. — Sosuke commented, glaring at Kisuke at your back — I would have hated to deal with pups around my castle”.

“What a jerk”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! It’s finally here. I will be frank with you. I have enjoyed writing this fic more than I had anticipated. There is a lot going on up there, but I hope I have been able to depict the mediveal world I had in mind. I tried to vary in the choice of the specimens mentioned and it sounded so good in my head. Hopefully, this is spooky and kinky enough to celebrate this fabulous month!

Let me know what you liked about this story in the comments! Likes and re-posts are greatly appreciated. Until next,

x o x o

Tags: @j-u-u-z-o @brittscafe @jesurum-says-hi @sashi-ya @naru-mi-gen @persuasivus @noirfan12 @my-my-my @bankaizen @enchaotic @villainsrtasty @velaenaa

#aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x reader #aizen smut #sosuke aizen x reader #aizen sosuke smut #bleach x reader #bleach smut #kisuke urahara x reader #urahara smut #urahara x reader #urahara kisuke smut #urahara kisuke x reader #aizen x reader x urahara

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arisaontheinternet · 8 months ago

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So as I said my book is due back at the library so I'm going to finish the book today. Sorry for multiple long posts in advance.

Next chapter is "The Koto Teacher". We meet the traveling koto teacher Miyakawa Kokin. She travels from Tokyo every 3-6 months to teach koto and she usually stays at the Inugami house when she is in the area. Now she is visiting Matsuko to tell her she instead stayed at an inn this time due to the terrible news at the Inugami villa. She says she is probably leaving soon, but Matsuko ask her to stay a few more days to give her a lesson. It should be noted that Miyakawa has something wrong with her eyes, one shrunken in and the other bulging out. This sudden introduction of the character makes me very suspicious. After she leaves the police chief Tachibana and Kindaichi come in and ask about the Hakata Veteran's towel. Kiyo is able to produce his from his things. Then they ask Matsuko about seeing Monkey last night and she says he asked her for a koto string, presumably to fix a fishing net.

Next chapter is "Tamayo's Silence" where it turns out the Nasu priest Oyama has found Take's body in the lake. We learn that the cause of death was a stab wound in the back, they assume it is a sword. While talking to the priest, Kindaichi asks how he came up with the idea to compare the hand print. He says it occurred to him after Tamayo came to look at the same hand print earlier. Making it seem like she planned the whole thing. And then to end the chapter the police come in and say that the hand prints match and Kiyo is in fact Kiyo.

Next chapter is "Inside the Chinese Chest" is pretty short. Oyama says he found a chest that might interest Kindaichi. It was sealed March 25, 1911 by Sahei and Daini, which was only a couple months before Daini died. Inside the chest, Oyama says, are love letters between the two, confirming their relationship. I'm not really sure where this plot is going, but remembering this is an old novel.

The next chapter "Pomegranate" we get a little more action. That night after Take's wake, Sayoko, Take's sister, goes to Tamayo's rooms with her. She wanted to ask if Tamayo had feelings for Tomo, as Sayoko also has feelings for him. After Sayoko leaves and Tamayo goes into the bedroom to turn on the lights a man pushes past her and comes running out of her bedroom. She screams, alerting everyone one in the house, also giving them all alibis. But the man has his face covered, so we don't know who it is, just that he matches the description of the earlier mysterious man from the inn. Sayoko then sees Money struggling with the man, but he ends up escaping through the nearby balcony. During this time when Kiyo heard Tamayo's scream he ran out of his room. So when Sayoko, Monkey, and Tamayo hear another scream they run towards it and find Kiyo without his mask lying unconscious.

Now the intrigue intensifies in "Tomo Sharpens His Claws." After Kiyo wakes up he says he was punched by the mysterious intruder and we learn that there were muddy foot prints in the house suggesting he broke in. Also multiple townspeople report seeing a man in the mountains. Then we cut to Tamayo rowing out onto the lake again. Its very peaceful and almost no one is around. When Tomo shows up on a motorboat saying Tachibana and Kindaichi want to see them urgently, telling her to get in his boat because the rowboat is too slow. As she does he basically chloroforms her.

Next chapter, "The Man in the Shadows." We learn that the original Inugami house is across the lake in Toyohata Village, but it has been abandoned so this is where Tomo sneaks off to. He is being very pervy, as he sneaks into the house with Tamayo's unconcious body. But he isn't sneaky enough because it turns out our mysteious man in a soldier's uniform is also in the house. So after drawing out the suspense we cut our scene as Tomo sees him. Then we cut to Monkey getting a phone call from presumably the same man, who says to come to the old estate alone to rescue Tamayo so as not to start a scandal.

"The Koto String," starts with Tamayo waking up and remembering how she went to sleep. Monkey gives here a scrap of paper with a note.

Shortly after Tachibana, Kindaichi, and Sayoko come in asking about Tomo. Tamayo after a little hesitation tells them what happens and then we get Monkey's side. He explains the phone call, how he found Tamayo with the note pinned to her clothes, and an alive Tomo tied to a chair and gagged, but still alive when he left. Then Tachibana, Kindaichi, Tomo's dad, Sayoko, and Monkey go over to the old house to release Tomo. What they find there is Tomo still tied to the chair, but dead with a koto string around his neck.

Tomo is dead and more in "The Unfortunate Sayoko." First we see Kindaichi putting some pieces together that the deaths seem to be related to the heirlooms. Take with the chrysanthemum and now Tomo with the Koto. There is evidence the mysterious man was here, including a matching boot print and some cooking supplies. According to the doctor Tomo died between 8 and 9 PM and was strangled, not by a koto string, but something thicker. It appears the ropes around Tomo's midsection may have been adjusted since Monkey saw him. And last but not least Sayoko is having a psychotic episode and seems to be 3 months pregnant. Dun. Dun. Really turning into a soap opera over here.

Last chapter for now is "The Blood on the Forefinger." Where we find out how each of the sisters react to the news of Tomo's death. Umeko is of course distraught and blaming Matsuko, that is until they tell her about the koto string and then she because very quiet. A similar thing happens with Takeko. Then when the tell Matsuko she is in the middle of her Koto lesson with Kokin, and Kiyo comes in when he hears there is news. Matsuko doesn't react at all to the news of Tomo's death, still playing her koto. But she breaks a string when she finds about the koto string around the neck. And at this point her finger bleeds. We see some animosity toward Kokin from Matsuko and we see Kiyo taking care of Kokin. As he escorts her out of the room. Matsuko tells the detective she needs to talk to her sisters before she can talk about the connections between all the deaths.

Less than a hundred pages to go now. I'm getting suspicious of the Koto teacher and the priest now. Maybe the priest is Shizuma? Not really sure yet. See you in a few hours for the rest.

So I'm Going to Solve a Mystery

So I've had an Idea. Not a particular new idea, but a fun one. I just checked out the English language version of The Inugami Curse by Yokomizo Seishi from my local library. All I know about it is from the back of the book, a wealthy man dies, and there is a bloody fight over his inheritance. I picked it up because it was referenced in Don't Call It Mystery. But my plan is to try to solve the mystery!

Opening the book, there is a list of characters. So before reading any more, I drew a family tree. I guess I should clarify that in the book, they use Given then Family name. But since it's a Japanese book, I've swapped it to Family and then Given, and I looked up the kanji because I find that helpful. For instance, Inugami is the characters for dog and God. Or the 3 daughters' names are highest, middle, and lowest child. Also pine, bamboo, and plum/apricot.

#the inugami curse #lets solve a mystery #kindaichi kosuke #mystery solving #inugami tomo

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beigehearts · 4 years ago

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The Price of Self Respect

Please refer to my master list for the other chapters!

PART V

CW: mentions of sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking

1,526 words

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It’s quiet and warm. The only sound is that of the rain, pitter pattering against your window and the sweet hums of your mother’s lullaby. Your face is flushed after a long day of playing in the rain and sitting in front of the fire place. Your mother sits next to you, tucking your covers underneath you, and her body seeming to glow celestially. She was an angel. Drifting to sleep, the safety and security you feel are something you don’t recognize are fleeting yet. For now, everything is okay.

Almost as if it were a transition from your dream to reality, the sound of rain pull you out of your fond memories. You sit up, looking around the room. No longer in the comfort of your childhood home, but a cabin bedroom, in a cabin bed, next to a strange man. You allow your eyes to travel the man’s face and drink in all of his features. It’s too dark to distinguish his features from one another but you think you’re okay with that for the moment. You move to stand up off of the bed, surprised when there’s no pain in your leg. Though that revelation can wait for a moment while you decided whether or not to have a crisis.

It can’t be any later than 3 or 4 am, no sign of the sun. You look down at your naked body and back to Chrollo. He’s quite handsome, and looks so innocent sleeping, looking as if you’re missing from his arms. You know you’re not though. That’s not where you belong. A cold chill runs through your bare body, and you notice the fireplace has gone out. Figures. With no one tending to it for so long of course it went out.

You send one last glimpse to Chrollo, before walking to the bathroom. The water still works but you’d have to boil some on your own if you want a shower that doesn’t turn your toes blue. So that’s exactly what you do, well sort of. You get the fire started again and heat up some water over it, dumping it into the bath tub and once it’s half filled, you hop in- wasting no more time. Surprisingly Chrollo didn’t awake.

Once the water goes cold you wrap up in a towel, drying off and sitting in front of the fire naked. You heat up quickly, and trapping that heat in your skin, you put on the sweatpants and t shirt you had on before. It would be nice to have a fresh pair of clothes, but that will have to wait. You decide not to lay back down with Chrollo, if not because you know better- because the bed is still dirty and you don’t want to lay down in it.

The sun begins to rise, peeking through the foliage of the trees, as if teasing you. The large window in the living room illuminates chairs and tables, casting long shadows across the room. The rain has ceased, leaving droplets of water on the window, and droplets falling from the leaves of the forest. It may be an unfortunate situation but at least it’s a beautiful one.

You pay no mind when you hear the bedroom door open, Chrollo yawning as he makes his way to you. His hands grab your face from behind, tilting your head towards him and he kisses your forehead.

He sits down, shirtless and tired he states, “I was worried you may have left. Not that it would matter. I would have found you.” He seems to realize those weren’t the right words for the night after your first time with him, “I’m glad you didn’t leave. I enjoyed last night, I enjoyed you.”

He enjoys you? What a strange way to phrase it.

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A few days have passed, the both of you hiked through the woods, only stopping to sleep, pee, and eat once a day. It’s not something you aren’t used to as a hunter but not something you willingly invite into your day to day life. The past few days have forced you to come to terms that you are infatuated with this man. Infatuated with the man who kidnapped you. Each night, holding each other and sharing a kiss before bed. His words of affirmation and affection throughout the days seem to only worsen your condition. After the grueling days of travel in the wilderness, you have reached the city that the rest of the phantom troupe had made it to already.

A small trading town on the coast, boats docked and ready to sail. Quite quaint. The people were easily natives, and this definitely isn’t a tourist attraction, a place for business interaction and working. That’s all. The hotel Chrollo and you reach a ryokan, an inn that houses springs. At least you could get a warm shower and get to relax in the springs.

The old man at the front desk who looks ancient, calls for his son to lead you to your room. With an abundance of hospitality, he welcomes you and let’s you know of all the accommodations available. After practically talking himself hoarse, he leaves you and Chrollo to your room.

“I think this is much nicer than the muddy ground, don’t you Chrollo?” He looks up from his phone after pressing send.

“It is. Though we won’t be here for long so don’t get too used to it.” What a buzz kill. “I have errands to run tonight, so I will be having the troupe look after you. I would leave Pakunoda and Shizuku to look after you but they’re both in bed.”

You’ve heard stories of all of the members from Chrollo so their names have become familiar. “And what about Machi? Even though I don’t need a babysitter.” You mumble the last part.

“She’s apparently had too much Sake.” He huffs, “I can’t trust you to Phinks and certainly not Feitan.” He begins talking to himself, for reasons on who and who can’t watch you. “Shalnark and Uvogin should be fine.” He hums to himself.

“They’re waiting in the common area, let’s go.” There’s no questioning his authority when he has somewhere to be, so you follow him from your shared room to another. It’s not too big, but it contains a pool table, a tv and couches, and a bar.

A blond, somewhat normal looking man sits on the arm rest of one of the couches, chatting away at who you can only assume is Uvogin. He’s large, too big to be human. It looks as if he’s sitting on a doll’s couch. The two of them are watching the news, Uvogin with a beer in hand and the other with only his wits about him.

“Shalnark, Uvogin.” The two of them turn their head at the sound of Chrollo’s voice. “Take care of her.”

They both nod, and Chrollo leaves without a goodbye, stranding you with two men you don’t know. Well actually, a few men and a woman. They’re all strewn about the room drunkenly, the only ones sober being Shalnark and Uvogin. You wonder if alcohol could ever affect a man as big as Uvogin.

The blond one, the one you’ve connected to the name Shalnark smiles and waves you over, “Hey y/n. Come over here!”

Begrudgingly you do as he says, offering nothing more than a small smile for a moment. These are the people who allowed you to be kidnapped. But can you be upset with them when you yourself aren’t all that upset about it?

A yelp escapes your throat when Uvogin grabs your shoulder with one hand, pulling you down next to him on the couch. He lays his super heavy arm over your shoulder and the smell of beer on him is quite obvious. “Nice to finally meet the pretty little lady. You still got your pencil?” He asks, wanting to know if Chrollo had taken your nen ability yet.

You shake your head, realizing for a moment that that’s what he originally wanted you for. Maybe what he still wants you for.

Shalnark’s eyes go wide, “Woooooah. Really? That’s surprising. You’d think after all those months of watching you he would get to the point.”

Uvogin laughs, his baritone voice shaking the couch, “Even after that whole book- he must be planning something.”

Before anyone else can get a word in you say, “How long was he watching me? And what book? His nen book?”

Shalnark shakes his head, “No not his nen book, he has a whole journal about you. He’s quite organized- he knew you wouldn’t be an easy target. Now look, you’re hanging out with the spiders.” Shalnark takes a sip of his water, “He was working on that book for maybe eleven months.”

Hearing Shalnark’s words, Uvogin snorts, “Eleven months? You’re skimping out there.”

They continue to discuss it, but now your mind is stuck on the fact, that Chrollo wasn’t just watching you for a while. He may have been watching you for years. He even kept physical notes on you. What have you gotten yourself into?

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #hxh #hunterxhunter #yandere

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nbenvs3000w22 · 3 years ago

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I Miss Travelling

For the past two years, we have all been stuck inside the house (Well, at least for me). I used to travel outside of Canada at least once every year. Though, because of COVID, I have not left Ontario since the summer of 2019. Now, this is not anything to complain about, but recently I have been coming across way too many ads that have been tempting me to leave the country. So I figured in order to feed my hunger for adventure, I'll share some of my travelling adventures with you, along with some tips on what to do while you're there.

Now I can go on forever on the places I have gone or the places I want to go to, but for this post, I am going to focus mainly on Japan. It is one of the main spots known for its ecotourism, which is going to different natural wonders in the country and supporting them. By buying a ticket to a natural attraction or supporting the businesses in the area, you are participating in ecotourism!

First things first, if you ever get the opportunity - please go to Japan. The country is filled with a rich culture, fascinating history, food to die for, super friendly people and beautiful scenery. It was like no other place I have been to. At first, it was a bit of a culture shock with the busy train stations and massive city centres, but you get used to it with the help of apps and locals. My sister and I took the shinkansen (bullet train) all around Japan, which truly helped me see the country's beauty. It was a quick, easy and eco-friendly option (they run on electricity) - we wouldn't have been able to do half the excursions we planned without it. Not to mention, on any long haul trips, the stations always had stalls where they served delicious snacks and bento boxes which you can eat on the train (Bento boxes weren't my favourite, but it's worth a try). So use this to your advantage, even if you just want to see the countryside.

On our way to Jigokudani Snow Monkey Park via bullet train.

There are numerous places you can see that truly highlights Japan's natural beauty. Bamboo groves in Arashiyama, Sika deer in Nara Park, the floating Shinto Shrine in the waters of Miyajima - these are some of the many places we visited that support ecotourism. However, I would like to highlight two important areas that are a must-visit.

1. Mount Fuji

This is probably one of Japan's most famous, well-known spots for obvious reasons. I remember seeing this while taking the train and being in absolute awe. You can see it as clear as day, from kilometres away. The size of the mountain is insurmountable (3,776 m to be exact); I remember feeling so small compared to it. I won't lie, it was very touristy and hard to get to; however, the views are worth it. The picturesque lake, deep forests and the snow-peaked mountain is something that you won't forget.

Views from Chureito Pagoda, luckily no clouds covered our view! There were a lot of stairs though, so be prepared!

2. Jigokudani Snow Monkey Park

If you like wildlife and anything nature, this is the place to go. The train ride is filled with rolling mountains and small towns with ryokans (traditional Japanese inns) and lush forests. When you get to the park, you are faced with a 30-minute hike through a beautiful forest within the mountain. There are a couple of small stores and a hotel on the path, but other than that, you are alone in nature. The hike was extremely peaceful (except for the muddy patches that destroy your shoes. Had to buy socks mid-hike from the shop) and filled with dense pine trees. When you get to the park, you get to see the wonder of Japanese Macaques relaxing in the hot springs. There were very few people there when I visited, which meant the monkeys were everywhere. You can't touch them or get too close for obvious reasons, but getting so close to the monkeys in their natural habitat is something you won't forget.

After a long hike being absolutely covered in mud, our reward was pretty sweet!

I'll probably talk about Japan way more in future posts, but here's just a snippet of one of my favourite trips. At the end of the day, it is essential to support ecotourism when you can, as it can help promote and sustain local environments. I would love to hear any travel stories you have, so please share them if you would like!

Information and facts from: https://theculturetrip.com/asia/japan/articles/japans-best-ecotourism-destinations-we-cant-wait-to-visit/

~Nicole

#eco tourism #nature interpretation #nature #japan #travel

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male changeling fae (Mhorrin) x male reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

So some of you have waited over a year for Mhorrin’s story. I promised someone a long time ago that Mhorrin’s reader would be male, but mostly (as always really with my readers), they’re fairly neutral except for the odd pronoun or body part...

I really hope you enjoy this one - it’s one of my favourites I think, and Mhorrin is a sweetheart who deserves some love. I had a lovely patron who wanted to commission me to write his story, and when I said that a long time ago I'd promised Mhorrin a male reader, they said that was fine, so here it is! I'm pretty proud of this one, and I really hope you enjoy it.

There’s a fight with a big spider at one point, so arachnophobes might not like that bit so much, and a few descriptions of injury, but not life-threatening, and not to the reader. Also Bridget likes to curse a bit. I like Bridget. :)

Wordcount: 10,064

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Why was it always bloody raining in these parts? Sheets of drenching grey drizzle drifted across the landscape from a low, oppressive sky, and the thick canopy of trees barely offered any real shelter. Heavy drops spattered down from above with almost the force of falling acorns, and sent the decaying leaf mould leaping and scattering.

Kicking idly at a fallen branch that lay across your path, you scowled as you tramped onwards through another patch of quagmire. Apparently there had once been a half-decent road winding its way between the huge trunks of ancient trees, their bark smothered with thick moss and laced with lichens, branches dripping with ferns and orchids, but now it was little more than a muddy ribbon rutted with potholes and puddles. Ahead and to your right, you could just glimpse the wide, lazy river sliding along between slick, muddy banks just to the south of the approaching town, and you turned your leather collar up further to ward off the fat drops which plummeted from the canopy overhead.

A collection of wooden houses with patchy thatched roofs, composed more of moss than reed, huddled miserably outside the colossal stones of the town’s wall, but hardly anyone was about in this weather. Even the chickens had given up their scratching in the mud. A huge, dark minotaur ducked briefly out of a doorway and glowered up at the small shred of grey sky visible between the branches before grunting something in disgust and slamming the door shut, leaving you to make your solitary way towards the wooden gates of the town. The pair of human guards barely even seemed to notice you as you struggled through the sludge towards them.

Inside the town walls the place was hardly any cheerier or more welcoming than outside. Despite the rain, however, there were a few vendors standing beneath ragged canvases, hawking their wares to those who scuttled by searching for shelter not trinkets, and in the distance a smith’s hammer could be heard ringing on iron. Other towns you’d passed through had bustled with life but this place seemed to be made up almost entirely of humans; any non-humans you saw were scowled at in a way that made you jumpy and wary. There wasn’t a pleasant feeling to this place at all.

A dwarf stumped past you with eyes focused firmly on the distance, heading towards the blacksmith’s, but as you pushed open the door of the first inn you came to, you saw a massive orc behind the bar which reassured you somehow.

The orc nodded at you as you approached and grunted, “Keep your weapons sheathed in here, human, you’re welcome to drink. What can I get you?”

“An ale,” you said, “And a bath.”

“The house ale is a copper,” he said. “The bath is six.”

Too tired and foot-sore to haggle, you nodded.

“Drink up, and I’ll have the bath drawn for you,” the orc grinned, clearly noticing the weariness soaking through your body now that you’d stopped walking. He was huge, with arms easily twice as big as your thighs, and one of his thick tusks had been cracked off, but his yellow-eyed gaze was friendly enough and he waved over a curvy human woman who greeted him with a kiss before letting him speak, which he did with a fond chuckle.

You took yourself off to a quiet corner of the nearly-empty inn, and groaned noisily as you eased your sore shoulders out of the travel pack and your wet leather and mail jerkin. You’d been wearing it for nearly a month solid as you’d moved steadily west in search of… something. Sure, you needed the work, but you could have joined the army if it was steady pay and a meal in your belly that you’d truly been looking for. Your journey had been about something more than that though. Shivering slightly as you sank onto the cool wood of the corner bench, you wondered if perhaps you’d find whatever it was that you were lacking here, in this formerly-prosperous trading town on the banks of a silted up river.

Somehow you doubted it.

Once you’d bathed and changed into the last of your relatively clean clothes, you returned to the bar and asked the orc if he knew of any employment for a young man of considerable skill with a bow and blade, though you didn’t own the former currently. The orc eyed you up and down, clearly getting the measure of you, and then shrugged. “There’s a bunch of mercenaries in the outer buildings,” he said, jutting his heavy jaw towards the direction of the huts outside the walls of the town. “Five of them: a big human woman, elven twins, a minotaur, and… something else. Not sure what he is. Only met them all the once, you see. Still, they might take you on if you’re any good.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I can ask at any rate.”

The rain had miraculously eased up just a little but you still donned your trusty - and now probably a little rusty - mail and leather jerkin once again, and headed out in search of the group. You’d arranged to leave your pack in the care of the orc at the inn for the moment, in case the mercenaries weren’t looking for another blade for hire.

It didn't take you long to find them. With the cessation of the rain, folks had started to emerge from the huts you’d passed on your way in, and outside the one where you’d seen the minotaur, you found two elves, a tall, beautiful woman with short chestnut hair and a scar across her lips, and the one the orc had called ‘something else’. It was immediately obvious why he’d said as much; the creature gave off a strange, almost otherworldly feeling that sent shivers down your spine if you looked at him too long.

He stood tall at over six foot, with a hunched, misshapen back over which he had draped a long leather cloak that came down almost to the mud of the road. He appeared to have the legs of an animal with long, black claws that flexed as he stood there, though his skin was hairless and an odd, almost slate coloured blue-grey. His hands, you saw as he reached to pass one of his companions their travel pack, were mottled with paler grey and he had two thumbs and long, strong-looking fingers. Covering his elongated - perhaps canine? - face was a carved wooden mask, and his hair was black as an oil slick; long, plaited, and falling to his waist.

The minotaur was nowhere to be seen now.

Approaching with your palms open and empty, showing no threat, you called out to them, “Hey, you guys are a mercenary group, right?”

The elves looked up as one and nodded, but it was the human woman who answered. By the gods she was muscular, and you didn't mind admitting that she was more than a little intimidating. “Why, you got a job for us?” she asked, looking you up and down in the same way the orc had. You where more lithe than muscular yourself, but years on the road had made you lean and solid in a way that other warriors and fighters usually weren’t. Not that you didn’t have your softer areas too though.

“Actually,” you smiled, “I’m hoping you’ve got a job for me. Any chance you’re looking to take on an extra blade?”

She glared at the sword on your hip and pouted, unimpressed, one eyebrow sailing high and placing one hand on her hip before looking at the other two, who shrugged. Somehow it seemed like an encouraging kind of shrug, and you nibbled your chapped lip while you waited for her to answer.

“Alright,” she said with a beautifully feral grin. “If you can best me with a blade, we’ll see about taking you on for a contract or two.”

That hadn’t been quite what you’d expected, but you supposed she had a point. “What are the terms of the fight?” you asked, rolling your shoulders out. You suddenly felt very grateful for the good work that the heat of the bath had done to ease out the stiffness from hauling your travel pack around.

“First to draw blood wins,” she said. “No intent to kill, maim, or seriously injure. We’re doing it properly, but this is sparring only.”

You nodded and drew steel. “Agreed.”

She grinned and her honey coloured eyes lit up as the two of you began to spar. She was strong but slower than you, and the two of you danced, circling each other in the mud of the street while the twins and the strange, silent one looked on from the shelter of the dripping eaves of the nearest hut.

In the end, you beat her with a well timed dart to the upper arm, but only just, and she sheathed her huge two-hander and held out her gauntleted hand to you, ignoring the small ooze of blood through her shirt sleeve. “Welcome. Name’s Bridget,” she said as she nearly crushed your hand in her fingers, making you rather wheeze your own name as you introduced yourself. “These two idiots are Elduin and Luirlan -” the two elves grinned and held out their hands.

Their palms were as rough and callused as your own, indicating that they preferred blade to bow - unusual for their kind, but not unheard of - and they had both cropped their brown hair short along one side, revealing their tapering ears. Luirlan had a scar through one eyebrow and a notch missing from the tip of his left ear, and Elduin had a leaf and vine tattoo that ran up his neck and onto his scalp, but other than that, they were utterly identical.

Bridget went on to say that the minotaur was named Ned, but he’d gone to have a nap ‘like a fucking old man’ and had therefore missed all the excitement - “His loss,” she grinned - and the final member of their group she introduced as Mhorrin. The figure, swathed in his heavy leather cloak, simply nodded without approaching, bowing his mysteriously masked head before turning away and returning his attention to repacking his bag.

Swallowing, you hoped that the others would balance out the relative creepiness of Mhorrin, and that you hadn’t made a mistake in joining them. Still, it had to be better than going it alone anyway.

Just after sunrise the next day, you joined them at the city gates, and the small mercenary company moved on in search of new work. Ned quickly found a contract about seven miles further west along the road. The job involved eradicating a small nest of demon-spawn that had been terrorising travellers along the King’s Road, eating them and disembowelling everyone they came across.

The nest was apparently located a short distance back from the road towards some mineral springs, and the elves and Ned soon tracked it down to a dank hollow between two huge sycamore trees. You and Bridget stalked closer, while Mhorrin drew his huge, cruel bow from his stooped back and hung a little way behind on the lip of the dell with an arrow nocked, flights to cheek, ready to loose. The strength in his wiry arms must have been prodigious because he never shook or trembled. Only a few days ago you’d seen him hunting rabbits with unfaltering accuracy, so you weren’t surprised when he aimed a deadly pine arrow straight past Ned’s ear, sinking it deep into the chitinous plating of the first creature to emerge from its festering burrow in the ground. The creature was dead before it had gone a single pace from the entrance.

The demon-spawn were vile, spewing acid and darting forwards to lash out with their serrated claws, but you and Ned cornered the second, while the twins finished of a third, and Bridget hacked another to pieces under a rain of arrows from Mhorrin. You’d just lowered your sword, the steel dripping with the viscera and slime from your own kill, your arm stinging from a light spattering of acid, when you saw one last demon-spawn scuttling down the rough surface of a tree behind Mhorrin.

“Mhorrin! Above you on that sycamore!” you yelled, and he ducked and rolled out of the way just in time for you to hurl your long belt knife at it, striking it in the chest and pinning it to the bark like a three foot long, toxic beetle in a gruesome collection. The creature’s stinger had missed him by inches and still hung in the space where his head had been, dripping onto the forest floor.

“Thank you,” he murmured, checking that the curved, wooden mask was still in place with his odd, grey-skinned, twin-thumbed hand. It was a graceful hand, with long fingers that spoke of strength and cleverness as well as the calm control of a bowman, and you stared at it for a moment longer while he listened carefully to the forest around you.

“Phew,” Bridget grunted from not far away, wiping her own zweihänder on a clump of thick grass at the base of an oak tree. “Think that’s the last of them. Those were some freaky motherfuckers… Everyone alright?”

“Yeah,” came the reply from Ned and the twins. You were a little breathless and a bit scuffed, but otherwise ok, and Mhorrin only nodded.

“You want to check out the thermal springs that these fuckers have stopped everyone visiting?” Bridget asked with a playful glint in her hazel eyes. “We’ll have it to ourselves before the hoards start moving back in!”

Everyone agreed, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and once you’d torched and sealed the nests and burrows, the troop moved off through the trees to the nearby springs.

While Ned practically bombed his way in, sending hot water splashing everywhere, closely followed by Bridget in just her underwear and chest wrappings, the twins were a little more demure, and you followed last. The water was deliciously warm, though it smelled quite pungently of minerals, and you groaned as you lay back and ducked your head under the water, washing out the sweat and grime from the fight. Mhorrin, it turned out, had no intention of bathing with everyone, and only washed his hands and feet carefully in the edge of the shallowest pond before retreating to a quiet rock a little way off.

As Ned resurfaced, huffing and blowing spray like a buffalo, you shot Mhorrin a curious look as his figure retreated, and asked Ned in a hushed whisper, “So… uh, what’s the deal with Mhorrin? I’ve been with you a week and he’s hardly said a word…”

“Keeps himself to himself mostly,” the gregarious minotaur shrugged. His thick, black hair was already curling wildly, and he had drops like diamonds on his thick eyelashes. “You got any more questions though, I suggest you ask him.”

“Fair enough,” you said. Of course, his answer had done nothing to quell the curiosity that was quickly blossoming inside you. Swathed constantly in that thick, leather coat, careful with all his movements, masked and distinctly ‘different’, Mhorrin was a mystery to you. While you weren’t generally one to pry, you couldn’t help the desire to get to know him at least, but it seemed that the strange being - you didn’t even know what he was - kept his cards tight to his chest.

As you swam across the deep pond, however, you rolled over and noticed that Mhorrin’s gaze appeared to be locked on your body as you slid through the water. Resting your feet on the bottom of the rocky pool, you stood, chest half out of the chalky blue water, and called out to him, “Hey, Mhorrin! You not coming in?”

You actually had yet to hear him speak more than a few words to anyone, but he surprised you with a full sentence as he drew his thick cloak more tightly about himself and said, “I don’t think it would be as pleasurable as you imagine, human. But thank you all the same.” Behind the mask, his voice was rough and rasping, deep, and his words were quietly and almost gently articulated, as though he had large teeth to work his tongue carefully around.

“Fair enough,” you said again, backing off, but you still felt the slight sting of disappointment anyway.

As the weeks slid by into months and you travelled further with this group of blades for hire, you began to feel at home in the rather odd family. Bridget was loud and brusque, but she had a tender heart, and you realised she was easily hurt by comments tossed her way in taverns along the road. Ned did his best to tell them all to fuck off, but you soon discovered that, despite her closeness to the minotaur, it was you with whom she found a scrap of comfort with on evenings by the campfire when the others were bedding down. Perhaps it was easier to bare her heart to a relative stranger. Either way, you liked her and you let her.

“I’ve always been too big and too strong,” she snorted on one such night when you’d passed through a town and she’d had comments tossed her way - this time about being part ogre. Ned’s earth-shattering snores already drowned out the crickets in the grasses, and the elves were quietly occupied a bit further from the fire, talking quietly in their own language.

Taking a sip from your wineskin, you crooked your elbow over your knee and leaned forwards. “No such thing as too big or too strong,” you grinned, hoping to lift her spirits.

Mhorrin was sitting not far away, whittling a forest creature out of a stick of firewood, and the steady scratching of his blade against the wood slowed as you spoke, though you pretended not to notice.

“If you weren’t how you are, you wouldn’t be able to protect the people you care about. Plus, I now know first hand that you give great hugs.”

She smiled and leaned back on her hands, her body going taut for a moment as she stretched out along the warmth of the fire. She crossed her feet at the ankle and shot you a sidelong glance. “You know,” she said, “If I didn’t already know that you like men more than women, I’d think you’re making a move on me.” She grinned playfully and you laughed, pleased that her mood was lightening a little.

Her words made your eyes and thoughts drift once again to Mhorrin. His back was hunched high over his right shoulder as he sat on the edge of the ring of firelight, and his almost animal-like legs were folded beneath him. Swathed in that cloak of his and masked as he was, you knew almost nothing more about him after those first few months than you had in your first week with the company.

You recalled your gaze and turned it back to Bridget. “Yeah, true,” you chuckled, scrubbing at the scruff on your chin with a scar-knuckled hand. “Well, I’m just showing my new friend the love she deserves. You’re gorgeous. Anyway,” you added with a snort, “You like pretty little elven women yourself, so I think any attempts at flirting from me would fall on deaf ears…”

She leaned over and gently smacked your upper arm with the backs of her fingers. It was a friendly, affectionate kind of tap, and you shivered slightly at the warmth of the unexpected touch. “Appreciate it,” she said, not appearing to notice your reaction. “I love this bunch of idiots so much, and I’m glad you stuck around too.”

With a wonky grin, you laughed and lay back, staring up at the sky above with your arms behind your head for a pillow. You drew a deep sigh that filled your lungs completely, and then let it go. As great as it had been to be with them, to have a modicum of stability and continuity in your life, you did ache for privacy at times, and as close as you all were, that pang of loneliness which had haunted you for a long time still stabbed at you now and again, usually when you least expected it.

“That was a big sigh,” Luirlan commented as he too came to settle down silently for the night beside the dwindling flames.

“Just relaxing,” you said. You didn’t think anyone quite believed you, but no one took it any further. They gave you that privacy at least.

Mhorrin’s blade had stopped feathering details into the sculpture completely now, and, risking a quick sidelong look at him before you closed your eyes, you saw that he was staring at you. You flashed him a quick smile but got no response. Disheartened and more than a bit miserable, you drew your cloak up around your ears and tried to get some sleep.

Three days later the company arrived at a town that was much livelier and more prosperous than the one where you’d first met Bridget and her friends. Made of red brick and sandstone, some faced in mosaics of knapped flint, the merchants’ houses which bordered the wide market plaza were mostly three storeys tall, and they all glittered with large-paned windows. Elduin whistled through his teeth as he looked up at them, and Ned snorted. “This is where we should have been all this time - I can practically smell their gold. Folks like this always want someone to do some dirty work for them, or at least some heavy lifting!” He and Bridget flexed simultaneously and then fell about laughing at the silliness of it.

Mhorrin was the only one who seemed truly uncomfortable here.

Even the elves, who moved like shadows amongst the trees and could imitate almost every bird call you’d ever imagined, laughed and shoved each other playfully as you made your way through the market, but Mhorrin hung back, apparently staring at the ground, with his shoulders high and tense.

Doubling back, you fell into step beside him and murmured, “Everything alright?”

He nodded tersely and then added, “Not overly fond of places like this.”

“Fancy towns?”

“Any towns. Too busy. Too open…”

You bumped your shoulder gently against his side and said, “We’ve got your back, Mhorrin.”

You sensed the smile beneath the mask in the slight softening of his body, but he made no further reply. Side by side, the pair of you walked across the marketplace, following where the others led.

An old, ovine satyr stood behind a stall selling everything from herbal ingredients to sweets and snacks, and the elves slid over to her just as a human threw down in disgust whatever she’d been holding in her hand. “At that price? Go chew on a patch of nettles, you ugly old sheep!” the customer yelled at her and the satyr bleated something unspeakable at her retreating back.

“Sorry about that,” she grunted as she turned to face the elves. “People just don’t know the value of things that are hard to find. What can I do for you?”

They haggled cheerily over the price of various herbs, and the twins also came away with a large bag of licorice which they immediately dug into with the enthusiasm of small, lanky boys.

You watched them until Mhorrin’s soft voice at your ear made you jump. “Nothing for you?” he asked.

You shrugged, astonished that he was speaking to you. “Not really. You?”

He immediately shook his head. “I’d like a bath and a room at an inn,” he said, which surprised you.

So far he’d not shown himself as someone who liked his creature comforts. Clean he certainly was, but he was always efficient about bathing, heading into the river or stream after the others had returned shivering to camp, or using the baths in whichever establishment they called home for the night alone after everyone had finished. You wondered what it was that he felt the need to hide, but never went so far as to pry and ask.

Something of your curiosity must have shown, as he chuckled softly and said, “Am I so strange that my desire for a hot bath and a comfortable bed shocks you?”

The playfulness in his tone was more shocking to you, though only because it was so unusual for him to be so chatty and informal.

When you said as much, he shook his head, the long, tarred ship’s rope of his plait swaying. “Ah, what a bore I must be to you,” he all but whispered behind his wooden mask.

Before you could refute him, a young child with the hooves of a deer and the horns of a demon pointed at Mhorrin and tugged at their mother’s arm. “Look! Is he a tiefling too? Why is he wearing a mask?”

“I have no idea,” she said, shooting Mhorrin an apologetic look to which he apparently didn’t deign to respond. “It’s rude to point. Come on.”

Mhorrin’s heavy sigh made your head snap round but he was stalking away after the retreating backs of the others before you could get a good read on him. Not that such a thing was ever truly possible with his intense need for privacy and the mask and cloak covering almost all of him.

The inn that Bridget found was a few streets back from the marketplace, backing onto the temple and its grounds. “What about it, lads?” she asked. “If we double up on rooms, we should be able to afford this place quite comfortably after that last job we took.”

Everyone agreed that it was a huge step up from your last arrangements, and while she and Ned predictably partnered up, and the elves nodded at each other, Mhorrin turned to you with an odd tension in his body. “Do you mind?” he asked breathily.

“Sharing with you?” you asked, your voice catching in your throat at the chance to speak with him later in a more private setting. “Of course not!”

He nodded once, and it was all decided. Bridget paid up, and even managed to acquire a contract from one of the patrons who happened to be meeting a friend there for a drink.

“Oh thank the gods,” the merchant sighed, pressing a bejewelled finger to his temple. You had a job not to stare at the gem-encrusted rings that studded his hand and the gold chains that dangled around his fat neck. “I’ve been looking for someone capable enough of ridding the cellars of this pest for a week now, but no one will do it!”

“Just tell us what it is that needs killing,” Bridget said evenly.

“It’s some kind of spider, but it’s enormous. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you it’s the size of a small horse! It’s lurking between my finest barrels of Black Cedar red, and I’ve got the mayor and most of the council coming for dinner on Thursday, and if I can’t serve them that with the roast, then I don’t know what I’ll do. Even I can’t simply procure a wine of that vintage at such short notice!”

Bridget smirked and Ned hid a snort behind an artfully timed cough. You shot Mhorrin a look, but he had taken a step back into the quiet shadows and remained silent as always. Part of you ached a little when you saw him simply standing there, waiting for the next thing to be decided. Did he have no agency? No whims of his own? No desires? Did he just drift wherever Ned and Bridget and the others led him? As if he sensed your rising anger, Mhorrin’s face turned a little towards you but you shook your head and looked away. The private places of his heart were not for you to barge your way into.

Somehow Bridget wangled the most outrageous price from the desperate merchant, and the six of you headed over to his huge city mansion almost immediately after dumping your travel gear in your bedrooms. The room that you and Mhorrin were to share was beautiful, with a wide stone sill and twin beds on either side, a large silk rug in the centre, and two huge and elaborately carved wardrobes that neither of you would need.

The spider did in fact turn out to be the size of a small horse, and Elduin hissed, as you shut the door on it and backed out into the hallway to discuss your plan one final time, that it was more common to find these things up in the mountains where the goblins tunnel after emeralds and sapphires and the endless veins of silver.

“What the hell is it doing in the city then?” you growled. “It’s fucking huge!”

To your surprise it was Mhorrin who answered. “Many creatures such as that are traded as exotic and monstrous pets. One that size, and producing that much venom, would fetch a handsome price on such a market.”

Luirlan turned to him and said with a wry grin, “You think you can stick it full of arrows before it rolls us up like a party snack and sucks us dry?”

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “For all their size though, they’re damned quick. I’ll need a distraction.”

The twins looked at Ned and Bridget, and they nodded just as Elduin yipped, “Why are we always the distraction?”

Bridget grinned, “Because you’re also damned quick.”

Ned chimed in with, “Plus you look like a tasty little party snack,” which earned him a punch to the sternum which probably hurt Elduin’s knuckles more than Ned’s chest, judging by the gruff chuckle the minotaur gave.

“Ok, fine,” Luirlan said more seriously. “We’ll go in and chuck some throwing stars and powder snappers at it while Mhorrin turns it into a stationary porcupine. What about you two?” he asked Ned and Bridget.

“We’ll make sure you don’t get turned into that party snack for real,” she said darkly. “One of us on either side.” She turned to you and added, “And you’ll watch Mhorrin’s back.” There was no room for debate in her comment, but neither did she leave room for doubt; she knew by now that you would truly have Mhorrin’s back, and she trusted you with her friend’s life. Something about that made your chest ache and glow, and you nodded.

With the plan finalised, and your assorted weapons eased in their holsters and belts, you re-entered the dark cellars. None of you had any magic, so the elves tossed a couple of powder snappers they’d bought in the market which flared and popped when they struck the ground, and the spider, which had been crouching low between two enormous barrels at the far end of the stone-lined chamber, rose up and chittered softly in alarm.

The sound of it sent shivers down your spine like nails on a chalkboard, but you focused on the creature with your beautiful steel blade held firmly in your hand. Beside you, the gentle and now familiar creak of Mhorrin’s bow as it flexed was a steadying reassurance in the dark of the room.

The first arrow struck the creature in one of its eyes, but somehow - despite the power of the bow and the deadliness of the aim - it survived.

“You pissed it off real good!” Luirlan yelled as he dived out of the way of its lashing, frothing mandibles. “Oh fuck!” he yelled as it slashed at his skinny body with one of its eight, hairy legs. “It’s got fucking claws too!”

The fight went more or less to plan, with Mhorrin loosing arrows at vulnerable points on its body, but its hide was so thick that they seemed more like thistles in the coat of a wild boar than the deadly pine shafts of hunting arrows. Bridget yanked Elduin back out of the way just in time, and Ned hacked off one of its legs, making the spider spit and scream, retreating back towards the barrels. At that point it seemed to notice that Mhorrin was the source of the stinging barbs in its side, and it scuttled with the speed of a hunting hound fresh of its leash straight at you.

Ned was too far away to take another swing at it, but he hurled his great axe at it, though it missed and embedded itself in a smaller barrel to your right, the scent of wine filling the chamber to replace the fusty dank smell of the spider’s lair.

It was almost upon the pair of you, so you stepped in front of Mhorrin, barely noticing the arrow that hissed past your ear as the spider reared up again, its horrifyingly enormous mandibles clacking and glistening in the low light of the room. You swung at the taloned leg that darted forwards for you, but it was Mhorrin you gave a sharp cry from right behind you. The creature hadn’t been going for you at all, and its six inch long claw had gone through Mhorrin’s thick leather cloak like a needle through silk.

With a howl of rage, you drove the point of your sword upwards into the rearing spider’s throat until the hilt hit its soft fur, and you reeled back as it writhed and screamed. Forgetting about the creature and your blade, you turned and found Mhorrin on the floor, though he’d only been knocked back by the speed of the attack, and was quickly staggering upright.

“Mhorrin,” you gasped but he shook his head.

“I’m alright. It’s…”

“You’re bleeding,” you stated. “Let me look at it.”

“No,” he said, his spare hand flying up to press it into the stab wound. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll tend to it myself.”

You scowled, but there wasn’t much you could do. The others finished off the spider and brought down the oiled tarpaulin they’d prepared earlier to deal with its corpse, as per their contract.

The merchant was hardly as grateful as he might have been when he discovered the damage that Ned’s axe had done to one of the casks, but even without the cost he’d removed from the final payment to cover the replacement of the wine, you’d earned yourself a small fortune.

Mhorrin’s progress back to the inn was slow, but he showed no signs of passing out and he refused to take your arm or lean on you. When you were back in your room, you tried again to offer your help.

“Please,” you said. “I’ve got salves and bandages, and thread to stitch you up if it needs it, though I don’t think it will. I know what I’m doing. I’m not some hedge doctor; I’ve patched people up before, and done it well.”

He was breathing steadily but rapidly, the shallow rasp of his breath the only betrayal of the pain he must have been in. His masked face revealed nothing.

“Please Mhorrin,” you said even more gently. “Let me help you.”

“I can manage,” he said, though the conviction had gone from his tone.

“I know.”

After another few breaths, he nodded. “Fine.”

The tension that suddenly filled the room seemed nearly choking, but you took a breath and stepped back while he turned away from you and reached up to unlace the knot that held his wooden mask in place. He took the tiniest intake of breath before he removed it, and then set it down on a table nearby, still with his back to you.

A moment later, he undid the buckle that held his heavy cloak in place, and folded it carefully over the back of a chair so that the strange, black blood which still oozed from the wound in his shoulder wouldn’t mar anything.

You’d never seen him without the shapeless leather cloak, and without it, he seemed suddenly so much more slender; almost vulnerable. His waist was invitingly narrow and he wore loose trousers of the kind that many satyrs and fauns preferred, leaving his paw-like feet bare from the ankle. Over his top half, he wore a rough-looking linen shirt that was stained black with his blood, a fact as unusual as the rest of him.

He plucked at the hem of his shirt and murmured without looking at you, “You need this off as well, I suppose.”

You didn’t respond immediately. The right side of his shoulders was markedly higher than the other, making his spine curve and his shoulders hunch, and beneath the thin fabric of his shirt you could see ridges and bumps on the points of his shoulders. There was something alluringly beautiful about the unusual quality of his body. You’d never seen anyone like him in your whole life, but now was not the moment for that. You had not been given this moment for the luxury of admiring him.

“Or do you just want to gawp at the monster like everyone else?” Mhorrin snarled with real venom, still staring at the wall in front of him. The hiss of breath through his nostrils reminded you of a lurking naga in a dark cave, dangerous, threatened, and poised to strike.

“Yes please,” you murmured sheepishly. “I need it off.”

In a single motion, he ripped it over his head with no care for the open wound in his left shoulder, and dumped it on the floor before reaching for his mask and shoving it roughly back onto his face before you’d even seen it.

His back was the same mottled light and dark grey as his unusual hands, like water spattered on granite, but his spine was prominently ridged and he did indeed have almost horn-like protrusions at the shoulder joints, reminiscent of those that some lizardfolk have. He was clearly not reptilian though, you discovered as you cleaned the wound, earning nothing but a sharp intake of breath from him, and the same again as you smeared the heady-scented salve across it; his skin was warm to the touch, and surprisingly smooth, though you tried not to let your fingertips linger.

Mhorrin did gasp, however, when you pressed the clean dressing down over the antiseptic salve, keeping your other palm flat to his shoulder. The wound was on his left side, and the gnarled hump on his right shoulder rose and fell as his breathing quickened.

“Did I hurt you badly?” you asked and to your surprise he shook his head.

“No.” A moment later he laughed huskily, nervously, and said, “Your hands are cold.”

“Really?” you snorted. “That’s what’s bothering you right now?”

“You’re right,” he returned with sudden sourness returning to his words. “I have much bigger things with which to concern myself at the moment.” He didn’t seem to be talking about the wound.

Not understanding his words, you nearly let go of the wad of dressing, but you steadied yourself and returned to the task at hand. In no time he was bandaged up, and it didn’t bleed through the wrapping, so you figured you’d made the right decision.

“All done,” you said, and he rose immediately from the chair and fished out a clean shirt from his pack while you washed your hands in the stand at the corner of the room. This time he didn’t wait to remove his mask, and forced it over his head, ripping the dusky blue shirt slightly at the throat.

Once it was on, he snatched up his leather cloak and stalked from the room, securing it with the buckle as he left. His clawed feet faltered at the doorway, almost as if he had been on the point of turning and speaking to you, but to your disappointment he simply disappeared into the dark corridor beyond and let the door close behind him.

You stood there a moment, recalling the rapid breathing, the warmth of his body, the closeness of him, the musky smell of leather and something else that was undoubtedly his own scent. The way his black hair had gleamed in its thick plait, and the way his strange hands had twitched in his lap as you’d leaned over him; the tension ratcheting up his spine the closer you’d got… Dismissing his sharpness with a shake of your head, you grabbed your coin purse and headed down to the bar in search of a drink.

Bridget scowled at you when you arrived and plonked down in a seat beside her. The elves were nowhere to be seen, but Ned was drinking quietly beside her. “What happened?” she demanded in a low growl. “Mhorrin just headed out like a horse to pasture, and now you come down wearing a face like that…”

You shrugged and after a passing waitress took your order, you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. “Is Mhorrin always like this?”

“Like what?” Ned asked, resting his massive forearms on the sturdy table.

A shoulder twitch was all you had the energy for until you added, “So… skittish.”

“Skittish?” Bridget blurted. “The guy’s about as steady as a rock. What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean that he’s nervous in a fight,” you amended, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy and you needed a bath, but somehow you hadn’t got the impetus now. “When I was dressing his wound just now, he -” Bridget cut you off with an astonished bark of laughter.

“He let you get near enough to touch him?”

You met her hazel eyes directly, confused. “Yeah? I mean, I had to convince him that I knew what I was doing first, but…”

“Oh, I don’t think that would have worried him,” she went on. “I mean, he’s pretty handy with a needle himself. He knows his way around an injury or two.” She set her glass down and tugged up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal a scar you’d seen many times on her stunning bicep. She had a habit of wearing sleeveless tunics after all. “He patched this up when I thought I was gonna lose my whole fucking arm. Left barely a whisper when it was healed.” She thumbed the thin silver line and shook her head disbelievingly.

That piece of information left you reeling. “If he could see to his own wounds, why did he go through all that with me…?” you mused aloud.

“All what?”

You gestured vaguely with your hand and nearly knocked your drink from the server’s hands as it arrived at your table. With a swift apology and a grin that seemed to appease him, you thanked the pretty tiefling and he left your glass on the table with a wink and an overly-friendly squeeze to your shoulder.

Ned growled, “There’s an open invitation if ever I saw one.”

You didn’t feel like taking him up on it, no matter how handsome he was. Your mind was occupied solely with thoughts of Mhorrin and his dappled skin. He’d had freckles on his back. You drew a deep breath and shrugged. Downing half your drink before looking up again, you simply said, “He let me clean and dress it, but he nearly bit my head off for the privilege of it.”

Bridget was quiet for a while, staring into her ale before she said, “You know, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him without that damned stupid cloak on?”

“Really?”

“Mmm. He never takes it off. To let you see more of him than even that… must have been a big deal for him. He trusts you,” she said, shooting you a look. “He partnered with you in that scrap with the spider and the two of you moved like our fucking elves; like you’ve been fighting together all your lives. I’ve never seen him like that…” She traced a fingertip through a glistening ring of beer on the tabletop and added, “Normally he’s our ranged fighter, hanging back on his own. To have someone with him is… new.”

Ned nodded quietly in agreement. “Give him time.”

“I think that’s all he’ll let me give him,” you grumbled, draining your glass and setting it down on the table with a hefty clunk. “I’m going out,” you announced, standing suddenly. “Need to clear my head.”

The two best friends let you go without comment, swiftly falling into their own conversation once you had strode away and left a few coppers at the bar for your drink.

Outside the soft patter of rain greeted you, and you groaned. With your hair damp in minutes, you sighed. You didn’t feel like doubling back for a cloak though, so you set off through the streets towards the temple grounds to stretch your legs and try and wear yourself out completely before going back to your shared room.

To your surprise, you’d gone no further than the bridge over the river which guarded the temple garden when you spotted a very familiar figure, swathed in a ridiculous cloak.

“Mhorrin?” you asked quietly as you stood in the drizzle at the foot of the gently arching bridge.

In the fae-lamps which illuminated the city at night, he looked decidedly peculiar, which was saying something - perhaps somewhere between a gargoyle and a damp dragon with wings folded downwards. He turned slowly and regarded you from behind his eerie mask. You thought he whispered your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“You want me to leave?” you asked.

After taking a moment to mull over your question, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t…” he faltered as you walked towards him, boots scuffing on the cobbles.

Ignoring the water pooling on the rough masonry of the sides of the bridge, you joined him and leaned your forearms on the stonework. A huge sigh heaved itself from your lungs and you stared at the silent water slipping by in an inky black stream beneath you. Rain dribbled miserably down the collar of your jacket and you shivered, sniffing as it dripped off your nose as well.

A rather more significant shudder shimmied down your spine a second later, and Mhorrin snorted a soft laugh behind his wooden mask. The next thing you knew, the heavy leather of his cloak was being draped around your shoulders and he was standing very close to you. “I cleaned the blood off it,” he said, and you smiled a little snort of your own.

The two of you stood like that for a little while, watching the river slide by, but eventually Mhorrin spoke up. “I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. I had no right.”

You shrugged, not knowing quite what to say and hoping it would be enough.

“Bridget showed me her scar,” you said pointedly after a minute or so.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. The one on her arm. The one you patched up. If you didn’t need me to treat you, why did you let me?”

Mhorrin remained silent for a heartbeat or three before he sighed and said heavily, “Perhaps I wanted someone else to do the looking after for once.”

Something about his tone struck you deeply and you found yourself unable to speak or find a proper reply, so you said nothing. He seemed to understand, even to appreciate the distance your silence gave him, despite your proximity beneath the cloak.

After a while he said, “We should head back.”

When you nodded, he withdrew the shelter of the cloak from you and you straightened. Neither of you said anything as you returned to the inn, but the silence was comfortable. Comforting even.

The bustle of the inn’s bar jangled against your memory of the soft rain outside, but you still shot Bridget a reassuring smile as you passed, and she nodded once before looking away.

Back in your room, you said you were going to get some of your clothes cleaned by the inn staff, and you offered to add Mhorrin’s bloody shirt to the pile. When you returned with empty arms, you pushed open the door and found Mhorrin standing against the windowsill, his arms braced against it, his body bare except for his trousers.

His back was towards you, but it didn’t feel like he was shutting you out. Quite the opposite, in fact; it felt as though he were giving you the opportunity to stare at him openly.

And you took it.

Mhorrin’s back was crooked and gnarled as an oak tree, listing slightly to the right like an old sloop in a force eight. For the first time you realised with a slight pang of… what, excitement?… that he had a long tail like a tiefling’s which, until then, had been carefully concealed beneath the fabric of his trousers. Now it writhed gently behind him like a hypnotised cobra, occasionally twitching. You let your eyes roam over the blue-grey skin of his shoulders, taking in the horn-like studs and the freckles and the various shades of stormy grey as you approached him. His hair hung down his back in its usual thick plait, but you saw with jolt that he didn’t have his mask on.

It sat on the sill beside his hand, empty and hollow as an old temple offering.

“Mhorrin?” you asked, voice cracking ever so slightly. “Everything alright?”

“You wanted to see me,” he said without turning around. “Well… here I am.” He turned just a little as you crossed the last few steps towards him and put your palm on the small of Mhorrin’s back, making him suck in a breath as his spine tensed up.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to relax again as you began to explore his body bit by bit, inch by inch, savouring the touches he was allowing you. Slowly, hesitantly, Mhorrin turned towards you, still in the circle of your arms, and he revealed his face for the first time.

Elongated and almost canine, his muzzle was drawn back in a nervous snarl to reveal huge canines and a black tongue. His almond shaped eyes were massive and completely black with no visible white sclera, but they were covered in a milky film like starlight.

“Mhorrin?” you gasped, taking half a step back from him, eyes fixed on his. “Mhorrin, are you…?” and your fingertips fluttered anxiously beside his muzzle, wanting to touch his cheeks just below his eyes. His gaze sailed straight over your head.

“Blind? Yes,” he said.

“I had no idea you couldn’t see. The way you shoot…?”

Mhorrin shrugged, not shying away from your touch this time as your fingertips connected with his soft skin. “I can see heat, like a snake - always could - which is how I found you on that bridge just now.” With a dry smirk he added, “All I had to do was look for a little block of ice.”

You snorted indelicately through your nose and dropped your hand back to your side. “Can I ask… what you are?”

At long last, his face softened just a little, the muscles of his muzzle relaxing, and he sighed, leaning his wiry body back against the sill behind him with a heavy exhale. “I’m a changeling fae, born on the blood moon and thus cursed to look like… this. My mother didn’t want a monstrous child like me, so she swapped me for a pretty human boy, stole him away, and suckled him on her own blood to turn him fae. He’s… He’s their prince now…”

The brutality of his answer shocked you to your core. “Mhorrin…”

He shrugged again, turning his strange hands palm up and seeming to regard them.

On impulse, you slid your own hands into his and he sucked in another sharp breath.

“I don’t care what you are,” you said, more earnestly than you’d perhaps intended. “You’re a good soul. I’m glad I met you.”

A quiet, rumbling purr began to sound from Mhorrin, which was slightly interrupted by the embarrassed laugh he gave.

“Mhorrin?”

He shook his head, still smiling, and said, “You… You’re not like other humans I’ve met…”

“Oh?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him properly, your hands still in his powerful grip, very aware of how close to him you were standing.

“Mmm.”

“How so?”

He laughed and said, “I… I feel…” but then he shook his head.

Deciding to act rather than to speak, you let go of his hands and took him by the hips, tugging him those final few inches closer, and you nuzzled your cheek against his before kissing him there.

Mhorrin growled softly like a gnoll and surged forwards, his hands searching up your sides, kissing you hard and you felt your cock stirring already, blood rushing south in a dizzying spiral. This was what you’d wanted for all those weeks; for someone to want you with a basic, almost feral instinct.

The changeling’s purring growl echoed in your ribcage as he backed you towards the nearest bed. “Tell me you want this,” he managed to rasp, drool glistening at his lips already. “Please, tell me you want this.”

“Fuck, Mhorrin,” you hissed, already leaning back towards the bed. “Yes. I want you. I don’t care how, but I want you.”

He chuckled at that and nuzzled a few more kisses at your neck one final time before tipping you onto the bed and stripping you rather hurriedly of your clothes. When he sprang your cock free, he moaned. “If you could see you the way I do,” he said.

In answer, you bucked your hips upwards a little and he got the message. Taking your cock in his hand and steadying your hips with the other, he smeared your leaking tip with one of his two thumbs and then slid your hard cock into his mouth and took you all the way to the back of his throat.

You couldn’t have contained the groan that rolled out of you even if you’d wanted to. The heat of his tongue and the ridges on the roof of his mouth were almost too much for your sensitive cock. You did manage to fight the immediate urge to fuck upwards into the heat of his mouth, however, and as his black tongue swirled around the head and then the shaft of your cock, you grunted inarticulately and he gripped your hips even tighter.

“Fuck, Mhorrin…” you wheezed, head lolling to one side, chest heaving. “That’s so good…”

The changeling sucked and dipped, his breath fanning over your lower torso as he worked you astonishingly quickly towards your climax, and as white heat coiled in your belly, you gasped, “Mhorrin, stop… I’m… I’m gonna…” and you lurched forwards and grabbed his thick hair, pulling him by the plait off your cock with a lewd pop that made your head spin.

“Mm?” he asked.

As you glanced down you saw the tent in his trousers and you gestured at his waistband. “You’re overdressed…”

With a shy grin, Mhorrin obliged, sliding out of his remaining clothes to reveal the evidence of his own arousal. Where the skin of his lean torso was a dark, stormy grey, his cock was almost blue, the tip a vibrant red and already weeping pearlescent pre-come down the length of his shaft, twitching in the relative cool of the bedroom.

Before he had the chance to return his attention to your cock, you reached for him and tugged him down to the bed. “My turn,” you said as you wrestled him onto his back with a playful grunt. He was stronger than you by far, and could have overpowered you easily, but he let you.

As you sat astride him, Mhorrin’s long tail snaked around your thigh and made you gasp as he caressed your balls with the soft, blunt tip of it. Your knees buckled and you pitched forwards, landing with one hand on his chest and the other on the bed beside him. His jaw parted and he raked his teeth across the pounding pulse in your neck before drawing back and saying, “Two can play that game, you tricksy little human…”

Your cock throbbed at the sound of his voice, suddenly so confident and self-assured, and it made you want to unravel him in the best way possible.

Sensing this, perhaps, he smiled hesitantly and said, “I… I have no oil that would be suitable, I’m afraid…”

“I do,” you said quietly. “Would you like me to fuck you then?”

He nodded mutely, and you smiled, raking your nails down his chest and making him gasp, his dark nipples hardening almost instantly.

It didn’t take you long to find the small vial you were looking for in the depths of your bag, and when you turned back to face him, you took just a moment to admire him. His long, lean body was stretched out, the pads of his toes spread wide with expectant pleasure, his tail writhing slowly beside him, his thighs tensed, his quads standing out and straining, and his hand was on his weeping cock already.

It didn’t take you long to open him up, but you did delight in watching the way his jaws went slack and drool slid freely from his lips as he tilted his head back and keened with pleasure as you hit that spot inside him that made him jolt and jerk with searing pleasure.

His body began to quake and quiver in minutes, and soon he was writhing and snapping his maw shut, his blind eyes rolling closed as his hands searched for you amid his pleasure. “Please,” he rasped. “Please…”

With a grin you slicked your own achingly hard cock with oil and then lined yourself up with him. Again, his tail snaked between your legs as he lay on his back, and he started to caress your balls as you eased yourself into him. He was still so tight that it took you a while to enter him completely, but when he raised his hips and finished the job for you, the pair of you let out matching moans.

Mhorrin went rigid with the pleasure of it and you felt the heat of his insides clench around you, almost daring you to come then and there.

“Fuck…” you breathed, bending low over him, adjusting to the grip he held on you.

“That’s… the idea…” he grunted. “Isn't it?”

With a hoarse laugh, you started to move, enjoying the slide of your cock inside him, watching him coming undone with each thrust, until he was shaking and whimpering. “Oh by Fate…” he cursed suddenly, “I’m… I’m going… I’m…” he cried and suddenly he was overcome, his body convulsing, his hands gripping your forearms as he curled his spine towards you, his abs clenching, his body rocking and jolting with the force of his release. His cock - untouched - spurted over his abs and chest, and he almost howled as he came.

Three more thrusts and you too were coming, emptying yourself inside him with a breathless gasp as your vision went white. Falling forwards over him, you lay there with him, gasping and still twitching, until he brought his strange hands to your back and traced idle lines up and down your spine.

Eventually you shifted, sticky and spent, and staggered towards the washstand in the corner of the room to fetch a cloth for him and for yourself.

Even cleaning him elicited similar groans of pleasure from him, and before you knew it, he was getting hard again, and despite your exhaustion from the day and from your first round, you felt the same awakening in your own body.

Silently, you moved your hand back to his cock and he jerked and whimpered.

“Yes?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yes… Please, yes…”

—

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#fae #changeling #male fae #exophilia #fae x reader #mlm #male monster x male reader #male fae x male reader

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queenbirbs · 4 years ago

Text

the way home | Ch. 3 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 3,417

Warnings: language, violence, mention of blood

Read from the beginning or continue on Read on AO3

Tag list: @writinghereandthere ------

Whatever Robert says or does against Rhodes seems to work.

For the next week, as they hop from island to island, he gives Elena a wide berth. It doesn’t stop the death glares he gives her on the regular, but she’ll take those over him dropping a sack over her head and kidnapping her, as her nightmares depict.

He can’t ruin today, though. The next outpost is St. Sylvain -- finally, a place where Elena has contacts of her own. Well, Charlie’s, she considers, which brings that familiar rush of heartache. She misses her best friend; misses her snarky, carefree attitude; misses her crude jokes and compassionate heart. Though Robert tries with his sarcastic tongue, he can never measure up to Charlie’s quick wit.

As soon as the ship docks, Elena is off, flapping a hand at Robert’s reminder to only ask for information from those she trusts. Down the gangplank and across the port, she makes her way into the open-air market and searches along the rows of brightly-colored stalls. As if no time has passed, Bronte leans out from her own stall and waves at her as she approaches.

“Ah, the fiercest pirate in all the seven seas!” she crows, her wrinkles creasing as she grins. “You’re Charlotte’s friend, aren’t ya? She’s been looking all over for ya.”

“She has?” Elena asks, tightly clenching the leather strap across her chest.

“O’course. She was here…” she trails off, tapping a finger against her stall as if counting up the days in her head. “...oh, sometime before the big storm. Was makin’ her rounds of the place, askin’ if ye’d been around.”

“Did she say where she was headed?”

“Afraid not.” Settling her weight across the table, she opens her mouth, then pauses to squint at something along the market. Elena glances over her shoulder, but spots nothing of interest among the crowded stalls. “But here -- let me give ye something.”

Bronte bends down and heaves up a basket of what looks like knitting supplies, clicking her tongue as she digs through it. Sweeping her hair to one shoulder, Elena keeps watch of the market until the older woman hums a noise of victory. She pulls out a makeshift cross, bound with red thread. “‘Tis made from the twigs of a Rowan tree. Keep it on yer person. It’ll offer ye protection from evil spirits on yer journey.”

Given her recent history, Elena’s made a point to avoid picking up any old object. But she doesn’t want to seem rude, and who is she to argue against something that will bring protection? Taking the charm, she tucks it into the pocket of her coat.

“Thank you -- for the protection, and for speaking with me.”

Bronte smiles at her once more. “If I see young Charlotte, I’ll be sure to send her yer way.”

------

The rest of the day is a wash.

Her stop by the St. Sylvain Inn to speak with Mary takes the better part of an hour. Most of that time, however, is taken up by helping Mary toss out an unruly guest. What little chance at conversation they manage to have, Elena finds that her knowledge about Charlie’s whereabouts is limited.

“She asked if I’d seen you, actually.” Mary’s face brightens at the memory, before she bites at her lip and frowns. “But this was months back. Certainly well before the hurricane.”

At the blacksmith’s, Elena wanders around the shop as the man there speaks with a customer. They hem and haw over the fine details of a new gate, going back and forth about prices. She bides her time by looking at a row of gleaming blades. One of the daggers catches her eye for the level of details carved along the hilt; it reminds her of the pistol Charlie gave her, all those years ago. The customer eventually leaves, having refused such a high cost for ‘such subpar craftsmanship.’

“What can I do for ye, ma’am?” the blacksmith calls out to her, wiping away the sweat on his face. “Interested in anything?”

Elena leaves the wares and crosses the room to be heard above the roar of the forge. “No, sorry. I was wondering if Tripp was working today?”

The blacksmith turns back to his project, tapping at a piece of glowing metal with his hammer. “He don’t work here no more.”

“Oh. Do you know where he works now, then?”

“No.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“Do you know where I can--”

He slams the hammer down and a burst of hot sparks flares up into her face. The sword is in her hand and at his throat before she realizes it -- and before the man has the attempt to lift the hammer in defense.

“Listen, alright.” He licks his lips and eyes the sword’s gleaming edge. “He left about three months ago. Said that he was going to try and head back home.”

“Where’s that?” she snaps, though she eases the sword back a few inches to give him the illusion of space.

“I don’t-- maybe, maybe St. Fisher, or England. I dunno, I never asked. All I know is that he went off, and I haven’t seen ‘im since.”

Elena flicks her sword away and slides it back into its scabbard, suppressing her smirk at the man’s audible breath of relief. Brushing past another woman on her way out, she starts her trek back to the market to try any other of Charlie’s contacts. She’s nearly reached the main drag when there’s a voice from behind her.

“Is yer name Elena Montgomery?”

Elena spins around to face the stranger. It’s the woman from the shop, her auburn hair matted to her neck from the heat -- and, presumably, from chasing Elena down. Her accent is similar to Kendrick’s, her voice low and rich.

“It is. And you are…?”

“Oh, sorry -- I’m Fran.” She shifts the satchel she carries from one shoulder to the other, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, too, for chasing after you like that. I saw you at the inn, talking with Mary. Are you looking for Edward Mortemer?”

“I am.”

“I just met a lad who talked about doing business with him.”

“When?”

“Two hours ago or so, I think. I was out near the market and we struck up a--”

“No, when did he see Edward?” Elena clarifies.

“Oh.” Fran’s nose scrunches up as she tries to recall. “I think he mentioned it was o’er the summer? I’m not for certain. I can take you to him -- if he’s still at his stall.”

It’s too good to be true. After weeks of searching, a lead like this doesn’t just fall into her lap. She would be a fool to go with some random woman, despite how cute she is. But she can’t turn her back on an opportunity like this.

“Yes, please,” she all but begs.

Fran guides her through the streets, clearly a local in her knowledge on how to avoid the congested areas. She isn’t much for talking, which Elena appreciates, as she’s too caught up in her own thoughts. Even if this man saw Edward over the summer, does that mean it was here, or somewhere across the globe? If it was over in Portugal or the Philippines, then what the hell is she supposed to do? What if she returned too late? What if Edward, Charlie, and the crew were one of the twelve ships lost in the storm? Elena fiddles with the necklace, worrying the chain in between her fingers. She knows the risk of using the whistle again -- but she will, if it means saving their lives from such a fate.

“That’s a pretty charm you have there,” Fran says, breaking the silence between them. “A bit odd-looking, but pretty.”

“Thanks.” Feigning a smile, Elena tries to subtly tuck it back into her shirt.

They reach the market soon enough. Along with Bronte’s, most of the stalls are boarded up or packed away. Out in the harbor, strong winds batter at the ships’ flags and rigging. Thick clouds roll along above the island, warning them of the approaching storm. Across the horizon, lightning dances atop the white-capped waves. Fran continues down to a covered section of the wharf, shadowed by a large building for ship repairs.

“Tommy! You still here?” she calls out as they round the next corner.

Tucked back along the building are a few more stalls. Their choice in location isn’t lost on Elena. This is where other sorts of deals take place. If it weren’t obvious from the grizzled men that leer at them, the crates of pistols, bolts of fine lace, and casks of wine are enough of a statement on their own.

“Aye, I’m here.”

Dread rings its alarm bell loud and clear inside her skull when Rhodes steps out from the group of men. From the corner of her vision, Elena sees several more men approach her from behind. “Very good,” Rhodes croons at Fran, dropping a few coins into her waiting palm.

“I also snagged us this. Figured we could rough it up a bit and pass it off as the Bonnie Prince’s.” From her satchel, she pulls out the dagger Elena eyed at the shop. “And that charm she’s wearin’, that could go for a fair bit o’ coin.”

The roof groans under the sudden onslaught of rain. Shoddy patch jobs let some of the water through, soaking the dry earth under their feet. Taking the blade from Fran, Rhodes tosses it between his hands, eyeing Elena all the while. That crooked smirk of his widens.

“Fran speaks the truth, ya know. I spoke with your captain not long before the storm. He told me a lovely tale about how he’s sailed the world looking for his love. It brought tears to my eyes, it really did.”

“Touching,” Elena all but spits back at him. She lifts her chin to keep her eyes on his. Her hand hovers above her sword’s hilt.

“Too many heartless bastards out there, he said, trying to pull one over on ‘im.”

Her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline. “And you’re going to be different?”

“O’course. He’s been chasing after lies for far too long. The lad wants proof.” Rhodes strikes; he throws an arm across her chest and slams her back into the wall. Her face smacks against the rough stone; she tastes blood on her tongue. “So, I’m going to slice off one of those pretty fingers of yers, and if he don’t respond to that, I’ll keep sending him more until he--”

Elena spits in his face. He reaches to wipe it away and she ducks under his hold, using the muddy ground to slide from his next punch. Knocking his arm away, she slams her fist against his kidneys. Rhodes collapses to one knee and growls out a long string of curses.

“Send him one of yours instead,” she snarls.

Swiping the dagger from his hand, she twirls it and grips it tight before seizing his other hand. The blade slices clean through three of his fingers. His howl of pain disappears under a loud clap of thunder.

“You fucking--”

His insult never lands. With a quick snap of her knee, she knocks his head into the wall. He collapses in a heap, mottled with blood and muck. Elena bends down and wipes the blade on a clean patch of his shirt.

When she stands up, she finds Fran gone and the other men watching her from a few yards back. Sliding her new dagger into the sheath at her breast, she throws the men a mock salute and heads out into the storm.

------

She’s woken by the smell of blood.

Her hand goes up to attend to her nosebleed before she realizes the scent is a memory from her nightmare, the last dredges of it lingering in the confines of her quarters. Not wanting her bunkmates to wake to the sound of her crying, Elena climbs out and heads for the deck. With the skeleton crew this late at night, she has no trouble sneaking past them to reach her corner of solitude at the stern.

If she closes her eyes, she can pretend she’s aboard the Revenge. The salty ocean breeze and the rhythmic swaying of the ship could fool her so easily. When she opens her eyes, though, there is no Henry badgering her about trying his latest creation; no Charlie sauntering up with a bottle of rum; and no Edward drawing invisible lines between the stars to teach her the constellations.

The same stars she’s looking up at now, knowing that somewhere out there across the sea, he might be gazing at them, too.

The small pinpricks of light start to grow fuzzy. Elena folds her arms against the railing and buries her head in them, trying to muffle her crying. The idea of spending another month chasing after Edward is frustrating to no end. If this was her own time, she could just hunt him down on social media or track him down with a PI. Maybe it would be better if she planted her ass down on an island and waited for him, at this rate.

“Are you bawling because you killed him?”

Elena jolts up in surprise. Her ribs smack against the railing. Rubbing a hand over them to soothe the ache, she turns and glowers at Robert.

“I don’t remember inviting you to my pity party.”

“You didn’t. I crashed it.” Moving to stand beside her, he spends a long minute overlooking the dark ocean in front of them. Once she’s finished with trying to hide her tears, he asks again. “So, did you?”

“No.”

“A shame.”

Captain Delaney was the only one to ask about Rhodes when he didn’t return. When no one else responded, Robert mentioned that he decided to take a position on another ship. The lie -- and the fact that no one cared all that much for the man anyway -- seemed to work. Delaney promoted another sailor to Rhodes’s position, and that was that.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Elena laments, not-so-subtly wiping her tear-stained sleeve against her face. “This woman approached me and said she had information about Edward. I was baited -- hook, line, and sinker.”

His hands clench tight around the railing. “Love can make you do stupid things.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Aye, actually, I am.”

“Bullshit,” she says. “You’ve never once mentioned someone important. You only wanted to come back for the freedom, the adventure -- you said so yourself. And I understand that, I really do. The adventure is why I stayed in the first place. I could’ve snuck into Edward’s cabin or seduced him for the compass like that,” she snaps her fingers for emphasis, ignoring Robert’s snort of disbelief. “But once I had the chance… I stayed. It became about more than the thrill of it.”

“Why is it that you younguns think love is only for the thirty-and-under crowd?”

“‘Younguns’?” Elena repeats with a grimace.

“I was trying out some of yer Texas slang.”

“Nobody says that.” When he opens his mouth to protest, she holds up a hand. “Okay, nobody who didn’t fight in the fucking Alamo. But -- seriously, I want to know. Is there someone…?” she trails off, encouraging him to open up.

Robert lets out a long, ragged sigh before digging into his coat. The compass in his hand is set into a simple wooden box, much less ornate than the previous one. Cradling the compass close to shield it from the wind, he digs a fingernail into a hidden switch and a small compartment slides open from the bottom. A twist of raven-colored hair falls into his palm, tied with a tiny length of twine. He traces his thumb across the coarse texture, his breathing unsteady.

“His name is Julien. We met in Panama City while searching for Sir Francis Drake’s treasure that he stole from the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción. Though we never did find the gold, we ended up running a ship together and stealing some of our own.” Without glancing down, Robert slips the lock of hair back into the compartment and snaps it closed. It’s telling how reflexive it is, as if he repeats the move a hundred times a day. “We didn’t want to deal with the Spanish anymore than we had to, so we sailed to St. Lucia. ‘Twas run by France at the time, and our contact out there bragged about running a smuggling route right under their noses. But when we arrived, we found him in a gibbet. He’d been there a good while. Julien only knew ‘twas him from the ugly, purple trousers he wore.”

Having seen the skeletons hanging along some of the ports, Elena is thankful she missed seeing the late stages of decomposition. “Not long after, we were captured by the French. We managed to escape, but were forced to separate in order to get our crew out. Being French himself, Julien had a better chance at disguising himself as a local. The last I saw of him was when he went back in to retrieve Charlie. And then,” he pauses to clear his throat, “she came out and he didn’t, and we had to escape the island or risk getting caught all over again. And his attempts would’ve been for nothing.”

Elena wants nothing more than to wrap her friend in a hug. Knowing that he’s not big on physical touch, though, she gives what comfort she can by placing her hand alongside his on the railing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“O’course you didn’t, because I never told you. Even in the future, there are places where our relationship would be met with the business end of a pistol.” Robert shrugs at the idea, but she can see in the set of his jaw how angry it makes him. “But even after I gained your trust and you told me about your past relationships, I felt like I still needed to keep him a secret. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Tell me about him,” she requests.

With a quiet chuckle, Robert shakes his head.

“There isn’t enough time in the day to describe him, and I’m not one to wax poetic. But he is… kinder than me, certainly. A better shot than me, too. He’s the one who taught Charlie everything she knows. The chain I gave you, that’s for him.” He puts a hand up when Elena immediately reaches up to return it. “No, no -- that whistle is much too important. The chain isn’t the… I’ve already gotten a new one. I was hoping -- I have my grandfather’s ring that I would like him to wear. If he agrees, o’course.”

She suppresses the smile that wants to form at seeing Robert flustered.

“You’re referring to him in the… do you know if he’s alive? Where he is?”

“The last confirmed sighting of him was three years ago in Curaçao, a small island off the coast of Venezuela.”

Her brows knit together as she studies him. “Then why are you here, in the north?”

His shoulders sag with the weight of his sigh, though she can see the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.

“Because I made you a promise, remember? Last year, when we tried our hand at stealing the sceptre from the Crown Room. The only reason I’m not locked up in some Scottish ‘House of Special Purpose’ is because you came back for me. And I told you that I would stay by yer side until we found Edward.”

“I mean, if I had left you there, you would’ve just ratted me out as an accomplice.”

That gets a proper laugh from him. “True enough, but I’ll wager the thought never crossed yer mind, did it, kid?” Her small shrug is enough of a confirmation for him. “Julien’s somewhere out there, waiting for me,” he assures. “The man has the patience of a saint. So, I’ll be sticking with you ‘til then. Make sure you get home safe and all that.”

Annoyed at the night’s second round of tears trying to make their appearance, Elena keeps her eyes on the whitecaps in the distance.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” In a rare show of friendship, Robert knocks his elbow against hers and jostles her from the railing. “Seriously, don’t. I do have a reputation to uphold.”

------

References:

The “House of Special Purpose” is another name for the Ipatiev House, where Emperor Nicholas II, his family, and members of their household were executed in 1918. To my knowledge, there is no Scottish version -- mostly because MI5 operates out of the Thames House in London.

#distant shores #edward x mc #edward mortemer #choices #distant shores fic #Kaila writes things #f: the way home

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themoonwatchess-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Hiraeth - 2

Chapter 2 - Our Our Friend, Death

Word Count: 5320

Warnings: Minor gore, swearing

---

Etna, California, the interstate sign reads. Three hours we've been stuffed in this car. Three hours I've been itching to at least walk around... and I'm in desperate need to relieve my bladder. Chester's fingers drum against the leather of the steering wheel, he must be ready to stop for the day too. There's a certain... drowsiness you get after being in the car for so long, your body just begs to lie down after being stuck and crammed in this small car for so long.

"Do you think Etna'll be a nice city or a trashy one?" Chester asks me suddenly, my brain is half asleep and barely registers the question. All I can do is shrug and make the 'I dunno' sound.

"I just hope they have a motel we can stay at."

"Every place has a motel, Brad," He side eyes me from his seat, "We've stayed in abandoned ones before, too, remember?"

"I know," I look down at my feet, "Just forget I said anything."

His eyes glance over me, I can feel their stare. My cheeks burn from exhaustion and how humiliating it is to run away from ourselves like this. Our car stays to the right, merging off the interstate and on to a local highway. Nothing but farmland for miles to see, we're still a ways away from Etna, another good twenty-minute drive, maybe. Corn stalks dart along the highway, they're close to being ready for harvest. Either that or they're already prepping for a Halloween corn maze this year. Maybe it's the latter.

"I wish we had some red beans right now," Chester breaks the silence of the drive, "It is Monday, after all."

It's a tradition for him to eat red beans with a hunk of cornbread thrown in the middle every Monday. He said it was what everyone did down in Louisiana, you'd let the beans soak up some spices while you did laundry. Monday was laundry day too, he told me before. The beans would be nice and soft by the time the chores of the day would be done. I don't understand it, I'm not a Cajun man, but I know better than to break him of his culture.

"I doubt they'll have any," I respond, "Maybe... Maybe we should... go down South after we finish off Washington."

"Maybe," He flattens his lips together, "It's... it's different down there."

I don't ask what he means, he doesn't speak too much of his home. He always says something cryptic about it, said the swamp would swallow you whole if you get lost or how the people who live nearest the river were cursed, practicing voodoo to hex the nearby children. Weird, if our lives weren't so crazy ourselves, I would tell him he was being a fool for believing such fairytales.

Slowly, as we drive, more and more buildings begin to pop up. First, there are just a couple of farmhouses, then a service station, then comes to more residential areas. Next thing you know, we're here in Etna. There's not much to say for it, not the city. But the views are amazing, a mountain looms in the distance, visible from every section of the city. I can't take my eye off the white peak of the mountain and how the clouds mimic the shape of the snow that coats parts of the mountain. The rocks are dark, angry looking against the snow. Below the mountain peak is a dense forest, the trees stand tall and dark against the pristine colored snow. I'm lost in the feeling of homeyness that the surroundings give me, I don't even realize the vehicle had come to a stop until Chester opened up his car door.

"You're a weird one, Brad," He half-snorts while looking back at me. He bends down to look at me, still sitting dumbfounded in my car seat.

He doesn't understand the sense of nostalgia I get from being so close to nature. He was born in the deep south. No, not the type of South you're thinking, not the hill-billy tractor lovers, but the God-fearing people of the bayou; the real southerners. He grew up in the outskirts of New Orleans, his small city was entrenched by the swamp. The only trees he knew were the magnolias or the moss-covered cypresses whose roots were engulfed by the muddy waters of the bayou. His vision of nature will always be that of the swampy, musky bayou of his home, not the leaf daubed hearth of the northern forests.

"As weird as they come," I reply back tonelessly. I follow my boyfriend's footsteps and exit the vehicle, slamming the car door shut. Chester winces as I use a bit too much force in doing so, he reminds me suddenly of how much he loves this car.

A local walks by the hood of our car dressed dapperly in a suit and tie. The jacket of his suit reflects a cool, pastel blue, it mimics the color of the afternoon sky. He wears a fedora the color of a cloud, he lifts his hand to tip the front of his cap.

"Yer new around here?" He asks. I realize now that Etna must be a small city. I glance over at the streets, most people wave to one another as they walk down the sidewalk. Close knitted communities are the worst for me. You're an easy target in them. Everyone knows each other and we're the outsiders, if something bad happens, all fingers will be pointed at us.

"We just came in from Redding," Chester smiles warmly at the man, "We were hoping there was a place to stay—"

"Oh, no worries! No worries!" The man has a booming voice, a peal of half-hearted laughter follows his words, "There's 'n old inn down the road, two little ladies run it. Nef and Frankie. They'd be happy t' help sum folks like y'all."

I'm a little confused on why we're in Northern California and this guy speaks like he's from Texas. Maybe he's new in town too, maybe we're not that much of an outsider here.

"Oh," Chester's smile grows flaccid, he nods with the man's words. His outward personality is... disturbing for me. Extroverted people are too... too nosey, love to talk when all I want to do is leave, "Well, I guess we'll be headed that wa—"

"Before y'all leave," The holds his hands up to stop us from going back to the car, "I'd like t' welcome you officially to Etna. Hope ye two stay fer long."

Maybe he's the mayor, that's why he's greeting us as we entered the city.

"Thanks," I speak up, half-assedly. He catches wind of my reclusiveness and quirks a brow. Chester shoots me a glare for sounding so rude towards him, but nonetheless, we buckle back up in our car.

Chester breathes a sigh as we back out of a parking space and head towards the aforementioned hotel— motel, whatever the fuck that guy was saying. I'm already getting a weird vibe from this place, I have half the mind to tell Chester to drive off and we can find a bigger city to hide out in. We're too easy to... spot... Newcomers in this old town that has seen many generations come and go.

We pull into the parking lot of the building named 'Two Sister's Lodge', the sign is worn and faded of color, but the rest of the building seems to be pretty good, aesthetic wise. I'd consider it on the nicer side of hotels we have stayed at so far. Chester wraps his hand around mine, rubbing his thumb over the top of my hand. I look up at him, he's smiling innocently like he always does. I return the gesture and my cheeks dimple at him. We walk hand and hand to the entrance of the hotel and to the front desk. Sure enough, as the sign indicates, two sisters sit at the front desk greeted us with bright friendly smiles.

"Welcome to the Two Sisters Lodge," The lady nearest the desk speaks first. Her hair is dark, her skin is sunkissed and browned, but she wears the color well, "Would you like a room?"

Her name tag reads 'Nef,' her smile is soft and small, yet genuine at heart. She has an... herby smell to her. Pitching together her half-squinted eyes and the bubbly appearance of her attitude, I piece together that she's probably a pot smoker. Even if she were, I wouldn't care, she could be worse. One of our motel managers in a previous city ran a crack den in the back.

"How much do you charge?" Chester asks, not like it matters. Our credit cards get ditched every month, we leave and make new identities before anyone can catch up to us.

"Twenty bucks a night," The other lady says, she seems more... unwelcoming than the other lady. Her skin is pale, pale as the snow that sits atop the mountain, dark circles cover her eyes, "Maid comes in every day to clean the sheets, pick up dirty towels. We've got laundry in house, too."

She wears her hair in a loose, sloppy braid, it rests on her back and follows down her spine. She reminds me of how Chester used to be when I first met him. Unwelcoming on the outside but an actual cutie on the inside. Maybe she just needs someone to help crack her. I assume she must be Frankie, she doesn't wear a name tag, but her outfit fits the color scheme of the hotel and Nef's, so it's obvious she works here too.

"Oh," Chester mumbles, his gaze finds mine. We speak nonverbally, I nod ever slightly, "We'll take a room, then."

"Great," The first sister speaks, "We've got two Queen's beds or two twins--"

"We're sharing a bed," I speak up, her eyes widen at my response and she's left speechless for the moment. I curse myself for saying that, maybe this city is fucking homophobic like some we've stayed in. My worries are put to rest as she offers a kind smile, she writes down something on the nearby ledger before speaking to us again.

"No biggie," She ways it off, "We've got a Queen room, you can see the mountain from the window. Beautiful view."

"Yeah, that'll work," Chester purses his lips as he thumbs around in his pocket for that worn down leather wallet. He flips it open once it is in his hand and pulls out the red credit card. The card holder's name is some guy we made up, 'Chesney Bealleux', it matches our fake IDs for the month. He slides the plastic card across the desk towards Nef, she hands the card to Frankie over her shoulder. Frankie rings up a number on the cash register, dust settles across the keys and fly into the air as she presses the buttons. She hands Nef the credit card and then she slides it back to us, along with a key card.

"Your room is on the second floor, sweeties," Nef smiles, "Stairs are just down that hall. And You just call if you need anything, alright?"

"Wait—" Frankie calls out before Chester and I can walk over to the stairs, "I just wanted to let you know, there's a corn fest going on tonight. It's free and they got free food. You two look like you could benefit from it."

"Do we look that bad?" I tease her, a rose blush quickly fills out her cheeks at my remark. I feel bad, she looks unsettled by my joke, "I'm kidding, what time does it start?"

"It's no big deal," Her words are spoken lowly now, "It starts at six, ends a little before sunset. Somebody said they're having an afterparty when the sun sets though, lots of beer. Plus, uh, y'all been in a car for lord knows how long, it might help you unwind."

"We'll see," Chester intrudes, "We've had a long day, might wanna just sit and relax for tonight."

"Oh, well," She shrugs harshly, "Nef and I will be there, we'd hope to see you goons there."

"You don't even know our names," I speak barely audibly, but she picks up on the words.

"Well," She rolls her eyes, "Let's introduce ourselves— I'm Frankie, that's Nef."

"I'm Brad," I motion towards myself before pointing a finger to my lover, "That's Chaz."

"Nice to meet you." Chester waves with his child-like innocence.

They're... more hospitable than most people we've met in our travels. A welcomed change, for sure. Part of me screams to be elusive like always, but I lock that part away and give in to my human need to socialize.

"So," Nef joins the conversation once again, "Where you two from?"

"Los Angeles." Chaz answers.

That was the truth, it was in Los Angeles that this began. It was Los Angeles where we forged our love. It was Los Angeles that I was attacked by that creature and lay victim to its curse. It was a good home while it lasted, the city suckled and nursed my childhood. It adopted Chester many years ago too. At times I wonder if it will ever welcome us back.

"What're city folk like you two doing in a small town like this?" Frankie knits her brow at Chester's response.

"Got tired of the city life," I answer for Chester, "We don't like to be confined."

She mouths an 'oh' before giving a gentle nod of her head. Her lips tug upwards as another gentle smile warps her lips.

"Seems reasonable," She half-chuckles, "City life just isn't for everybody. That's why I like Etna, it's very calm and quiet. Nothin' bad ever happens here."

"Ever?" I quirk a brow. More guilt creeps in, I remember now that the full moon rises tonight, something wicked might happen tonight.

"Think the only fucked up thing that's happened here was a kidnappin' back in '82, but it all turned out fine."

"Oh," I murmur, "That's... not good—"

"Mmm," She shrugs, "It happens, I guess. But we're a quiet town. I hope y'all stay long."

I frown quietly, I know we will probably have to leave again tomorrow. That's just our fate now, every month is the same. Sometimes we have to leave more, barely staying a week in a city before people catch the drift of us.

"Yep," Chester pops the p, "Well it's starting to get a little late— I think Brad 'n' I are gonna head up to our rooms now if that's alright—"

"Of course, sure," She nods, "Y'all just call us if you need something."

We wave goodbye before we turn towards the hallways. Chester intertwines our fingers as we walk together, he squeezes my palm lightly like he's afraid to lose me. I look over at him with a loving gaze, he makes me forget the worries of the day.

The stairwell is eerie, dimly lit and the stairs creak as you walk up to them. Creepy, reminds me of some stupid 80's horror movie Chester would make me watch every month. He would always bicker at me to just sit and enjoy the movie, but they're always the same.

Chester looks over at me, a shit-eating grin pinned on his lips. He squeezes my hand again, forcing me to look up at him.

"You still owe me a fancy dinner, Brad." He chokes up.

"Whatever," I roll my eyes playfully, "Don't think they'll have any special restaurants here unless you consider Waffle House fancy."

"Waffle House is good, Brad, you wouldn't understand," He adds with a shake of his head, "That was fine dining when I was a kid—"

"That's 'cause all you guys had was a Waffle House—"

"Mmmm, yeah but— It was still very good."

I playfully shove him with my elbow as we reach the top of the stairwell. He opens the door that leads towards the rooms, he extends his arms to tell me to walk in first. The hallway is just as dim as the stairwell, reminds me again of those shitty horror movies. I grab on to Chester's hand again before we continue down the hall. After a moment or two of stumbling around, we finally come to our hotel room. Chester puts the key in the lock, the lock is a bit rusted and it takes a couple of jams to get it open.

Our room is... cleaner than expected. No dust, no bugs. Hell, not even a fucking cobweb. Chester sets our holdall down in the corner, his footsteps sound the empty room. Paper thin walls, fucking great. You can ever every little bump we make, every step and the slightest cough. Chester turns suddenly, facing me.

"Is this okay?" Concern fills his words, his skin pale of color. His eyes are gloss, red lines fill the white area of his eyes, showing the numberless sleepless nights. Tonight is going to be another sleepless night for him.

"This'll do," I force a smile but Chester knows me better, he can see right through me. His features drop and a feeling of guilt washes over, "Chester, it'll do. Don't worry."

"I always worry—"

"I know you do," I huff, blinking my eyes hard in response. I run into his arms, letting his worry wash away as I wrap him in my loving arms, "It's okay."

"What're we gonna do tonight?" He whispers into my ear, I feel his lip tremble against my earlobe. The full moon rises tonight, only a few hours of being human remains for me today.

"We do what we always do," I speak, "Lock yourself in the bathroom and... let me... let me change."

He sighs, though the energy he conveys is one of relief, not fear. We've done this long enough, he worries not about the other people, but instead, he worries about me. He worries I'll end up dead in a ditch, some hunter might come out and spray me with buckshot. He's even made theories of vampires eating me alive. Do vampires even exist?

"Okay," He breathes heavily again, "Okay... Just... Try and be safe tonight, yeah?"

I nod, though we both know I have no control over that outcome. He pulls away from my hold, I watch as he shrinks in his clothes.

"Let's just... Maybe we should— nap or something."

I pose the thought, Chester immediately shoots it down with a forcibly shake of his head. Too much anxiety and adrenaline drums in his blood, it would be hard for him to relax until tomorrow morning when he can wake me up from unconsciousness.

"I don't think I'll sleep," His head falls limp against his shoulders, "You should, though."

"I won't sleep unless you do, babe," I watch as his lips pull into a sneaky smile, he loves when I call him 'babe', "We could just—"

"We could cuddle."

"Oh?" He suddenly takes my hand and forcibly drags me to the bed, "I mean— I don't have anywhere to be... so—"

He doesn't really wait for me to give my verbal consent, he knows I always love to have sweet moments with him. I feel giddy, my heart throbs in my chest.

He gently pushes me down against the comforter. His body shifts on top of mine before he rolls over to the opposite side of the bed. He scoots close to me, our noses touch together, we Eskimo kiss. I bring my hand up and touch his thin cheek, I lean forward and let my lips grace against his. He pushes his lips out so they touch mine, our noses bump into each other. I curse our big noses.

"I love you, Chaz," I murmur into his lips, "More than anything."

"I love you too, Brad," Another kiss follows those words, "I wish we didn't have to live like this. Wish we could just be happy."

I smile though he pegs out the hints of guilt that hide behind my lips. He frowns suddenly, blaming himself for saying such a thing.

"I'm always happy when I'm with you," I touch our lips together once more, I linger near his mouth for a hint of a second, "As long as we're together, Chaz, then we're happy."

He beams towards me, his coffee-stained teeth shine in the dark hotel room. He gets even closer to me, our chests touch together, we can feel each other's heartbeats. They drum as one, finalizing just how much we love one another. I wrap my arms around his skinny figure, he feels brittle in my touch. His own arms stretch and his hands come to caress my cheek. His touch is holy, something that deserves worship. I am the saint in his temple, I cherish his every movement, every touch, every whisper that falls off his lips. All are like a heavenly dream. Perhaps he's the only thing that keeps me only a turn away from becoming a true monster.

He mouths the words 'I love you', a droopiness in his eyes tells me he's ready for a nap. Maybe our little affectionate moment gave him a moment of peace so he could slip into sleep. I reach forward and kiss his forehead and by the time I retract, his eyes are closed and his breathing slow.

"Love you, Chester."

A smile creeps on his lips as the words leave my tongue. A calm before the storm. He shows me his vulnerability, he trusts me with his life, he trusts me enough to see him at his weakest. It had been like this since the day we fell in love since he professed to me the feeling he had. I will never forget that day. I will never forget how our lips danced together that night.

The night approaches, an ache settles deep in my bones. The moon rises soon. I sit on the foot of the bed, my eyes watch over the sleeping figure of my lover. He sleeps in a fetal position, a shiver quivers through him from how cold it is. I hate having to wake him from his peaceful slumber, but I have no choice. He has to be somewhere safe. I lay back down on my spine, my body turns to face my lover. I bring my hand up and softly shake him, hoping he'd be easily awoken.

"Chester," I simper, "Chester, honey—"

He whines before rolling over in the bed, he takes a fist full of the comforter and pulls it over his head. He's like a child sometimes. I try and take the covers off him, but his grip on them is strong. With a sigh, I decide to take more drastic measures. I shake him with a little more force, chanting his name a number of times so he finally wakes.

"WHAT?" He cries out before immediately coming to his sense, "Oh—"

"It's almost time," I whisper. I watch as he rubs his weary eyes, a yawn leaps from his throat, "You've got to—"

"I know, I know," He smacks his lips together while stretching his arms out. He lets the appendage fall limp on top of the comforter, "Be safe."

I force a smile, my eyes turn glossy as the usual guilt from our situation hits me at full force. This is our life now. He chose to stay with me, a fucking freak. I suck on my teeth while I watch my boyfriend finally rise from the bed. He shambles over to my side of the bed, I rise from my spot and instinctively wrap my arms around him in a tight hug. I feel the pain that besets him, as I'm sure he can feel mine too. I let silent tears fall and coat his sleeping shirt. He pulls away from me, his hand caresses my cheek for only a second before he finally leaves to lock himself somewhere safe.

There was no use in trying to lock me up, I always escape. The last time we tried to secure me, it almost cost Chester his life. I broke down a door and trashed the whole room trying to claw at him. I couldn't fucking live with myself if I ever even laid a finger on him with the intention to harm him. So instead, Chester chooses to hide away so the beast won't sense him. It puts others at risk, but what else can we do?

And now, I sit alone in this dank hotel room, waiting for my body to take its unholy, primal form. Moonlight peaks through the paper-thin window shades, the pale light illuminates the room. My vision begins to fade as my mind starts to jumble and the unthinkable pain warps me.

~ ✦ ~

The forest knows death. From the dead leaves that paint the forest ground a musky, rotten brown, all the way to the carrion of freshly killed venison, not even stopping at the bare-boned carcass of a now unidentifiable animal. It never ends, the cycle of death, it continues and continues until we all are left as dust in the wind. Death perfumes the woods, the most primal scent in all of nature. The one thing that is certain in life, it is death.

Two bodies lay against the rotting leaves of the barren earth. Slash marks cover their bloodied bodies, throats torn and innards thrown askew. They weren't unfortunate victims to a starving wolf or bear. No, their meat remains untouched, uneaten. Killed for fun, killed for the thrill. A characteristic common within human nature, the need to feel superior and to give in to your dark urges. However, these markings are inhuman. No mortal man possesses the claws to tear this flesh, nor the strength to break these bones. No, these women were the victims of a supernatural creature, one that hunts when the full pale moon rises.

A tragedy, some would say, but this is just a normal part of life that the forest knows. The forest accepts death, it feeds generations of life. These women, though they lay dying and decaying, are ensuring the survival of many other creatures that call these woods their home. A crow drops down from a barren tree branch and perches down beside the carrion of the corpse. It takes a piece of flesh and eats, absorbing the energy that lays ready to be taken advantage of. The crow flies off suddenly, taking with it another pinch of carrion.

The moonlight has faded, the sky warms as the sun begins to tease along the skyline. Farmers are the first awake, they must tend their crops and slit the ground before another patch of rain comes through. The noise of farm machinery stirs some of the townsfolk who live on the outskirts of town, they are unhappily awoken. The day starts, as usual, children ready for school, parents prepare themselves for work. They are oblivious to the sin committed in the woods. That is until a duo of school children find one of the lady's bloodied jacket thrown far from the body. A metal name tag glistens in the sunlight, a blemish of a bloodstain rims the outer edge.

My lover, Chester, stirs me from my sleep. He gentles shakes my body until I wake, his eyes are glossy and filled with sympathy. No, no, I couldn't have done anything last night, but his eyes tell the whole story. I open my lips to say something, but no words fall out. I just sit there, staring up at my lover with a speechless expression.

"We have to leave," He drips the words into my ears, "I'm sorry."

"It happened again?" A rhetorical question, I know it will only keep happening until the day I die. Chester responds with a soft nod. He tries so desperately to mask his sorrow, he even forces the fakest smile I've ever seen him wear. Maybe he feels guilty for having to wake me up with this news, or he hates having to move so soon again.

"You should shower," He doesn't verbally respond to my question, only tries to change the subject, "You smell like a hound."

I ignore his little comment, only responding by raking him a glare. I stand from my spot on the hardwood floor, my bare body is covered in scar tissue. I wear the scars well, Chester has told me, but I hate every single one of them. I dig at myself during my time as a beast, these marks were from its-- my-- claws. I run my tongue across my teeth, the faint tang of the metallic liquid stings my tongue. I want to believe it is my own blood, but I know better.

I head for the shower, the metal from the showerhead is rusted and the whole bathroom smells like ammonia. I turn the nozzle to get some hot water, but it only gets as hot as lukewarm tap water. I step in, the water turns a pinkish hue as the blood that cascades my body joins with the water from the shower. Chester usually joins me in the shower, but I never let him in when the water runs red like a river of rubies. The water quickly turns cold, thankfully it gave me just enough time to wash the blood off my pale scarred skin. Chester waits outside the bathroom door, he jumps into my arms as I walk out.

"I'm sorry," He sniffles, "I know you hate leaving--"

"Don't be sorry," I move my hands up so I can hold his head, "The fault is mine."

He bottles up a whimper, but he quiets down. He grabs our holdall and we exit the hotel room. We travel down those same eerie steps, into the lobby-- only to find it completely empty. Chester looks over at me with that same look from this morning. It hits, it had to have been them. My lips tremble but I bite down on them to keep him from noticing their emotion. Chester stops walking, his arms wrap around my bone-thin body. He starts up with the mantra of words like 'it wasn't your fault,' 'I'm sorry,' and other white lies that'll keep me from tearing down myself for killing another innocent person.

"Let's just go," I huff. He releases my body and we continue to hurry down to the car before anyone suspects any foul play from us, "I'm ready to leave California."

Chester doesn't say anything as we reach the parking lot and enter our Camaro. A darkness hangs over him, he gets like this every time I kill. I wonder why he puts up with this, I wonder if he's just ready to end it all. He could be free from this right now if he wanted to, he could have me killed or he could just leave me stranded here. Either way, he'd never have to deal with this bullshit ever again. Yet, he loves me too much to leave.

Here we are again, the familiar interstate 5. She knows us well, we traveled her up and down for months now, it seems like every day we get closer and closer to meeting her end. The roads are empty, except for a few late stragglers on the work trail. We speed far away from Etna, it has become another city to feel our curse.

"Where to next?" I ask Chester.

"Ashland," He replies in a toneless way, "It's not too far."

We've traveled up and down California and finally, we have desecrated its entirety. Our next state is Oregon. I want to believe that this could be our last stop, that we won't have to keep running, but both Chester and I know that'll never happen because we can't escape ourselves that easily.

#hiraeth #our old friend death #werewolf #werewolves #runaways #mlm #fiction #story #second chapter #lgbt #supernatural #writers on tumblr #writing #original work #writeblr

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cordofhouses · 6 years ago

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And 22 for beastar ;D

22. Caught in a Storm

It had been a long and grueling trip through the countryside, riding a rattly cart full of luxurious goods and fussy merchants. Lonestar normally didn’t take up these kinds of tasks, but highway robbery had been on the rise in this area and swift delivery of justice was well needed. Despite horrid weather and minimal quality rest hours throughout the trip, she had managed to deter and arrest every aggressor along the way without any laying so much as a finger on the merchants carts. Until the last day of the trip.

Lonestar kept a tired gaze on the horizon as the cart trundled on. The top of a clock tower from the upcoming town was just visible. The grey clouds that haunted them the whole way were finally breaking over their destination- it seemed like a good omen. Dreams of the hot bath and soft bed she’d soon occupy dampened her vigilance long enough for an incident to happen. She was visibly startled when one of the merchants gasped. “Sheriff Lonestar! The back cart!”

Her fatigue vanished in an instant. She launched herself from the drivers seat before the merchant even finished speaking.

She heard a soft gasp of, “Lonestar!?” That voice wasn’t one of the merchants, but it was still a voice she recognized immediately. When Lonestar rounded the main carriage she came face to face with a wide-eyed Beatrice, caught in the act of unhitching the smaller back cart from the main one. A grey mule waited at the side of the road, not far from the dense brush that must have hidden it when the merchant caravan passed.

“Uh, heh, hey babe. What, uh, the hell are you doing here?” Beatrice was surprisingly short on witty remarks today- a sign that she’d been seriously caught off guard. That was fine, Lonestar didn’t have the energy for their normal banter anyway.

Lonestar lunged towards the back cart and Beatrice wasted no time abandoning the tools she had brought to quietly undo the cart hitchings. Beatrice dove into the cart through the front and by the time she scrambled out the back, she had managed to snag quite a few items. Even caught flat footed, she wouldn’t leave a scene empty-handed. Among her stolen goods were a carved jewelry box, an emerald green cloak, and an embroidered bag. With a sharp whistle, her get-away mule ambled onto the road and was in position for her to quickly mount. Lonestar yelled back to the merchants without stopping her pursuit, “Hitch the carts back up and go to town without me!”

Beatrice had some trouble spurring her mule into a gallop. While that helped Lonestar close the distance initially, Beatrice managed to get it running down the road at a canter. Adrenaline and determination kept Lonestar’s feet flying at an impressively close pace. She wasn’t born with long runners legs, but she’d taken up enough chases in her life to become a formidable pursuer all the same. It gave Beatrice a shock to see her still so close when she first turned around to check the distance. “What are you–?"

A peel of thunder interrupted her, giving her mule a bit of a start. The long sigh of the first rain drops followed soon after. Inspired, Lonestar fumbled for her whip as best she could without losing more distance. She wouldn’t be able to keep this pace- she had to stop the mule. She expertly slung the whip, cracking it as close to the mule as possible without hitting it directly. Each snap gave the creature a scare, causing it to jump or buck. Between Lonestar’s harassment and the increasingly heavy storm, it wasn’t long before Beatrice lost control and the beast clamored off the road to crash through the brush. It bounded through the woodlands with no consideration towards its rider, and Beatrice quickly had to abandon the saddle to avoid being clotheslined by low branches. It was not an elegant dismount- she just barely managed to land a roll to avoid injury, but was left muddy and a little scratched up.

Breathless, Lonestar caught up to Beatrice just as she got to her feet. Lonestar caught Beatrices arm in death grip. She had no strength left to properly apprehend her, though, and Beatrice could certainly tell, since she didn’t resist.

"Gods above, Lola, was all that worth saving a few trinkets?” Beatrice asked, a laugh in her voice. Lonestar slouched over as she caught her breath, planting her free hand on her knee. “You’re- huff huff - It’s about- huff huff-” She started and stopped a few more times before coughing and wheezing a bit. “Alright alright, just save your breath, babe, I know what you’re gonna say anyway.” Beatrice shook her arm until Lonestar released her grip on it. “C'mere,” Beatrice pulled the stolen emerald cloak around them and rested an arm around Lonestar’s shoulder. The cloak, it seems, was treated to be weather resistant. Lonestar glared at it when she realized the merchants had such things in their stock this whole time and didn’t deign to offer her one throughout the many rainy days she drove their cart.

Beatrice guided her through the woods so she could collect her mule- it hadn’t gone far once it realized it was no longer being chased. “Did you steal this mule too?” Was the first thing Lonestar said once her breath stabilized. She was still quite raspy.

“I borrowed him, and I really do mean borrowed.” Beatrice checked over the saddle to make sure it was still secure and undamaged from all the uproar. “Can we call a truce? I know a little place we can wait out the storm. You can confiscate my stolen goods later."

Lonestar fixed a hard stare on Beatrice and weighed her options. Beatrice climbed back into the saddle and extended a hand. Lonestar sighed."Mmm. No, I can make it back to town on foot… I suppose you won’t willingly turn yourself in, so I’ll just have to arrest you another time, but I can at least return the goods.”“Lolaaaa… C'mon… It’s cats and dogs out here.” Beatrice leaned down to brush errant wet strands of hair from Lonestar’s face. She paused, frowned, and then pressed her hand to Lonestar’s head. “Babe, you’re so hot.”“Flattery will get you no where.”“No, I mean- You’re burning up. Are you running a fever?”“Oh… Probably. I’ll sleep it off when I get back to town. The sooner you give me the stolen goods, the sooner I can get to an inn.”

Beatrice huffed. The mule shuffled about impatiently. “Fine, fine…” Beatrice held out the embroidered bag with both hands, one holding the cinched opening, the other supporting it from the bottom. “Careful, it’s pretty heavy.”But when Lonestar held out both hands to accept the bag, Beatrice suddenly scooped her up by armpits, hauling her onto the saddle. “Hey!” The mule ambled forward, made nervous by all of Lonestar’s squirming. “Sorry, Beloved, I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’m really not interested in having this argument in the rain.” Beatrice grumbled as she wrangled both the mule’s reins and an ornery girlfriend. Lonestar didn’t have much fight left in her, physically at least, and quickly settled into Beatrice’s arms.

Beatrice took them to a farmhouse not too far from the road. She explained, along the way, that she’d become friendly with the family that owned it and they would allow her to stay there when she needed. She played the part of a friendly courier when she was in this part of town- they weren’t knowing accomplices. This time of year, the family had finished their harvest for the season and stayed with relatives in town while they sold their crops. The house was empty when they arrived.

Beatrice shooed Lonestar into the house while she put the mule in the barn and unsaddled him. Lonestar hesitated to enter, but the cold air of dusk and her fatigue was putting up a fight against her stubbornness. Beatrice probably wasn’t lying about having permission to use the house. She was too familiar with the place for this to be a breaking and entering. Beatrice finished what she was doing before Lonestar even decided to enter.

“What are you waiting for? Did you space out? Let’s go on.” Lonestar sighed, resigned herself to going along with Beatrice’s plan, and entered the home. Beatrice got right to lighting a fire, while Lonestar sloughed off her wet clothes. Her underclothes were still damp, but she wasn’t about to walk around stark naked. She had just started wringing out her clothes into a bucket when Beatrice looked up from the fireplace. “Come on over, get yourself wa-” A grin suddenly crossed Beatrice’s lips as she looked over Lonestar. Then she remembered to finish her sentence, “warm."

Lonestar pouted and continued wringing out her clothes. Beatrice laughed, "So stubborn! I’ll dry your clothes for you, alright? Take care of yourself better.” “I’m well enough to do this,” Lonestar insisted.

Beatrice closed the distance between them and beckoned Lonestar to stand. Begrudingly, she stood to meet her. Beatrice flashed one of her winning smiles. “Then you’re well enough to help me out of my clothes too, right?” Lonestar’s scowl softened, and after just a moment of hesitation, she took hold of Beatrice’s jacket and helped her out of it. Beatrice chuckled under her breath. “You must be tired, you’re turning compliant.” “Oh, shut up.”Beatrice pulled her closer to the fire before allowing her to finish disrobing, then guided her to sit on the soft rug by the hearth. The cold rain and exhausting run had left her slightly numb, but now that the fire was thawing her she was newly aware of the toll the afternoon had taken on her body. Beatrice settled in behind her with a comb and began carefully unfurling what remained of her hair bun. “Babe, you should let your hair down more often,” Beatrice murmured close to her ear. It made her cheeks warm. Beatrice delicately stroked and ran her fingers through her hair long after she had freed it of tangles. Between the heat of the fire and Beatrice’s tender care, Lonestar was quickly lulled into a heavy sleep.

#crystalline-menace

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bike42 · 4 years ago

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Kentucky Derby Weekend April 29 – May 2, 2021

Wednesday evening, we took Sox the cat downtown to Bailey’s condo, then came home to pack (the cat hates to see suitcases). I can pack for a hiking trip with my eyes practically closed, but this kind of trip took some thinking! I had to match shoes, purses and jewelry to all of my outfits, and then of course there was my hat. Since we’d decided to drive the 6+ hours to Louisville, space wasn’t an issue and we were able to load our car with hat boxes, a large bag of snacks, yoga mat, pillows and suitcases!

We were up at 6am on Thursday, anxious to get going, and we were on the road just after 7am. As we were packing last night, Jeff wondered if our iPass was in the new Audi – I thought it was, but we didn’t check. We had decided to travel straight down through Illinois and skip the Chicago madness so I was thinking tolls wouldn’t be an issue anyway. But as we got to Janesville, we recalled we still had the one toll near Rockford, so I checked the glove box – the iPass was not there. It had been in our old Audi, so I thought it was odd that we’d have moved it to the other car – we haven’t travelled to Illinois since February 2020. Then Jeff said he thought he remembered that our new Audi has a built-in toll pass?! I got out the manual and sure enough! It led me through the steps to get it activated, and I was able to get it set up just moments before we hit the Illinois border.

We had rain through most of Illinois, but decent traffic and no major slowdowns even though there was a lot of road construction. We turned east at Bloomington toward Danville, IL which started us reminiscing about our 2013 cycling trip down the length of the state.

The trees were more leafed out than ours and it seemed to get greener with every mile we traveled. As we got south of Indianapolis, we saw our first Waffle House, so we stopped the Waffle House in Taylorsville for our favorite breakfast (regardless of the time of day) when we’re in the south (waffles, eggs over easy, split a side of bacon).

We arrived in Louisville and checked into the downtown Hilton Garden Inn just before 3pm. That left us ample downtime for yoga, naps, catching up email from the day, and showers before our 7pm dinner reservation at Vincenzo’s.

So many experiences already on the trip feel novel, packing last night, a six-hour road trip, and now checking into the nicest hotel we’ve stayed in since February 2020. Once upside to the pandemic and its quarantine is the pure appreciation I have for the ability to travel again!

The restaurant was an easy walk from the hotel, and even though we’d checked the weather app before we headed down from our room, we were surprised to have sprinkles on our faces when we stepped out onto the sidewalk. No worries, Jeff had his rain coat and I had my beautiful poncho that I’d bought in Paris two years ago on a rainy April day.

We had a great leisurely dinner, four courses and a bottle of wine. It was nice to be dressed up and out together again. The staff and service were amazing, and we tried to chat a bit with the gentleman we thought was the proprietor (Vincenzo?), but he seemed to have limited English (or hearing). We’d heard on the local news before going out that that town of Louisville was so excited about this week-end – several hotels and restaurants were booked full – and that’s news!

After dinner, we walked through the Fourth street party area, which was fairly subdued at 6:30pm but we expected it’d be hopping later. There was a friendly guy on the street having a cigarette, he was a beer salesman named Scott from Appleton, WI. He was excited to tell us all about what to expect at the derby, how crowded this area should be right now (in a normal year), all the famous people he’d previously partied with here, etc. He’d have gone on all night, but his wife was calling him from a nearby table telling him his dinner was getting cold!

We had a lazy Friday morning, then we were out on the street at 9am to walk to waterfront park. Our hotel was a great location, and we found it was a beautiful day. It wasn’t long before we were peeling off layers. We walked along the Ohio river, east to the converted railroad bridge called the Big Four Bridge, the headed back. The river itself is muddy and filled with debris, but the Waterfront Park was fabulous. All of the people we encountered were so friendly – many greeting us with “Happy Derby!”

We had tickets to tour the Louisville Slugger factory and museum at 11am, so we walked back along the waterfront and found it in a funky part of old town (Main Street) – the area that had been known as Whiskey Row at the turn of the century. We really enjoyed the tour. Since I’d booked it last week, I had this song lyric with “Louisville Slugger” trying to work its was to the front of my brain. I took to google when we were having lunch later and figured out its from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song “The Bug.” It goes: “sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug … sometimes you’re the Louisville Slugger, baby, sometimes you the ball … “

After lunch we wandered into the Evan Williams Experience, where we sampled Peach Mint Juleps – yum. Back to the hotel, we had a nap, then showers – ready for our next event at 3:30pm. This was an event booked by the group where we got our tickets: Princeton Sports Group. It was billed as “Derby Eve at Buffalo Trace,” but we weren’t sure what to expect. We got to the lobby and found we were a busload of people, and we were headed to the Buffalo Trace Distillery, about an hour away in Frankfort! Our guide and driver were great, they plied us with cocktails and information about bourbon and the trip went fast.

When we arrived at the distillery, there were three other packed busses, so we had a wait a bit to get through the temperature screening and get assigned to a guide. The distillery had a policy that everyone wear masks (except when seated in the tasting room), even outside, and some in our group were pretty vocal about thinking that requirement was ridiculous (especially the group from Texas!).

While I enjoyed the tour of the rickhouses (3-4 floor buildings where whiskey is aged after its barreled), and the room where the empty barrels were stored, I was disappointed that we didn’t get to tour the actual distillery – I wanted to see the chemistry! None-the-less, we had an enthusiastic tour guide and it continued to be a beautiful day and we enjoyed the beauty and the history of the property while we waited our turn to enter the tasting room. There we were socially distanced at spots with 5 shots laid out for each of us – a vodka (too strong for me just straight), and three bourbons with progressively better quality: Buffalo Trace, Eagle Rare, and Blanton’s Single Barrel (we’d been introduced to that last month by our nephew Calvin, a far superior bourbon). We thought the tasting finished with their Bourbon Cream (like a Bailey’s) which was yummy on its own, but they served it with a shot glass of root beer and when we combined the two – we found heaven! Since it was Derby time, they finished the tasting with a demonstration of making Mint Juleps, and we each were served a large portion of that!

After the tasting, we had some time to shop, so we headed to the store and bought a bottle of their Bourbon Cream (they sell out of Blanton’s as soon as its bottled, or we’d have bought that too). By then we were mildly buzzed and in need of food.

Back on the bus, we travelled about 20 minutes before stopping at Jeptha Creek – an event center where we had dinner, more drinks, dancing to a bluegrass band and playing a little corn-hole in the yard. During dinner, we sat with two couples that had arrived on another bus – also their first Derby experience and we enjoyed trading stories with them.

On our bus back to Louisville, our guide decided it was time for bus Karaoke (using the music on his phone and holding it up to the microphone). One guy, who didn’t seem particularly gregarious, got up to sing, and sang very well as the bus lurched along the interstate. We sang all the way to the hotel, a fun night.

We awoke Saturday morning to another beautiful day, and had a leisurely morning with a hotel room workout and breakfast. We had the local NBC affiliate that had full time coverage from Churchill Downs and we watched the first two races on TV before heading out. The gates opened at 10am, but that felt too early to go, yet there were plenty of partiers already there.

We headed out of the hotel about noon. It was a bright sunny day and neither of us were prepared with sunscreen, so we walked around the corner to the CVS drugstore. As we walked down the street, we were greeted with shouts of “Happy Derby Day,” and nearly every vehicle driving by stopped as asked if we wanted a “shuttle” to the track. Our hotel offered a shuttle for $40 per person (which I thought was excessive), we could have driven our car and parked at the University lot and walked from there, but we’d decided we were going to take an Uber (I really want to think the best of people, but it seemed like a bad idea to jump into a car with someone who’s just taped a “Derby Shuttle” sign to his car for the day).

As we walked into CVS, a confrontation broke out between a store employee and a young black man who was accused of having stashed something inside his coat. You could feel the tension in the store, and it put me on edge too. Other employees were suggesting the manager hold the guy until the police arrived. We grabbed a bottle of sunscreen and went to the checkout, where the clerk was almost too distracted to check us out.

As we walked out the door, the managers had wrestled the man outside and the police had arrived. The scene quickly was surrounded by others that were taking videos on their cell phones. We moved around the corner, and didn’t see how it resolved, but it went quietly. Perhaps the manager was wrong?

Last month, we both got new iPhones, and are still struggling with having to sign into apps we haven’t used!? Ugh. We both really struggle trying to recall passwords that our phones have been so diligent about remembering, or allowing us to use face recognition. After a bit, Jeff succeeded in getting into his Uber app, but then his credit card had changed since we last used Uber, probably in NYC in 2019. My nerves were still on edge, and I was a bit panicked about standing here outside CVS with both of us focused on the phone, Jeff with his wallet in his hand and his credit card out. I pulled out my phone and was able to log into my Uber and my credit card was still active, so I said “I’ll order the Uber and you can work on your account another time!”

We had a great Uber driver, Onfraus. He had a Green Bay Packer emblem on the front of his Jeep. His girlfriend is from Wausau and he knew a lot about Madison. He asked if State Street was still the place to be, and was shocked when we told him of the devastation after “protests” turned violent last year when windows were smashed and businesses looted after the George Floyd killing in Minneapolis. We all agreed it didn’t make sense - the wrong people in the wrong place, with a demonstration of anti-police effort. His calm wonderful manner helped calm my frayed nerves. A lifelong Louisville resident, he was helpful in explaining where he had to drop us, and how to walk to the track from where he dropped us, and also where to find the Uber pickup lot to get our ride back to the hotel after the Derby. It was just over three miles - $45 with tip (surge pricing).

It was easy to figure out the way to the track, we followed the colorful crowd. Lots of young adults - many of them quite drunk already. I was surprised that many people had chairs, headed for the infield lawn which is where the party really happens, we’d heard. We followed the crowd to the gates, went through security, but our tickets wouldn’t read in the scanner - oh no. Our panic was relieved when a supervisor told us we had Clubhouse tickets, and we were at the infield gate, the wrong gate. They led us out and we worked our way against the crowd for a bit, and felt like was walked all the way around the outside of the track until we found our gate. I’d worn shoes for comfort and was glad to be walking before sitting for the next six hours or so.

At the Clubhouse entrance, things were more civilized and the crowd was scarce. In fact, due to COVID, they’re operating at about 40% capacity - so for someone like me that likes my personal space, this was perfect!

We found our seats - the first two seats in a box that was set up for just four, but could accommodate six. Every other box was blocked out with a tarp to maintain physical distance, so we had perfect sight lines to the finish like right in front of us. We were in the covered section, so no need for that sunscreen after all (but we saw quite a few people who could have used it).

There was a race roughly every hour, so we fell into an easy pattern of watching a race, then exploring the grounds in between races. This year for the first time, all food and drink were included in the ticket price, so we grazed on food and I sampled most of the specialty cocktails: Mint Julep, Whiskey Spire (cranberry) and the Lily (vodka and grapefruit).

For me, the neatest part about being onsite was standing at the edge of the paddock. Not only was the people watching amazing, but it gave us a close look at the horses. They’d be led around the circle, some seemed proud to be on display, some were fighting being led around, then they’d pull them into a cubicle where magically the tiny saddle would be strapped to the horse, then another lap or two, photos with the owners / VIP and one last parade past with the jockey onboard. How cool it was to see that up close. I’d never noticed their lightweight boots, and the small stirrups that seemed strung up too high. From the paddock, the procession would move under the grandstand and out onto the track where they’d parade by, before heading around the track to the starting gate (which was out of our view, but we could see it on the large video screen). The only downside to being there in person is the race happens so fast and with the crown noise and the garbled speakers, we couldn’t really tell how the horses we’d selected we’re doing!

We were joined in our box by a dapper young man, Jackson and his girlfriend, Danni, from Miami. Jackson split his time growing up between Middleton WI with his dad (attended Edgewood High School), and Louisville with his mom. He’d been to the derby many times before, but this could have been his first time trying to impress a girl with his knowledge. They were cute.

In the box kitty-corner to our front right, there were Louisville police officers. They primarily spent their time scrolling through their social media feeds on their phones. Later in the evening, two started smoking cigars and snapping photos of themselves. It seemed inappropriate and was noxious to be around, but the smell of cigar smoke was pervasive throughout the day regardless. As we were heading out to explore between races, we stopped to ask them if it’d be safe to walk the three miles back to our hotel after the race. They looked at us like we had two heads!

The actual “Derby” the twelfth of fourteen races during the day. It was the only race we actually bet us, choosing Hot Road Charlie (Jeff pick which finished third), and my pick, Rock Your World, finished in seventeenth place. We’d added the favorite pick of the day, Essential Quality to our trifecta bet (it came in fourth). Almost, but that doesn’t count in horse racing, so we lost our $200 but had fun doing so!

We hung around for a bit, enjoying some last-minute people watching, then joined the stream of people heading out of the main gate. We turned right, towards the Uber lot, which meant we were once again walking against the crowd leaving the infield – many were now very drunk, most were sunburned, and some were being carried. It seemed to be a zoo at the Uber lot, and the app showed our same driver, but it’d oscillate between 20-30 minutes away. The crowd and the noise of the Jesus Freaks yelling at the crowd through bad speakers was making me crazy, so I lobbied to start walking.

We walked with a smaller crowd, but many of them pealed off as we strolled through the U of L campus. We walked past large house parties, still going strong. After a mile, there were only a handful of us still walking towards downtown, but it felt good to move and the neighborhood felt ok. Several people that we’d pass would shout out friendly greetings, and we just kept moving, only slightly creeped out by the recommendation from the police that we don’t try to walk back to the hotel.

It started getting dark as we got close, but by then, it felt like a normal evening stroll. It felt great to get to the room though and jump into the shower to wash away the dirt and cigar smoke from the day! We were probably both sleeping by 9pm!

On Sunday, we were up before our alarm, so we got dressed and finished packing up and we were crossing the Ohio back into Indiana before 7am. An uneventful drive, and great to be home in the early afternoon and still enjoy the day.

#KentuckyDerby

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sussex-nature-lover · 4 years ago

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Wednesday 25th November 2020

Bodiam Wildlife and Memories. Part 1

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I discovered that the filming at Bodiam Castle on Monday was for a music magazine promo. No idea how long that’ll take to surface then, but I did promise to share if I found out, so now you’re as wise as I am.

As always I took so many photos it’s hard to write a cohesive blog post that doesn’t turn into War and Peace, so wildlife and nature is going to be split into two parts.

I spotted this lovely illustration on the Facebook page. It’s by local artist

Claire Fletcher I love her style.

There are leaflets for children and signs around the grounds to engage them in nature activities, I do find the NT are pretty good at this kind of thing.

Now I mentioned Ducks in my piece yesterday because you just can’t miss them and I said that although they were a bit rattled by the film crew, they were still going about their business and standing their ground.

We stood and watched a few times as they left the Moat and followed each other either from our right or left, directly in front of the café, in a veritable parade to a particular spot

The object of the exercise was a quick bit of foraging under this Oak, until some unknown signal went and OFF they all went back to the water, causing quite a kerfuffle as they did.

Reflections of the Tea Room and sloping Vineyard behind

The Moat itself is alternately a source of calm and a scene of great activity.

With just one solitary Moorhen spotted

‘I’m Off’

The fish that you'll see in the moat below you as you cross the bridge to the castle are carp. In medieval England, carp were a regular food source and bred specifically for that purpose by monks. Ours are not descended from those fish but came instead from Richborough Power Station near Sandwich in Kent in 1996 when it closed down.

I can testify that the Moat is absolutely teeming with fish and yes, they’re not shy.

Note the improvement from my efforts to photograph fish at Scotney Castle!

The monks used to breed the carp so they had the least scales, which is where the descriptions, mirror carp and leather carp come from. By breeding the carp in this way, it helped to save time in the kitchens. Carp for eating wouldn’t have been kept in the moat originally because all the garderobes were emptied into it and so it is thought that they were kept in special ponds to the north west of the castle. You can still see the dips in the grounds where these ponds were likely to be sited. You'll notice that the moment you tread on the bridge the fish will come to the surface and gape at you. It is sometimes thought that they are doing this as they need air, but this isn't the case they’re begging, just like a dog might do at the table. There are plenty of nutrients in the muddy moat waters, even though it may not look like it, and so we ask visitors not to feed the fish.

‘Hungry mouth to feed. You won’t like me when I’m hangry’

That made me think, remember when bread to feed the fish and bread and milk for Hedgehogs were commonly held beliefs? I cringe now at the thought, but you do still see plenty of people throwing bread for ducks.

Do you recall as well that one the way to Bodiam I missed getting a picture of Seven (+) Swans (Geese, but close enough) A Swimming? Well I did manage a photo of Ring a Ring a Roses on the Moat. What do you think?

The grounds around the Castle are left pretty natural looking and two sides have trees and bushes providing food and shelter.

And the land surrounding is obviously very fertile too.

Vineyards surround Bodiam Castle grounds

For history buffs there are links at the end, which tell you about the area’s productivity for the viticulture and brewing trade.

There’s still a lot of work to manage such an ancient site even if it’s not formal gardening.

There’s no sign or information to tell you, but this guardian Knight looks like it’s a chainsaw sculpture. I think when we’ve been to a Medieval Fair at Bodiam in the past (and at Bateman’s Summer Craft Fair too) that they’ve held demonstrations. I wouldn’t say he looks all that ferocious though and I bet quite a lot of people miss him as he’s tucked into the hedge.

And because I just can’t resist, if, like me, you do enjoy social history as much as chronicles of great note, these links are quite fascinating. Beware it’s a bit of a rabbit warren, there are old newspaper articles, photographs and interesting facts about Hop production and the villages around the Bodiam area. There are snippets about Whist Drives and charity fund raising and lots of weather and motoring reports, some of them quite dramatic.

I know we still call Kent ‘The Garden of England’ but it’s quite hard to imagine the scale of invasion to the South East at busy times when the labour forces were much needed and appreciated.

Imagine if they’d had Loyalty points back then!

Bodiam Hops, Brewing and Tasting.

The Castle Inn

Interesting facts :

The Castle Inn was the only Guinness owned house in the country. I guess it made sense to have an outlet where they owned so many Hop fields at the time. To make a booking, potential guests had to send a telegram as there was no telephone.

And finally, as they say on the news, a little anecdote. Only this morning I was listening to a radio show where they were discussing the American designer, Tom Ford’s, fragrance for men, named Oud Wood. The conversation was about how strange a word Oud is and how they’d not come across it before. The fragrance itself has ‘woody notes’ - unsurprisingly when they looked it up they found that’s the exact meaning of Oud.

Known as the "five thousand dollar per pound scent," Oud or Oudh is by far one of the most expensive raw fragrance ingredients in the world. Also known as agarwood, this essential oil is extracted from the fungus-infected resinous heartwood of the agar tree, which is primarily found in the dense forests of Southeast Asia, India and Bangladesh

So it was a strange coincidence when I was posting the history links up above to read...

The former Guinness Farm talked about up above - the one with the 1950s’ slide show, is known as Udiam Farm. No longer a Hop Farm, they have some rather nice looking holiday cottages and I bet it’s far easier to book now (lockdown allowing) than it was at The Castle back in the day*

*Point of Order, I don’t know them and have never been there.

Funny how small a world it is eh.

Index for more history bits and bobs for those who like the rabbit warren.

For those of you who’re monitoring our diet - we feel like chicken tonight, herb roasted...with a big mixed salad. I know the weather forecast was dire for temperature but the fire’s lit and we’re cosy, so salad is good.

Poppy for Remembrance (not my photo)

#national trust nature photography hops farming ducks Sussex Bodiam Castle history

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thealfanator · 7 years ago

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Dandelion’s Tales ~ Chapter 3

I’m usually very excited when I enter inns and taverns to tell my stories of my adventures across the lands, but as I entered today, something felt… different. I had burst into The Golden Sturgeon, full of my usual over-active excitement; my crimson cuffs bouncing light off the dense, calming atmosphere, and my shoes lightly dropping and lifting gently off the creaky floorboards, and, instead of smiling (my usual signature move), I felt emptiness… Not the type of emptiness that makes you feel “oh shit, that was disappointing”, as Geralt would often say, no. This emptiness was hollow, and I think I know why.

“Dandelion! Ale?” The bartender shouted over to me. Nodding my head, she started bumbling around the place in a frantic nature – juggling mugs of hot, juicy warmth of bubble on each finger whilst rummaging around the tight spaces of each of the tables delivering her creations. She made me smile. I always liked the way she cared for people so much. But this time I did not smile. I knew exactly what it was. Something was off.

It was empty. The tavern, I mean. It was evening; the place should be packed! But it wasn’t. There was the innkeeper, a few other guys, and me… Regarding my usual trio of listeners, only one remained: the woman, who looked relatively drunk already. She sat there in a rhythmic sway to the left and right, waiting in anticipation for me to continue, however the other two had gone. Grown bored of my voice. I looked at her as she stared at me. Her fixed glare said it all; she wasn’t quite ‘with it’! Ale had dragged her away to a happier place, however remnants remained like the bottom of an empty tankard.

“Please…” she mumbled, “continue, Master Danbeloin.” She even said my name wrong.

“Okay, okay!” I said, laughing before holding up my hands in an attempt to ‘surrender’. I waited until my drink had arrived, (“thanks”, told her) and started…

Where was I? Ah, I remember. So when I got chucked into the darkness by a prepared metal trap, I had been rendered unconscious for quite some time. I had no passage or recollection of time, of course, but it felt like a while. As my vision grew from darkness, I groaned a cry of pain. My fingers twitched and my body ached but I managed to yank myself up from the muddy, dreadful floor. I had a fit of coughs. To my surprise, those coughs made a head pop up from the bright circular light above me. It was Dune.

“Dandelion?” he shouted. I was pretty sure the ground vibrated at his low voice.

“Mhm.”

“I just needed to see if you were okay? I’ve been waiting for hours.” Shit, hours? I scrambled myself up onto my feet but immediately flopped back down onto a broken wooden board next to me. I crashed back down to the floor; my leg hurting bad. “Dandelion, I need you to climb your way up here!” he shouted, “See those vines?” I saw them, yes, but in this condition, I wasn’t even able to kick a tuft of grass into the air! I told him about it obviously, before hearing him sigh and move away from the hole.

“Sorry, Dune but my leg is too bad.” I murmured before looking into the darkness beside me. I gathered that I had fallen into a cave of some kind. The nothingness amplified around me, leaving me isolated and anxious.

“Well, Dandelion,” he sighed again, “I hoped it wouldn’t had come to this…”

“Come to what?” I shouted as loud as I could, despite it not being as loud as I thought. My voice wavered as the darkness plunged me into worry.

“I have to find my friends… and I don’t have enough time to save you too…” I knew I couldn’t trust him. “Dandelion, I hardly even know you.” He retreated to a whisper like this was actually a hard decision for him. I believed him, I guess – who would save a stupid, pointless bard like me, who can’t even wield a sword? I scoffed.

“You’re just going to leave me?” I replied. Silence commenced for a long time.

“I’m sorry.” Before a bunch of heavy, retreating footsteps declined into nothing. He had left me here. To die. I passed out again, head hitting the rocky surface.

After I woke again, I scrambled up to my feet before I realised my leg was still shitting itself. For some reason, I must’ve thought that sleeping would’ve made it magically heal itself, but obviously not… I took a few panicked breaths in the murky, pitch black cave I had muddled myself in before grabbing a still-lit torch out of its holder from a wall. Hopefully the trespassers who left them were still here, and that they were friendly! Walking through the rocky, uneven cave, I realised how awful and terrifying it really was. Unexpected lights and shadows conjured by my very light caused a rebound as my lip trembled at the sight of them. The smell of rotting corpses (probably) rung out like the sour sound of a fork bashing off a wad of steel. My feet took small and reckless paces ahead of me; nervous about what was in the unknown. I tried to jab my torch in front of me in hope that my vision would extend, but to my disappointment, I was still limited to my tiny circle of light.

I tried everything, I really did. I called for help, I tried names such as “Dune” even though it was pointless. I tried shouting as loud as possible but swiftly stopped as my hope diminished as fast as the interest fades away from bard’s stories in the evenings. Whenever I wasn’t calling for aid, I was coughing the blackness away from my lungs and crying out as my knee started to throb.

Then I saw it. The monstrosity. I had reached a part of the cave which ended at a sort of cliff, and then expanded to a large room below me. The area was well lit below with multiple sources of light dotting around the pit. I bent down onto my good knee and squinted down. I saw tens of creatures skittering around the place like ants! Small, tiny grey looking disasters scuttling their minute legs and making small chittering noises with their laugh. I think Geralt called them… Nekkers; crawling sounds commenced in my ears like metal scrapes on wood. While I was busy absorbed in my horror, my light next to me flickered, but not kindly, fading now – like dying hope. I retreated from the edge further after I came to realisation that my heart was throbbing through my chest, pulsing my panic. It wasn’t until they noticed my movement that I started to limp as quick as possible the way I came.

I frantically waved my torch towards them in some tiny ounce of hope that it would scare them away, but it seemed they did not care. I threw my torch away at them as they swarmed the corridor. I turned and ran for my life.

“Did you survive?” she said to me in an interested tone on the other side of the table. I scoffed after taking a sip from my tankard, then proceeded.

“No, dear, I died!” she sighed and bowed her head - started sobbing slowly as she flopped her empty mug to the floor.

“Dammit,” she whispered, “I really hoped you lived to tell the tale…” I couldn’t help but smile.

“Listen, darling, of course I survived! I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” A couple of awkward glares filled the space between us before her drunken state realised before she laughed. Launching herself at me for a hug, I shut my eyes and savoured the moment.

“Dandelion!” she said after I detached her body from myself, “You are the greatest storyteller I have ever met!”

“Why, thank you.” I gleamed. She continued to slur her words and fling her drunken finger at my chest in enthusiasm. “Shall we continue, then?”

“Please!” she dipped her head with tired eyes but I knew I had her complete attention.

So there I was: limping and running through the cave with a bunch of terrifying monstrosities after me. I weaved and dived through the tiny cracks I came across and, as I glanced back from time to time, was surprised that I was creating space between us. My breath started to fade and I collected the fact that I probably couldn’t run much longer.

“Come on! In here!” someone called from down the hall. Squinting, I recognised a dark figure crouching behind a tiny gap in a rocky surface, ushering me into presumed safety. Well, I had to take it, didn’t I? I rushed into the gap and the man blocked up my entrance behind me with a bundle of large rocks, relieving me of my oxygen debt and stopping the “Nekkers” from their pursuit. The man was bald, slim and had an extremely small figure, but he carried a crossbow latched to his back. He gave me a welcoming smile.

“Hello again, Dandelion.” Another said; I recognised the voice… I spun around behind me to where it came from and saw him alongside about four other people which I had not seen before. Dune. “I brought friends.”

In the cold, evening air above the surface, one of his men tended to my wounds. The crackling fire lit our cheerful faces and cooked our mouth-watering food. Animals called and cried in the distance; big and small; predators and prey; up in trees, or hunting on the ground. It was peaceful – a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“You honestly thought I just up and left.” He said whilst munching into a piece of meat. I thought about it for a bit.

“Well you kind of did.” I replied. Dune chuckled.

“Dandelion,” he said, “I look at you and I see a helpless, wandering bard in the middle of nowhere. You’re meant to be in taverns, entertaining! I will help you get home.”

“Thank you.” I looked around at his allies. I knew none of them but I owed them my life. By their facial expressions, I reckon they noticed I thanked them profusely; they noticed it in my tired eyes.

“Well.” He stood, sweat appearing on his exhausted face. “When you’ve recovered a bit from your injury, I say we head out and get you home. What do you say?”

“That sounds like a good plan!” I smiled and he did the same, then bit down into my food.

That conversation stayed with me to this day, even when heading back home this evening – through the dull Novigrad city streets.

You’ve reached the end, again! :( Sorry! Nevertheless I hope you enjoyed. Note that this is my last series for a good while; I have suddenly become incredibly busy and, although I myself have finished writing this series, I am not currently writing a fourth season. I’ll keep you posted however - have a good week :)

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jamiegladstone · 7 years ago

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The not so International Food Festival in Gateshead.

On 23rd September 2017 the Sage Gateshead held their first International Street Food Festival. Loving an opportunity to sample food from around the world, I just couldn’t resist. So Sarah and I took the girls on a road trip up the A19 to Gateshead. Upon arrival, the queue was short leading to the aptly nicknamed ‘slug’, so we grabbed our passes and entered the building. I purchased a few tokens (used to make purchases quicker) and we were good to go.

Once inside the scale was revealed to us. Now being the first year, my expectations weren’t super high but as the Sage were hosting the event I expected more. Inside were around 7 stalls, most selling various curries and a single vegetarian stall selling… curry. I thought the best options would be outside. Unfortunately outside there were no more than 15 stalls. Once there I discovered, pizzas, pasta, some Greek food and, more curries. Now I love curry and I could eat one on most occasions. This festival, however, if named as a curry festival would’ve brought in a different crowd, and likely would’ve been more successful. Advertising as an International Street Food Festival was a stretch of the imagination. As far as Internationalism goes, some regions were represented, although, France, Spain, South America, Africa, China, The Caribbean and many others were notably missing. The advert had promised craft beer stalls, the only beers outside of the Sage bars I could find were plastic PET bottles filled with cheap commercial lager. Hardly ‘craft’ but there were plenty of people drinking them so someone made money that day.

As a vegetarian visiting a street food festival was always going to be a risk, but the options were just so poor even from the dedicated veggie and vegan stalls that Sarah and I split a few vegetarian dumplings and cashed in the rest of our tokens.

I’m not disappointed that we visited but I do feel they could massively improve for next year. Perhaps they should check out the local calendar as the hugely popular Festival of Thrift was happening the same weekend and most of the food vendors will already have booked into there.

The day wasn’t wasted though, we decided instead to cross the Tyne Bridge and take a stroll along the River Tyne. Normally we follow the river toward the city but today we walked in the opposite direction, heading for the Port of Tyne and South Shields. We had no intention of going so far so after 45 minutes we turned around to head back into Newcastle to cross the Millennium Bridge back to the Gateshead side. The river is an interesting place, and on the day the water level was low exposing the deep muddy banks on either side. This section is fairly flat and slow moving, the viscous brown water slowly meanders along leaving such deep deposits the Herons sink in as far as their knees. Unfortunately being a river running through a city you see the standard shopping trolleys, cones and the occasional bicycle peering out from the banks.

On the Gateshead side I spotted an abandoned building, formally the Ovoline lubricant company. I thought to myself that a canny entrepreneur could redevelop the property and convert the building into something new and exciting. Maybe a quirky hotel that boasts a great location by the Sage and access to other local amenities, perhaps a restaurant with a beautiful riverside seating area or even a small music venue, ample parking and no neighbours to disturb! Unfortunately, this will likely be another building that will be left until bored people find their way in and begin the destruction from within.

This side also has one of the nicest Weatherspoon’s pubs I’ve seen in a long time! A quaint old building that has been converted and modernised. The pub was pretty full (I know the pic says otherwise!) so we kept on going, on past a brand new Travelodge being built on the river, an existing Copthorne, Premier Inn and to complete the set a Jury’s Inn can be seen on the other side of the river. The choice of hotels is fantastic and the prices are reasonable too.

When we reached the Millennium Bridge we were faced with the awesome Baltic Mill, details of what they have on can be found here www.balticmill.com . The Mill used to produce flour here and did so for decades before closing in 1982. Once inside the building, we took the glass elevator (very Willy Wonka lol) to the 5th floor where we took in the view of the River Tyne, looking over to the Millennium Bridge, Tyne bridge and the rail bridges. On this level we also got our first glimpses of the art installations on the 4th floor. I’m not massively knowledgeable about contemporary art installations so I will leave this to those of you that do! I enjoyed discussing them with Sarah and the girls though so we got from them what we wanted.

Level 4 sent us out to a viewing platform. Interestingly, the Mill now offer a zip wire experience where you can take a trip from the top of the Mill over to a platform on the Newcastle side of the river. To be honest this looks great fun and something I plan on doing the next time I am up here.

So an interesting day in Newcastle as always and certainly not wasted. The International Street Food Festival was an unfortunate bust and I hope they can improve this drastically by next year, if not they’ll find that yet another bright idea has been underdeveloped and not supported. The rest of the city shows charm and some interesting architecture. Today I didn’t visit much more than the river but I will write another blog in the future discussing some of the bulidings and their history.

If you’ve never visited Newcastle I would take this as a chance to do so, and as winter approaches the International Christmas Market is coming soon. This market is fantastic and the last time I attended many nations were well represented, there are some awesome crafts, and of course, the food!

I hope you will visit Newcastle and if you’d like to discuss this city more, or book yourself a cheeky trip here please do not hesitate to contact me via [email protected]

Take care

Your Friend in Travel

Jamie

#newcastle #food #sagegateshead #travel #travelagent #blogger

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golfnomad · 7 years ago

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Birthday in Vegas, Part 2: Highs and Lows

Last week, I spent a few days in Vegas centered around another visit to Cascata. However, another supposedly high-end course was on the itinerary for this trip. Brace yourself...

Wynn Golf Club • Las Vegas, NV • 8/8/17

It took a perfect storm of situations for me to finally break down and play Wynn. I’ve been avoiding it for years, primarily because of the exorbitantly high prices and its reputation for not being quite worth what they charge.

Here are the reasons why I played it on this trip: First, there have been rumors swirling that the golf course was going to be closing down in order to begin work on the big fancy lagoon thing they want to build there. Some reports said it might close last year. It obviously didn’t, but all signs pointed to it finally shutting the doors this year. Still, the information online was all over the place and anyone you talk to at the resort will dance around the answer. Either way, the days are numbered and I wanted to at least play it once before it went away.

Second, this trip coincided with my birthday. If ever I was going to splurge for a round at Wynn, it would be around my birthday when I felt like spoiling myself a bit.

Third, it just so happens my birthday is in August and Wynn does offer “discounted” summer rates of $350 compared to the usual $500 in season. Still ridiculously expensive and maybe not peak conditions, but better than paying full price.

Fourth, I am running out of public courses to play in the Vegas area. After this trip, I actually only have one left around the city and it’s the most high-end of the bunch. I am going to need another perfect storm of events to splurge for Shadow Creek. I will get there someday, though. Beyond that, I have a few courses left in Mesquite and the executive course in Pahrump as the only other public options in Southern Nevada. There is still a good list of private clubs that I hope to access someday, as well, along with the course at Nellis AFB.

Add it all up, and I was finally ready to commit to a Wynn tee time. I booked it through their resort concierge for Tuesday morning at 7:00 (first group off). They make you sign a waiver and email it back just to lock in a tee time, and then you get a confirmation letter. Unfortunately the letter doesn’t provide much help in terms of arrival/check-in instructions. I looked at Google Maps to figure out where to park in relation to the golf course, and there didn’t seem to be a dedicated lot.

No big deal, right? I pulled up to the main hotel/casino valet first. They said I could valet if I wanted or I could self-park. They didn’t really seem like they wanted to help much, so I opted for self-parking in the garage. There isn’t much signage once you get inside, so I eventually had to ask someone and they pointed me toward the pro shop. It’s a big of a walk from the parking garage to where the pro shop is attached to the casino/forum shops. I felt like a tool lugging my golf bag through the place with nobody offering to help. Remember this is supposed to be a high-end resort where you might expect good service from the moment you walk through the door.

Also, I should mention that they just started charging for parking at Wynn ($12 for my time there) like most casinos on The Strip now. There is no parking validation or credit for playing the golf course. They squeeze every nickel and dime out of you they can.

I finally arrive at the pro shop. I did express my displeasure about the lack of directions or help with finding the place, but the girl behind the counter just kind of shrugged and asked how I wanted to pay my $350. I’d like to think I’m exaggerating a bit, but it was pretty blunt and off-putting after I was already a little agitated. I normally don’t like being doted upon at a course, but when I pay this much I do expect some pleasantries.

Eventually, they point me in the direction of the locker room and then I go outside to meet up with my forecaddie, Charlie. I did have a brief encounter with the manager who was there, but he was also very dismissive of my concerns/complaints about the check-in process.

They didn’t have anyone booked to play with me and I guess the tee sheet was rather empty that morning. So, Charlie was essentially my personal caddie for the day. He was one of the few positive aspects of the Wynn experience. We got along well and he figured out quickly what help/information I did and didn’t like out on the course. He has worked at the course since day one (well since day one after the old Desert Inn course was completely renovated and reopened as Wynn in 2000), so he had a lot of insight and information to share.

The Wynn course was designed by Tom Fazio, which usually means good things. I can say that the layout is fantastic and has all the challenge, charm and character of a Fazio course. It has a great look and landscaping, and then it has a lot of added “cool factor” being located behind the copper-colored Wynn/Encore towers. You get plenty of views of The Venetian, the High Roller ferris wheel thing, The Stratosphere and other buildings along this part of The Strip. And though it is very close by and almost perfectly in between the Wynn/Encore buildings, you rarely get clear glimpses of the Trump building. Hooray!

Most of the course runs north and south, so you don’t get too many harsh sun-in-eyes moments when facing east on a desert course in the early morning. There are a few that face somewhat east, so that hurt some pictures, and then there is only one hole facing due west.

There are plenty of memorable holes at Wynn. Two of the par-3s have a real “signature” feel with water hazards in play and cool settings. The 6th and 15th are both fantastic and demanding.

The 18th is undoubtedly the showcase hole here as that’s what you see from the bungalows, hotel and casino. It features a massively ostentatious waterfall behind the green and water up the left side. It is a beefy finishing hole at 425 yards from the middle tees.

Speaking of tees, I was surprised to find that there are such odd gaps between the tee box options you can play. You have the Championship tees at 7,042 yards. Then, you have the Black tees, which are only a tiny bit shorter at 6,938 yards. What’s the point of only 100 yards difference? Then, you go down to 6,464 for the Middle tees. That’s what I played, but the course played much longer because it is actually only a par-70 (five par-3s and only three par-5s) and it was very wet out in the morning (more on that later).

After that is a huge gap down to the Executive tees, which are just 5,556 yards, followed by the Forward tees at 4,835. Seems like there should be a combo set somewhere in the 6,000-yard range. My caddie mentioned that when the course first opened, they only had two sets: what is now basically the Black and the Middle tees. So even women had to tee it up from over 6,400 yards with a number of forced carries. Obviously, they came to their senses and added some forward tees eventually. Just one more strange decision made by this place (not to mention that the course isn’t officially rated because they want to be so much like Shadow Creek).

Let’s check the scorecard so far. Other than the caddie which I would prefer to play without if I had the option, the service was not even closed to what I would have expected or hoped for from a high-end resort. On a positive note, it is a really good layout and interesting setting.

Now, it’s time for the real disappointment. The conditions were very unimpressive. I understand it is summer and the course will not be in peak season shape. However, I’ve played enough courses in Vegas (and other desert locations) in the summer to know that they can still maintain very nice conditions despite the heat. Wynn really let me down on this front.

I mentioned that it was very wet out in the morning and they definitely put a lot of water out on this course overnight. It may actually be too much. For whatever reason, they try and hold onto the rye grass as long as possible when most desert courses will have transitioned to the bermuda base earlier in the summer. That meant there were a lot of thin/muddy patches in the fairways and then the rough was a total mess, with a lot of big bare patches throughout the course. Some sections were nice, while others were really spotty at best.

My caddie told me that in a month, the course will be looking great again as it will have fully transitioned to bermuda. Then, it’s great for a couple weeks before they close for the fall overseed of rye. It seems like an odd practice if they have a good bermuda base that would look and play better during the summer months, and would be easier/less expensive to maintain.

I sure wasn’t expecting pristine conditions this time of year, but this was really disappointing to see. My caddie basically forced me to play lift, clean and place in the fairways, and he usually nudged my ball to places where the grass was good in the rough. This shouldn’t have to happen at a course like this.

The greens were pretty well maintained, but also very saturated with water and they had also just laid down a light topdressing of sand/fertilizer. It definitely affected some putts and was also messy. Every putt would roll and gather a gross ring of schmutz around the ball. Fortunately, my caddie had his towel at all times and it was used very often.

The one positive thing I can say about the Wynn conditions is that the bunkers were nice. Vegas courses have notoriously bad sand (thin, coarse and/or full of pebbles). Wynn had great sand that was very nicely maintained, other than being a bit damp in the early morning.

I may sound like I am being a bit nitpicky with the conditions, and I am. The pictures below will undoubtedly look a lot nicer than it was up close and personal. I had flattering morning lighting and I still always aim to take nice photos. However, I have the right to be critical when shelling out $350 of my hard-earned money to play a course in very-much-less-than-prime conditions. If you’ve followed my blog throughout the years, you will know that the more I pay, the more demanding I will be.

It’s a shame to have to write a bad review highlighting the sub-par conditions and lackluster service. Wynn is a great course layout and there is a lot to like about it. It will be unfortunate to see a course like this get shut down and wiped from the face of the earth. And, it is especially sad to see them going out on a sour note. I got the feeling from most of the staff I interacted with that they are a little bitter about the place closing soon.

I was told conditions will be better pre-overseed and post-overseed. However, with the course likely closing as soon as December, I really question how much time, effort and money they will put into the maintenance over the next few months.

Whatever happens, I can at least say I played it and it will give me something to gripe about for years. I won’t be reviewing my visit to Cascata from this trip because I’ve written about it at length before. What I can say is that Cascata really knows how to provide first-class customer service. The conditions over there are far from immaculate this time of year, but they treat you right and make sure you walk away with a positive impression despite the similarly high cost to play it (we actually had a huge discount at Cascata, so that helped a lot). Wynn doesn’t seem to have that same approach or attitude in the summer season, and I am not sure if they ever did. I certainly wouldn’t expect much in its final months of operation. Too bad.

Some pictures from Wynn Golf Club (8/8/17):

Next I played a low-end course that provided surprisingly good service...

Black Mountain Golf & Country Club • Henderson, NV • 8/8/17

I’ve avoided this course throughout the years, primarily because I was never able to plan a trip to Vegas around my birthday. I was saving Black Mountain for such an occasion because they are the only course in the area that offers a good birthday deal (free green fee, only $25 cart fee required a week before or after your birthday).

I signed up for their e-club, but never got any instructions or emails regarding the free birthday round. After a few emails back and forth with management, they were very apologetic and got me on the tee sheet. They ended up giving me a slightly better deal of $19 for my round, and there was no problem when I checked in.

I originally booked a 12:30 time, but I finished quickly at Wynn and called over to Black Mountain. They told me to come on out whenever I wanted, and they’d get me out quickly. I arrived closer to 11:30 and was teeing off by myself a few minutes later. I ended up joining a threesome ahead of me as there were other slower groups ahead. We skipped a few holes on the front nine to come back and play later. We still ran into another slow group on the back nine, but finished at a reasonable 3.5-hour pace.

There isn’t much to highlight about the Black Mountain layout. It used to be 27 holes, but they closed what was called the Desert nine at some point in recent years. Now, it is simply 18 holes with Horizon as the front nine and Founders as the back. It is fairly flat and very straightforward. There aren’t too many hidden surprises as long as you stay out of the desert areas, and what you see is what you get. It’s fine for what it is, but it’s quite dull overall. There really aren’t any holes that stood out to me as memorable.

The course was in pretty solid mid-summer shape. A little dried out and firm, but good overall playability (it played better than Wynn, other than the bunkers). The tee boxes were fine. The fairways were mostly good with some thin/brown spots scattered throughout. The rough was more hit and miss, but cut down and not much of a factor. The greens were very firm and rolling at medium speeds. The bunkers firm and crappy sand like so many Vegas courses.

At the right price, Black Mountain is an okay option. I would say their normal rates seem a bit much, so take advantage of the birthday deal or look for better deals elsewhere. You are not missing much here.

Some pictures from Black Mountain Golf & Country Club (8/8/17):

#Wynn Golf Club #Wynn Las Vegas #Black Mountain Golf & Country Club #Las Vegas Golf #Nevada Golf

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logosminuspity · 8 years ago

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Been brainstorming a lot in the past few weeks, and with some motivational inspiration from superrisu, I really want to get serious about writing an original story. Talking with friends of mine who actually have written stories and gotten them published, the biggest thing is just writing the damned draft. Edits can happen later. So with that in mind, I’ve managed to write a first chapter of what I hope is going to become a full-fledged story of mine this year. Fingers crossed for keeping this moving forward!

“Lady, you’re going to catch…something staying out here like this.”

The guard shifted nervously on her feet, not quite stamping, but moving and resetting her weight just enough that it was impossible not to glance down at her boots. Sturdy leather, worn but not too worn. Heavy enough that even a half-deaf owl could no doubt hear anyone who wore them coming from a mile away. Ridiculous. But then, what about humans wasn’t ridiculous?

Arana could hear the quiet rapprochement from her designated guardian, though there was no immediate follow up. Her first instinct was to continue swirling her feet in the cold water of the garden’s reflecting pond. The cold felt good. It felt real, and the grass and ground that had only just been frosted and frozen this morning made her feel real, too. Winter and the great cold were coming, if not quite yet. She wondered if it would change anything, if it would feel any different. Would it change her any more than what she already had?

Arana reached with one hand down to the still waters of the pond, watching the ripples as her fingers broke the surface. She stirred idly, her thoughts churning. When she was done she flicked the water from her fingertips to the side, droplets catching the leather of her guard’s boots.

“Isn’t the phrase to ‘catch death’?”

Perhaps that was what she wanted anyway. In the safety of the glen and forest, even the thickest of snows rarely passed through the protective canopy of leaves. Perhaps this year the great white would simply catch her and pull her spirit away with it. It was not an unpleasant thought.

“Lady Arana…” The guard’s voice was halfway between a moan and a sigh of desperation at having so difficult a charge to watch over, and for a moment Arana nearly sighed back.

A moment of pity pierced through her usual melancholic haze. Mara was a good woman—for a human. She had not asked for the dubious honor of guarding over the chief’s…the chief’s…

Here Arana’s mind stumbled for a long moment, uncertain of what she even truly was to the humans here. A prisoner by her own reckoning, but one who was given honor guards, handmaidens, offered the finest of food and clothing that could be provided given their surroundings. What exactly that made her to them was questionable at best. But no, she decided firmly again, it hardly mattered. A cage was a cage, no matter how gilded it might appear. ‘Prisoner’ was probably for the best. She glanced back up at Mara’s slightly queasy face, as if already dreading what might next come from her charge’s mouth, and this time Arana did sigh.

They had been out for longer than usual, and she could no further blame her guard for trying to follow orders than she could blame the ants for doing their queen’s bidding. It was simply the way of the world, and Arana did not have the strength in her to fight it any longer.

She pulled her feet out of the water, drawing her knees up to her chest for a long moment and staring at the meager ‘garden’ around her.

There were a few trees, if they could even be called that, perfectly trimmed, barely above the height of a tall buck. Most of it was a lawn of grass, meticulously gardened so that no single plant that was unwanted by the owners could be seen anywhere, and the entire small area was enclosed by a high, wooden wall. And of course there was the pond, where Arana spent most of her time when allowed to.

It was a pond that didn’t even have fish or frogs. Really, what kind of pond didn’t have fish? Brother Trout would have been beside himself with the affront. The answer was, of course, obvious. A human pond. A hole dug into the ground and filled with water meant to be clear and dead and devoid of the mud and algae and reckless vibrancy that actually made a pond a pond.

What little respite she had taken for the afternoon by sitting outside evaporated, and a weariness fell over her again. She stood, barefoot, falling comically short of her tall guard. Mara, for her part, only appeared relieved at the rare prospect of not having to argue any further.

“Come on,” she urged gently. For all that she was a simple guard, her eyes and words alike were surprisingly kind. “I’ll have the kitchens send you some hot tea before dinner.”

Dinner.

Not something that Arana looked forward to.

It was rare, these days, for her to be called to dine with the chief. When she had first been…brought here…it was like a nightly ordeal, and one that she had dragged her heels to every single time.

The chief of Tamins was a short, stout woman, with gray muddying her otherwise mouse brown hair. A few crow’s feet pulled at the corners of her eyes, and it was Arana’s guess as to whether or not they betrayed her age, or possibly hid it. Regardless, she was imposing. There was something about her like the stone face of a boulder, and the way that even on the rare occasions in which she did smile, it never seemed to reach her eyes. It was not to say that she cruel, but she was neither kind, and her understanding of things extended only to what related to her own life and ambitions. She had a name, of course. But everyone in Tamins simply referred to her as the chief, and Arana had never bothered to think of the woman who so casually controlled her life as having a name, even if she had been told it before. She was the chief of Tamins, and that was that.

It was a seemingly innocuous title, ‘chief’. The chief came from no notable background (whatever that meant, but the guards and servants and merchants alike were quick to boast of such), and was supposedly from some nameless village so far removed from Tamins that no one could quite remember the name. Not that Tamins itself was notable in the least bit; it was unimpressive at best in appearance. An outpost more than a true settlement, the scattering of buildings—now boasting a full tavern and inn—were all of roughly hewn and still-green wood hacked from the old forest. It led to a heavy and pervasive scent of pine sap throughout the air of each building, no matter how much incense of perfume was hauled in. Guards, workers, and merchants all alike muttered under their breath about the constant smell, but Arana found it as one of the few comforts to be had in a world now filled with strange sights and sounds and smells.

No, Tamins was neither large nor elegant nor apparently anything that humans aspired to have in a settlement or town, but it was profitable. And to exchange bronze rings for silver, and silver in hopes of gold was apparently reason enough for the people who now lived in Tamins, and it was more than reason enough for the chief. Arana had understood little of it, and still didn’t. Rings of precious metals were of value to humans, who used them as a go between for exchanging goods and services and pretty much all else in life. This small, otherwise insignificant trading post was a prize to the chief. She spoke incessantly about the numbers and profits of pass through trade associated with the new roads through the mountains and forests that she and her crew were carving out.

Arana had been angry at first at the talk, and then she had learned to stop caring, or at least to stop listening. None of them understood, so there was no point in trying to convince them. The reality of the situation was that she was here, and they were here, and Tamins—which had not even existed as a point on the map until the last year—was not about to go anywhere either.

Nor was Arana, and nor was the chief.

The first weeks in Tamins had all blended together in her memory, and it was a not a time that she particularly cared to dwell on. Brought in with nothing but a charitable cloak to cover her back, Arana had been disorientated and terrified. Her new and unfamiliar skin had been uncalloused and untried, softer than spring flower petals and just as tender and weak. Half-mad with uncomprehending grief, she had tried at every last opportunity to lash out and escape, and her guards—though wary and fearful of her ‘bouts of hysteria’—had just as easily subdued her as they would have a child.

She had learned all too quickly that whatever power she might possess, it was a far cry from what was needed to run away. Not that she was even sure what she would do if she managed to escape. How many times had she been told in utterly incredulous tones that she would almost certainly die out there? It was something that, when even she had to think about it, posed a significant unknown. As she was now, would her body survive? Was it even meant to survive? Uncertain.

There were no clear answers, and she was only more convinced that the humans had even less sense or reason than her.

So she bided her time in the meanwhile, inhaling the scent of pine sap deeply when she was alone, and holding tight to her old memories for fear that her new body might betray even her mind and she should lose her past as much as her future.

Things were easier, in a way, when she had learned to quietly nod along rather than argue and thrash. She had been left to her own devices when the chief and guards alike had finally begun to warily believe she might not try to escape at every last opportunity. Arana had hardly given up the idea—she was not going to stand for being trapped here until she grew old and died—but she had quickly recognized the wisdom in not setting everyone against her. This body was weaker than what she would have liked, for all of its size. Her guards were bigger, faster, and undeniably stronger than her. So she held tight to the vision of the forest held in her mind’s eye.

As for her guards, they and she alike had settled in to a sort of truce with one another. Arana had stopped trying to test their watch and escape at every last turn of a corner, and in return, they were perhaps more understanding and kind then the fear had made them initially. It was a rotating set of them, different guardians that Arana had assigned to her by the chief. That had been something she had learned early on, that having household guards was a sign of wealth and of power, two things that she still did not fully understand nor particularly care—no matter how much emphasis was placed on it. However the chief had both power and wealth in aplenty for these remote lands, and that was notable in and of itself, according to everyone. For her to assign personal guards to Arana was a mark of esteemed value, or so they said. Yet it would have been a lie if any had denied that the militia who shadowed her were just as much to keep her under watch and in the house grounds as the chief expected. Still, of all the guards, Mara was as close as any could be to resembling a favorite. She was quiet and nervous beneath her lumbering tower of leather and cloth, but she was also the most patient of them. She tried, more than what her pay and duty asked of her, and against all of her initial stubborn resolve, Arana couldn’t help but feel some semblance of guilt for being an unusually difficult ward.

Mara had not asked the gods to be assigned to Arana, yet she did her best for both her employer and her charge. After all, kindness was rare enough, and perhaps Arana understood both that and the impossibility of Mara’s position more than she would have liked to admit.

Tonight, like every other night spent having dinner with chief, started the same. Mara was good to her word, and the tea arrived to Arana’s chamber barely after they had come back inside. Mara herself handed over the steaming cup, frowning not at Arana’s dirty feet or her windblown hair, but at their hands as they brushed.

“You need to warm up,” was all she said. The usual. Arana never felt cold, even if everyone spoke of her skin being chill. She shrugged, her attention already drawn toward the windows and the outside world she was yet again separated from, and her guard let her be. Solitude was a façade at best, though. The servants entered before she had finished her tea, even if it had long since cooled. The men brought in the familiar bronze footed bath, filling it with bucket after bucket of steaming and scented water. Then they took their polite exit, leaving Arana with three attentive handmaidens.

Arana stepped out of her robes before they could remove them from her, preferring to minimize what contact she could. She found it disquieting, even now. The touch of another human hand on her skin was unwanted and discomfiting, and set her skin itching and a sharp desire beneath her breast to flail and flee. Much good that would do anyone.

She endured it now, better than what she had once. Now her skin only twitched when the sponges scraped down her back, but she didn’t jerk, didn’t jump away. She forced herself to stare forward, blinking only when water was poured over her head and hair. They were not unkind by any measure, and she knew it. Quite the opposite, really. Her hair was treated with utmost respect and care, washed and cleaned and then combed until it reached what was an unearthly shine.

The handmaidens whispered to each other over her hair. They always did. Arana tried her best to ignore it. So what if it was different than anything else the humans had seen before? Arana herself was different than them. Yet all they did was display the mirror for her as was dressed back into her robes, showing her the curtain of gleaming black hair that fell down her back, interspersed with threads of bright gold.

Arana didn’t care. Dinner with the chief was always an ordeal at best, and it made something in her stomach tighten as supper drew close. By the time her bath and dressing was finished, the bell had rung for the evening meal.

Mara had left, replaced by another guard for the time being. He quietly nodded and escorted Arana to the dining room. It had been nearly a fortnight since the last time she had dined with the chief, and she was not excited for it.

The dining room itself was bathed in warm lantern and candlelight. As Arana was announced into the room by her accompanying guard, she caught a glimpse of the last of the kitchen servants laying out the steaming dishes of freshly cooked food.

A feast was placed on the table before them. Even though she knew it would be but her and chief who would dine in the privacy of this room, there was far more than two ravenous individuals could possibly hope to finish, particularly considering how meager Arana’s own appetite remained. She was never hungry, at least not as how everyone seemed to think was normal. But she was also yet to take ill or fall to waste the way that her caretakers had seemed to fear, and so it gave her no more pause than any of the other myriad of things that made people frown about her.

The chief was already in attendance, predictably with logs books of trade and expenses at her side. The paper were put aside as soon as Arana entered, and the chief stood, looking pleased.

She came around the table to see Arana seated herself, lingering to run her fingers through a lock of Arana’s long hair. Arana didn’t need to turn upward to see the chief’s face; she already knew what would be there. She would have the same look of fine appreciation as when counting the rings of silver and brass when they came in from the trading tariffs. It was the look of evaluating something she believed to be of high worth for her, no different than rings of currency or barrels of trade goods.

Arana suppressed a shudder just as it began to run up her back, forcing her body to stillness. It was a difficult body to control, though, with its warm blood and beating heart. It was never still, not in the way that she wished it to be. Thankfully the chief did not linger overly long. She stayed only to fill Arana’s cup with wine, and then took her place on the opposite side of the table, filling her own cup similarly.

Whereas the chief immediately raised her cup for a makeshift toast and took a deep drink from it—enough that she had to immediately refill it—Arana distained the burn of alcohol that the chief so seemed to enjoy. The kitchen, however, had grown used to her and had the foresight to leave a second cup of steaming tea. She sipped from that instead, enjoying the warmth more than any taste it held.

With that, dinner began. One of the kitchen staff dutifully spooned out portions of the main dishes onto plates for both of them. Even though the amount of food on the chief’s was easily twice that of Arana’s, she still wanted to sigh at how much had been offered to her. Too much. More than she would ever finish. She supposed she needed to try, though.

Arana placed reached for her utensils, glancing up at the chief. She never was entirely certain just exactly what the chief expected from dining with her. Arana knew she was not much in the way of conversation or entertainment. Nearly everyone she did see was far more interested in her hair, which was not to say that was not the chief’s main interest in her either, but it was less of the unnerving mixture of admiration and adoration that Arana was still growing accustomed to, and more in the way of material evaluation. But then, the chief seemed to look at everyone with some degree of that same measurement, as if determining what could be extracted from a person for her own values and gains. It was not to say she was utterly inhuman, but more that any extraordinary kindness she showed was extended purely for the benefit of what she saw in return. That simply was who the chief was.

“You spend quite a great deal of time in the garden, I am told. Fresh air is all good and well, but it does not do you well to stay too long in the growing cold. It’s not healthy, especially for one as slight as you.”

The chief spoke around the mouthful of food. She, at least, seemed to have more than an appetite for food. For her part, Arana picked at what was on the plate in front of her, giving the slightest nod of her head that she knew the chief would want. Not that the chief seemed to particularly care either way. She had the habit of giving lectures to whoever she seemed to talk to, be it traders, militia, or Arana herself, and Arana had learned quickly that it was best to at least appear acquiescent to the chief’s wishes.

What else was she expected to do without the garden? The chief was far from open to the idea of letting her wander outside of the house grounds themselves, particularly after Arana’s first attempts to escape. The town itself held little in the way of interest to Arana, and there were tasks within the house itself to be had for her nor that the chief seemed inclined to allow her to do. A thought struck her, and Arana shivered. She had not thought of how things might change as winter moved in and once snow began to cover the grounds. If she was not allowed outside because of the winter…

The chief’s garden was one of the few places that she could find refuge in throughout the whole of the small settlement. It was a far cry from the tall, dark tree line on the horizon, but Arana had quickly taken in what little pleasures she could find when confined to the outpost. And the garden was a thing to boast of, or so the chief had explained. Others in Tamins might be able grow a few vegetables or root plants for their own kitchens, but no one outside of the chief had the staff nor the space to afford an ornamental garden. Such a mark of luxury was typical reserved to the cities and the old money families, or so Arana had been told. Whatever truth was behind it mattered little to her. Walled and trimmed to the bizarre degree of ‘perfection’ that it was, the garden with its fishless pond and its tiny few trees had become her small world. If the coming of winter threatened that, then she would place herself at even more odds with the chief again, no matter the consequences.

Arana forced a piece of fish into her mouth and swallowed. It was fish, through and through, and her human tongue and stomach told her that spices and sauces and the fire-cooked flesh were how it was supposed to be. It clashed at odds with the memories of raw fish, pulled fresh from shimmering scales and on a palate entirely different than the one she knew now. The cooked fish from some fresh water stream stared lifelessly back up at her, surrounded by vegetables and some unknown grain. The textures were always foreign on her tongue, and thought it wasn’t an unpleasant thing, it was too often overwhelming. Arana took the token bites of everything on her plate, and then slowly mixed the sizeable remainders of what was left. So much food that would be leftover, not simply from her plate but from the table, and it made her wonder where it all ended up.

She stirred at a piece of the now sauce-covered grain, and then poked at the fish again. If the chief thought anything of the silence between them, she never showed it. Her main concern seemed to be her own food, and having spoken her bit, she appeared content on inhaling as much of the food and wine put out before her.

“I have good news for you.”

Arana looked up, startled by the unexpected interruption in the meal. The chief set down her napkin, taking a deep drink from her glass again. Her eyes sparkled, undeniably pleased. That alone made Arana’s stomach clench, and the words that followed flooded over her like freezing water. “The sages who visited to see you seem to have relayed a favorable message to the court. I received notice today: you will be travelling to the imperial palace as soon as the escort guard arrives.”

Arana forced herself to stare down at the small, half-eaten fish on her plate. The scales seemed to whirl and blend together, and there was a faint roaring in her ears that drowned out whatever else was being said. Not that the chief seemed to mind either way. At least not until Arana found her voice again.

“Please.” Her voice was choked, desperate. It was a far cry from how she used to demand this. “Let me go.”

The chief had just been raising a piece of some sort of meat to her mouth. She paused in the action, and then very, very slowly placed her utensils down, food now forgotten. Any semblance of the earlier merriment was now forgotten.

“Now listen, you need to stop this…this nonsense.” Her brow was a stern line that mirrored her lips as she spoke.

“I have tried to be more than understanding since we took you in. I see that whatever fell power was cast on you is no simple thing for any human to recover from, but you cannot sink yourself its madness. You are as you are meant to be. You are human again, no longer trapped in the body of a beast or animal through—” The chief made a sign with her hands, the sign—Arana had learned—that was meant to ward off evil. “—mischief.”

Arana felt her hands clench together. Her feet wanted to carry her away, to dart out of the oppressive walls made of dead trees and to run back into the forest. But she knew she would never even make it to the door.

“It wasn’t a curse. It was the magic of the old go—”

“Mischief!” insisted the chief, her voice just short of a panicked yell, and Arana jerked and flinched. The chief made the symbol against evil a second time, and then wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead. “And it brings ill humors on this house to speak of such things and call attention to us.”

She stopped again to take a deep drink from her glass, finishing what was in it and refilling her cup before a servant could even approach. Her face was red in the lantern light, a mix of emotions and alcohol alike, but her lips were a thin, white line. There was no tolerance left in her, and Arana felt the fight drain out of her. The chief shook her head before continuing.

“You need to put a rest to this. It does no one any good. The empress and her sages have taken an interest in you. You must conduct yourself with honor. And if there is any such…” Here her words seemed to fail her for a moment and she struggled, ultimately still unable to mouth even the word of ‘magic’. “Any such persistent strangeness about things, they will surely know the course of action.”

The chief sighed and stared at her for a long moment. It was not the look of a vendor evaluating the worth of their property, but something queer and unfamiliar. For a long and disorienting moment, Arana had the sudden awareness of seeing herself as the chief must see her: a puzzle to which there were no apparent means of solving.

So. The chief would be glad to see her removed then, placed into someone else’s care. And why wouldn’t she? Her goals remained the same as they had always been: continuing to expand her business and name, cutting a swathe into the wild ‘frontier’ that humanity now sought to conquer. She had never asked for Arana, just as Arana had never asked for this.

“You’ll be better off in the capital,” finished the chief, and that was that. She picked up her utensils and continued drinking and eating, no longer paying heed to how Arana did not even pretend to touch her own food.

Arana remained for as long as she could, until the silence weighed oppressively on her skin and she could no longer sit quietly no matter how she commanded her body to stillness.

“May I take my leave now?” Her voice was not raised, but it cut through the air jarringly, and she winced to hear the sound of it on scraping against her own ears.

The chief, however, remained unphased. This time she did not even lift her head, simply reaching for more food. A non-committal sound emerged from her throat, but she raised her spare hand to gesture for the guards. At least she would allow that much.

Arana stood, setting aside her napkin and stepping away from the table before a servant could reach her. Two guards were ready at the door for her, neither of them Mara. By the time they made it back to Arana’s room, the silence had yet again grown knife sharp. One of the guards slid open the door for her, and Arana returned to her makeshift cage. Her room was by no means barren. Indeed, nearly everyone she had spoken with indicated quite the contrary. Even modt of the buildings in Tamins appeared rough on the edges, the chief didn’t seem to tolerate the same in her own residence, and her ‘guest’ chambers were no exception. Much like the dining room, tapestries ad rugs were hung and laid everywhere to hide the grainy beams of wood that formed the walls and the floors. The bath tub that had been brought in before had long since been removed. The faint impressions on the rug were the only evidence it had ever been present.

A wax candle had been lit on the small bedside table. It was scented beeswax, and Arana flared her nostrils for a second. No matter how many time she said it, no one listened to her wish to simply live with the smell of pine sap around her. She strode over to the small candle and brought her fingers to her mouth. A moment, and then she gathered her courage. Even now, fire made her freeze with instinctive fear. But humans controlled fire, and she was human now, too. She knew how to control a flame just as much as the rest of them. She licked her fingers to wet them, and then extinguished the small flame between her thumb and forefinger quickly. The wick hissed and she withdrew her hand quickly, though it remained whole and unburnt.

The sound of her door sliding open had Arana spinning on her heels, and the room swam around her for a long moment.

“Your pardon, lady.”

The young woman who had entered bowed her head perfectly in apology, glancing back up through her eyelashes.

“I was to tend to your hair before you retire for the evening.”

No room to argue on it, even if the woman’s eyes were appropriately downcast. Arana stared at her, uneasy and trying to recognize which of the serving staff members this was to no avail.

When Arana said nothing, the woman continued into the room, over to the sitting cushions. She gestured with one hand.

“Please, lady.”

After a moment, Arana slowly made her way over, her bare feet only a whisper of noise on the floor. She sat, and the woman moved around to the back of her, hands moving with the comb.

Arana caught a glimpse of it from the edge of her vision. It was the usual tortoise shell, fine tipped and kept meticulously clean. Every day, before going to bed and after rising from it, Arana would sit in this exact spot. Back straight, head still, as silent and cooperative as a statue, she would sit and endure the unwanted touch of the tortoise shell comb moving through her hair, brushing against her scalp, and of the human fingers that accompanied it.

The movement of the comb started a second later, meticulous and precise. They were all the same, the women chosen by the chief to comb her hair. Exacting and precise, they did their job with more than just technical proficiency, and it was that certain bit of more that Arana did not like to overly dwell on.

Always, she could sense their presence hovering over her, a nameless gaze focused and fixed upon her with a desire and jealousy alike that she never understood nor wanted. She had not asked to be made like this, to be different. She gritted her jaw, blinking fiercely and trying to think of the home that was no longer her home. She tried to call up the groaning of tree branches in the wind, the mottled sunlight and moonlight falling through the leaves, the plucking vibrations beneath her.

Yet more she tried to seize and hold the image in her mind’s eye, the further it seemed to slip from her, as if her own memory were betraying her. Her memory stood at odds with her present reality, and her frustration only mounted. The overwhelming desire to move and get up filled her, but she quashed it ruthlessly, digging her fists into her thigh until the worst of everything abated.

If the serving woman combing through her hair noticed how Arana had grown rigid and stiff, she did not say it. Her own work at hand remained focused and uninterrupted, until finally she moved the last stroke with the tortoise shell comb, stating the obscene number of strokes with an unmistakable tone of pride.

After everything of the day, something drained out of Arana, like water emptied from a sieve, and she felt her muscles go slack and sore with fatigue. The combing was now finished, yet the woman did not immediately withdraw. She hovered, and Arana felt her presence as acutely as if she had spoken. The silence slowly built into a roar.

The woman reached out and pulled back the curtain of hair, now brushed to perfection, from Arana’s neck. Arana stiffened at the sensation of fingers pressed against her skin. So similar to the plucking or strings, and yet so different. She could feel it in the touch, even if she could not understand it: the tremble of fearful want in those fingertips, almost sorrowful and full of regret. The sensation made her shudder and recoil.

Terrifying, how humans were so filled with sadness and regret. How long until she became the same, if she was not already?

The serving woman paused at her reaction, hesitating before speaking. “You are so beautiful. More beautiful, they say, than even the empress herself. Yet you are so cold, as if you have no desire to be warm…”

Arana reeled, the words striking her as unexpected as a physical blow. Warmth? As if she had never lived? As if she had never known life before now at all? From behind her eyelids flashed the memory of vivid green, the sound of running water. Then it was just as quickly gone, like smoke from the extinguished candle. Arana opened her eyes, but all that was before her was the brown and gray of the room, and only the faintest scent of dead wood that had once been living tree.

Something rose from within her chest, wild and frantic and horribly painful, but then caught in her throat like a knot, threatening to choke her.

The woman reached around to wipe at her cheek—Arana realized belatedly that a single salty droplet had escaped her eye, a tear—and Arana did jerk away then.

“Leave me.”

Her words emerged with a calm that surprised even her, for all that they were whispered.

The woman paused, hesitating, and silence grew monstrous.

Arana could feel her draw breath, about to speak back. Then there was a polite knock at the door, and it slid open. Mara poked her head in, one arm resting on her armored hip as usual, and Arana felt a surge of rare gratitude for her stoic watcher. The serving woman was already standing before Mara had even finished her interrupting cough. She bowed her head, first to Arana and then to Mara, and then took her leave. Mara did not immediately close the door.

Instead she studied Arana quietly, her face giving away nothing of what she might have thought. Arana rubbed her face with heel of her palm, suddenly self-conscious. When she looked back up, Mara’s gaze had moved toward the sleeping pallet. The think blanket was half pulled back, no doubt designed to be inviting. The sun had long since set beneath the horizon, and the only light in Tamins was from the pitch torches and the oil lanterns, and what little was left from the waning moon in the night sky.

“Will you not sleep, lady?”

But they both knew the answer to that, just as they knew that if Arana was asleep with the first bell and arrival of the morning serving staff, they would be lucky to find her actually slumbering in her bed as she was meant to.

Mara sighed, and though it was soft, it seemed to echo through the room. “Should I ask the kitchens for a tea for you?”

Arana shook her head. To speak suddenly seemed to require too much.

“If you need anything…”

She nodded her head. Then her guard bowed and left. The door closed behind her, and Arana was left to the solitude of her own thoughts, bound in the makeshift prison that was her mind.

Draining, it was all completely draining. Yet like every other night, the thought of laying down on the blankets seemed to repel her more than anything. It was suffocating. Arana found herself back at the same place she always wondered to when left in her chambers. The ledge against the window was doubtlessly not designed with the intention of being anything more than an ornamental seat, but Arana squeezed into it.

She brought her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself. Her hair—her prized hair—fell past her ears and in front of her face, blocking out her one view of the night sky. The wood beams of the wall pressed against her back through the thin fabric of her night shirt, and Arana breathed in deeply. The faint but constant scent of pine filled her nose and lungs. She closed her eyes and imagined a different world entirely: the delicate but strong plucking of silk strings beneath her, the humming vibration of the nighttime crickets from within the thick grass, the low snore of a sleeping doe.

For almost a moment, she was there again.

When she exhaled, her breath came out in a choked sob, too quiet and low for any to hear, even if they had been listening for it.

#logos writes #original fiction

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