#‘’a woman should never have to do physical labor! She should rest her pretty little head while the big strong men do everything for her!

[the-ferocious-kittyrose]

Me searching the “cod x reader” tag for fics that are not misogynistic

[writingwithcolor]

Black woman saves and houses abused white woman and child

@dykecalianna asked:

Greetings! I follow this blog whenever I can and I recently came out with something in my story that I wanted to inquire about:

There’s a white woman in her late 30s, let’s call her “Vicky”, who (along with her daughter) is a victim of domestic abuse, and another character, a Black woman, “Cherry”, is made aware of this after a change encounter the two have at a café. She helps Vicky flee from her husband and lets her stay in her home - later, the two fall in love and get together.

I’m very aware of the White Saviour trope, and do my best to stay away from it. This is nothing like it, but does this fall under some sort of negative stereotype for Black women, like “saving the fragile white woman”? I should note that Cherry and Vicky are the exact same age, only Cherry is single and living alone. She is described by many as being very cute, and she is also secretly a well-renowned writer (she uses an alias when writing, so she kind of feels like a super heroine, which then ties with her storyline about Vicky). Also, I think it’s pretty clear, but the abusive husband is also white like Vicky.

I think it’s touching that Cherry saves this woman and her child from this abusive situation. I would like to discuss some areas that may help you explore if there’s a mammy / strong black woman / sacrificial negro dynamic here.

The chance encounter

Did Cherry (Black woman) meet Vicky (white woman) for the first time and instantly decide to get involved? I feel that it’s a bit sacrificial for Cherry to place herself in the middle of what could be a potentially deadly situation, as domestic abuse too often leads to, for a perfect stranger. 

This level of involvement would not align with how much one might put on the line for someone they do not know at all. Cherry is now at risk of retaliation from Vicky’s abuser if he finds them, or Vicky allows him back into their lives and lets them know where her home is / they make up and he learns about Cherry’s involvement etc. 

Their relationship prior to Cherry helping Vicky

The risk might feel worth it for someone you know, but it’s a lot to ask of a stranger. In the case of a “chance encounter becomes savior” situation, she also doesn’t know anything about Vicky and is letting a perfect stranger into her home. Of course, everyone is different and based on her personality and experiences may be willing to assume these risks. The child being involved might also influence that. Cherry might be one of those people, but it’s worth acknowledging as a big undertaking in the narrative. Her actions should not be brushed aside as nothing or just “her duty”. Too often servitude is just assigned as natural for Black women. Their own lives take a back seat and to take care of other people / ensure their well being comes first.

Suggestion: built a history between the women

A better fix might be to develop some level of a relationship between the two before Cherry risks so much to save them. They could even just be acquaintances. It helps if they know each other on some level,  at the least. Even if it’s strangers that see each other often at the cafe and strike up small talk all the time but never speak outside of that, old high school classmates that ran in different groups, friends of friends. This creates some sort of relationship where Cherry feels she knows Vicky “enough” to assume the risks, especially as a child is involved. 

Without knowing the exact circumstances, I’ll pose a few scenarios and explore the pitfalls.

If she witnesses the abuse

Witnessing the abuse and getting involved as she sees it happening - I wouldn’t fault her for that. I’d instinctively get involved too!

If something happens in the public eye, it would help if other bystanders get involved too; Cherry just happened to take it to another level and offered her sanctuary.

Again I’m still having a hard time figuring out why Cherry has been placed in this situation before proper authorities, women’s shelters, etc. if she doesn’t know her at all. As I’d suggested, it might be best if they had some sort of relationship prior, no matter how subtle.

The escape from the abuser

What role does Cherry play in the escape?

Physical strength / sacrifice 

Is she expected to use brute force aka be “Strong” to physically save Vicky or fight off her abuser? I would avoid that, as you will have a Strong Black Woman on your hands.

Must Cherry put herself in direct danger with the abuser to save Vicky and the child?

It's asking a lot for Cherry to storm into the home, potentially get harmed or die for a stranger in a domestic abuse situation that she does not know a lot, if anything, about. For example, what if  there’s deadly weapons in the house? 

Could Cherry involve others to help?

Maybe Cherry could call authorities and possibly show up alongside them.

If authorities aren’t involved, perhaps she waits outside to drive the getaway car as the friend and child escapes (I’m 100% inspired by Enough with Jennifer Lopez). Even better, if she could bring along someone else, preferably non-Black, who could help in the situation.

Emotional strength 

The Strong Black Woman is often about being forced into emotional labor.

Is Cherry allowed to react with fear, sadness and anxiety about the situation? Or must she keep it together for the sake of the White woman? Perhaps it’s triggering based on her past; she should be allowed to process that.

Allow Cherry to deal with her own wave of emotions. Even better if she has an outlet for that. She might not lay them on Vicky, but she also shouldn’t be expected to be a perfectly composed rock whose purpose is to comfort and support Vicky. 

Vicky shouldn’t rely completely on Cherry for emotional support. She needs other sources to expel her own fears and emotions. Whether a therapist, parent, other friends, chat forums, journal, or a dog!

Mammy (dynamic between Cherry and the white woman and child)

Given the other factors in the story, I would stay away from Cherry being asked or offering to care for the child. Vicky should take primary care for her child or get help from others besides Cherry or other Black women, as this would give their dynamic mammy and servitude vibes. 

Same applies to Cherry physically taking care of and serving Vicky - avoid it. Also, once Vicky is up for it or she has the means, they can split the chores or Vicky does the majority or contribute to housing expenses (again, if she has the means) but in some way she should pull her weight, so all the domestic care does not fall on Cherry. 

It’s all about avoiding putting Cherry, the Black Woman, in the position as savior of white woman and child + servitude role any further than the implications the first incident creates. Initial comforting and support is fine, but the rest of the white woman and child’s world shouldn’t continue to rest on the Black woman’s shoulders.

Explore Cherry’s life outside of the white people

A very important aspect that will keep this away from SBW and Mammy tropes; give Cherry her own life. Cherry absolutely needs to have a plot line that does not revolve around Vicky and child. She needs to talk to other people, and about other subjects, besides those two. Her main problems, drama, and highlights of her life shouldn’t revolve around them. 

Give her emotions, weakness, and vulnerabilities. She needs other friends and/or family, interests, and a little romance absolutely helps too. She is this amazing writer, so you’ve got something to work with right there! Ultimately, she needs her own life, things going on that have nothing to do with them.

Good luck with your story!

Colette

[scuttling]

While I'm writing Dad!Bod Hotch with babies... 🥺

...Here's a very baby excerpt from one of my other works (modified a little so it can be read as reader.) It's pretty cute if I do say so myself! Tags: 18+, NSFW, Blow job + Pregnant sex The next child abduction case they get happens a year later, and it takes them to Seattle; rain beats down on the Sullivan house while she and JJ sit with the family and try to keep them informed of what’s going on in terms of the investigation. The mother stares out the window at the rain, and she brings over the cup of tea she’d offered to make, sets it down on the table beside her, takes her trembling hands.

“I promise you, Mrs. Sullivan, our team is doing absolutely everything they can to locate your son safely. They are the best in the world at what we do; we just need to let them do their jobs.”

Mrs. Sullivan frowns, takes a sobbing breath, and then wraps her arms around her; she’s a little startled by it, but rubs her back, trying to provide comfort.

After a couple minutes, Mrs. Sullivan pulls back, and she offers her a tissue.

“Do you have any children?” she asks, wiping her eyes.

“Yes. He’s seven years old, and his name is Jack.”

They find the boy five hours later. Alive.

She and Aaron have celebration sex on every available surface.

“Hey. So, I got three or four calls from my doctor’s office a couple weeks ago, but I was preoccupied with the Sullivan case and I kept forgetting to call her back,” she says later from Aaron’s lap. He sits up, holding her hips while he shifts his weight.

“Okay. Is everything alright? Why was she calling so often?”

“Apparently, my IUD expired a month ago. I have to get it taken out.” He looks cautiously over her face, like he’s not sure what reaction she wants from him. She’s fairly certain she knows what his first instinct is. “Well, Jack and I were at the grocery store when I spoke to her—and you know I’ve been feeling a little off…” She wets her lips, reaches over the arm of the couch and pulls a little cardboard box off the console table. She can see his breath hitch.

“Have you taken it?” She nods quickly, presses her lips together.

“Just waiting now.” Carefully, he reaches for the box, takes it out of her hand, and sets it back down on the table. He pulls her close for a tight hug.

“Whatever happens, I love you so much,” he murmurs in her ear, and they just hold each other until the timer on her phone goes off. She brushes her hand through his hair, and his eyes are wet; she knows hers are too.

She climbs out of his lap, and he follows her down the hall, clinging to her back like he can’t physically let her go. When they make it to the bathroom, she picks up the test, squeezes her eyes briefly shut, and holds it up so he can read the word on the screen.

The word.

She spins in his arms, wraps hers around him, and jumps up and down, the grin splitting her face nothing compared to the gorgeous smile that lights up his.

“I’m going to see if Dr. Rose can fit me in tomorrow,” she says, leaning up to smooch him several times in a row. “Just to be sure.”

“Let me know, I’ll come.” She nods, kisses him a few more times, takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I love you so much.” He holds her, repeats it, kisses her forehead, her eyes. Then he starts kissing her for real, reverent and steamy, and they walk gracelessly toward the bedroom, tugging articles of clothing off as they go.

She is kneeling over him on the bed, giving him a very good, messy, ‘Congrats, you’re probably going to be a daddy again!’ blow job when she pulls back suddenly, an overwhelming thought crossing her mind; she looks up at him with wide eyes.

“You know my brother has two sets of twins, right?” “A package came from your brother today,” Aaron says a couple months later as he’s leafing through the mail; he holds it out to her, and she opens it up, excited, then covers her mouth, can’t help but aww. “What is it?” he asks, not looking up from the stack of envelopes, and she puts her hand on his arm to get his attention.

“‘For the Hotchner siblings’—that’s what the card says,” she explains when he looks up, and then she holds up the largest t-shirt: it’s brown, with a cartoon bear cub, white letters spelling out Brother Bear. She holds up a smaller shirt: Sister Bear #1. Then another small shirt: Sister Bear #2. He smiles.

“Okay, that’s cute. We have to FaceTime him and thank him.”

“Definitely. He’s not going to believe how big this belly is,” she says, reaching up on her toes for a kiss; he comes at her from the side, because it’s easier to reach her lips that way. “Uh, Hotch, we need you down in the bullpen. She's crying and we can’t get her to stop,” Spencer says into the phone, looking a little freaked. Aaron must agree to come down, because he hangs up the receiver wordlessly; JJ rubs her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

“It’s okay, I completely understand. It’s normal to feel like that at this stage of the pregnancy,” she explains, and it’s all sounding very rational, but she just covers her eyes and keeps crying.

When Aaron crouches down beside her, he takes her hands carefully off of her face, wipes her tears with his sleeve, peers up at her with soft eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I want…” She gulps, sniffles, and Prentiss hands her a tissue over the desk partition. “Thank you. I want these babies out of me,” she sobs, and she knows she’s making a huge scene, but she doesn’t even care. “I want your babies out of me, Aaron!” He sighs; she knows he’s heard it all before.

“I know, honey, but you have to be patient. It will happen when it’s meant to.” She sobs, then hiccups, and that’s just great.

“But I’m—I’m drinking the stupid tea, I’m eating the dates. I got the, the acupuncture—do you know how weird it is to see those needles sticking out of your body? It’s unsettling!”

Morgan returns from Garcia’s office, takes one look at them, and abruptly pivots on his heel to head back.

“Oh sure,” she calls, and then hiccups, “everyone sees a crying pregnant woman and they just run away!”

“Noo, he just texted me!” Spencer lies, waving his phone that he never even looked at. “He said he forgot something and he’ll be right back.”

“Spencer, tell me what else can induce labor, please,” is all she says, doesn’t call him out because it’s sweet that he even tried. He counts off with his fingers as he recites the list.

“Raspberry leaf tea, dates, castor oil—” she grimaces, because that shit’s the worst “—acupressure, acupuncture, exercise.” He hesitates, looks a little uncomfortable, and she hiccups, gets pissed, takes a deep breath.

“Sweetie, honey,” she says, reaching out a hand for him, and he takes it, pats it awkwardly. Bless his heart. “You’re my partner, and I love you, but please spit it out.”

“Okay, uh. Nipple stimulation, and uh. Well. Sex.” Oh, yeah, the nipple thing they tried, but it felt like a restless cat trying to get comfortable on her chest, wasn’t sexy at all, so they didn’t try the rest. She snaps her fingers at Aaron like a douchebag asking for the waitress, wipes her face, hiccups again.

“Okay, we’re doing it, we’re doing that one. Sex me up.” Prentiss barks a laugh, and Spencer looks deeply disturbed. “Please can we go home now?”

“Uh, yes, we can,” Aaron begins, “but I’m not sure we should—” Nope, she’s not gonna listen to that bullshit. He hasn’t been pregnant for 42 fucking weeks.

“I love you, but shut up. Your dick put these things inside me, and your dick’s gonna get them out.” She moves to stand, and so does he, arms out like he’ll catch her if she starts to wobble. “I know I’m not sexy anymore with this gigantic stomach, but please please please just fuck me.” He closes his eyes, sighs like he regrets so much in life, and then gives her a hard kiss on the mouth. It makes her, like, instantly horny; she’d initiate sex right here if she thought she could get her pants off.

“You are as sexy as you’ve ever been,” he murmurs, hovering over her lips, “and I’m going to fuck you.” Sex this big sucks. Missionary is hilarious, doggy is uncomfortable, side by side seems okay but is actually kind of impractical. She feels betrayed.

Aaron helps her get on top of him—his dick is so hard it makes her feel really, really good about herself—and she’s more than okay with bouncing on him, but her belly bounces too, and it feels weird.

“Can you hold it?” she pants, and she takes the hair tie off her wrist and sweeps her hair into a ponytail because she’s sweating from all the position-shifting. “Just like, hold it.” She takes his hands and rests them on her enormous beach ball belly, sighs because it feels nice. “Good, yeah, thank you, let me try again.”

She braces herself against his thighs, rides him quickly, bucking hard—after about 15 years of wishing she had bigger breasts, she now despises hers, and therefore avoids them at costs, but she does manage to reach her clit, and she rubs it furiously as she moves atop him.

Aaron—who is so great, and sweet, who she loves so much—is all but useless, just holds her belly still and groans like he’s getting the best pussy of his lifetime, which she guesses maybe he is, because she wants these babies out and she’s well and truly desperate. “Oh, fuck, baby,” he grinds out, and his hands move to her thighs, squeezing hard, and she whines.

“No, no, do not come, don’t come.”

He comes.

An hour later, they try again, with her propped up on a pillow, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. The internet said this would work, and if it doesn’t, she’s prepared to let BoyMom282 fucking have it.

“Oh my god, yes, yes,” she moans, clutching at the sheets above her head, and Aaron’s hands feel so good on what remains of her waist as he pounds into her. “Fuck, yes, fuck me until your babies are ready, Aaron. Such a fucking man, knocking me up with two babies at once—you can help me get them out, can’t you, daddy?”

He groans long and loud, and she puts a hand on his, squeezes hard.

“Don’t. Come. I swear to god if you come inside me right now, it will be the last time you ever do it.”

He comes, but luckily for him, she comes first. “So, tell us which is which,” Garcia leads, visibly excited, and she leans back against Aaron’s body, looks at the sweet baby girl in his arms.

“This one is Camila,” she says, touching her teeny tiny little foot, “and Spencer’s holding Mia. Mia Clarita Hotchner Cortes—Clarita after my mother—and Camila Marie Hotchner Cortes.”

“Marie after my mother,” Aaron explains, and he puts an arm around her, which she snuggles happily against. “We’re just waiting for Jack—he should be here any minute.” Spencer hands Mia back to her, and she kisses her forehead.

“This is the best day of your mama’s life,” she coos, touching her soft, dark, fuzzy baby hair. Her heart swells. “I was going to become daddy’s next unsub if you little cuties didn’t vacate my uterus in a timely fashion.”

She can hear the squeak of Jack's shoes coming through the door, and she looks up at Aaron with a grin. When Jack comes around the bed and sees the girls, his eyes get big. “Whoa, are these my sisters?” Haley pops in behind him, and she smiles at them.

“Yeah, buddy, come here,” she says, gesturing for him with her free arm. “This is Mia, and this is Camila.”

“Gentle like we practiced,” Aaron reminds him when he reaches out to touch Camila’s face, and she and Haley both roll their eyes, then laugh.

“He knows, sweetie.” She watches their interaction with so much love, then brushes her fingers over Jack’s hair. “You’re going to be the best brother bear ever, aren’t you?” He looks up at her, grins; he’s missing a tooth just to the left of the front ones, and she’s obsessed with that little gap.

“Yep, I’m going to read them stories and share my toys and play with them at the park.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” Aaron says, leaning down to look into his eyes. “And so are we, buddy.” “And do you, Aaron Hotchner—”

“Da-ah-addy!” someone sobs—Mia, she mouths to Aaron across from her—and she sees JJ step out from behind her, trying to soothe her so they can proceed, but she’s not having any luck. Mia is a daddy’s girl, and the fact that she can see him, but she’s not in his arms, is like a mortal sin to her.

She gets it, she really does. She felt that way every day for two years.

When it’s obvious she’s not calming down, the officiant clears her throat and tries again, but Mia’s wailing just gets louder. Aaron smiles, shrugs.

“Sorry. It’s okay—here, Mia, daddy’s right here,” he assures, reaching out to take her from JJ, and he wipes her eyes, her red nose, and bounces her on his hip for a moment until she settles. She shoots them what she’s sure is a sickeningly sweet glance and then turns around and asks for Camila; Emily hands her off with a big smile.

Aaron grins when she puts her on her hip, and he reaches behind him for his best man, Jack, encourages him to come forward so he’s standing between them. She smiles at him, touches his face, and nods at the officiant, who takes a deep breath and proceeds.

“Do you, Aaron Hotchner, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” They opted not to write their own vows, because their vows are living, breathing things between them, three perfect little heartbeats. Anything more felt unnecessary.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” He does, so well she thinks she might get pregnant again, and then they each kiss their three babies, and she silently marvels over the fact that all it took was being clobbered over the head with a fire extinguisher for her life to end up this perfect. “Did you know that your chance of having a second set of fraternal twins jumps to 12% after you’ve had the first?” Spencer asks as they’re gathered in the briefing room one morning. She and Aaron are standing up front, pressed close together, nodding patiently. “And considering they run in your family, and that your brother has two sets of fraternal twins, I’d say that statistically the odds are more likely doubled.”

She looks over at Aaron, whose eyes are filled with love and awe and also some pretty sexy other things, and then pulls the ultrasound image out from the little envelope, holds it out for the team to see.

In unison, they answer, “We know.”

They get a package in the mail later that week: One Jack-sized t-shirt—Brother Bear #1—and two tiny t-shirts—Sister Bear #3 and Brother Bear #2. She and Aaron stop by the hospital to visit a friend after surgery and she can't resist walking past the maternity ward. Something about seeing all of those brand new, healthy, happy babies rejuvenates her after a tough case, and the one they'd finished up earlier in the week had been one of the toughest.

A woman comes to stand beside her as she looks at the babies, wearing sweatpants and a hospital gown—she's maybe 30, so just a few years younger—and she smiles brightly at the woman. "New mom?"

"Yeah, she's the one right there," the woman says with a grin, pointing to a sweetly sleeping little girl. "Isn't she perfect?"

"They're all perfect," she sighs, "but she is very beautiful. Congratulations." The woman's smile turns warmer, softer.

"Thank you. Do you have any children?" She's so wrapped up in the dreamy haze of little babies wiggling their toes that she almost doesn't hear the question.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, five of them: Adrian, Isabella, Mia, Camila, and Jack." The woman's eyes go extremely wide, and she laughs, because she's so very used to that. Aaron steps up on her other side, wraps an arm around her waist.

"Thought I might find you here," he says, and he smiles politely at the woman, who's looking like she may never open her legs again. "Can't resist looking at the babies."

"I just love babies," she says sweetly, and she stretches up for a kiss. "Do you ever think we should have another, just to even it out?"

"Hmm. Yes, but knowing us, they'll be twins again, so it's probably best we stick with five." He bends for another kiss, and she pulls him close; when she remembers where they are, she pulls back, to shoot the new mom a sheepish smile, but she's already gone. She sighs.

"Fair enough. But do you want to go home and practice anyway?"

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward part 3: Laoshi Mao

A Miraculous Fan-Fic

Written by 

AJ Dunn

It had been two years now since Adrien moved to Shanghai. At first, time seemed to go by so slowly as he was waisted his days at home and went out at night to train. However, after the first few months, he began going insane. He decided to sit and watch Chao Sifu as he taught the younger kids the same exercises he was mastering at night. He held several classes throughout the day, some for the smaller children, and others for the more advanced kids. However, he never saw groups of adults. 

“You might as well change your clothes young Adrien, and join me.” Chao Sifu said without missing a single movement. They were practicing outside under the blossoms of the over-hanging trees. Adrien nodded and jogged off to change his clothes, he left them here so he didn’t have to carry a bag around town. He returned to the group and Sifu motioned for him to take the lead in front of the kids. He knew the exercises well and began right where Sifu left off. He watched the kids’ faces and they moved in sync with him. He never realized how much fun it would be to participate in a group activity like this. He once gave his Chinese class lessons in fencing and vise versa, but this was something else. They looked to him as if he were the Sifu. His heart was thrilled. 

Sifu walked around the group inspecting the movements of the children and corrected the ones who were out of step. Adrien began showing up every day at the same time and spending almost the entire day either leading the class or walking around helping the kids who had more trouble. He especially loved working with the smallest of the children. One of which, a little girl, reminded him a lot of a younger Marinette. She was even just as clumsy. Sifu didn’t have patience for her so Adrien would have her step out of the group and he would practice solo with her several feet away from the rest of the group so that if she did fall, he would be the only one she’d trip on. 

The days began to go by faster as Adrien took up more chores at the temple including cleaning. After two years, Sifu allowed him to take on more chores and even lead a couple of classes on his own. Sifu seemed to be tiring of the physical labor as his body began to give out. Adrien was still a silent partner in the Graham de Vanily company and even insisted that he receives reports regarding new designs before they were approved. Many new talented designers were beginning to blossom under the new brand of the company, but he wondered why Felix never offered Marinette a position despite her many successful designs that were sponsored by the company. 

“She keeps refusing,” Felix answered as they spoke on the phone. “I even went personally to her apartment to offer her a full position.”

“You went to her apartment?” Adrien felt prickles in his skin. “Where does she live, who does she live with?” 

“Wo wo slow down lover boy. If you want those details call her yourself.” Felix was irritated with Adrien’s jealousy but he went out of his way to antagonize it knowing how much it affected him. “Look, I understand why you can’t be here, but she can’t.” 

“I know I know.” Adrien sighed

“You don’t get it,” Felix’s frustrations could be clearly heard. “You’re the reason she keeps turning me down.” 

“Turning you down?” Adrien began to fume.

“For the job offer,” Felix wasn’t playing now. “It’s not like I brought her roses and offered her my hand. Get control of your emotions.”

“You’re right cousin.” Adrien sighed dropping heavily onto the couch. “I have been keeping my mind occupied with things here so I don’t think about everyone there.” 

“How’s that working out for you?” Felix sounded concerned. “Are you accomplishing what you went there to do?” 

“Yeah, I think I am. I am teaching children martial arts now and, I can cook pretty much any Chinese dish you could order at a restaurant.” He laughed. 

“So… are you thinking about teaching children when you return?” Felix asked skeptically.

“Why not, I used to be the best fencer in my class and even gave lessons to some of the least talented students I met.” He remembered the time Marinette tried out. He laughed again. She wasn’t bad for being such a klutz. “I have to go now though, it’s time to meet up with the Sifu for dinner. He clicked the phone off and was about to stand when his phone rang. It was Cheng Sifu. 

“I don’t need that nightly order you always deliver each night,” he said swiftly. A nervous tone in his voice.

“Is everything alright Sifu?” Adrien wondered if he should use Plagg to get there quickly despite the sun still being up. 

“No no, don’t come everything is okay, I just have family in from out of town.” Adrien’s breath froze in his lungs. He could hear laughter coming from the other end of the line. He knew there would always be a chance of Marinette and her parents visiting, Cheng was her great uncle. Adrien sulked as he set the phone back down. He stood up as if his body moved him. His thoughts weren’t his own as he stormed out of the apartment. Plagg zipped quickly so he wound’t be left behind. Even on the metro, he couldn’t sort his thoughts. What was he doing. He was going to see her. What if she saw him? How could he explain, he had been gone for 4 years now, with no contact with any of them. What would she say? How could he face her after what his father did to her, to all of them. Marinette had been the only one out of their entire class, and well school to not have been akumatized. 

He couldn’t stop his thought process even as he got off the bus by the market. He lifted his hoodie over his head wondering if it would be better to dawn his ‘other’ hoodie. So far Cat Noir, had not been seen in Shanghai, not since his first night here. Even Hei Mao was a blur in the night. Despite the fact his new costume was an exact replica of hers, he could always pass it off as someone playing dress up. But an adult? In Shanghai, in broad daylight with no festival or events taking place? Adrien stopped outside the restaurant. He spied the very back table, the one Cheng Sifu reserved for his family and special guests. He could see her laughing along with his mother and father. Her long midnight hair hung loose below her shoulders, her smile radiated as her eyes gleamed from the joy. 

Adrien couldn’t move as he stood frozen. He saw her look up as if she could sense someone watching him. He dropped to the ground. Toying with his shoe laces so as to not look suspicious to the passerbys. Was it safe to stand up? Did she see him? He slowly stood not looking into the window, but just as his eyes rose over the window sill he could see what she had been looking at. It was Fie, a friend they had made here when she had by chance visited her uncle for the first time and gotten lost. 

Adrien sighed and took his leave. What had he been thinking? Toying with disaster. He couldn’t bare to feel the shame his father placed upon him. He was glad that at least Marinette had escaped the fate of becoming evil, she was far too good for that. But the horror of watching everyone you care about wreak havok on Paris, not to mention on the various places they had traveled abroad. Even here in Shanhai. 

Adrien had made his way back to the temple. He couldn’t find Chao Sifu anywhere. He slipped his sneakers off and slipped through the living areas searching for him. Finally he sat on the floor outside his masters bedroom and knocked on the door. He could hear a low muffled voice.

“Come in Adrien.” the voice was raspy and harsh. He slid the door open and crawled inside closing the door behind him. Chao layed on his futon. He was pale and weak. A woman came from the bathroom placing a cold rag on his head. “You won’t be trained by me any longer young Adrien.” He coughed into his napkin. Adrien could see the red. 

“He won’t make it through the night.” the woman said then left the room. 

“I am far too old for this world.” Chao said. “I am over 300 years old now.” the shock wore on his shoulders. He was even older than Master Fu.

“How long do guardians live?” Adrien asked quietly “Master Fu was nearly 200 before he surrendered the miracle box.” they hadn’t ever talked about the miracle box or who had it. All Adrien knew was that Ladybug had it and he didnt know who she was. 

“Fu?” Chao said. “He was but a child when the temple disappeared,” he coughed again. “Being bound to a Kwami box preserves our life span, but we slowly fade after we relinquish it.” He hadn’t seen Master Fu since he had been akumatized, which came after he had handed over the miracle box and lost his memory of it. 

“Chao Sifu? how do you have memory of these things if you relinquished your box”

“I was a grand master, I governed them all!” he hacked and turned on his side away from Adrien. “When the temple was restored, I sent the guardians out to find the missing boxes and any holders who may have passed along their miraculous’” more hacking.

Adrien wanted to know more about the order of the miraculous but he knew, now was not the right time for that. He would sit with Chao through the night. 

The dawn came as Adrien saw cross legged on the floor beside the futon. He had been meditating all night. He felt the fatigue as his eyes slid open welcoming the sun. He saw the Sifu looking up at him. A haze growing over his eyes. 

“There is nothing more I can teach you.” the voice was small but understood. “You came to me a Xuesheng, and now I leave you, Laishi Mao.” His eyes drifted closed as his body went limp. Adrien swallowed hard in his throat as he continued to sit there unable to move. The woman came in a few minutes later. 

“He is gone.” Adrien whispered barely able to breath, his heart heavy with hurt. He wanted to cry, he wanted to be held tightly as he cried. He suddenly missed his partner. Despite her lack of reciprocated feelings, he missed her the most right now. Her arms were always available to him when he needed her the most. But he knew, he had abandoned her. Tears began to well up in his eyes as the woman covered his face with the blanket. Adrien stood up and left the room. 

Back at his apartment Adrien was silent as he moved about the apartment. Classes would be canceled today. He went to the bathroom and took a shower. Marinette was in town, and his Sifu was gone. He dialed up Cheng Sifu.

“I uh, I need to see you.” he choked. Standing in the seating area, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Today.” 

“I will come see you.” Chao said. Her voice could be heard in the background. A voice he would never forget. Especially after she confessed her love for him on the day of graduation. He had just showed up at the school, she crashed into him at the top of the stairs, a common occurrence. Standing there for the longest moment before she spoke. His mind couldn’t process what she had told him. His heart stalled in his chest and he could’t say a word. Not that he didn’t have feelings for her, just that she had always said she didn’t like him like that. He swore her love was for Luka, and maybe part of it was. 

“Thank you Sifu.” He said hanging up the phone. There was a knock at the door. Adrien peered through the door. It was a bell boy. He slid the chain and oppended the door. 

“This was sent for you.” the man handed him a suit bag, like one from the dry cleaners only this was fancier. 

“Thank you.” Adrien said closing the door. He carried the hung garment to his bedroom and tossed it on the bed. Pacing back and forth as his heart skipped a beat. 

“Well what is it?” Plagg asked flying out from where ever he had been hiding. The logo on the bag was clearly from the temple. His heart throttled like the engine of a sports car in his chest as he unzipped the garment bag. It was a simple garment. The shirt was long and black with dark red trim. The pants matched. Adrien pulled it out and slipped the pants on first. The cuffs came up slightly above his ankles as is the design. He performed a couple high kicks, Side to side and front. He kicked back knocking the lamp off his night stand. 

“Carefull where you kick you almost hit me.” Plagg said. Adrien laughed.

“We’ve been hit by our own cataclysm, I think you can take a kick.” Plagg scowled at him. He picked up the top. It opened in the the front and wore like a robe. He slipped his arms into the sleeves pulling it closed around his waist. He slid the sash off the rung of the hanger and tied it around his waist holding the top closed. Sifu had taught him how to wear it. He slipped on the matching shoes that lay in the bottom of the garment bag. He went into the bathroom to inspect his appearance. The top had slits up the sides for movement freedom. It didn’t move at all as he kicked and punched moving his arms around infront of the mirror. 

“It’s not as good as your OTHER suit.” Plagg said jealous of the new look. “Even your Marinette style is better than this one.”

“No argument there.” Adrien smiled. “I’ve never had a civilian uniform before.” Another knock at the door came. Adrien greeted the bell boy who was escorting several well dressed men. Adrien held the door open for them. He waited for one to offer his hand before shaking it, as was customary. He motioned for them to sit in the seating area and they did. 

“We have come to deliver you news of Chao.” One spoke. “As you may already know he passed on this morning.” he pulled a manila envelope from his satchel and held it in both hands. “He had these prepared for you awhile ago.” he handed the packet to Adrien with both hands, so Adrien accepted it with both hands. “Please open it now.” the men waited as Adrien pulled the stack of papers from the envelope. 

“Last will & testament?” Adrien frowned and looked up at them. 

“You shall become the soul heir to the temple grounds, the school and all it’s contents.” one began to read from his copy of the forms. You will take up his place as Laoshi to the children and carry on his teachings.” It was a great honor to have bestowed on a person. Adrien couldn’t speak as he watched the man read through the forms. “There shall be no classes until the end of mourning.” with that the men stood up. Adrien stood up and escorted them to the door. A call came in on his phone. It was Cheng Sifu.

“I am downstairs, I can not stay long.” he sounded rushed. Adrien hurried down stairs. Plagg tucking himself into the sash. A secret pocket had been crafted into it. 

“Perfect.” Adriem smiled as he made his way to the elevator. Downstairs he found Cheng Sifu sitting on a bench under a tree. He took a seat next to him. 

“You look great.” Cheng said indicating the suit.

“Chao Sifu passed away this morning.” Adrien started. “I was with him went he went.” His tears threatened to appear but he swallowed back scanning the scene for signs of Marinette.

“They are over there.” he motioned to a temple turned museum across the street. She would not be able to see him where he sat. “I am sorry to hear about your Sifu. Adrien, you have done well here.” 

“He gave me the kwoon.” Adrien said flatly. “I am to take over as Laoshi.” 

“Congratulations Adrien.” Cheng beamed with joy for his young student. “You have come along way even in the kitchen. Will you tell me why you came here? Why you avoid the one you love?” Cheng always seemed to know that which even Adrien hadn’t. Adrien knew now that he loved her, but he had always been blinded by his love for Ladybug. Well, he still loved her too, he just thought more maturely about it and having a life with a woman who you didn’t know her real identity made things more difficult. It’s not like they could get married. 

“It’s...comlicated.” Adrien said. “After my father was arrested, I didn’t know who I was. I came here to find that out.” He could have gone anywhere, but why here? “Maybe, here, i still had a connection to her.” he mused. 

“I will call you, when they leave.” Cheng said standing up. “Unless you change your mind then join us for dinner tonight.” His sheepish smile swelled in Adrien’s heart. He was such a wonderful man so caring, and attuitive. 

“You know I won’t. But.” Adrien stood up. “Does she talk about me?”

“I asked her about you last night, and…” he looked across the street. “It made her sad.” it hurt Adrien to think that the thought of him would make such a cheerful girl sad. 

“I will see you soon.” Adrien said. He could see her and her family walking out of the building across the street so he slipped deeper into the shadows as he watched Cheng rejoin his family. He went back to his apartment.  His phone rang. 

“Wow, your popular today.” Plagg said escaping from the sash once the door was secure.

“I need you to meet me in London,” Felix announced in a rush. “Your mother woke up!”

[erin-bo-berin]

Riot

MASTERLIST

Surprise, I’m back guys with more fics! I was so happy when I finally was in the right mood and headspace to get some writiing done, I had missed it dearly. I also missed being able to share my work with you guys. This was an older request by @theitcaramelchick​ for the reader to meet Spencer at a sort of animal activist event. I apologize for it taking me so long to post, but I spent a little extra time perfecting this one than most. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Word Count: 1,885

Rating: G (fluff)

Spencer grumbled as the SUV pulled closer to the crowd of people.

He thought of the earlier conversation he’d had with Emily Prentiss, his supervisor and boss, the unit chief of the BAU.

Now, when it came to the BAU, you’d automatically think the team would always work on cases involving serial killers, profiling them, planning take downs, saving lives. This current assignment he had wasn’t part of his credentials.

“Emily, I should be here to help out with the case,” he pleaded.

“And you will be.”

“But why do I have to do this when you need me here?”

Emily gave him a look.

“Spence, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“We catch serial killers, not supervise protests.”

“It’s not supervising. You’re just there to keep the peace. Besides, Anderson was going to do it but his wife just went into labor so I obviously can’t send him.”

Spencer had to bite back the groan he felt like releasing. 

“All you have to do is just make sure no one is harmed, no crime is committed and that it remains peaceful on both sides,” Emily instructed, “It shows that the FBI cares about matters like these and has an interest in all parties’ safety. It will take a few hours, tops.”

He sighed heavily. 

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks,” she grinned, patting his arm, “See you soon.”

That was how he was roped into “supervising” this protest.

Spencer had no idea what it was for, but when the SUV pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned looking building all he saw was a lot of chaos.

Well, this would be fun.

•

“Okay everyone back up!”

Spencer grimaced as he attempted to make his way through the throng of people.

Shouts from officers rang in his ears as did the protesting voices from the crowd. If only he could get closer to see what was actually going on, he might be of more use.

He finally made it to the front of the crowd where one, aggressive police officer was tightly gripping the arm of a girl. He couldn’t see the rest of the girl other than the arm that was bright red where the officer’s hand was clasped.

“Hey, hey!” he rushed forward, “There’s no need to be so hostile,” he told the burly cop.

The man narrowed his eyes at Spencer, scrutinizing him.

“Who are you?”

Spencer pulled out his badge, showing him.

“SSA Spencer Reid from the FBI. You know, the Federal Bureau of Investigation? You might have heard of us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the woman’s eyes widen at his statement.

“What’s the feds doing here?”

“To help keep the peace. Which you definitely don’t seem to be doing. Do I need to make a report to your superiors,” he squinted at the man’s name tag, “Officer Graham?”

A sour look crossed his face.

“No. You can take it from here, agent.”

The man all but stomped away leaving Spencer alone with the woman.

“I’m sorry about that ma’am, he had no right to-” he froze, mid-sentence, when he turned towards the woman.

She was wrapped with chains like prisoners he’d seen put away. But instead of them restraining the criminals, these chains connected her to something.

She was chained to the building behind her.

He was quite literally standing in front of a woman who had chained herself to a building.

A quite attractive woman, at that.

•

You peered dubiously at the agent as he stared at you, mouth hanging open.

“You trying to catch some flies in that venus flytrap of yours?” you asked.

He closed his mouth quickly, snapping out of it.

“Uh, why was he rough handling you?”

“Maybe because I happen to be chained to a building.”

“Yeah, that’d make a lot of sense,” he mumbled, his gaze still lingering over your restraints.

He still looked like he couldn’t believe what was happening. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.

“Um,” he licked his lips, his eyes squinting at you a tiny bit, “Why exactly are you chained to a building?”

You sighed.

“You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, I’m fine. You can go now.”

“Try me,” he challenged, folding his arms.

In truth, Spencer was intrigued.

“I don’t want them to tear down this animal shelter. The city wants to tear it down to build apartments here.”

“And that’s bad?” Spencer asked, quirking an eyebrow.

You huffed, annoyed.

“Yes. It is. I told you that you wouldn’t understand. Anyway, the officer was trying to forcefully remove me and stop the protest now that the contractors decided to save the building, but I can’t move.”

“Why not?”

“I might’ve accidentally lost the key to the padlock and I can’t get out. Officer Graham thought I was lying just to be a nuisance, but I’m actually stuck.”

“Well…” Spencer paused, holding back a smile, “I have to say at least you’re dedicated.”

“I’m pretty proud of it if I do say so myself,” you chuckled a bit.

“Hey, um, would you like me to help though? I could get someone here faster than anyone else here could.”

“Yes, please. I really don’t want to spend the night stuck here.”

“One second.”

Spencer excused himself, dialing a familiar phone number.

“Hey Spence, how’s it going?” Emily asked from the other side of the phone.

“It’s going. Do you know if Rossi still has that pair of bolt cutters in his car?”

“Uh...I’m not sure? Why?”

“It’s a long story. If he does, can you ask him if he’d mind running them out here to me?”

“Sure.”

He can hear Emily’s hesitation and he assured her everything was fine and that he’d explain later.

The girl was glaring and hollering at someone when he returned.

“What was that about?”

“Oh just some people who think animal activists are scum. They’re just mad the city responded to us and decided to keep the shelter open.”

“Tell me, why this place? Not to be rude, but it’s pretty worn down.”

He braced himself for the girl to yell at him for saying such a thing, but it didn’t happen. In fact, you just looked sad.

“I used to volunteer here. I still help out every now and then, but it is getting pretty run down. I wanted to save it because I want to help restore it. Whether it’s raising money to help restore it or actually physically helping with it, I wanted to be a part of it. This shelter has helped so many abandoned animals. Cats, dogs, bunnies. It was such a rewarding feeling taking care of them and seeing them being adopted out to a good family. I want it to stay here.”

“Wow,” he said, moved by your dedication to the shelter, “That’s amazing.”

“I guess,” you shrugged, “Most people find us irritating or a nuisance.”

The crowd of protesters had begun to thin, leaving a far less amount of people then there had been when he’d arrived.

“If it helps any, I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s brave what you and your friends did. Plus you won the battle. I mean you even chained yourself to a building.”

You broke into a grin, laughing.

“You’re still not over that, are you?”

“It’s gonna take a while,” he chuckled.

“So, are you really an FBI agent or did you just say that to annoy officer Graham?”

“I actually am.”

“Jeez, you think what I do is brave,” you mumbled.

“It’s not all that bad,” he said, “Okay, maybe it is.”

You gave him a knowing look and he broke into a smile. It was a rather gorgeous smile at that, showing off a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. You couldn’t remember the last time you met a guy with such a genuine, contagious smile.

“So how did the FBI get roped into appearing at a riot?”

“That’s a long story.”

You looked down at the chain around your waist, then back up at him.

“Well I’m not exactly going anywhere and I’ve got time.”

Your statement dripped with sarcasm and it made him laugh again. You couldn’t help but smile at it. He had a nice laugh as well. You suddenly had the irrational urge to make him laugh again.

He didn’t argue any further though and dove into the story.

He had just finished it up when an older gentleman came running up to the guy that you’d been talking to for the last half hour

“He’s with you I’m guessing?” you nodded towards the other man.

The second man eyed you curiously before turning back to the agent you’d been bonding with.

“Should I even ask, Reid?”

“Uh, I’ll explain later Rossi. Thanks for bringing the bolt cutters.”

He took them and you tried to suppress a grin when you noticed him give the other agent a shooing motion, as if trying to get him to leave. You acted like you didn’t notice though, even though you heard the salt and pepper man mutter something to him.

“Details later, huh?”

With a quick look that you sure meant for him to scram, he turned back to you, the other man walking away from the two of you.

It took a few good hard squeezes of the bolt cutters to finally break the chain, but it finally gave way. You were pretty sure you’d never take advantage of freedom ever again.

“Thanks,” you said, stepping away from the tangle of the chains, briefly losing your balance.

His hand was on your arm, steadying you.

“So, um. Thank you for everything today,” you smiled slightly, “Especially for listening. Not many people bother to do that.”

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed it, oddly. But I never got your name.”

“Y/N.”

“Spencer,” he smiled at you.

“Well thank you again, Spencer.”

You turned to grab your things that you’d set aside earlier in the day. Picking them up, you turned to head for your car when he stopped you.

“Wait!”

You looked back over your shoulder, curiously.

“Would it be okay if I, uh, take you out some time? Maybe we can talk more about you wanting to help the shelter. If you want to, that is.”

You shouldered your backpack that’d been in your hands and turned to fully face him.

“I’d love to.”

He smiled, holding out a hand for your backpack.

“I can carry those to your car, if you need help.”

You obliged, picking up the rest of the signs and posters you’d created for people to hold today. It was a good feeling knowing that these signs had been put to good use and helped you and your friends save the shelter. Not only had that occurred, but you had met Spencer as well.

“You know you remind me a lot of a friend of mine,” he stated as the two of you walked towards your car.

“Oh? Is that a good thing?”

“Definitely. I have a feeling she’d love you and love to help you with your cause, if you don’t mind some extra hands occasionally.”

“Never can get enough of those,” you replied, earnestly.

“Good because I can’t wait to introduce you to the outstanding Penelope Garcia.”

Tag List: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @fuckthealarm​ @whatspunispun​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @thomasfoockinshelby​ @tinyminy88​ @theitcaramelchick​ @missprettyboy​ @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @lemonypink​ @multifandommandy​

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 1

cruel summer masterlist

AN: It’s here. Idk what the posting schedule will be like, I have no idea what my writing schedule will be like, but... I think it’s gonna be 25ish chapters? Maybe? Who knows. It’s gonna be fun, I think. I hope. Looking forward to hearing everyone’s thoughts. Alright... without further ado...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rowan Whitethorn is having a really horrible day. Not just the kind of bad that he can shrug off, but the kind that seeps through his skin and sinks into his bones, that permeates even the smallest thing, turning everything into a giant annoyance.

First, he missed his alarm, so his grumpy manager, Lorcan, has been even grumpier with him since he pulled through the gates of Ashryver Playland this morning. The amusement park job is less than ideal. Rowan hadn’t planned for his summer to be taking tickets and cleaning up melted ice cream cones from sweaty-faced teens – but it was the only place that called him back, and he doesn’t come from the type of family that can afford to pay his rent. So unless Rowan had wanted to spend the summer in his mom’s unairconditioned apartment, dodging set ups with her mahjong circle’s daughters, this was his only option.

It's nearly 3PM, and Rowan still hasn’t been able to take his lunch break. He knows that’s adding to his bad attitude. Rowan has a tendency to get hangry, or so his coworker Fenrys tells him. And because he was in a rush this morning, he forgot to pack his lunch. Which means he’ll have to spend money buying overpriced crap at the park.

Rowan’s also on trash duty today. Which means he gets to spend the whole day circling the park grounds with a giant broom and pan and pick up the fallen bits of funnel cake and popcorn and soda cups and dump them into the closest trash. Then, once those are full, he gets to haul the heavy bags of stinking trash all the way to the back of the park where the dumpsters are. It’s pretty much his worst nightmare. Though Rowan isn’t opposed to physical activity, he’s not super fond of smelling like rancid garbage. He tugs at the collar of the too tight uniform polo shirt stretching uncomfortably across his chest and frowns. After a bag split all over him earlier, Rowan was forced to go diving in the employee lost and found for another uniform. Apparently, the only person who’s missing a shirt is two times smaller than him. He sniffs himself and nearly gags. He can’t wait to get home and shower. He look at his watch … in … five more hours.

“Whitethorn,” Lorcan calls, crossing across the yard at him. “Take your thirty now. Then you’re taking over for Connall at the ferris wheel ‘til closing, yeah?”

Rowan barely contains a shudder upon hearing his new assignment. He hates trash, but working the ferris wheel is somehow worse. He didn’t realize until last week that’s where every middle schooler goes on their first make out date. He’s had to pull too many kids off the ride, feeling like their disapproving father as he pulled their clashing braces apart to make room for the next patrons in line. Frankly, he finds PDA disgusting. And the sight of thirteen-year-olds going at it is enough to scar him for life.

At least Rowan finally gets to eat something, though. The oppressive mid-day heat combined with hours of physical labor and no fuel has him feeling like he could keel over any second. He grunts his acknowledgement at Lorcan and makes his way to the closest concessions stand, which luckily has barely a line – I guess since it’s 3 fucking PM and not actually lunch time. Rowan is about to step forward when he feels tiny fingers poke against the back of his knees. He’s about to snap at whatever parent to keep their kid on a tighter leash when he realizes there is no parent, just a kid – and the kid is, in fact, trying to get his attention.

“Um, excuse me? Sir?” the little boy says. Rowan’s never been a sir before. He hates it.

“Yeah?”

“I think I lost my family,” he says resolutely, not sounding even a little bit scared. “Can you help me find them?”

Rowan’s stomach grumbles and his head pounds. He knows he has to return this child to his family, but he also knows he needs to eat immediately or he’s going to lose it.

“We can absolutely do that,” Rowan begins, “but I haven’t eaten all day. Do you think you can wait like… ten minutes?”

The little boy nods and sticks out his hand. “I’m Gavin and I’m five.”

“Hey, Gavin. I’m Rowan and I’m hungry.” Gavin giggles at that, and Rowan finally cracks a smile and shakes the boy’s hand.

Rowan steps up to order, thinking about what’s going to be the fastest, since his thirty minute break is going to include an unforeseen detour to security at the entryway of the park. “Can I get a hot dog, a pretzel, a cherry coke and…” He looks at the little boy next to him. “Anything for you?”

Gavin’s eyes widen with glee. “Cotton candy?!”

“…and a cotton candy.”

Rowan reluctantly hands over a $20, saying goodbye to three hours of hard work. But he has no choice. They get their food and make their way to the eating tent. Rowan keeps his eyes open for anyone looking panicked or in search of a child, but he doesn’t see anyone who fits the bill.

Rowan inhales his hot dog in record speed and takes a giant gulp of his cherry coke and immediately feels better. Sitting under the shade of the tent helps, too. The pair sit quietly and eat their food. Gavin swings his legs happily as he peels off pieces of his cotton candy, licking the sticky sugar from his fingers.

“So…” Rowan has no idea how to talk to a kid, but he figures he should ask him a few questions to figure out who to return him to, at least. “Who are you here with today? You said your family?”

Gavin nods excitedly, the sugar clearly starting to make its way through his tiny body. “Yup! My whole family is here today. My mom, my dad, Auntie Ae, Nana and Grandpa.”

“Wow.” Rowan’s heart tugs slightly. “That’s fun. Any special occasion?”

“Nope. We come every week,” Gavin says.

“Every week?” Rowan asks, his voice rising in pitch. He’s trying to do the math of the ticket prices. $30 for six family members. That’s $180. For every week of the summer…? Rowan’s mental math skills stop there, but he knows that’s a LOT more than he’s ever been able to casually throw down.

“Yup. Since I was a baby,” Gavin says. “It’s my family’s special place.”

“Think your family would adopt me?” Rowan jokes. He loves his mom a lot, and she did the absolute best job raising him, but they’ve never had a special place. His mom thinks adding guacamole to her Chipotle bowl is special. Not that Rowan disagrees. Guacamole is a perfect condiment.

Gavin finishes his last lick of cotton candy and holds his red hands up at Rowan. “I’m sticky.”

Rowan shoves the final bite of his pretzel into his mouth and stands up. “Me too. Let’s go wash our hands and then find your family. Sound good?”

Gavin nods, skipping next to Rowan, his little shoes lighting up as he matches the striding pace. They make their way to the row of porta-potties and outdoor sinks, which line the side of the park. As Rowan washes his hands, he notices Gavin struggling to reach the stream of water. Of course. He’s only five.

“Need a hand?” Rowan asks, and Gavin nods, holding his arms up to be lifted. Rowan’s arms burn, since he’s been picking up giant bags of trash all day, but he manages to keep Gavin mid-air until he’s finished cleaning the sugary crystals from his hands. He’s putting Gavin back on the ground when he hears a loud voice shrieking behind him –

“YOU! SIR, STEP AWAY FROM THE CHILD!”

Damn it.

Rowan sighs and turns, letting his hold on Gavin drop completely. This is so not what he needs right now.

“Gavin, honey, come here,” the voice calls again.

Rowan searches to see who the voice belongs to and is momentarily stunned. Gavin’s mom is… young. And hot. Her golden blonde hair is swept away from her face in a high ponytail, resting softly down her bare back, on display in a strappy yellow tank top. And her jean shorts show off her long, tanned legs. Rowan stares a beat too long because the next thing he hears is, “Gavin, earmuffs,” and suddenly the blonde woman is inches away from him, in his face and pushing at his chest with her pointed finger. She is mad.

“Stay away from this little boy, you pervert!” The woman’s eyes flare angrily as she pushes Rowan’s chest again forcefully with her finger, and he is not having any of that. He grabs her finger in his large fist and moves it away from him, making the woman stumble back slightly. Her mouth widens into a small circle as she looks up at the man grabbing her finger.

“I’m sorry, pervert?” He chuckles humorlessly. “This little boy asked for my help finding his irresponsible family. Who lost him. I work here.” Rowan uses his other hand to point to the stupid logo on the corner of his polo. “He happened to find me on my lunch break. Maybe if you’d been a more responsible mother you wouldn’t feel the need to get this worked up the guy who was clearly about to take your kid to security.”

“Mom?” the woman says, horrified and snatches back her finger. “Oh my god.” Her demeanor shifts entirely as she looks to Gavin and motions for him to uncover his ears. “Gavin, please tell this very rude man that I am way too young and cool to be your mom.”

Gavin frowns. “I don’t think he’s rude, Auntie Ae. He gave me cotton candy.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up in accusation. ‘You gave him cotton candy? You’re only proving my point.”

Rowan puffs out his chest defensively. “I’m sorry, is cotton candy a sex offender favorite? I wouldn’t know.”

“You clearly offered sweets to a child to lure him away from his family!” she says way too loudly, looking around and making a show of her statement.

“Quiet down!” Rowan snipes through gritted teeth. “I need to keep this job, for fuck’s sake.”

The woman smirks and steps closer. “I think your employer deserves to know you were luring children away from their families!” she exclaims dramatically, attracting the attention of a nearby security guard.

“No,” Rowan says, his voice increasing in volume as well. He’s had it up to here with this day, and this woman has grated his last nerve. “That’s not… Listen…” Rowan takes a deep breath. He really cannot lose this job. “I was starving and about to go on my lunch break when some poor lost kid asked for help finding his family. I told him he could order something with me, since I felt bad. Sorry. I’ll be sure never to be polite ever again.”

Rowan has gotten in “Auntie Ae’s” face, and he’s breathing hard. He’s worked up, and he knows it’s not her fault, but fuck this day.

“Is everything alright here, Ms. Ashryver?” the approaching security guard asks, and Rowan pales.

The woman steps back and takes a breath, her fury melting into a warm smile for the guard. “No, Frank, everything is fine. Just thanking one of our newest employees, who made friends with Gavin today.”

The guard chuckles. “He run off again?”

The woman’s eyes flash in warning and the guard shakes his head. “Ah, don’t be mad, Aelin. You did the same exact thing when you were his age. Running from ride to ride and driving your old man crazy.”

Rowan crosses his arms as the guard saunters off, and the woman turns back to him with a shy smile.

“Ashryver, hm?” Rowan asks, feeling a little ill as he pictures the large Ashryver sign that hangs over the entryway to the park.  “So, what is this, like… hazing?”

“No! I was really only going to make the one joke and then let it go,” the woman says, biting her lip guiltily and shoving her hands into her jean shorts pockets. “But then you called me his mom and I just… got carried away. I do that sometimes. I’m Aelin. Ashryver.”

“So I heard.” Rowan rolls his eyes. “You know there’s absolutely nothing funny about calling someone a predator, right? I could be arrested if the wrong person overheard that.”

“You’re making me feel very bad,” Aelin says with a grimace.

“Good,” Rowan says resolutely. “Because now I’m also late to get back to work.” He’s more than a little annoyed at how this entire exchange has played out. And even more annoyed that he can’t stop staring at Aelin’s bright blue eyes. This is the last thing he needs. He’s about to head off when –

“You’re really not going to tell me your name?” Aelin asks, tilting her head up, trying to figure Rowan out. Rowan’s about to reply when she cuts him off, not even giving him a chance. “That’s fine. I’ll find it out. I have connections, you know.”

“I’m sure you do, princess,” Rowan says. Her lips purse at the nickname, and Rowan can’t tell if she loves it or hates it.  

“See you, stranger,” she replies, dismissing him and grabbing Gavin’s hand as she walks off. Just before turning the corner, she tosses her ponytail over her shoulder and looks back. It’s only when she winks at him that Rowan realizes he’s still standing motionless, watching her go.

[erstwhile25]

Old Salts, and Bitter Fruits.

It was a brisk La Noscean morning, the kind where the bitter chill winds coming off the seas wrestled with the warm sun reflecting off the mountain slopes.  Most mornings the sun won out, but in the height of winter, the wind was such that it could slip under your clothes and shake hands with your bones.  Hannah knew from experience (as most of her knowledge was prone to spring from these days) that it wasn’t as bad as the ongoing frosts of Ishgard, still one needed to bundle up against it, lest they found themselves making friends with a fever.  She had just finished gathering up the last of the winter peas from the fields, and had set her basket aside to rub a little life back into her chilled knobbly fingers.  

Age had been kind to her, she reflected as she sat her bony ass down on one of the smooth stones that marked the borders of her son’s fields.  Most women who had seen as many seasons as she had needed the assistance of a cane to walk, and that was if they could leave their rocking chairs at all.  However she was still able to bend at her waist, and carry a basket that was half her weight in stone.  True, her joints ached terribly before the coming of a storm, and she’d no longer had a tooth in her mouth that wasn’t porcelain or silver, but to expect nothing from time but a head full of grey hair was folly if ever she heard it.

It was a subject of some debate back on her son Sigmund’s farm.  His wife, a pretty little midlander named Sarah who didn’t have so much as two foul thoughts in her head to rub together for fire, was opposed to the idea of her aging mother-in-law working in the fields.  She insisted that if Hannah kept it up, then one day they would find her out there, dead amongst the stones and weeds.  The girl, and she was still a girl in Hannah’s eyes, never even contemplated the possibility that Hannah would have it no other way.  After all it was probably the bull headed need for physical labor that kept her in such fine shape for her autumn years.  During her years on the salt, Hannah had never met a job she didn’t prefer to do for herself.  In fact, one of her hardest lessons aboard a ship had been to trust in the work of others.  

Hannah shivered, and rose off the rock, tugging her basket to her shoulder.  Near on twenty years had passed since she had set foot on a deck, and still every fourth thought out of her head was about her life on the waves.  It was what every sailor meant when they said “The Siren’s Call.”, since most were too chickenshit to call it their own stupidity, blaming a pretty woman seemed the next best thing.  Still they were right about one thing, there wasn’t any sense to be had in it.  She had a good life now, Sigmund shared her own love of steady physical labor, and between the two of them they had made his farm one of the best producers on the coastline.  Sigmund and his little wife hadn’t been coy in their marriage, and now they had a fifth grandchild on the way to swell the household even further.  Hannah had made the offer a while back to have a cottage built for herself on the edge of the property, giving them the space every married couple needed.  However they wouldn’t hear of it, bless their amorous little hearts, the pair insisted having their family under one roof, all of their family.

So here Hannah was, with no need for coin, or a roof over her head, besieged on all sides by love from gangly grandchildren and moon-eyed betrothed.  All of these things rested neatly in the palm of her hand...and there was still space for something else.  It made her feel like shit, but there was no denying it, some part of her longed for the feel of the rolling deck beneath her feet and the anticipation of the great unknown.  Rationally, she knew the reason she would never return to the waves, it was the same reason she’d fought so viciously with Sarah about planting the fig trees behind the house.  Not because Hannah had any particular inclinations about figs as a fruit, but because of how the trees looked when they were denuded of their leaves in the winter.  They looked like skeletal fingers clutching up through the sea water, always reaching for the sky. 

It was staring at those trees that her son found her.  She had walked the pebbled path home without realizing it, as mired in her thoughts as a cart stuck in the peat moors.  It wasn’t until he rested a cautious hand on one of her shoulders that she realized where she was with a little start.  

“Someone once told me staring at a tree won’t cause it t’grow fruit.”  He rumbled through a chest now broader than hers had ever been, when had he grown taller than she?  She smirked up at him, handing off her basket without needing to ask that he take it. 

“Depends on what ye came out t’pick, not all fruit grows green.”

“Mmmm” he set off on a slow plod towards the front of the homestead. “Sounds like bitter fruit indeed.”

“Tis at that.” She said out the side of her mouth, following at his side..

“Ye know…” he said, plowing on into the conversation like an ox “Ye need not be the only one t’eat this fruit.”

She smiled up at him fondly.  The trouble was he meant it too, he would patiently listen to everything she had to say about her past life, and forgive her for it to boot.  Trouble was some things weren’t for him to forgive, and she wasn’t deserving of forgiveness anyhow.  

“Some mistakes are jest that lad...bitter fruit only ye can eat in yer old age.  Now hush, n’let me be an old woman in peace.”

“Salty old bitch.” he said, without a hint of malice.

“Green little shit.” she spat, with all a mother’s love. “Thought ye would be out still pickin stones in the western fields, not herding old goats.”

“I was headed that way, but someone claimin t’be a friend oh yourn showed up on our doorstep.”

Hannah stopped as soon as he said it, her foot on the first of the sensible stone steps leading up to the porch of their home.  She eyed the door above them as though it was a serpent rearing to strike.  “That makes them either an idiot or a liar...what’d ye make them t’be?”

Sigmund set down the basket of peas, and as he bent over Hannah noticed a cudgel was tucked into the back of his belt.  It was a plain and heavy affair carved from one of the thick branches of the oaks that dotted the path to the house; Sigmund said he kept it around for wolves and men in need of manners.  Hannah had only seen him use it twice, and that was all she needed to suspect he’d inherited more from her than a need for physical labor.  Nodding towards the house, he gave his mother a knowing look. “He looked like someone who could be trouble iffin he wanted t’be, don’t think he wanted t’be though.  Said he jest wanted t’talk to ye, so I left Sarah t’entertain whilst I fetched ye.”

Fetched me and that there cudgel, Hannah thought as she sucked on one of the silver teeth at the front of her mouth.  She supposed she could have berated him for leaving his family alone with a strange man, but there was time enough for that after she dealt with this.  She went to the wide stump near the front of the house, where they all took turns splitting firewood for chill evenings.  There embedded in the stump was a well worn hatchet no longer than her forearm.  It was hardly a weapon for most folks, but it was a tool she was intimately familiar with.  With a quick yank she freed it, and it slid easily enough into the apron straps behind her back.  Thusly armed, she stomped her way up the steps good and loud so whoever was in there heard her coming.  

Hannah had to admit, with the one exception seated at the kitchen table, she had walked into the picture of farmer’s hospitality.  Sarah had been an inn keeper’s daughter before Sigmund had offered her a life on his homestead, and thusly she had kept his hearth with the same inflexible sensibility that had commanded the line of innkeepers before her.  Everything was where it should be; from the fragrant cooking herbs hung to dry along one wall; to the color coordinated rows of jams and preserves they had sealed in the spring.  Every pot, every pan, every humble clay cup was precisely in the location it needed to be to convey a sense of welcome and warmth to those who were either returning home, or simply temporarily visiting.  It was this way, not because Hannah, or Sigmund, or any of his multitudinous get were particularly neat, but because Sarah Commanded It Be So.  The family bore it with good natured cheer, partly because they loved the small woman, and partly because they enjoyed their home being so.  Even crusty old Hannah enjoyed it; Which was why, when Hannah saw one of Tseng’s things seated at the table amidst everything she considered home, her blood ran colder than any Ishgard winter.  

It didn’t help that Juniper, the eldest of her grandchildren, was seated next to the lean salt haired outline of a man.  Juniper’s innocent grey green eyes were as wide as the tea saucers her mother was setting out, as the little girl of eight tapped one of the many ostentatious gold and silver rings on the thing’s spidery sea worn fingers. “What about...that one?”

 It opened its mouth, showing very white teeth in a wolfish grin, and a raucous laugh tailored to titillate rolled around the kitchen.  “I got that one from a princess of the Ananta, she dared me t’try dancin on one foot afore all her clan, as her people do.  I fell flat on my arse, but she claimed I should have aught t’show fer it anyhow.”

Juniper’s eyes narrowed, and her tiny mouth puckered in the inherent shrewdness of all eight year olds “Wot’s an..Antnata?”

“Oh they’re a sight t’be seen..” It winked (...or was it blinked?) to her and laid a finger along the side of it’s slightly crooked nose, as though the two of them in this bit of information had a precious secret to share. “Serpent women whose beauty tis beyond compare, they live in the outer Fringes outside Gyr Abania.”  

“Liar.” Shot back Juniper with no hesitation whatsoever. “No one’s prettier than Mum.”

This spurred a fierce blush from Sarah’s pale cheeks, and a second, even louder round of laughter from the thing. “How fool oh me t’ferget her” it said between guffaws. “Yer daughter does ye credit madam, she’ll have her pick oh the crews when she comes oh age.”

Hannah saw the spark in Juniper’s eyes as soon as the thing said it, and she knew, she KNEW somewhere in that little sprat’s mind, a life at sea was already painting itself.  It was that stupid, disregarding, need for adventure that still called to her as an old woman, and she would be damned it she let it claim one of hers. 

“She’ll have her pick oh the fields till then.” Hannah said archly from the doorway.  Before she had a chance to seat herself at the table, she was nearly bowled over by her granddaughter who flung herself into Hannah’s stained apron to hug her waist and then tug on the same strings that held the hatchet behind her back.  

“Nana! Nana!  Guess what??” With all the energy of a hummingbird in its prime, Juniper bounced up and down before her.  Hannah couldn’t help but run a gnarled hand through those curling brown locks and ask the expected question.

“What, my cherub?”

Sparing a suspicious glance behind her at their guest, Juniper went to her tiptoes and whispered in a voice that all present could hear.  “He’s a pirate.”  

Hannah smiled at that, how could she do anything but?  Still the important thing was to get Juniper as far away from the trouble at their table as fast as she could, if she had to lie to the child to do so, so be it.  “Taint nice t’call someone a pirate, even iffin they do look like one.  Asides, there’s no such things as pirates any more, the Admiral’s sweepin em all back out t’sea.  Now yer father’s out on the porch about t’start shellin peas, why don’t ye go help him?”

“But Nan..”

“Now child.” Hannah cut the babe off with a clipped tone that brooked no backtalk, a tone she hated using, but nonetheless had the desired effect.  With a bit of a wounded look, Juniper shot around her, and out the front door.  Hannah looked to Sarah, and for a moment, she thought she would have to ask the woman to leave as well.  However Sarah seemed to pick up from the look that this was neither a conversation for her or tea, and with a sigh set the pot off the stove.  Turning to leave for the door, Hannah’s prim and proper daughter-in-law paused to eye them both and then spoke.  “If you two are planning to kill one another, please do it outside.  If I come back and find anything in here broken, we’ll be digging two graves instead of just the one.” That said, she turned on a heel and followed her daughter out.  

“Some men rescue the damsel from the dragon…” It said, watching Sarah’s flouncing departure. “Other’s jest marry the dragon.” 

She stared at the man-like thing for a moment, carefully considering her words, diplomacy after all was the bedrock of civilization.  “Shut the feck up.”  

The one yellow eye narrowed to a slit as she said it, and for a moment she thought they really would just kill one another in her family’s cozy little kitchen.  Instead the thing that looked like a man eased back into it’s chair, and with a lazy hand motion, admitted the floor was hers.  So she licked her lips and pressed on.  “No jokes, no fables, no amusing anecdotes...jest plain speech.  I know ye get somat from that other stuff...yer like her in that respect, but whatever that tis ye ent gettin it from this house, not from these people.  Not while I’m still alive and kickin.”

It looked slightly affronted by that, keeping its eye on her as it reached for the bowl in the middle of the table, and selecting one of the pears that sat there.  She blinked and there was a knife in its hand, cutting off the rind of the fruit into a neat little curl off to the side.  A small rueful smile curled its way across that face, not unlike the peel.  “Ye sit there, talkin about me like I’m some terror from the deeps come t’visit horror upon ye and yer family.”  it said.

Hannah kept her eyes steady and forward, not daring to look away.  She’d warned Argus Stormwater another lifetime ago never to take his eyes off this one, he’d ignored her advice, and had paid for it with his life.   With the same steady calm as her stare, she pulled out a chair at the table, and then rested her bones upon it.  “Convince me that yer otherwise Kail.” 

“Oh come now.” Kail said as it continued undressing the pear.  “M’a lawful citizen oh Limsa Lominsa just as yerself, aught that not warrant me a little faith?”

Hannah didn’t let her expression alter one jot.  “I was there the night ye gave Jehige a second grin then tossed him off the docks, I’m well familiar with what ye are cutter.”

There followed a silence thick enough to spread on toast after she laid that out between them, Kail’s knife paused in mid slice, and that yellow eye eased up to lock on with her gaze.  “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t have that comin.” It said, and there wasn’t a hint of regret in that voice.  

It had been as if the act had been cut wood, drawn water, or any one of a dozen chores that Kail had needed to do that day, and it would probably never see the murder as anything else.  Oh it was true that Jehige would have sold his mother to the slaving guilds for spare change, but the utter casual nature that Kail had discarded him was a stark reminder to Hannah.  It was a reminder that if Kail was ever doing figures in it’s head, and reached the answer of one dead Hannah, then that is what her grandchildren would find in her bed.  

“I don’t think either oh us are in any position t’sit in judgement.” She said, and even as she said it, she realized it was true.  With an effort of will she drew her finger tips from the handle of the hatchet, where they had unconsciously come to rest as her mind had wound her up even further during the conversation.  She set her hands upon the table, and left them there.  “What is it ye want Kail?”

It grinned wide and white, not unlike a shark ready to take a bite.  “As it so happens, I want t’do ye a favor.” It said, and then it did bite, right into the peeled pear with no shortage of vigor and relish.  As it chewed with juice dribbling down it’s chin, Hannah sat there staring, unsure as how to respond to that.  She found her voice after it took yet another bite of the fruit, seemingly content to wait and watch for her reaction.  “Ye say that, but somehow I’m convinced this ‘favor’ oh yourn tis goin t’look more like barter.”

Kail favored her with a deceptively casual shrug, she had seen it used more than a few times when this thing was a younger boy.  It meant simply that the can of worms went deeper than you thought, Kail was only showing you the surface.  Still she found herself listening to what it had to say.  “Tis an opportunity, and we elder salts know there ent no pay without a little pain.” It said, then it leaned in close. “But what pain wouldn’t be worth bein able t’have a night’s kip without havin nightmares oh Tseng?”

Hannah had known this would concern the old man, had prepared herself for it when she had seen Kail sitting at her family’s table.  Yet still when she heard his name spoken aloud, she felt the small hairs on her arm try to crawl skyward.  She wasn’t as superstitious as the rest of her peers, but she was almost certain that was one of those names that echoed back to the ears of its owner.  “Twenty years tis a long time t’hold a grudge boy, what makes ye even think he’s still about?”

For the first time, Hannah saw the cheer on Kail’s face roll back like the tides, leaving behind a very naked and raw anger still as fresh as that night so long ago.  It’s words were clipped and under control, but only clearly from a small lifetime of tempering them to be so.  “This tisn’t about a grudge, this tis about finishin what we started.  N’iffin yer old bones ent tellin ye that he’s still out there, then yer a better liar than I am.”

She couldn’t help but snort at the hypocrisy, and made to rise from the table. “There ye are callin me a liar, but yer about t’split down the middle fer a chance t’get at him.  Not about a grudge my arse.  Yer about t’get a whole bunch oh folk killed chasin a ghost, n”I fer one ain’t…”

Something landed on the table between the two of them, dropping with a strange permanence that suggested nothing but someone picking it up would ever move it from that spot.  Kail had fished it out a pocket and tossed it on the table, Hannah stared as the world seemed to twist about the small thing.  At first glance it was a gemstone, a tear drop of a strange opalescence, without a single facet to suggest a jeweler’s tools had ever touched it.  It was in her hand before she told herself to pick it up, and she was drawing it closer for her old eyes to see.  She had to be sure.  She dimly heard Kail’s slow growl of a voice somewhere in the distance, but she simply didn’t have the room in her head to listen as she slowly became lost in the folds of light beneath the gem’s surface.  There it was...that oily sheen was as sure a signature of Tseng’s hand as any lord’s seal.  Steeling herself, she tore the gem from her gaze and set it back on the table.  She turned her weary eyes upon Kail, and asked it...asked him, she would have to get used to that idea now if they would be working together.  “Where?” 

He took a flask out one of those many pockets and passed it across the table to her, she gratefully took it and availed herself of the burning contents.  “I took it from a gunship I had t’scuttle back in Ala Mhigo.” He said “ Twas with a bit oh correspondence that suggests the captain was one oh Tseng’s.”

Hannah froze in mid sip, a horrible thought occurring to her.  “He ent workin with the Imperials is he?”

To her relief, Kail shook his head.  “He eats and breathes hate fer them, he’d slit his own throat afore it came to that.  Slipping a few pawns in their ranks and absconding with some of their resources though?”

She nodded in reply, it was a move that was just as much a signature of the old man as the sheen in the stone.  Kail was right, Tseng wasn’t just alive, he had a hand in the world stage.  Despite all the time that had passed, all the good she had done in the years between, she had helped him do so.  There was only one reply to that.  “What do ye need from me?”

  Kail removed the gem from the table, reaching for it with all the care one handles a snake. “I know how t’get Tseng’s attention.  To do that though...I’ll need t’sail into the Teeth.”

Hannah winced at the thought.  Far out to the east in the Sea of Glass were a set of islands known to sailors as the Seven Maws. As sailors were both poetic and original, they called the barrier of razor sharp obsidian glass that surrounded the islands the Teeth.  It was inaccessible from the air as the obsidian apparently carried trace amounts of aether, this aether caused a perpetual lightning storm to crackle over the islands.  Any airship that tried to pass through it was ripped apart by enough bolts to give even Raiden the Storm Father pause.  On the flip side however, to try and sail through the Teeth by way of the water was no task for the faint of heart.  Hannah could count on one hand the number of Captains who had told her they had sailed through the Teeth and that she believed.  Kail wasn’t one of them. “So what are ye talkin t’me fer?  Ye need the best navigator ye can lay hands on.  That ent me.”

“Well..” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve a navigator already in mind, but I think he’s not of the mind t’accept iffin I’m the one doin the offerin.”

Hannah felt her mouth set into a grimace, here it came. “Why?”

“I sort of ...broke his leg and killed half his crew.”

In the swollen, pregnant, and morning sick silence that followed; Hannah wondered if she could break one of Sarah’s clay jars over Kail’s head without giving her daughter-in-law cause to carry out her earlier threat.  In the end she eschewed the fantasy to continue the conversation. “So yer the bastard Toumgara is swearing up and down the docks he’s going to murder at his earliest opportunity.” 

“T’be fair, he started it, and I ent the only one t’thank fer given him a black eye.”  If Hannah didn’t know any better, there was a fond tone in his voice as he said it.  

“Regardless how the feck do ye expect me t’smooth things oer?” She asked “Toum’s young enough t’still be floatin on his pride, he wouldn’t sail fer ye without a good reason.”

Kail took a sip from his flask, which she never remembered handing back to him.  “He also loves the old stories, and by extension the old crews that helped make them.  I don’t think ye could smooth things oer, but I think Hatchet Hannah could.”  He said, giving her a significant glance that seemed to pierce straight through what she had been building the past twenty years, and to the solid steel tool thrust through the strings of her apron.  She had to put effort into not flinching away from that. With a smirk sharp enough to cut oneself on he added. “Iffin that doesn’t work, tell him there’s treasure involved, that allus works.”  

Hannah blinked as he started to rise from her table, not even waiting for her answer.  She didn’t want to ask...but there was still that small part of her that roared for rolling waves, and sheets full of the southern winds, so she did. “Is there?”

Kail’s face didn’t shift an iota beyond that smirk as he rose, when he stood straight however...he winked at her...or was it a blink?  He left without another word.  She sat there staring at the bowl of pears in the middle of the table, not really sure what she would do now.  After a few moments Sigmund came into the kitchen, herding Juniper and telling her that no she couldn’t have a fox of her own, he didn’t care how cute the other one had been.  Hannah watched them, and knew, sure as spring was coming, that if she didn’t fix this, Sigmund would find out...and he would take it upon himself to do what she couldn’t.  So when her son sat down in the seat that her past had been warming, and asked her what had happened.  She didn’t answer, she just grabbed a pear from the bowl, and took a bite.  

[iamnotsensical]

This Air I Can’t Breathe

@cat-clawz said: “Welcome!! If you'd like, you could do something where Jaskier isn't human and uses a glamour to hide his less human traits, but a group of highwaymen rob him and Geralt (and either take the glamour or Jaskier is forced to help out with some very nonhuman reflexes). :) Have fun!”

With this prompt we said ‘Fuck you!’ to everything I know about Jaskier’s backstory, lol. (I usually advocate for BAMF!Jask? But unforeseen circumstances have him relying a little more heavily on Geralt than usual.) I also chose to make some shit up including mythology/biology of mythical creatures, and characters I’m sure do not exist XD. (It also got a little more emotional than I planned. But here we go!) 

X

“No- Hey- You bastard with selkimore guts for brains, leave that be-!” Jaskier spat at the man who was rubbing his oily greedy thumb over the pendant that always sat against Jaskier’s chest.  “Take the lute- Hey, please- Take my lute, just leave that alone-” He begged.

Geralt’s eyes widened just slightly at the offer. Filivandrel’s lute hadn’t left Jaskier’s side since the mountains, he almost couldn’t believe that Jaskier was so ready to trade it for a necklace. Though, when he came to think of it, Jaskier always wore that necklace. Geralt had just never asked why . . . 

They hadn’t been out of the city for long and it wasn’t even dark. Honestly, it was rather ballsy for this particular group of bandits to attack a witcher in broad daylight. Yet they jumped out of the trees and descended on Geralt and Jaskier with a singular intent. Their movements were languid and elegant, they moved almost like dancers. Still, Geralt and Jaskier each held their own fairly well. That is until Roach had been threatened and Jaskier grew distracted.

The bard turned his back on the woman he’d been fighting to throw a dagger at the man who’d reached for Roach’s bags. In his moment of urgency, his opponent managed to grip his wrist as it fell from the throw and use the momentum to twist it behind his back. She dragged her own dagger over one of his thighs, cutting it deeply and continuing to move her hand up. The one fluid movement gave her the position to twist Jaskier to her desire and pull the knife close against his neck. “Enough!” She yelled. In any other moment, Jaskier would have swooned over the rasping alto of her voice, but right now he found himself pissed that such a vile woman possessed such a beautiful tone. The gods always gifted the worst of people. “Put down your weapon, mutant, or I will cut your friend’s throat.”

Geralt slowed to a stop across the clearing, his eyes shooting over to where Jaskier was standing. Jaskier shook his head, a silent ‘Don’t even think about it.’ But the woman twisted his arm more harshly and Jaskier winced, persuading Geralt to toss his sword to the side.

“Godsdamnit, Geralt.” Jaskier breathed. 

The woman nodded to two other of her men and they both descended on Roach’s saddlebags. Before they could get there Geralt whistled sharply and Roach kicked the man beside her and took off into the forest. The bandits were fast, but Roach was faster. Geralt suffered a sharp blow to the cheek for it, but Roach escaped mostly untouched. 

Much to Jaskier’s dismay that turned the bandits’ to Geralt, and they were certainly not happy. Jaskier knew that Geralt could have defended himself, would have too, if Jaskier were not standing there with a knife against his throat. He tried briefly to struggle free from the woman, but at the cool drip of his own blood down his neck he stilled. “My pack-!” He said suddenly. 

The bandits slowly pulled back from Geralt, showing their damage, but giving him a break from the beating. Jaskier swallowed hard and pointed with the hand he had twisted behind his back. “My bag is behind that tree. I’d set it down for a moment.” He admitted. “You’ll find a bag of gold there, please. Take it and go.” 

The woman looked over at the same two men from before, both of whom had been taking care of their companion. The one who’d been struck by Roach. She nodded towards the tree and the two walked over to it. They found the bag and subsequently Jaskier’s lute, which he’d been hoping would go unnoticed. They pulled out the small bag of coin, it was all Jaskier had earned at the town they’d been in. She scoffed, “Can you not count? The three men and two women with your friend, the man your horse mauled, and my two partners Jei and Kei. That makes nine of us. You think one bag of coin will satisfy us? You think us too dumb to know that your witcher sent the horse away on purpose?”

Jaskier squirmed, “I think you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to-” He started to bite back. He was cut off by the sound of his own whimper, the knife cutting deeper into his throat. 

“A smart ass. How fun.” The woman snapped. 

One of her two partners- Kei or Jei, Jaskier didn’t know- walked over, muttering in a language Jaskier did not recognize. The woman laughed in Jaskier’s ear and he felt her nod. “You’re right. He is wearing such pretty clothes.” She said. 

Geralt’s eyes shot up, a look of warning in his eyes, “You will not strip him.” The witcher snarled. 

The woman merely laughed as the other partner reached out and plucked the chain that rested around Jaskier’s neck. If he wasn’t already tense enough, Jaskier grew stone still as the necklace he always wore hidden behind his clothes was pulled out into the daylight. “No- Hey- You bastard with selkimore guts for brains, leave that be-!” Jaskier spat at the man who was rubbing his oily greedy thumb over the pendant that always sat against Jaskier’s chest.  “Take the lute- Hey, please- Take my lute, just leave that alone-” He begged.

Geralt’s eyes widened just slightly at the offer. Filivandrel’s lute hadn’t left Jaskier’s side since the mountains, he almost couldn’t believe that Jaskier was so ready to trade it for a necklace. Though, when he came to think of it, Jaskier always wore that necklace. Geralt had just never asked why . . . 

The necklace was plucked from Jaskier’s neck and pocketed. Almost instantly, Jaskier doubled over. The movement took the woman by surprise and she dropped him to the ground. Jaskier curled up almost pitifully and wrapped his arms around himself. Geralt instantly stood and stepped forward. With the sudden movement, the woman made a sharp yell-like noise and took off. Her group followed her.

When faced with the decision to follow them or to go to Jaskier? Well, Geralt had no choice. He dropped to his knees and looked over Jaskier carefully. He could not believe what he was seeing.

Jaskier’s hair grew darker and his skin developed a sort of bluish tint. It became almost clear and Geralt didn’t need sharp eyes to see the cold veins just below the surface. Sharp dark fingernails grew from the tips of Jaskier’s hands which were quite suddenly webbed. Spiked fins stabbed through Jaskier’s doublet, and protruded down his spine. 

Perhaps the biggest surprise was the dark black and blue tail where legs were not moments ago. 

Jaskier was shuddering and wincing against the sun, his eyes squeezed shut and expression contrite. One of his webbed hands was holding the side of his tail. The cut landed to his thigh now oozed an almost black blood, but looked dried and cracked. Actually, nearly every bit of him seemed to be cracking. 

Geralt’s eyes darted around to the ransacked bag that the bandits had left behind when they’d run. They took Jaskier’s necklace and his coin, but they were otherwise fairly unsuccessful at doing much more than causing chaos. Geralt pulled a flask of water from Jaskier’s bag and a blanket, dumping the water over the cloth and then carefully wrapping the cloth around the most of Jaskier’s tail that he could reach.

Jaskier had a tail. 

Geralt stared at his bard, expression tight and confused. “How-” He started before realizing that the necklace had to have been some kind of glamour. “When-” Surely Jaskier had to have revealed himself some times? When did he do so to keep it from Geralt? . . . Probably when Geralt was away on a hunt. They almost always made certain to have a room with a tub, Geralt had thought that Jaskier wanted to treat him after a stubborn contract, but clearly it served more than one purpose. “Why-” That was a stupid question. Why would Jaskier tell Geralt? Geralt’s entire life was devoted to killing monsters. Jaskier would have had to have been insane or suicidal to share this with Geralt. He was neither. “What-” Another stupid question. Clearly a siren. Mermaids could not breathe above water and Jaskier was breathing right now . . . not to mention the singing. Melitelle, the singing. Geralt should have figured that out sooner.

Jaskier took a labored breath, but the damp blanket was clearly helping. He tried to push himself up. He braced himself against a tree and winced as he squished his back fins. He brought trembling hands back to the gash in his tail and made a small pained noise. 

Geralt noticed the very careful way in which Jaskier’s face remained guarded, and his eyes avoided contact. “If you aren’t going to slit my throat would you mind calling Roach back? I’ve got another flask of water packed on her and- I’m feeling rather parched.” Jaskier requested. Though his tone was decidedly light, it came across as airy and strained rather than it’s regular carefree disposition. 

Geralt nodded silently and whistled again. In the distance he heard the horse turn around and start back their way. He carefully returned his attention to Jaskier and cleared his throat. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He assured him quietly. “I’m never going to hurt you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes, somehow even bluer in his true form than when glamoured, met Geralt’s. He regarded him suspiciously. The pain, both physical and emotional, sat just beneath the surface of Jaskier’s gaze. “I’m a siren. I’ve seen you kill more than one of us.” He said skeptically.

Geralt looked solemn, but assented. “You have. But you’ve also seen me spare sirens. Just like every other creature I’ve dealt with. I only kill what will not stop hurting others . . . I don’t believe that you can hurt others. It is not your nature.” He said quietly. 

Geralt wanted to argue more, but when it came to words he was aware that no sentence he could structure would be clever enough to fight whatever arguments Jaskier’s mind was constructing. Action it would have to be. 

Roach came into the clearing and Geralt got up, walking over to the horse and pulling both his own waterskin and Jaskier’s. He returned and knelt beside the bard- the siren? The- . . .Jaskier. He knelt beside Jaskier and extended one skin while slowly pouring splashes of the others into his palm. He knew his hands were calloused, but he was careful to gently massage the water into the fins on Jaskier’s sides and back, he gently pulled each of Jaskier’s arms forward and poured some of the water on Jaskier’s hands. He gently patted it against the gills that flayed the sides of Jaskier’s neck. 

“Can you survive out of the water for long? Without that pendant?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s tail curled up in a slightly defensive manner. “Are you hoping the answer is no, and nature will do your job for you?” He retorted.

Geralt sighed softly, “No. I’m trying to figure out if it would be better to get you to the nearest body of water or to a mage who could make you another pendant . . . if you want, of course.” He explained.

Jaskier huffed with wise resignation he rarely showed, “I don’t have the money for that, Geralt. Why do you think I was willing to trade anything not to lose that one? They’re expensive. I wouldn’t even know where to find another.”

The witcher shook his head. “Jaskier. Can you survive out of the water without magic?”

“I- Yes. So long as I don’t dry out . . . the uh- the wet cloth was a stroke of genius. It is helping quite a bit.” He admitted quietly. 

Geralt nodded. “Good. Then we’ll find a mage.”

Jaskier’s eyes once again found Geralt’s, and Geralt once again saw that suspicion lurking. He wrapped his arms over his own chest, “Who’s going to pay for it? Those fiends took all of my money. I couldn’t earn that back in one stay, let alone the more I would need for a mage’s help.” He said curtly, clearly frustrated with Geralt.

Geralt shook his head. “I have savings. And I know a few mages who owe me.” He said evenly. “I can make it happen.” He said and carefully hooked his hand under the bend of Jaskier’s tail and behind his back. “You’ll have to hold onto Roach tightly-”

Jaskier sputtered indignantly, but gave in and held onto Geralt’s chest. “Geralt.”

“You will also have to let me know when you’re getting too dry-”

“Geralt.”

“It’s the summer months, so the sun will bake you if we aren’t careful-”

“Geralt!” Jaskier finally huffed, exasperated, even as Geralt was carefully setting him on top of Roach. “Doesn’t this seem like exactly the opportunity you were waiting for? I can’t keep up, now is the time to leave. I wouldn’t be able to follow you-” He said, voice tight and low. 

Geralt’s heart seemed to stop. “What-?” He breathed in confusion. “Why the fuck would I leave you?”

Jaskier stared at him sort of incredulously and then dropped his gaze. Despite towering over Geralt from his position on the horse, Jaskier looked . . . smaller. Definitely smaller than usual. Geralt regarded him in confusion as Jaskier cleared his throat. “You’ve made your position quite clear. We are not friends. I am only still around because I’m persistent, of all of the times you’ve up and left in the middle of nights, it only makes sense that you’d- . . . Well. Seize this situation for what it is . . . a chance to leave.” Jaskier gripped tightly onto Roach’s reins, Geralt could see that the webbing on his hands was already drying and cracking again. “I’m no longer just a nuisance. Not even just- a creature you should kill. But past all of that, a hindrance preventing you from continuing on the path, I don’t understand why you’d- . . . help me.”

Geralt stood still, his hands still holding Jaskier up on the horse. One on his hip, one where Jaskier’s knee would be. He couldn’t quite believe the words the bard was saying. Did he truly believe all of that? Geralt had thought- it was all just- banter, wasn’t it? “It seems . . . I owe you an apology, my friend. I- thought we operated with an understanding. I thought that- well, that you knew . . . my sentiments for you.” He explained quietly. 

Jaskier slowly looked up. “Sentiments?”

Geralt nodded, “I do not think of you as any of those things . . . You are my closest friend. At times my only. I- . . .” Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly. “I care a lot about you.” He admitted.

And if in that moment, Jaskier was bursting with relief and affection? He settled it all down into a small smile so as not to overwhelm his witcher. He took a slow breath and gently covered Geralt’s hand on his knee with a cold webbed hand of his own. “Oh . . . well. In that case. I suppose we should find one of those mages you spoke of . . .”

[jjba-hell]

Fate and Fortune

Part 11

Here’s Part 10 but hop on the Fate and Fortune tag for the rest

Second week of 2021 and I’m straight up not having a good time ✌︎('ω')✌︎- I hated the original piece so ended up re-writing it so uhhh good luck with this piece (really not a favorite for me)

For my moots: @fyre23 and @risottoneroo

Content warning: none in particular, just a SLEEZY Steely Dan

The tarot cards laid out before her two stacks- the ones whose stands who are known and those are not. Mr Joestar had politely asked for a reading- wondering if Hermit Purple could help him choose the card Dio’s stand held.

Vera didn’t say it quite off the bat from asking but she had her money in The World- simply because that was the end of their journey as a group was heading- to Dio. It had seemed almost poetic when thorny vines wrapped around the World card. Joseph thanks her for the reading and proceeded ahead to grab some food. So with that, she slid the deck back together and as she rose back up on her feet a quiet whisper over her ear brought her plans of walking back to the others to an abrupt end. “So- this is what Enya’s killer looks like? I suppose I have to thank you, Dio’s faith in her servitude was wavering.”

Vera craned her neck to take a look at the owner of the voice behind her- somewhat handsome if not marred by the godawful sneer plastered over his ear.

“Got some guts coming after me directly, don’t you think?”

Fortune materialized behind the man, Vera taking his moment of surprise to step out from his looming stance over her shoulder. “Got a name, jackass?”

“Dan, Steely Dan. My stand represents the lovers.” He said almost as if he expected her to know who he was. “Now that you know my name and I have most certainly heard more than my fair share about you- join me for a coffee? Just across the street.”

Vera’s scowl only seemed to worsen at the offer. “For what?”

“For taking care of Enya for me, of course. It truly does make my life so much easier.”

She didn’t trust this weasel as far as she could see him and she was convinced the others might smell something was up soon enough but until then she’d have to deal with it- maybe she could manage some information out of this bastard.

“Fine then- let’s talk.” She dematerialized Fortune back and with her hands back into her jean pockets, she followed.

Unsurprisingly two cups of coffee were already set on the table outside the shop. “How hospitable of you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you knew I was going to take your offer.”

Steely Dan brought his cup to his lips. “Rest assured, I’d never allow any harm to come over a stunning creature such as yourself.”

Vera sat back, bringing a cigarette to her lips. “I’m a bit young for you, aren’t I?” She sneered- the slight twitch in his right eye enough to get a chuckle out of her. “Besides, no matter how pretty I am, doesn’t change the fact that I am, essentially, your enemy.”

“What can I say? Birds of a feather flock together.”

She laughed, watching the others approach her from across the street. About time.

“My, my- your vanity that important to you? How about we cut to the chase, Dan? What do you want?”

Dan leaned in over his edge of the table, folding his arms in front of him. “Surely that’s an easy answer- I’m here to destroy your little group- one by one.”

Uttered just in time for the others to hear.

“And what exactly makes you so confident you stand a chance against five of us?” Polnareff was one to speak first.

The simpering laugh he have made Vera’s blood boil. This guy really thought he trumped them somehow. “Simply put, none of you can lay a hand on me.”

Vera flipped her cigarette between her fingers and pressed the hot coal into the top of his right hand. He flinched away angrily fanning his hand before balling it into a fist and swinging her way. She held her hand up to grab his wrist as a block but Star got him first- sending him....and Mr Joestar flying back.

She ran to Joseph to help him back up again- her mind running furiously to connect why he flew back? Was it a fluke?

When Mr Joestar’s breathing started laboring, her gaze shot towards Jotaro with his grip on Steely Dan.

“Jotaro, stop.”

He shot her one glance over the shoulder before relaxing his grip- Joseph’s breathing evening out a bit.

She looked up at the sleeze ball Dan and scowled- “Your stand, the lovers. You’re interconnected with it aren’t, you?”

“A good start. Doesn’t explain how Mr Joestar���s getting hurt though, does it?” He taunted.

Vera thought about it for a moment, trying to piece together why only Joseph would be targeted. It had to be a choice- he’d pick the seemingly weakest one who couldn’t take the beating.

“The niche of it I’ll yield on but it seems whatever you experience, your stand deals to your target.”

That same sickly smile spread over his lips. “Good looks and good brains- not that the latter matters very much.”

Jotaro grabbed hold of the bastard’s collar again, threatening to kill him too quick for it to hurt. Fortune’s dials moved back quietly over Joseph’s injuries- unable to revert back to the state it was in before the stand but maybe just before the punch. “So... how are you making this work, Dan?”

Somehow knowing more did nothing for her to come up with a plan but when the bastard started making a scene with Jotaro- rock in hand- she started to worry. Vera moved closer to where Jotaro had to be held back by the other two men- when Dan brought the rock up over his shoulder to swing at Jotaro’s head she simply had Fortune snatch it out of his hand.

“Tch, how primitive.” She grabbed hold of Kakyoin’s wrist, pulling him away from the scuffle. “I think you know what to do- I’ll make sure this cuck doesn’t do anything stupid.”

The corners of Kakyoin’s mouth twitched a bit before he and Joseph took off down the street- shortly followed my Polnareff.

“Oh, I see... you think you could exploit a range weakness.”

She didn’t answer, taking a moment to stand beside Jotaro whose jaw was painfully clenched.

“No matter. Since you two will be following me around for a day.” She figured he’d pull the move, fucking sleezeball. He grabbed hold of one of her belt loops and pulled her flush to his side. He threw an arm over her shoulder and started walking.

Jotaro- simmering behind them, followed. “Admittedly, you’re pretty even when you scowl but I think a smile would suit you better, wouldn’t it?”

Steely Dan’s hand wrapped around her jaw, making her look at him- the disdain on her face still evident. She figured he’d threaten her with his own pain, or rather Mr Joestar’s, so she swallowed her pride for a moment and forced a smile.

He let her go completely as they reached the drainage ditch- turning towards Jotaro to instruct him to act as the bridge. “Didn’t take you as the lazy kind, Dan. Surely a physique like yours is earned”, she tried so hard not to say the last bit but she just couldn’t resist. “Especially at your age, walking must be the best way to get that exercise in.”

Once again- the comment made his eye twitch and as penance his leg swung into the pillar. Fortune moved too quick though and moved him just enough to slip and fall on his ass.

Once again, she swallowed her pride and came to his aid- helping him back up on his feet, that sickly sweet smile plastered to her face.

“Oh come now, I’m just teasing. Nothing wrong with being just a little playful, is there?”

He squinted at her in disbelief, as he should, taking her hand regardless and walking past her to address Jotaro. “Troublesome woman- someone should have beat that out of you. It might just end up being me.”

She wrapped her hand around Jotaro’s clenched fist, just long enough for him to relax a bit until Steely Dan gave his next request.

Vera didn’t dare follow Dan, she simply phased herself to the other side of the ditch Jotaro was stretched over- a trick she knew would tip fortune out of her favor for a while but she didn’t care.

“Oh? You actually followed me?” Dan taunted as she bent down to help Jotaro into the other side and fix any of the damages he caused. She didn’t answer him though.

“Tch. Very well.”

“That fuck is going to wish he were never born.” She growled through gritted teeth. Jotaro gazed up at her, the same anger in his eyes.

His hand moved up, almost looking like it was going to cup her face but instead it moved to grab a strand of her hair.

“That move cost you.” He commented as she peered down at the grey strand. Vera was used to moving Fortune forward and back to her will but because she could only move her own forward she noticed little changes like longer nails or outgrown hair a bit too often for her to rule out that other people’s fate didn’t affect her.

The gray hair however... she suppose that was due to the shock her system had been given the past few days. “Doesn’t matter.” She rose up again, taking his hand in hers. “Come on- he’s gonna get up to something I swear.”

They followed after like obedient dogs- both Jotaro and Vera’s patience growing painfully thin. From back scratching to shoe shining- Vera stood between Jotaro and whatever onslaught of petty jabs at Jotaro he could throw. Jotaro’s torture was physical for sure but the scathing comments thrown at Vera had her fingers itch for his neck under her grip.

She angrily wrenched his hand from the hem of her jeans- gritting her teeth as she hissed. “Reach into my jeans one more fucking time and I’ll-“

“You’ll what, dollface?”

“I’ll make what I did to Enya tané in comparison to what I’ll do to you.”

“Oh is that a threat?”

“A promise, motherfucker.”

He shrugged her off, her blood boiling more with every step she has to watch him walk away. “Let me make it up to you, Vera. I’ll treat you to some jewelry...”

It was trouble from the second she stepped into the shop after him- looking at nothing in particular except the back of his neck right in front of her. When it was Jotaro holding the bracelet, it was the only time she couldn’t stop him from getting hurt.

Outside the shop he slipped a gaudy gold necklace around her neck and soon as he finished clasping the thing she phased straight out of it, letting it fall to the ground.

She only gave one look at the piece of jewelry laying on the ground and then up at him. “Suits you better, looks cheap.” Fortune moved towards Jotaro to start on his injuries- Dan thinking he could take a hit on her but once again missing poorly.

“Y’know- I can’t tell when no one’s ever used their own fists to fight their way out.” She gazed over her shoulder at him. “My dodges are slow and the fact that you can’t hit me says a lot. A bit too comfortable with your stand if you ask me.”

As if on qeue, Dan’s frown soon turned bloody. Kakyoin must’ve gotten a hit on the jackass’s stand.

Relieved, Vera reached into Jotaro’s jacket pocket for a cigarette and the notebook he’d been working on. She scribbled down the shit he’d said to her and then closed the book- handing it back to him.

“You’ll take care of this one for me, yeah?”

“You going to check up on the other three?”

“Yeah, best not avoid any brain damage your grandfather could have suffered from the extraction.”

Jotaro nodded- Dan’s begging getting louder as she walked away. She figured it best to let him handle it-moving her own fortune forward was never good and she had the right idea to do so since no sooner she turned a corner down an alleyway did a door slam open and give her a bloody nose.

BONUS:

“You can take a lot of verbal abuse, huh?”

Jotaro had muttered at her as she laid her head on his chest. The night was too young and too hot for them to be touching too much.

“And you can take a lot of physical abuse, what’s your point?”

He gave a huff, of laughter or frustration she wasn’t sure. “You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t. I just don’t deal with it the same as you.” She lifted her head a bit to get more hair out from under her head. “I’m much rather humiliate them before I just punch them.”

“Where’d you pick up that trick?”

She laughed, “Boarding school, unsurprisingly.” She put on her best British posh voice. “A lady’s hands must never draw the blood of her enemies.”she shrugged, laughing at her own impression. “So when you can’t throw hands- violence comes some other way.”

Jotaro only hummed, bringing the little ice pack they’d bought back to her. She took it and gracelessly held it against her nose which had turned violently blue the first few hours.

“I’m sorry.”

The phrase came out of the blue for her but she looked him head on regardless, “For what?”

“Dragging you along.”

She shook her head- “I’m sorry to tell you JoJo but I’m as much after saving Holy as I am avenging my parents-“

The mere word made he zone out, or just become quiet in the conversation.

So he wrapped is arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, letting the doe eyed glare in her eyes clear up a bit before starting the conversation a new.

“She’s not dealing with it well.” Kakyoin sighed, leaning against the hotel balcony railing as Jotaro smoked. “I understand why she’s doing it but I don’t think she processed what she felt back there.”

Jotaro only nodded, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat as he straightened. “She’s been acting off, I’d be lying if I said I’m worried.”

Kakyoin sighed, unfolding his arms over his chest before doing the same. “All we can do is hope that Avdol might know what to tell her.”

[whump-town]

Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

(Chapter Two; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here)

Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.

“It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful” --F. Scott Fitzgerald

She comes back the very next day.

It’s about noon and she’d seen the blonde one-- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven thirty. So, she knows someone’s home over there but when she steps out on her porch she’s not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair. 

Idiot-- because she’d seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.

The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there. 

Out loud.

So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person. 

“Hey,” she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she’s in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn’t sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face. 

Of course, she can’t really know that he didn’t sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he’s fighting the clock and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he’s paying the price. He couldn’t even stand on his own this morning. He’d laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.

Life is slowly becoming unbearable. 

“I need...” she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling.  “Do you have any bananas?”

Idiot. 

Stupid fucking idiot.

But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. “Just go…” he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also the double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.

“Ask Pen,” he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. “She’ll get you one.” He knows there’s bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can’t even stomach the thought. 

Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house. 

She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They’re pretty brown but she’s smiling. “Actually,” Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, “the recipes Derek’s mom’s. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored.”

Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He’d spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily’s sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan’s flirting.

Reid really hated it. 

“She’s making banana bread,” Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him. 

Emily blushes, “yeah but…” She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. “I’m not that great of a baker.”

Garcia shakes her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure it’ll be great.” She grins, “besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers.”

Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, “I’m gonna go throw these in. If they’re good, I’ll send you a piece?”

Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house. 

The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes. 

He’s in a sweatshirt-- Georgetown’s logo slapped on the front and worn with age-- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he’d like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn’t see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn’t look anywhere near his hips. 

After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such. 

Otherwise, they’d both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he’d have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses. 

It’s about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There’s about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn’t want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don’t have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in-- it’s not worth his time.

Besides, he’s feeling grumpy and he’d like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone. 

But then the door does bust open. 

He’s trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent-- obviously, he hasn’t gotten very far into it if he can’t even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn’t just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He’s not that far gone. 

He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly-- her hands are over her eyes for some reason-- trampling through his living room.

“Can I help you?”

At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It’s an awkward little grin but it’s not bad. “Uh,” she motions behind her to the door. “Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you’d be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just--” she grimaces as if she’s just considered how strange this is. “You didn’t answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn’t want something to be wrong…”

She stops talking. 

Mercifully.

Hotch grunts, “I do, normally.” 

Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he’d done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn’t gone smoothly. 

Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children’s books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex. 

The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.  

Jack goes to his aunts. Haley’s sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she’d been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it’s just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica’s relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron’s divorce. 

It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.

Life just gets complicated. 

A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch’s heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them. 

It’s simple but affected. Daily and boring.

“Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass--” 

He’s known Emily Prentiss for all of week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It’s better for his mental health-- which isn’t doing much better than his physical health if he’s being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It’s in an endearing kind of way but still. 

Now he’s sitting in her living room. She’d come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He’d had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn’t want to see his junk. 

He’s not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch’s life and now Hotch has his neighbor’s phone number. It’s for “emergencies”, of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.

“I mean it, Aaron,” she’s standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. “It’s really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?”

God, she’s crazy but she’s funny and hasn’t passed any judgement on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she’s standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that’s seen better days five years ago. 

But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week. 

He’d watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she’d put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It’s why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he’d told her he was good and he, mostly, was.

Which is in direct consequence for why he’s here now. 

“Nutmeg tastes like Christmas,” he explains because he has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to a grown woman. “What are you making?” He’s suddenly very worried for whatever dish she’s making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It’s freaking September and, if he’s being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she’s really messed up though.

She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, “apple pie.”

His grimace is too much and if she weren’t so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he’s from the south not to mention he’s got a lot of that southern gentlemen charm. 

“How much nutmeg did you use?”

Her face says it all.

He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren’t standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven’t established those boundaries and she can’t flawlessly just know like Dave does. 

“Let me see the damage,” he grumbles but she can see that he’s not actually mad; he's just wary of what she’s done. He’s strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he’s got a horrible resting face. 

She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It’s only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can’t do this silently watching thing. “Do you--” she offers him her forearm, the same way she’d seen Dave do the other afternoon. 

He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It’s surprisingly easy and she doesn’t think much of it. At least he’s not dead weight to lug around. She’s had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn’t even mind this. 

“I think I might have used too much nutmeg,” she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetant. It’s a warning.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetant thing, she decides. He already thinks she’s a moron.

Rightfully so but still…

She’d known he was tall. It’s not that hard to see but as she’s standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he’s still towering over quite a bit. He’s a big man and he smells nice so he’s got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he’s kinda cute.

“That’s all…” she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn’t want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital. 

And now he’s sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.

“That’s all…” he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he’s slowly processing that it’s all nutmeg.

She grimaces and nods.

He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He’s seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they’re a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

He nods, “definitely.” 

Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It’s cooked and it smells okay but if she’s been too generous with the nutmeg there’s no way that’s going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table. 

“Well,” she says with a tilt of her head, “christmas apples can’t be that bad, right?”

He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he’s having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite- sized piece. He’s fairly adamant but somehow it’s got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn’t been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It’s going to taste like shit and it’s exciting.

Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. “That was honestly the worst apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he tells her, honestly. 

She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn’t laughed in a long time. 

He shrugs, “I’m not gonna lie to you.”

She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.

“How exactly--” he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. “Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?”

Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn’t even look up at him. “Bored,” she mumbles. She’s upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?

“Maybe you should try something else,” Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. “Baking just doesn’t…”

Emily frowns at him, “I like baking, though!”

Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Baking doesn’t like you,” he mumbles. 

She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles-- this isn’t the first failed attempt of her’s he’s tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he’d only seen but-- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart. 

“Maybe I can try cooking,” she proposes. 

He shakes his head, “are you gonna make me eat that too?”

She clicks her tongue, faking offense. “What, are you afraid?”

He smiles and it takes her breath away. He’s got high, sharp cheekbones and when he’s not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it’s so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She’s not sure if he knows that though.

“A little,” he admits playfully, “but maybe you’ll be better at cooking than you are baking.”

She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. “I don’t think it’s going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking.” 

He makes a soft sound, “you said it, not me.”

She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can’t even be mad. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. “Are you interested?”

Honestly, no but he doesn’t want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods. 

“Six o’clock should be enough time to cook something, right?”

Jesus, she’s going to kill him. 

“Why don’t I come over and help?”

Oh, she hadn’t thought of that. She nods, “okay. You wanna come over at three, then?”

It’s dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. “Uh,” he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Except three rolls around he’s a no show. Three turns into three-thirty and she’s not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.

“Knock, knock?” She’s already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal but something doesn’t feel right. She can’t shake it and she certainly can’t just… leave. “Hotch?” God, she hopes he’s just in the bathroom.

He isn’t.

“You okay?” she falls to her knees beside him. She’d never been this far into his house. Mostly, she’d never passed the living room but now she’s kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she’d like to evaluate that-- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a clean room was such a perfect green flag--

Right--

He shakes his head. 

Oh.

“Should…” she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn’t? But… he’s gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it’s bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. “Do I need to call--”

To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies. 

He nods. He’s terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won’t die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down. 

The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience. 

He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It’s not until he’s on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. “You can come,” he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at hte back fo his throat.

An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. “Easy, buddy.” The EMT pushes on Hotch’s shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn’t strong enough to fight it. “The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down.”

She stays with him and tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him hurting himself but she really doesn’t want to leave his side until she knows he’s going to be okay. There’s no hand holding because they’re still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they’ve only known one another for a week and-- Emily can’t fathom what she’s supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance. 

“Can you--” the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. “Dave?” He can’t keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.

He’s pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.

“You can’t go back there, baby.”

Emily blinks and there’s an older woman stopping Emily’s zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can’t tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest. 

Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Dave?” she’s breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. “I’m so sorry--” and she’s crying. Why? He’s not her friend? He’s her neighbor who she’s known for a whole freaking week and yet-- And she can’t deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn’t. 

The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he’s seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it’s unnerving. 

“Do you have any news?” Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. “I’ll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses.”

She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away. 

Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She’s thinking about the way he’d smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Face Off || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece go digging for buried witchy treasure. Cece faces more than she bargained for.

CONTAINS: gun (salt rounds, not fired), shenanigans 

Blanche had told Morgan that having an object, especially one belonging to the spirit in life, might help the seance go better. Morgan knew from the summoning that bones would probably be the most ideal if there was such a thing, but the idea of planning a trip to Texas ahead of the one she had already scheduled between the anniversaries of her parents’ deaths was more than she could bear. The next best thing? Finding Agnes Bachman’s trove of witchcraft. “So, fun fact, I actually tried to dig this up before, but I got attacked by some wild vampires and had to hole up in that shack until dawn,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Cece. “But that’s why we’re coming back here in broad daylight! Besides, I think this is still sort of on my property line?” She gestured to the pile of rubble around across the street and the brown, barren field between it and where they stood in the Bend, shovels in hand, beneath a suspiciously robust tree. Morgan tried to run the distance measurements in her head. “Maybe not, but that’s gonna be our story if anyone comes asking. But, you know, probably not.” She stuck the shovel into the ground with her foot, pleasantly surprised when it broke the ground with ease. Zombie strength had its advantages sometimes. “So, how’ve you been?”

Drinking and researching a stolen box with Morgan? A-okay. Breaking into a woman’s home to steals some books? Great time. But Cece might have to draw the line at the physical labor. It wasn’t the trespassing on property or potential danger. It wasn’t even the casual mention of vampires attacking Morgan the last time she was here. It was mostly just the digging that Cece wasn’t up for. “We tend to break the law whenever we hang out now,��� Cece mentioned, digging her own shovel into the ground and leaning against it, “Not complaining. Just a fun observation. Girls really do just want to have fun apparently.” While digging holes wasn’t one of those things that Cece considered to be much fun, the promise of some sort of buried treasure had certainly piqued her interest. “Aside from the whole being blown up in a Morgue thing, worse than that is dealing with Regan’s replacement.” Cece made fake vomiting noises for far longer than necessary and then forced herself to recompose, “Otherwise I am freaking phenomenal. Clearly you’re living your best life. Loving the Holes vibes that we have going on. So what exactly are we here for today?”

“I heard about that,” Morgan said, wincing. “Regan’s just having a time and a half right now. Hopefully it’ll just, you know, be temporary. Haven’t heard any stories about the new boss, though. Is he, what? Evil? Creepy? Mean? What’s the likelihood of your being able to hex him without him noticing? I put a monkey’s paw on Eye of Newt for a little while, and that was pretty fun.” She reached into her bag and passed Cece a thermos of mulled cider. She could see how, well, not well her share of the digging was going, and aside from the magic ability and know how to work on identifying their finds, Morgan had mostly asked her along for the company. “Here. Have some of this and sit back, I think it only takes one gal to dig a hole. When she’s dead anyway.” Morgan stuck her shovel in deeper, flinging dirt behind her. “And we’re after great great grandma Agnes’ trove of magic. She left home with one bag after the curse started taking her family, which means everything in her trove got left behind in good ol’ White Crest.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Mostly, I want something special of hers for a seance, but it’s gonna be pretty neat to see what kind of stuff she used for her magic back in olden times, right?”

“No, god, even worse.” Cece rolled her eyes. Rickers was the last thing she needed to talk about. “I can handle evil or creepy. He’s way too personable. Keeps telling me about his grandkids. It’s insufferable.” Usually, Cece welcomed casual conversation of any kind. She was a social creature after all, she liked the company of others. But something about that man made her want to jump into a river. “I could hex him so easily. He’s so gullible. Moron.” She wasn’t about to let Rickers ruin the fun though, and instead focused on Morgan’s time with Eye of Newt, “Amazing. I love being friends. Do I mention that enough?” Cece questioned, taking the thermos that Morgan passed over and taking a long sip of the alcoholic beverage. “So you’re saying you just want me to sit back, drink and chat? You get me, Morgan.” Cece happily obliged, leaning back against the grass and watching Morgan use that superhuman strength to dig holes deeper into the ground with a certain fascination. She had always wondered what having super strength must be like. Sounded dope. “Good ol Gram? Let’s hope she left behind something fun. Can’t say that I’d be thrilled about finding some magically glued dentures or alchemical ointment for her joint pain.”

“I love being friends with you too,” Morgan said, smiling bright. There was a certain specific ease with Cece that was hard to articulate to others. Their magic philosophy was different, but neither of them took themselves so seriously that it was a problem. And sharing a lack of compunctions about the law and uses of violence to get out of tight spaces was more important between friends who wanted to stay honest with each other. Morgan wasn’t even sure if Cece had a judgemental bone in her body, except for, you know, reckless cruelty like any halfway decent not-fae. But Morgan’s harm ritual wasn’t reckless. She was full of very specific intent, and every care was being taken. And giving Agnes closure with the news she was deviating the woman who’d condemned her to a painful death? Made for some very thoughtful icing on the cake. “Oh, it gets better than that,” Morgan said, grinning as she shoveled back more dirt. “She was just in her twenties when she left home. So this should hopefully have all the fun shit. Well, whatever fun amounted to in the 1890’s. Maybe it’ll be magic ointment for that poofy old-timey hair. Or old beauty charms? I’d love to see what baby witches got up to back then, like what was magic education even like then?”

Cece liked thinking about witches throughout the years. There was something fascinating about studying how witches evolved with the rest of the times, as well as how spells did. If spellcasters were ever a legitimate field of study, Cece might actually consider going back to school. For now, she’d have to settle through learning about magic through any witches she knew with a long line of witches in her family. “Great question. Can’t say that my witchy upbringing was exactly conventional. If my parents were spellcasters, being adopted didn’t exactly help me learn about it as a kid.” Cece had of course wondered what life might have been like had she actually grown up learning about magic from a young age. “My first exposure was from a coven. A very non-traditional one.”

“Your coven wasn’t with your parents?” Morgan asked curiously. She’d heard them mentioned in passing enough times that she’d just assumed it was at least partially a family thing. Morgan started digging, stopped, and looked at Cece quizzically again. “Wait, so you are this good without having to study your whole life?” She shovelled a few more times. “Jeez, are you some kind of magic prodigy?” She had a decent sized hole going. A  few more feet deeper and she’s start spreading outward and--clang! Morgan grinned. “I guess this means you get to pick a prize from grandma’s treasure box. At least something in here should go to someone who can actually use it. But holy shit, Cece. I know I say this a lot when you’re doing me favors, but you’re seriously amazing.” She started working double time until the trunk, just as impressive as you would expect from your average 19th century well-to-do family. Morgan pulled it free just with brute zombie strength and dragged it up from the hole. It was heavy,  “Now, before I literally jinx myself, do you think you can run something on this baby to dispel any magic seals and protection? As my ancestor, I’m fairly confident she wouldn’t throw this in the ground without protections.”

Cece shook her head, “Nope. My adopted parents had no clue about my witchy background. I didn’t figure out until like sixteen.” Cece shrugged. She had never considered herself to be uncommonly talented when it came to magic. She was aware that she was able to take care of herself under stressful circumstances but the thought never went much further than that. “Very funny,” Cece let out a sarcastic laugh, “I’m hardly a prodigy. The nice thing about moving around with a travelling coven is that I got to learn from all kinds of witches that specialized in different things. Plus being around nothing but other witches all the time gave me lots of chances to practice.” Morgan finally found the box she had been digging for and pulled it easily from the ground. It landed on the grass with a loud thud and Cece whistled, “Damn girl, those muscles though.” Cece sat up and eyed the box. It was larger than Cece thought it was going to be. Honestly, she was pretty curious about what was inside. “Let me take a peak and see what I can sniff out” Cece rubbed her hands together and crawled over to the box, rubbing her palm across it and feeling the magical energy emanating from it. “There’s definitely something going on here. Give me a few minutes to try to get rid of it.”

Morgan was familiar with the number of ways you could talk small magic into showing itself. In another life, her old life, she would’ve offered some ground thistle and raw energy to do it herself. But Cece had a home brew with the stuff she needed. A little Latin later, the potion absorbed into the wood, and the lock, apparently just an illusion, disappeared from sight. “I know you’re not a coven gal anymore, Cece, but I’d do you a solid anytime if you asked.” Out of habit, fae promise, rose to her lips, casual and earnest, but somewhere on its way up her throat, Morgan remembered Chloe in Lydia’s basement and swallowed her words back down, feeling sick.

A layer of dry flowers and fragrant herbs coated the items. Morgan had to sweep them all away to get to the rest. There were some things she expected, such as a handwritten grimoire, and some she didn’t, like an old party dress and petticoats. Morgan didn’t know anything about enchanting textiles, but she set them carefully aside just in case. They must have mattered to Agnes in order to be included in her trove. Beneath this were more papers, some torn from other books, ink and fountain pens, a few alchemical circles painted crudely on tanned hides, and a lot of jewelry and talismans. “So, she’s my great great grandma, so I get the pretty dress and the books, but you, my wonderful partner in crime, can pick something you like from the rest. I still haven’t thanked you for helping me go against that murder alchemist, so don’t be shy.”

As Morgan looked through the chest, Cece eyed the contents from far away. The chest’s magic had been strong, so it made sense to think that whatever was inside had been valuable to her grandmother. As far as Cece was concerned, that all belonged to Morgan. But aside from a few off limits items, Morgan seemed to think otherwise. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you could find some use for them. Somewhere.” But even as she said the words she slid closer to get a better peak at the contents. She pulled out a few things, including a vial of liquid that glowed a bright red color, “Hm. This is peculiar” Cece questioned, holding it up against the sun. She felt a prickling against her fingertips from holding the bottle. She eventually decided to uncap the thing, sniffing at its contents and jolting from the sudden sensation. “Hm. That shit is strong. Wonder what this stuff does?”

Morgan was flipping through the books, unable to resist the urge to find something interesting. She had to remind herself that it was all useless to her, pure sentimental and academic value, but even the method of preserving alchemical circles was fascinating. What did they use the hides for? Practice? Regular exercise? Were there research experiments in here like what Ruth had done? There were notes and letters in here too, some written in a kind of code, others in Latin. Looking at all of this, Morgan realized she didn’t actually know Agnes Bachman at all. She was the family scapegoat, but she was also just a girl when she left all this stuff behind, too terrified of being the cause of her family’s suffering to stay another year. Poor thing, she didn’t realize that Constance had covered them all. She hadn’t needed to make herself alone on top of everything else. “What did you find? Anything good?” She looked over her shoulder and— “What the fuck, who the hell are you!” She fell back with shock and fumbled for her salt pistol, aiming it at the stranger. Morgan hadn’t even heard her approach. It had to look enough like a normal one to keep the stranger stalking them on her toes, right? “Where’s my friend? What is—Cece! Cece!”

Bored with whatever the liquid was, Cece discarded it back into the pile of unclaimed goodies and moved on to see what else Agnes had to offer. Cece realized that aside from the fact that they had been spellcasters and the curse, she didn’t know all that much about Morgan’s family. Learning a bit about her family through these belongings was more interesting than Cece would be willing to admit without a few drinks. Way too sentimental. She heard Morgan from over her shoulder and didn’t even look back as she began answering, “I don’t know what a lot of it is actually. I’ll need to do some-” she was cut off by her friend’s scream. Morgan was freaking out, tumbling backwards and pulling a fucking gun on her? “What the fuck Morgan? What do you mean who am I? Why do you have a gun pointed at me!” Cece waved her hands wildly, half up in the air in surrender and half accusingly towards Morgan. “Your friend is right here, wondering if she’s about to get capped by a dead girl! You suddenly lose vision or something?”

Morgan scrambled to her feet, still holding out the salt pistol with trembling hands. The woman was middle aged, wild eyed, and a heck of a lot taller than Cece had ever been. She wasn’t sure where she got off trying to pretend they were one and the same. Her angular features had none of Cece’s stubborn charm. They gave the woman a look that was off-kilter even unnerving as she waved her arms around and cried out in her raspy voice. “I am not kidding, whatever magic bullshit you did, some summoning trick, o-or—I don’t know! But you aren’t keeping her!” Morgan shouted I am not losing one more friend to my personal bullshit, you got it? You—” It came on her slowly: the woman’s clothes looked a little like Cece’s but also...not. And she had Cece’s keychain, and there was a bottle at her feet, not quite close right, dripping slowly into the ground. Morgan slowly lowered her pistol, not quite ready to give up the pretense. “If you’re really Cece, then how do we know each other?” She asked.

Something was wrong. Whether that something was with Morgan or with Cece herself was still unclear. Cece stood up, Morgan backing away again but not moving the pistol from it’s target. “Can you point the gun away from me? This isn’t the Wild West.” Though something was clearly off, Cece hadn’t pieced it together yet. For whatever reason, Morgan seemed to think Cece wasn’t who she claimed to be. Was there some illusion? Cece stared at her hands, vaguely aware that something seemed different but realizing that she didn’t look at her hands enough to realize what the difference might be anyways. “How do we know each other? I didn’t know I was signing up for a pop quiz tonight.” Cece laughed, but clearly Morgan wasn’t joking, “Former roomies, forever besties, current hostage.” Cece quipped, “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Morgan lowered the salt pistol, her face melting, touched. “Aw, you consider us besties?” Her face twisted into an expression of cringe. On Cece, that was endearing. On a crazed woman who looked like she was nearing fifty, it was a little...odd. Maybe sad. Morgan tried to find the words to explain to her friend how bewildering this looked from her perspective. Whose face was this? How did Cece change her face and not...know. “Okay, okay…” she started, tucking her pistol away. “Uh, fun fact, the pistol is salt rounds only. I just, you know, couldn’t be too careful. Also: what happened to your face! I said you could take something home, not give yourself a weird makeover!” She fumbled for her phone, still keeping her distance in case this was all a trick and she was just being stupid and gullible. “You did something!” She put the selfie camera on and held it out for Maybe-Cece to see. “A very, very weird something! Are you...mind or body swapped? Are you glamoured into one of my dead relatives? You aren’t really...I mean, look! What would you think if you were me!”

“Of course I do. There’s not many others I’ve broken into a house and been held at gunpoint at!” Despite the awkwardness of currently being held at gunpoint, Cece couldn’t stop the lilt in her voice as she confirmed that the two were basically besties. They had been through quite a bit considering they hadn’t known each other at the beginning of the year. “Well I actually do feel marginally better knowing I would have only gotten blasted with salt. Thank god I’m not a ghost.” Cece laughed, taking steps closer to Morgan following the whole debacle. “I didn’t do anything! Just rooted around in your grandma’s chest and-” Cece stopped talking when Morgan offered her phone camera towards her and Cece got a look at who was showing up on the screen. Except this was very clearly not Cece. “What the fuck?” Cece jumped back, visibly shaken for the first in what felt like a truly long time. “Who the fuck am I? Why the fuck do I look like this?” Cece began rubbing her hands against her arms, chanting a dispelling glamour effect to herself and then looked back at the camera. Nothing. “Why isn’t it going away!?”

Morgan’s face quirked into a smile. She wasn’t as vulnerable or demonstrative with Cece as she knew she could’ve tried to be. Cece was just so breathtakingly together and at ease with whatever chaos came her way, like it was no more than a fly she could spike out of her sphere with a swipe of her hand. However much she accepted the mess Morgan dragged them into, Morgan worried the limit of ‘too much’ was just around the corner. But here they were, standing over a hole in the middle of the woods with a salt pistol and dug up treasures and a haywire spell between them—and still friends. “Ghost, creepy middle aged lady, whatever comes next, I’m still glad we’re friends,” Morgan said.

But, obviously, Cece being her friend as Cece was probably best. “Idea one: this is some weird subconscious thing and you’ve got some stuff about your age or your size to deal with. Idea two: you are wearing the face of one of my dead relatives, or their neighbors, or...something. But either way, there’s a solution! We just don’t know it yet. But we will and you will look...w-well, you don’t look bad, really, when you, uh, think about it, but just more...you.” She winced and came around the side of the hole to offer Cece a hug.

Morgan offered a list of options to Cece, who hated all of them. “Definitely not subconscious. I accepted my height many years ago.” Cece waved the first away but backtracked, “That being said. I get that objectively I’m not that tall still but I do feel like a tall glass or water.” The second option seemed likely. Perhaps it was a type of hex that was put on something she had touched by Morgan’s grandma. If that was the case it was some bullshit hex. “Well either it’s a strong ass hex or some new type of magic I haven’t worked with before.” That frustrated Cece more than the hex itself. She could handle looking like this Milf. What she didn’t like was not knowing how to fix it immediately. Morgan came around for a hug and as their arms wrapped around each other Cece smiled, “You know we’re kind of like the same height now.”

“You do have the energy of a tall woman, I guess it’s just a little closer to being official now,” Morgan said with a smirk. “You’ve got, what, a whole inch on me now?” She raised her hand to touch the top of Cece’s head, fluffing some of the brown hair falling in front of her face. “Stars, if you are wearing one of my ancestors’ faces, does this make you like a temporary cousin? Temporary grandma?” She smirked at the idea. “Sorry. Let’s take everything and hit the books at your place, huh? Do some old fashioned trial and error experimenting. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”

Though her head was still spinning at the prospect of looking twice her actual age, Cece tried to compose herself. This had been the most flustered she had allowed herself to be for many, many years. She had no interest in completely losing her cool. Morgan was right, they would fix this. Eventually. Maybe it had a time limit, and Cece would simply wake up in a day or two back to her old, blonde self. In the meantime, how was she supposed to explain this to her roommates? “That’s a good start. Whatever’s going on, I clearly don’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to deal with it.” Right about now Cece was sure that she had far too much blood in her alcohol system. Depending on how long this lasted, it might be time for a never ending party. “I like to think I just became your cool aunt. I think the moniker suits me.”

[gilbirda]

When Marianne finds Roland in the arms of another woman on the wedding day she flies away from her castle, trying to ease the pain in her chest. A miscalculation that took her off course made her land on the Dark Forest for the second time that day,  and right into an horde of goblins… and their King.

…Or the Canon-Divergence we deserved.

First Chapter || <<Prev Chapter || Next Chapter >>

Chapter 22

Dagda was way calmer now, after a lengthy explanation about how Bog and Marianne kept in touch after the Ball, just an informal thing, and once she was notified about the elf she recognized the description and flew to the Goblin Castle and the three of them formed a plan to bust Roland once for all.

He knew they were lying somewhere, of course. Marianne did that thing with her thumbs when she was lying and he noticed her trying to hide it as she explained her part of the story. By her side, Bog stood with a really tense pose, staff in his hands. He had been stoic for the most part of their interview with the fairy, but Dagda noticed his head tilting softly into his daughter’s direction.

The King closed his eyes and sighed, not really wanting to fight over this. Marianne had always been different from her peers, and so much like her mother, Violet. She saw him among a crowd. She could have married any wealthy man that brought honor to her dinasty; but she married a commoner nobody.

The only difference is that my little princess had to look in the wrong place! He thought. His daughter… how could she be interested in a goblin? He wanted to be upset with the idea, he really really wanted.

But he was tired. This situation had dragged for so long… Roland, her rebellious phase, her obsession with the peace between kingdoms… It was always a fight with her about what she wanted. Marianne would always fight for what she believed in even if it was against everyone else’s comfort.

And guess what, she was usually right.

He had told her a mere hour ago that he was done trying to force her to do what he would do and now he wasn’t going to do that again to her -

“So… any questions?” Marianne’s voice brought him back to the moment. Dagda shuffled in his seat and sighed, looking at the two people in front of his desk willing to lie to a King (and a father) to hide their love.

“Yeah, only one. How long have you been together?”

Marianne felt like the air was punched out of her chest.

“What?”

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious. How long has this,” he made a gesture with his hand, pointing at his daughter and then at the other king, “been going on? Since we went to the Dark Forest? Since the Spring Ball?” He rested both hands on top of the desk, secretly enjoying their scared expressions when they looked at each other.

“Dad, please -”

“I’m not going to do anything, Marianne,” he stopped her before she started to fight. “I said that I’m done forcing you to make my decisions, and I’m willing to do that no matter how much it pains me to do so,” he made a face and looked at Bog, who was gripping the staff so hard that Dagda thought he would break it. “I must admit, it never crossed my mind that you would be interested in someone like him. But again you never did anything like everybody else.”

“Dad, if that’s and insult I swear -”

“I guess this is why you never liked any boy I presented to you,” the King continued rambling like his daughter wasn’t angrily fisting her hands. “You may have never been destined to be with a fairy. So I guess I should be thankful that you pushed so hard for this treaty.”

“Actually…” Bog spoke for the first time. “We meet before any of that.”

“Oh, really?” Dagda smiled. Finally! Someone was telling the truth.

“Yeah. We… We met on the wedding day. She kind of fell into my kingdom, crying and hurt. More than physically.” He whispered the last part.

“Bog!”

So that’s why she recovered so fast…

“I see,” the fairy nodded and stood up, walking slowly to the mismatched pair that, somehow, made a lot of sense now that he knew the truth. “Then I’m grateful that you found her and treated her,” in his words he implied that he meant more than the body. He then took one of Bog’s big and scary hands and put it between his. “I’m very grateful.”

***

“That went well.”

Marianne snorted at his comment.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“I didn’t expect to have this conversation today either,” he offered her a taste of what he was drinking. It was some kind of sweet beverage made from a flower only found in the Forest.

“Thanks,” she took a sip and tried to determine if she liked it or not. She decided that she did, but she couldn’t drink this for too long as it was too sweet for her tastes. “At least he seemed happy with this?”

“I’m sure that this isn’t over. It can’t be that easy.”

“Well, at least we agree on that.” Marianne gave him back the container with the drink and looked at the enchanting scenery of the dawn from the top of the goblin Castle. They went back after their conversation with her dad once punishment for Roland was decided (she must admit that being forced to do community labor was fitting for that selfish prick), as Marianne was too awake to even think of sleeping now.

It was weird being there knowing that her dad knew she was there. And at this time of the night, when she was supposed to be in her room dreaming about next day’s adventures. But it was a feeling she was willing to get used to.

Marianne looked at Bog and took his hand on hers, watching him take a sip from the container. She was going to comment on how beautiful was the Forest at night and that they should do a tour around it, when a drop of the drink slipped from his lips and fell down his chin.

It was something mundane, she swears, the movement she did to clean it for him. She just wanted to help. But without realising it she got really close to his face and it was too late to lean back when he put the container down besides him without breaking eye contact.

The mood between them did a one-eighty, suddenly becoming something they hadn’t felt before. Their eyes, their lips, they had never been so tantalising.

“Can I…?” he whispered, not wanting to break the moment.

Instead of an answer, Marianne leaned in the space that was left between their lips and kissed him for the first time since they formalized what they were. It was a simple, chaste kiss, but it was exactly what she didn’t knew she desired.

Marianne felt his big hands find their place on her narrow shoulders, almost laughing at the way they managed to make her feel totally covered under them. Yet he was gentle and careful of his claws, something that melted her heart more than it was already at the feeling of his rough lips on hers.

It was loving. It was overwhelming. It was, without doubt, something she could get used to. And, what the heck, she was going to get used to kissing this dork even if her life depended on it!

She was softly caressing his cheeks when she pulled back to breathe a little, opening the eyes she didn’t remember closing, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Marianne, I -”

“I know.”

“But I haven’t finished saying anything!” the fairy laughed.

“But I can read your mind.”

“Oh, yeah?” he smirked back at her, really, really enjoying the feeling on her nimble fingers on his exoskeleton, successfully caging his face to only look at her. Not that he was going to do anything else tonight. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

“Hmmmm,” she faked thinking the answer. “You want… another kiss?”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

This time he leaned in and kissed her a little bit harder than the last kiss. She wasn’t complaining, though, and she let herself enjoy his enthusiasm.

She felt him everywhere, his hands con her cool skin, his warm lips on her own. This could last forever and she wouldn't complain.

Suddenly, she felt his tongue softly grace her lower lip in a movement she was familiar with. Her heart did a flop and her stomach started to be filled with butterflies as she thought that oh my god. But she wasn't nervous, of that she was positive.

She was afraid of wanting too much, of being too much.

“Tough girl,” he whispered when they parted a bit to breath, and that did the trick. Something inside of her unraveled and all of her subdued passion, which once upon a time was tainted by bad memories, make an stellar appearance.

It was her who this time attacked the other with maybe too much enthusiasm, pushing the goblin to the floor in what she wanted to be a swift movement but turned out a bit awkward. Marianne blushed, opening her eyes and trying to see if he was hurt.

“Sorry -” she started to say, but was interrupted.

“Don't be,” Bog grumbled from under her in an even deeper voice, his bright eyes shining with love, passion and adoration. She shivered, but not because she was cold.

She jumped to his awaiting lips, fully prepared to what was coming next. She wanted it, she wanted him. She wanted to replace bad memories with new ones, including learning to kiss again.

She pushed her tongue inside his mouth, not like he put much resistance, for a moment forgetting about the beverage he was drinking before. He tasted sweet and a little bit citric, but she liked it. She liked kissing him.

“I love you,” she said between breaths.

“I love you,” Bog responded in a husky voice, sending even more shivers down her spine.

Yep, she could get used to this.

[virtuosin]

╳

{{  Pretty long so under the cut it goes!  }}

‘Shieda Kayn,’ A warm, soundless voice would permeate his mind, the name languidly spoken from that unseen tongue. ‘The one who heralds the harbinger of death-’ A brief pause. ‘-you, the Promised One...oh, how he has twisted you. His taint has had such undue effects on your mind...and your soul.’ If he were to glance around the the hotel room, he’d find that Sona was still asleep in bed, silent still save for the gentle rising of her chest to indicate she was deep in slumber. Then, when he glances the opposite way, a ball of golden light awaits him, gravitating in place before his eyes. ‘We are Ora,’ They announce themselves to Kayn with slow omnipotence. ‘We have avoided contact due to the one you have bound yourself to...but-’ A pause, and although there is no physical features to the ball, it seems to shift its attention to the sleeping Templar. ‘-we are nearing the end...and the Child of Ora has reached a startling conclusion. She bears a terrible weight, Promised One,’ That invisible gaze returns to Kayn. ‘We wonder...will you help bear that weight? Will you still, after knowing her plan?’ It shudders in place. ‘We have tasked her to endure such hardships for a purpose far greater than should be given to such a small girl...yet she bears it all the same. You, who she has chosen...you, who our beloved Child of Ora marvels...will you dare to see the future she wields?’ Without waiting, light would burst, severing Kayn’s consciousness from that quaint bedroom, blinding him with the intensity of a thousand suns...then, darkness. It’s quiet, perhaps similar to the way Kayn had drifted beneath the waves on that moon--the night he drowned and felt the chill grasp of death. But he wasn’t dead, nor dying...but in this stasis of endless night, he wasn’t living either. Not stars, no moon...nothingness. Then, gravity returns, offering Kayn’s feet a place to rest. He stands on ancient cobblestone, and from there the world crawls into being, fanning out from where he stood. As the scene unfurls around him, the Ordinal might notice the nearby greenery and masonry. Decrepit, foreboding in nature but mystical as well. Even if he had never been to Navorre personally, he might recognize it from photos, or even video surveillance the Empire has had on the small planet. It was home to the Enclave, headquarters to the Templar Order. And there, gushing light enriched with Ora was that looming obelisk--the Ora Gate. “AAAAAAAAUGH!!” A scream of agony, so raw and visceral and brutal in nature. It wasn’t the labored shrill of someone wounded, it was the guttural yowl from torturous pain, the kind that was slow, and all powerful. What’s more, the voice...is would be all too familiar to Kayn at this point. A voice from someone who was meant to be mute--a girl he’s come to known and become close with for so many months in space. There, floating twenty feet in the air just between Kayn and the Ora Gate was the beloved Templar, Sona Buvelle. The light was so blinding that her figure was merely a silhouette, but this close, Kayn might see how brightly her markings burned--quite literally--into her flesh, searing her body and soul as the raw Ora filters into her form. “SUNFLOWER!!” A new voice, from several feet behind Kayn. A woman, tall, thin, but strangely sturdy despite the overwhelming pressure exuding from the gate. She stood, bracing against the dense atmosphere flowing forth, sterling eyes on her dear daughter. Eyes dart down to Kayn, and while he might not know much about Lestara, he would know how hardened the woman was, and how detached she made herself out to be towards others. Not softness, no kindness, not a shred of mercy-- And she was crying. “Stop her, Ordinal-” Lestara mouths towards him, her voice becoming deafened by the augmented nature of the scene. “STOP THIS MADNESS AND SAVE HER!! IT’S KILLING HER!! SHE’S GOING TO LET IT KILL HER!!” Tears were streaking faster, droplets flying off either edge of her gaunt cheekbones. If he were to look back at Sona, he’d notice a sizeable sphere form around her. It was reminiscent to one of her barriers, however, it shielded herself away from the world, acting as a small space to contain herself and the overwhelming Ora now being absorbed by the girl. Another blast of light erupts, and something shifts. As if a moment happens but is not shown to Kayn--like a skip in a record. When his vision adjusts, he would notice an utter lack of Rhaast--had he even been in the memory to start?--and the Ora Gate was pulsating with a final breath of Ora before it went dormant. Would he have enough focus to notice the ebony shade lingering at the edges of the gate, or were his eyes caught off guard by the limp body of his prisoner, flowing straight for the ground. Whether by direct choice of his own or the Ora, Kayn would find himself racing forward, catching Sona at the cost of hitting the ground hard on his side. But she was safe, in his arms--except...she isn’t safe. Not at all. Her Ora markings roared with energy, as if made of fire itself. What’s more, there were more of them, splintering off and creating new curves around her eyes, her arms, her neck. Robes were singed, the long emerald sleeves burned off to her biceps, revealing her scotched flesh to him. A direct effect from how she was forced to filter the raw Ora into her body, all in order to control that Ora Gate of his. “Sh-Shieda...” Sona wheezes out, the light in her gilded eyes rising and falling in color, going from prismatic to dull. All of her features matched that ebbing effect, signifying what he’d feel in his gut; Lestara was right...she was dying. He might feel that strong, innate connection they share, and it would only confirm the fear. He would feel how ravaged her body was, how close to the brink operating the Ora Gate had brought her, and of how little life remained inside her. And yet, she was smiling. “Ehe...heh...” Soft laughter, barely a wheeze. “I...am sorry...h-had to...let it in...funneled it all...into myself...h-had...to stop Rhaast from taking you...f-from absorbing the Ora and letting them in,” A deep breath causes Sona’s body to shudder hard against his lap and arms, and it’s almost painful to feel how cold this mirthful woman was becoming. It was...tragic...and still, she smiled at him. Feebly, a hand manages to touch his chest, palm flush against his sternum as if she wants nothing more than to touch his very heart. “I...was n-never meant to live anyway...I-I wasn’t born to have...a future...” Tears would form, so fat and full of life. Eyes would drift from her hand back up to his eyes, and those large, shiny gold hues would meet his, bringing back countless memories all at once. “B-But...you gave me a life...a-and now...I can die with meaning...I-I’m so happy...to die like this, Shieda, I-” Another hard wheeze, and now her eyes were falling fast. “-I think...this is the kindest death...I could ever wish for...h-heh...I-I’m so...lucky...aren’t I? T-To die in your arms...I-I can go...happily...if it’s like this...” “Shieda,” A final rasp, eyes so dark and shadowed by death. “...y-you...were my...new home...m-my friend...my b-beloved storm, I...” It fades, and yet her lips keep moving, as if she still attempts to speak but the Ora had run dry--her life had run dry. And then there was no movement at all...her final words...nothing but endearments for the man who had treated her callously, who forced her to this place, who could not stop it even at the very end; In the end, Kayn could not keep his promise and protect her. A heaviness crawls deep into his marrow, making the very air impossible to breathe. A deadened scream echoes in the distance, a reminder of a mother who has lost her child. And then, he’d feel it--a chilling breeze that bellows from behind him...from the Ora Gate. ‘They hunger,’ The Ora would call out to Kayn, speaking to him despite the emotions that may consume him as he gingerly clings to Sona’s limp, lifeless corpse. ‘They will unmake everything,’ The world would turn gray as something oppressive lingers from behind his back, though he wouldn’t find the will to look, even if he wanted to--eyes fixated by force to Sona’s still expression. ‘There will be nothing left to rule...nothing left to live...it will all be erased if you do not heed this warning we give you, Promised One,’ The shadows grow, coalescing around Sona and Kayn. He would watch in horror as the tendrils consume her legs, pulling her out of his grasp and dissolving her into the inky depths, her pale features and dead eyes the final sight he has of his...what was she to him again? Prisoner? Friend? Something far more? ‘She will open the gate, she must open the gate-’ The Ora goes quiet, emphasizing the importance of these next words as Kayn’s vision goes black. ‘-but she need not die...but she has decided on this path. Will you prevent her from enduring this burden alone and suffer a fate undeserving of such a pure being? If she ever meant anything to you, we beseech you, for your volatile will is all that can forge a new divergence from her selected path...stop her, Shieda Kayn, and give the Child of Ora the life you inspired her to long for.’ Jolting upright, sweat trails along his musculature. He was back in their hotel room, Sona still sleeping soundly, Rhaast off in a separate corner, and the Ora...no where to be seen, presumably back inside Sona’s core. As his eyes and body adjust to the transition, he’d find something in his hands. Staring hard through the shadows, it holds a dull glint...wet and dark...like blood. Sona’s blood. When Kayn blinks again, it is gone, though the existential dread remains, instilling a profound fact in his mind. The end was coming...it was coming for them all.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 24: The Identity

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

While saying a final farewell to the City of Shadows, Serafine's emotional turmoil leads her to reveal the final clue of a puzzle one hundred years in the making. It's time for Cadence to finally learn the truth... no matter the consequences.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They should start the next leg of their journey as soon as possible. But by the time Nadya and Adrian leave the awful wreckage of Gaius’ old room behind and find the others, she doesn’t think her body can physically manage another step.

Of course — throwing me over Jax’s shoulder would probably make the trip back to the surface more than a little faster, the reasonable part of her thinks; but reason is too tired to argue over the extremely prideful (and correct), but that will happen over my dead body.

They’ll stay just long enough to rest and recover; that’s the agreement. Long enough for Adrian to piece himself back together. Long enough for Nadya to find the remnants of herself among the straggling memories taking advantage of her exhaustion. And—though she won’t admit it aloud—long enough for Serafine to get a chance at a proper goodbye to everything she once loved… and all that she had to leave behind.

“It’s really beautiful down here… scary vampire hunter skeletons aside.” After all, everything beautiful in Nadya’s life comes with just a sprinkle of scary these days.

Serafine stands in the middle of the ballroom; surrounded by hollow shells of armor and the ashes of everyone she once cared about but still impossibly beautiful. Like all those years ago when they were breathing their last, the Knights decided to crawl out of that very spot. Like they knew she would return to see it one last time and made a path for her; a morbid procession.

One floor above them Adrian rests to regain his strength and heal his punctured palms. She had left Lily, Jax, and Cadence to their card game down in the kitchens to go find Serafine. Not that she has any idea why, exactly… Nadya just… felt like it was something she needed to do.

They are completely alone here.

Maybe that’s why Serafine feels the freedom to wistfully reminisce. “This is nothing more than a tattered husk of the splendor these halls once held.” She cranes her head up to the soot-stained ceiling and the iron-and-glass chandelier still miraculously overhead. “With no daylight to hinder us, the City of Shadow was never anything less than alive. In more than just the King’s Manor.”

She gestures towards one of the double-door entrances to the dancing hall. In the distance Nadya swears she can see walls of actual bone and skulls not unlike the catacombs so far above their heads. “There to the Northernmost caverns, lies a labyrinth once called the largest in the world. Endless puzzles and clues all come together to create a maze only solved by the exceedingly cunning or the desperately bored.”

“Which were you?”

That earns Nadya a bemused little smile. “A little bit of both. In the early decades, before the City grew, I devoted all my time and energies into her foundation. A good thirty years had passed before I went back up to the surface. Surprising even then how much the world could change in such a short time.”

“I wouldn’t call thirty years short…” But Nadya wasn’t here to debate finite things to an infinite woman. So she lets it go.

“So what about when it did grow? What was it like?”

“C’est manifique…” the lace-trimmed edges of Serafine’s sleeves billow slightly as she twirls with all the grace of a lifelong dancer, “I dare not speak it aloud for fear I would not do it justice. Parties lasting weeks, academic debates that stretched across years. After lifetimes cowering in barns, sleeping amid mass graves for fear of discovery; praying to the First that the sunrise would be once again met by sunset, and that it would not be our last… the freedom that came from demanding a home from a world that had forsaken us was… I have no words.”

Nadya believes that. Why else would she be crying so freely; laughing so tragically?

“But none of it held a candle to the night the City fell.” Serafine continues unbidden this time. Too lost in her own memories to even withdraw as Nadya awkwardly fumbles on the tips of her toes around the Knights’ remains; coming ever-closer.

“You said you were having a… a party, right?”

“To use such a crass word —”

“— that’s the word you used, though —”

“— only for lack of a better one. We risked everything for it, Nadya; everything. Secreted trips to the surface for finery and the things only the nobility could afford, but never appreciate. Not as we would. It was to be my crowning glory. The culmination of decades of devotion’s labor.”

Her words, poetic in their beauty, are only enhanced by the emotion with which she speaks them. Clasped hands clutched to her chest; like the very memory of it will be enough to defy the laws of nature and make her heart beat again. But with them comes a dawning understanding for Nadya — one that bridges the chasm between fond recollection and the tears that cling to the bottoms of her cheeks.

“The party that night… it was yours.”

The way the vampiress’ face falls makes Nadya’s heart break all the more. “It was my confession of undying love, you see. To Paris, to the City; to everyone who had found a home here as I did.”

“I’m… so sorry.” Because what else is there for her to say? What else is there for anyone to say when the tragedy of it happened such a long time ago but it’s only now that Serafine is given the chance to face it? It’s just not fair.

Empathy shines through warm honeyed eyes; no trace of the woman desperate for answers she had met in the library. Grief does funny things to people, though, so she won’t give Serafine anything less than her understanding for that. How cruel would she be if she did?

A smile tugs at the corners of Serafine’s lips. And it’s impossible to have a woman that pretty looking at you like that without feeling fifty shades of self-conscious. “What,” Nadya ducks her head, bashful; tucks her hair behind her ears, “what did I say?”

“Nothing worth such a shy face on such a lovely young lady.” She ghosts her fingertips feather-light under Nadya’s chin to bring her back away from their shoes. “I was just thinking of how Kamilah looked at the presentation.”

Nadya’s eyes widen. “Kamilah was there?” And Serafine nods.

“Indeed. As if I would host such an important event without finding opportunity to placate the King himself… and his Queen alongside.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.” She doesn’t have to like it, but it does either way. The thought sweeps Nadya’s eyes across the charred remains of upended tables and armor plates splattered with blood the color of rust. She doesn’t even know what she’s looking for — a ghost of a memory of her, maybe. Trying to follow the path her long sweeping dress must have trailed as she danced.

Another memory and Serafine’s laughter bubbles out yet again. “Oh how livid she was that I did not take her for the first waltz. She had made me promise, you know, earlier that evening, that I would. But I was the hostess… I had obligations.

“Still, there’s something to be said for holding up her end of our little deal. She wore the masque I gifted her all night.”

The mask.

Even if Serafine had decided to launch into a detailed description of the thing; Nadya wouldn’t need it. She knows exactly what it looked like; like one long strand of gossamer steel warped and needled together to frame her face in all its beauty. Any other mask would be made to hide someone away, but Kamilah’s was crafted so no one would ever question who it belonged to — or the importance of her.

But the vision of the Kamilah in the library was brief; it fades, she fades, into smoke on the air.

And all at once Nadya realizes that’s the second mask she’s seen since they came down here.

Eyes glassy and focused somewhere on the far wall, the smile starts to slide from Serafine’s face. Nadya has to squint her eyes to hope for even a glimpse in the darkness… but if her glasses aren’t failing her she’d swear the woman can’t look away from a large broadsword embedded high up in the stone wall.

High for someone like Nadya, anyway. Not for someone a few heads taller.

“Serafine?”

She doesn’t answer. She knows what she’s said — that she can’t take it back. Can’t risk saying anything more.

“Serafine.” This time Nadya isn’t asking.

The part of Nadya that knows what it felt like to see Rome fall without hesitation already knows the answer. She still finds herself asking it. No matter how pointless it is.

“Serafine… was Cadence h—”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!”

Lily’s laugh, loud and boisterous, hacks through the tension between them like a rusty machete. Startles Nadya enough that she’s stumbling back, hand clutching her chest feeling her heart race for reasons she’s still a little foggy on. When she looks up, Serafine is largely unfazed; but instead of the sword in the (stone) wall, she’s whirled around to the intrusive sight that practically frolics through the farthest set of doors.

Ask Jax what he’s doing and he’ll have a thousand different excuses, all of them covering up the fact that he’s pretty much holding Adrian up with his shoulder. Cadence flanks Adrian’s other side, flicking a cautious glance their way every other moment or so like he’s ready and waiting in case the other vampire isn’t as recovered as he’s apparently led them to believe.

That leaves Lily taking up the front; leading them on like a punk Robin Hood and her Band of Merry Vamps. She spins on the heel of her boot as the ceiling arches up and vaults around the ballroom, neck craning all the way back until she’s very near falling over.

She doesn’t — thankfully. But she does mistake Nadya and Serafine’s startled reactions to their arrival as part of an ongoing joke.

“No but seriously, Nadi’, Cade was just telling us about some booze he taste-tested for Garrus, back down in New Orleans? Go on, tell it dude, tell it!” She smacks the back of her hand against Cadence’s chest in open encouragement. Unfortunately judging by the sheer embarrassment on his face it’s anything but.

“I told you twice now; without context it’s just a story that ends in me streaking all the way into the Mississippi.”

“That’s what makes the story!”

He rolls his eyes at her, then offers Nadya an apologetic smile. “I’m assuming I don’t have to excuse her behavior? Though I think she’s just as excited to get out and up top as the rest of us a—”

“What’s going on?”

Jax’s question, gruff and clipped, cuts through any shred of amusement left hanging. Narrowed eyes flit back and forth between Nadya and Serafine and if his reaction alone wasn’t enough to dial the discomfort up to eleven the way Adrian shifts to stand up a little straighter definitely does the trick.

“Did something happen?”

The vampiress opens her mouth and closes it just as quickly. Nadya can practically feel her biting her tongue. All traces of her wide-eyed dreams and heartfelt memories gone like they, too, were all an act.

Just like she had been acting back in the atrium.

Lily rubs her temples with a groan. “I swear to god — can’t things go right for, like, twenty-four hours? What fucked up this time?”

“I…”

The moment is waning fast — and taking Nadya’s confidence with it. One whole minute ago she had been so certain of something so important but now—now she wonders, now she considers all the possibilities. Coincidence? Poor word choice?

Something — anything — other than Serafine having some big bad secret that would wreck everything.

But the look on Cadence’s face… not now, not confused like the rest of them. But back at the Shadow Den; full of desperation. Or struggling to keep hold of his sanity in Katherine’s arms; fearful and small. And all Nadya can think about is how she would feel if someone she knew kept the truth from her. For no good reason at all.

“Cadence?”

He jerks to attention, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Yes Nadya?”

“I think…” swear on her life it looks like Serafine mouths “please, no” out of the corner of her eye, “I think you were here when the Knights stormed the City. I think I had that—that vision of you wearing a mask because you were here, in the ballroom; at Serafine’s party.

“I think Serafine knows who you really are.”

The tension ripples out around them. Thick enough to slice into neat little squares and stack up like bricks. She almost wishes she could; can’t shake the sinking feeling that some kind of guard or protection would be helpful right about now.

They move in synchronized silence. Cadence raises his chin; strong jaw taut in a show of confidence the wavering sea of confusion in his eyes betrays. Serafine does the opposite; casts her head away from him, from Nadya, from all of them in a manner almost ashamed.

No, not ashamed, not personally. This close and with all those walls she worked so hard to build up in such a short time starting to crumble at the foundations Nadya can feel the strength of it growing with every passing second.

She’s… ashamed of Nadya. Somehow.

“Serafine, is there truth to that?” Adrian speaks out of turn; shattering the fragile quiet. It’s not his time to speak, something whispers at the shell of Nadya’s ear, he knows what he is.

Like the ballroom itself waits on bated breath for Cadence to act; to do something, say something — anything that will pull the world around them back into orbit. It’s the only way they’ll survive.

But he doesn’t. To be fair Serafine doesn’t either; though it’s obvious even to someone as blind as Nadya without her glasses that she’s refusing to speak. And doesn’t that just say it all.

“Why won’t you look at him?”

The vampiress whips around, hair lashing at her face like a dark hailstorm. Eyes on Nadya definitely meant to instill fear and definitely halfway to getting the job done. Too bad Nadya’s a nervous talker. “I didn’t notice it at first… but besides the apartment and the atrium you don’t look at him. Why?”

“There’s still time to stop asking questions.”

“What’ll happen if I don’t?”

“Terrible — terrible things.”

And at the end of her not-so-thinly veiled threat, Adrian finds his limit.

“Tell me I’m not hearing this —” he’s already been through so much; the pleading in his voice one step shy of desperate, “— tell me I didn’t just hear you threaten Nadya.”

“It wasn’t a threat.”

“Sure sounded like it to me,” Lily mutters.

“It was a warning.”

Then she laughs. Bitter, rueful; familiar in a way Nadya’s still a little too unmoored by literally everything happening to place properly. She proves Nadya wrong by pushing the hair out of her face with a flat palm to meet Cadence with a level stare nothing short of venomous.

“Which one of us shall have the honor, then?”

Cadence’s lips purse, but he still says nothing. If his intention is to rile her up it’s definitely working… and then some.

“For a man with a reputation built on actions over words, you were always a mite chatty. I find it hard to believe centuries of old habits are so easily restrained.”

It was a revelation Nadya couldn’t have held in even if she tried; even if her life was on the line. But now, standing here, feeling the building rage in Serafine’s curling accent — she would give that same life to take it back. Because there’s no way this ends with a rousing debate and firm handshake.

And because… because maybe if she’d just kept her damn mouth shut they could have avoided this, here; and everything still yet to come.

Serafine steps back. Here’s a power in her space. All Nadya can think of is a cobra rearing back to flare its hood.

“Si c'est le jeu auquel vous souhaitez jouer, qu'il en soit ainsi… Monsieur D’or.”

Nadya’s struggling here, sans subtitles as she is, but she knows just enough about fancy perfumes to catch the name.

Mister Gold? What is this, a fairy tale spinoff series?

They all watch — a captive audience — as Serafine throws Cadence a malicious sneer. “Were I naive enough to call this coincidence, I would be better off for it. But we have been at this dance for too long, you and I. But you played your part well; well enough to fool even the Bloodkeeper. Your Benevolent God must be so proud.

“At first I thought you were playing the worst sort of game. Some ruse you thought to be clever — wearing the facade of a decent man when you and I know you are everything but. I hoped to bide my time here, to dissect your intentions from afar. You are not the only one who can play pretend.”

She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed; staining crimson along the seam of her lips. “But this… this is too much, even for you. You’ve never been one to let your depravities fall under a different name. No… you are too proud for that. You know it, as I know it. As I know you. The real you — the monster hidden under golden hair and gilded lies. How else was I to track you for as long as I did; to ensure I would get the vengeance I was owed?”

She pauses and waits for an answer. Something prideful of her own nature in the gleam of her eyes but the longer she waits the faster it fades. Cadence refuses to take her bait.

“Fine. Just tell me. Tell me how you did it.”

“How I did what?” asks Cadence warily. Nadya can’t understand why he isn’t rebutting these accusations. Why he isn’t as distraught as he had been in front of Valdas, or as angry as he had been in front of Isseya? She’s not exactly making light conversation.

Pleading ignorance only enrages her more. “How did you survive? I barely escaped that damned trench with my life! Hours I spent in the darkness, turning over every man dead and dying, and I could not find you. You died. You were turned to ash!”

He fixes her with a hard stare and a chin raised in defiance.

“Obviously not.”

His short answers are just enough to keep pushing her. Maybe that’s what he wants, Nadya thinks; after all — the more she talks the more she accuses; the more she fills in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

And only Serafine knows what it will look like when it is completed. For now.

Serafine wavers; his confidence (no matter how projected or pretend) forces her to step back once, twice until she stumbles over the rusted forgotten half of a crossbow.

Cadence only takes pity on her because he needs her to keep going.

“I woke up in a military hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1918. I don’t know how or why I ended up there. I had no memory, no tags… no home. But very much alive. Whatever method you used to try and end my life, if that is truly what happened, didn’t stick.”

Maybe it didn’t stick, but there was definitely damage done. And Nadya sees it now clear as day.

Before she’s even half a step forward Lily’s hand grasps for her wrist; a familiar shackle. Nadya eases herself free without looking back. Can’t shake the feeling that if she looks away everything will shatter and be so much worse.

“Serafine…” She stands between them; powerful creatures fast enough to move no matter where she stands, strong enough to snap her like a twig for getting in their way. How the heck is it I always end up somewhere here-adjacent?

“How did you try to kill him?” But all that gets her is a dazed flutter of Serafine’s dark lashes; not an answer. So Nadya pushes.

“Did you try and kill him psychically?”

The answer rests there, written across her face plain as day.

“He needed to suffer; as I suffered, as we all suffered because of his selfish acts.”

Nadya nods slowly. “You made him remember your pain.”

Serafine bares gritted teeth at them. Nadya catches the hint of her fangs in the dim candlelight and fights against the shivers trying to roll down her spine.

“Non,” she protests, “I forced him to know it — to feel it for the first time! It was justice that he should die knowing the pain he brought down on his own kind!”

Another piece. “But something stopped you from finishing the job.”

There’s so much pain hovering in the air around them. Pain of the memories still echoing through her mind. Pain from Serafine in waves on a roiling sea. Pain from Cadence as he looks down at Nadya with an uncomfortable uncertainty. “How do you…?”

“She wanted you to remember. Instead, whatever happened… it —”

With closed eyes Cadence bows his head; he understands now.

“It made me forget.”

Maybe it would have been kinder never to know. But what’s done is done.

Lily clears her throat, hand half-raised. “Did I miss something before intermission or… am I the only one with zero clue on what’s happening right now?”

“Seven hundred years is a long time to live, isn’t it.”

Serafine drags herself back into focus. Out of the pain of the past to the here and now. To where Jax may not be accusing her with words, but his intentions scream a whole other story.

She nods once. “Longer than most of you could even begin to fathom.”

“‘Most of us?’” His eyebrows raise slightly. He shifts Adrian into a better angle against his side. “That’s rather specific of you.”

“There was once a time when the wrong words meant a swift death in halls such as these.”

“So why do I have a feeling you’re choosing the right ones?”

There’s a shift in her; the barest movement of her body and more the way her soul moves under her skin. One little shift and that’s all it takes for Nadya to see this version of Serafine for the third time. Three times too many, if anyone cares to ask.

Because the glower she faces at Jax is nothing less than every kind of anger — and then some. “What would you know? Dwelling in the gutters, hiding from your own kind. At least we had the dignity to hide from our enemies rather than make enemies of ourselves.”

‘Serafine…’ Adrian’s lips curl around her name but there’s no sound. No, sound would mean he has something to say, and he doesn’t. What is there to say at a sight like this?

But to everyone’s surprise Jax stands his ground. “But that’s not entirely true, is it?”

Nadya swallows the heart-sized lump in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that I did quite a bit of reading down here. My intention was to try and get as much background on this Order as possible. I’m not exactly the type to sit around and twiddle my thumbs up my ass, if you’ve noticed.

“Now don’t get me wrong — I hate Gaius as much as the next guy. But he did his due diligence when it came to war. I found a ledger. Page after page filled with detailed logs of recon. missions meant to track the movement of the Knights—or the Order, I don’t care—that all ended the same way. Randomly they made about as much sense as everything going on right here and now. But put them together and they started to look less like random hunts and more like a pursuit.”

Jax jerks his head aside to Cadence; his head still cast downward. “I’ve been good since we got here; not a gamble to pin me to. But I’d go all in and bet those pursuits, most of ‘em leading up to a couple of months before your big event, were all about finding one really dumb sonuvabitch.”

“The Dawnslayer…” Nadya whispers — quickly slapping her hand over her mouth like that will suck the words back in. But it won’t. It doesn’t.

“All of this —” Serafine steps back with arms spread wide and open; as though looking out to the death scattered around them will somehow detract from her fresh tears, “— was ruined! My City, my home, a careless casualty in a selfish war of pride and egos! He invited them here. Led them to our very gates! All for the thrill of battle and the glory it would bring him!

“And—ha—wouldn’t you believe it — he miscalculated the enemy’s numbers. Hundreds of Knights descended on us, more than I had ever seen together! Fledglings I had taken under my wing — friends I had known for hundreds of years — they were all ripped from me in a deluge of fire and wrath!

“I watched them burn, Adrian!” Bright red eyes blurry with tears, the emotions in her throat so thick she’s on the cusp of choking and that only makes Serafine scream all the louder. “They did not NEED to die! We lost everything! Our home! Our heritage! Our kingdom and city! Our blood seeped so far into the fucking ground and we never—never—recovered from it!

“He deserved to feel their pain — my pain! He deserved to suffer consequences for his actions!”

Adrian steadies himself with a shaky breath. Gently he eases away from Jax, holds still for fear of collapsing, but if one of them has to be strong… of course he’ll offer himself up.

“Killing him wouldn’t have done that, Serafine,” and Nadya almost chokes hearing that; knowing the different tune he’d been singing not long enough ago — seeing her Adrian again, “I know in the moment, maybe… it may have seemed like the answer. But —”

“Killing him wasn’t his punishment.” Her conviction throws him off kilter only briefly; that’s more than enough.

“I don’t understand…”

“I do.”

Even Serafine looks at Cadence in shock. There’s a newfound peace in his voice and acceptance clear in his eyes. Strides slow and measured, he passes Nadya right on by and closes the gap between himself and Serafine. She flinches when he gets too close; not unlike a wounded animal.

Palm turned up, he brushes away the long streaks of tears on her right cheek. “Men like that… there’s always a part of them that wants to die, I think. Their lives don’t really mean much to them. So you find what does; you find what they care about. And you hurt that instead. Right, Mademoiselle?”

At first she doesn’t answer. Instead she waits, and waits, and waits for the inevitable trap to bear down on her. When none comes… all she manages is a nod.

“That was the easy part. You already knew what he cared about. Just like you already knew exactly how to hurt them so deeply, so intensely they would never recover. You took him from them, right? Because it was only fair… and because you knew they would be too broken to continue on.”

Cadence pries off his glasses with his free hand and holds the frames with delicate care. With closed eyes he leans forward — down to her. Serafine sucks in a breath, feels the pressure of his palm cupping her face, and trembles when their foreheads meet.

“After all…” Seconds, minutes, maybe even years pass until, finally, his eyes open just barely. Enough to seek her out through lowered lashes and hold her gaze. To keep her there, practically cradled in his arms. Even as his hand slides down and presses an impossible weight against her throat.

“There is no Trinity without three.”

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (25/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Can I just say how much I appreciate you guys? I appreciate the reblogs, comments, likes, kudos, readers who simply read this story or any story, really. It’s honestly the most amazing thing that you guys are out here reading a boat load of words that I write and enjoying them and being so kind about them. Kindness goes a long way in life, my friends, and I appreciate you. ❤️

I also appreciate @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading all of these words to keep me on track and @wellhellotragic​ for giving me the idea for this big turning point in the story...even if she doesn’t know that it’s happening 🙈

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @stunningswan​ @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury​ @superchocovian​ @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings​ 

-/-

Not one to wake up quickly, Emma usually lets the day slowly come to her, even if that means listening to an alarm clock blaring for a few extra seconds…or minutes. Honestly, it’s always minutes, and there have been times when Ruby or Graham will come barging into her room to yell at her to turn her phone off. It’s only then she realizes that the awful sound is real and not a part of some weird, twisted dream where she has to actually wake up and go to work.

Dreadful.

This morning, though, there is no blaring alarm, only a sliver of bright sunlight peeking through closed curtains and the feel of rough scruff and soft lips moving down her bare back while calloused hands grip at her hips and the cool metal of Killian’s ring presses down on her heated skin.

It’s definitely a better way to wake up.

“Hmmm, g’morning,” she mumbles as she wraps her arms around her pillow a little more tightly and buries her face in the softness of it all. She’s awake, but she doesn’t have to move, especially when it feels so good to lay like this.

“Morning,” Killian whispers. He drags his nose along her spine down to the small of her back while his fingers inch over her skin and up her torso to rest at the sides of her breasts, pleasure flickering to life. “It’s very convenient that you went to bed without putting on any clothes last night.”

Flirty dork.

“And what exactly is this convenient for?”

Killian hums against her while he continues to leave slow, lingering kisses against all of the skin of her back while heat pools between her thighs and a smile curves on her lips that she has to hide in the pillow. She’d come over after work last night to eat dinner with him, ended up completely skipping the dinner when Killian tugged her into his bedroom the moment she got through the door, and the only time she’s even left this room was to get a bowl of cereal at two in the morning. If she also spent an hour reviewing her notes for today’s game, that’s no one’s business but hers.

Today’s game.

Oh shit. She’s commentating today and she doesn’t know what time it is and she needs to prepare and –

“Swan,” Killian breathes out, the air warm on her skin, “stop thinking about today.”

“How could you possibly know that I’m thinking about today?”

Killian chuckles, which she doesn’t appreciate, before brushing his lips over her side right under her breast. “Because – ” a kiss to her back “ – I can see that your entire body tightened up and –” a brush of his lips against the nape of her neck that has her seeing little black spots way before she should be seeing little black spots “ – because I know you so damn well and today is all you’ve been thinking of for eleven days now. And not for the Labor Day hot dog eating contest.”

And then there’s the feeling of chest hair brushing against her back and Killian’s hardened length against the back of her thigh while all of his body mass weighs down on top of her as his nose drags along her cheek until they’re eye-to-eye with Killian’s head resting beside her on the pillow.

He definitely didn’t have to lay down on her to look at her. That’s one hundred percent him being extra dramatic.

“Hi,” he smiles, and she groans a bit, both at the pleasantness of his weight and the fact that she was about two drags of his teeth away from being ready to ride him until neither of them could think any coherent thoughts. “You’re going to do great today. So great that all of those guys will be worried about the stability of their jobs.”

“So, you’re basically saying that I’m going to get people fired?”

Killian rolls his eyes and shifts on top of her so that the warmth of him moves to brush across her inner thigh, causing her eyes to shut and her breath to hitch.

Killian is still laughing at her.

That doesn’t diminish the feeling of how much she absolutely needs  him right now.

“No, love, you’re not going to get someone fired today. You’re simply going to kick ass, and I’m going to be wearing an invisible pin that says that I’m an extremely proud boyfriend.”

“Invisible pin?” she questions, opening one eye to see a half smile stretched across Killian’s lips.

“Custom made and everything.”

“You are such a dork.”

“Aye, I know.” His lips brush against hers then, soft and slow, before he’s propping himself up on his elbows with a slight hiss that she chalks up to him still being stiff from sleeping. “Now, please, if you’d let me, milady, I believe I was working up to something before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“And what’s that?”

“A bloody fantastic way to relieve stress.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure it can be stressful on the joints and – ”

She doesn’t get to finish because Killian is grabbing onto her hips again and pulling her down on the mattress before flipping her over so that she’s on her back and he’s settled between her thighs, his hands gripping onto her calves as he pushes her legs further apart so that the cool air from his fan is hitting her skin. Knowing what’s coming causes gooseflesh to pop up on her skin and a simmering heat to cover it all, and it’s all amplified by the way that Killian’s eyes never leave hers, blue eyes under dark lashes, as he nibbles on the skin of her inner thigh.

Damn.

It’s ridiculous, this thing between them.

Love.

It’s called love.

Love that involves a hell of a lot of fears but also this burning passion that makes her thighs quiver at his touch and her heart thump at a million beats per minute when Killian smiles into the dip between her thighs before kissing her there with a long, slow, thorough  caress that causes every bit of air in her lungs to flee for the hills.

Bless every woman before her for teaching him how to do this. That’s likely not the thought that she should be having right now, but it’s true.

And so damn good.

It shouldn’t be like this with them. He shouldn’t be able to make her feel the way that he does with so little effort, but he does just that every single time.

He’s taking his time, something she both loves and loathes right now with each flick of his tongue and tease of his teeth while her hands grip onto the bedsheets and her ankles hook around the back of his neck to pull him forward and further into her. Killian growls then, the vibrations working their way through her, and she bites back a groan so that all of Manhattan cannot hear her.

That would be quite the show.

“Come on, love,” Killian speaks into her skin before she feels the hard press of fingers curling inside of her. “Why don’t you let go for me?”

“Oh fuck.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

He likes that joke too much.

The man winks at her and dives back into what he’s doing, his eyes never leaving hers so that she can’t look away from how captivating he is. But then his tongue is swirling around her bundle of nerves in quick flicks that have her eyes closing and her fists tightening against the sheets. Emma chases her fall by rolling her hips, urging Killian to keep going silently since all she can do right now is pant with the way that the coil in her belly is so tight that it’s going to burst at any minute now.

And then it does with a curl of Killian’s fingers and a swirl of his tongue while she moans in pleasure and lets heat simmer over her all the while Killian keeps working at her and keeps prolonging her pleasure that she is never quite able to catch her breath.

Damn.

“That was – ”

“I know,” Killian says with a cocky grin on his face, peppering kisses above her hipbone and up her stomach until he’s resting his chin between her breasts with a genuine smile on his face now that has the butterflies in her stomach fluttering around like crazy.

Emma moves her hand from the sheets to Killian’s hair, pushing it back out of his forehead so that it’s not falling in a million different directions like it always does when he’s just woken up in the morning. She kind of loves that she knows that.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words so gentle and precious that she doesn’t even want the air to hear them. And maybe it can’t over how loudly her heart is still beating, a staccato in her chest.

Killian blinks up at her before twisting his head to the side and laying a kiss to the freckle on her breast. “And I you. More than anything.”

There are those words again, all of the ones that make her feel like she’s something special to him, that she’s someone he’ll always want no matter what, and a sob gets caught in her throat at just the thought of all of that. It’s both the pressure of having someone love her, something no one ever talks about, and the pleasure of knowing that the goofy half smile on his face is because of her.

This man is happy simply to be around her.

And she him.

She urges him to move up her body then, to press his lips against the dip of her collarbone and go from soft to hard as he slides into her, heavy and thick and everything that she could possibly crave. There’s a last-minute protest from her lips about him overexerting himself before a game, something they have to be careful about, but he promises that he’s just fine like this.

Sparks move across her skin, probably against Killian’s skin too, and even though he’s most definitely doing most of the work this morning – likely in some gentlemanly attempt to make her forget just how nervous she is – sweat is still beading at her forehead and the small of her back as their hips thrust together to create a friction that is marvelous.

“Emma,” he grits out at the same time that he thrusts deep inside of her to hit that  spot. “You are bloody brilliant. And glorious. And you are going to kick ass today, okay?”

She taps his ass with her foot in response, unable to actually form words to speak back with how strung out she is on him right now, and Killian laughs into her neck while her nails dig into the skin on his back, likely leaving marks that might as well be tattoos at this point.

Killian is so completely filling her as he moves above her, his entire body pressing against her and weighing down on her, and there’s nothing she can do but hold on tightly and try to savor the way that it feels to be connected to him both physically and emotionally. His support for her is unlike anything else she’s ever experienced, is actually the complete opposite of her past, and tears sting in her eyes at the thought of it.

She comes with a moan that Killian captures with his mouth, kissing her and devouring her all the while his thrusts get a little bit quicker so that she can tell he’s close too. She tries to press up and roll her hips to help him find the finish line, but he’s already found it and is falling apart with curses and declarations of love that make her head spin.

When they’re finished, Killian falls off of her and onto the mattress, quickly pulling the blanket back over them and pulling her into his side so that she can rest her cheek in its place against his shoulder and tuck her feet in between his calves all the while Killian traces indistinguishable patterns into his back and she plays with the chain around his neck, moving it up and down over the dark patches of chest hair that cover his chest and his stomach.

“You were right,” she whispers before brushing her lips over a freckle on his shoulder.

“Hmmm? About what?”

“That making me forget.”

“Ah, well,” he teases, his voice dark and low and still the slightest bit gritty, “I have heard that my prowess in the bedroom can make a woman lose any string of coherent thoughts.”

“You are ridiculous,” Emma groans, burying her face further into his shoulder and telling herself that she can get up to clean up later. It’ll be okay for a couple of minutes.

Killian’s fingers tap against her back, her skin still electrified by his touch, but then he’s rolling over so that they’re no longer touching and a whine of protest is escaping her lips.

“I know, I know,” Killian sighs before pressing a kiss to her forehead and getting up from the bed so that she has a spectacular view of his ass. Thank goodness for baseball workouts. “But I’ve got to go to practice long before you have to be at the stadium, and I’m afraid that I need a shower.”

“Can’t it wait?”

Killian twists to look at her, crinkles around his eyes, and he bends down to press his mouth against hers in a slow kiss that only ends when Killian grunts and moves his shoulder.

“You okay?” Emma questions. She sits up in the bed then, pulling the sheets over her because the ceiling fan is chilling her skin, and watches as Killian rotates his arm and grits his teeth so that his jaw clenches. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He smiles at her then, all traces of pain seemingly gone. “I think I simply need a massage from Archie. Might have overdone it a bit by dragging you in here last night and not really letting you go.”

She’s not entirely sure that she believes him, but then he’s reaching his hand forward and holding it out for her. “What?” she questions, taking it.

Killian waggles his eyebrows. “I want you to join me in the shower, love.”

“Shower sex is overrated. You know that. And I don’t think I’ll be able to walk. Seriously. I’m already sore.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Swan,” Killian sighs, pulling her up with one tug of his arm so that she’s toppling off the bed and onto the floor. “We’re simply going in there to shower. Nothing more.”

He keeps to his word that they’re simply going to shower, and luckily Killian’s shower is big enough that they can go about their business without annoying the other or getting in the way. That’s pretty much impossible at her place, but here she uses the little seat inside to run her razor over her legs while the conditioner soaks into her hair. Killian leaves when she’s still working on shaving her left leg, and when she’s finished and wrapped up in his robe with her hair in a towel, she finds him already dressed for pre-game workouts in the kitchen mixing up what she knows is one of his protein shakes from the weird green color of it.

“Any of that for me?” she jokes since she will not go near the stuff. It’s disgusting.

“I’ve got those smoothies you like in the fridge.”

“Bless you.” She gets up and walks around the counter to open his fridge and grab the pre-made mango smoothie, shaking it up a bit only to have Killian place his hands on her hips and tug her closer to him. “What?”

“I do have something else for you, though, Swan.”

“Is that some kind of weird innuendo?”

“No,” Killian chuckles before releasing her hips so that he can reach behind his neck and pull the silver chain off of his neck, his mom’s ring glinting in the sunlight, and Emma loses all of her sensibilities – and her breath – when he places it around her neck. “I want you to have this.”

“Killian,” she starts, emotion in her throat and protests on her lips before he interrupts her.

“No, Emma, just listen to me, okay?” He looks so serious, so all she can do is nod her head yes. “I know athletes are all known for their weird superstitions, okay? It’s simply a thing, and I’ve never really thought that I had one until I realized that wearing my mom’s ring around my neck was kind of one of those superstitions. It’s brought me luck, but more importantly it’s always brought me calm and peace hoping that she’s smiling down on me and cheering me on. You have a really big day today, one that you’ve been dreaming about, and I want you to have it to remind yourself that people are cheering you on. I’m cheering you on.”

Like always, his words far outshine any that she could possibly have, so Emma presses forward and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his stubbled jaw in thanks before staying there and simply feeling the warmth of him all over her as she breathes him in.

This is…she is not supposed to have nice things like this. This is not how things work for people like her.

And yet here she is.

“Kick ass today, twenty-nine.”

“Kick ass today, my love.”

-/-

Killian leaves his apartment two hours before she does, and by the time she gets to the stadium to make her way to the booth where she’s working today, all of her nerves that Killian made disappear have returned in full force so that she can’t stop fidgeting with her fingers or the ring that’s resting underneath her shirt.

She still can’t believe that he did that.

Her heart is still stuttering.

But the nerves aren’t exactly solved by having this good luck charm around her neck no matter how damn romantic it is.

The fact that on her way to the booth three different people stopped her and called her “that chick who Jones asked out” hasn’t exactly helped things. She’s never going to live that down. It might as well be inked on her forehead and be flashing in neon lights. Killian learned from his mistakes that day. If only everyone else could.

Now, though, Ruby is attaching Emma’s headpiece to her ears and stuffing her mic pack in the back of her skirt so that she will be able to sit down without things messing up. Ruby isn’t her producer today, not when she’s working with an entirely different team, but Emma is thankful that she’s here with her now.

“Be yourself, Ems,” Ruby sighs, adjusting her mic one more time. “It’s the same thing you do every other day, but you’re covering the entire game with two other people.”

“So, a different thing than I do every day.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to freak you out any more than you are already freaked out.”

“You’re a very good friend.”

“I try,” Ruby sighs, slapping Emma’s ass before sticking her tongue out and walking away. “You’re going to kick ass.”

If enough people say that phrase, it’s sure to come true.

Right?

Isaac and James are already sitting in their seats, the chair in between them empty, and she takes it, turning to look at the both of them to strike up a conversation only for them to both turn away and focus on the small booklet of notes in front of them.

Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be then. She shouldn’t have expected anything different when she found out she’d be working with Isaac Heller and James Prince, two men who are always looking down at her whenever she has to work with them. It’s fine. It’s all fine. This isn’t about them. This is about her and her job and she can do a damn good job at it.

David: You’re going to kill it today, kid.

Elsa: We’re all wishing you luck today, sweet girl.

Emma smiles down at her phone and moves to type a message back to David and Elsa only for Isaac to cough and make her turn to the side. “I know you’re new here, but you can’t use your phone, even when we’re off camera. Only between innings of if you need to look something up.”

“Oh,” she startles, having to push down her annoyance at the condescending tone of his voice. “Okay, sorry.”

“Yeah. Don’t screw up. It’s a small game, but everyone is at home watching because it’s a holiday.”

Such a nice, helpful man.

The three of them are coached through the order of the game, of the introduction while players are warming up, and while she knows that it’s something that happens every game, Emma can tell that all of this is mainly for her. She’s already read through her instructions, had approximately seventeen different meetings for this and one-hundred-and-twenty-two emails, and she knows what’s going to happen. She’s not an idiot even if she’s being treated like one today.

It doesn’t matter.

None of that matters.

This is what she wants, and she’s going to kick ass.

She, Isaac, and James introduce themselves to the camera, the annoyed look on the two men’s faces disappearing the moment that the camera light is turned on, and Emma has to fight back the urge to roll her eyes, especially when James and Isaac start a rapport of introducing her by saying you may recognize her from her moment of viral fame when Killian asked her out and she has to interrupt them to remind everyone that she is literally on camera every week since she is the on-field reporter for the team.

Fuck these men and their apparent need to forget that she is competent at her job even if this is technically her first day doing this.

But she forces the smile on her face and goes along with the banter before turning to the stat sheets and talking about the impeccable season that the Yankees are having so far and moving on to talking about Killian as he steps up to the mound, which Isaac and James are more than happy to let her do since she is “such an expert on Killian Jones.”

They don’t even know.

And she will continue to ignore these little jabs. The sexism never really ends.

They go through the fact that yesterday was a complete shut out not in favor of the Yankees, but the insane winning record that they have this season, it doesn’t honestly matter. Then at least five minutes is spent going back and forth over whether or not they will be able to somehow back up last year’s World Series win by doing it again. Emma’s always kind of despised the speculation that comes with sports, but this is how it goes.

(And she’s had the same thoughts.)

Which is fine since soon they switch to actually talking about Killian’s statistics for the season, how he’s been a bit up and down but how over the past month or so his average speed has gone down several miles per hour and he’s allowing more hits than usual. Logically, Emma knew this. She’d noticed it while keeping her own stats for her interviews and segments, but she never thought anything of it.

Not at all.

But now, running through these statistics and facts and every minute detail possible has her noticing the way that Killian isn’t hitting his spots like he’s supposed to and is throwing more balls than strikes and is a bit slower between his wind-ups than he usually is.

What is happening?

It’s not a question she can focus on, especially when the Rangers have a guy on second and third and Killian somehow manages to get three strikes and the third out so that the top of the first is over and things are moving on as normal.

Or, really, better than normal.

Eric hits a home-run, his thirty-seventh of the season which is a record high for him, and it brings both Will and Arthur in to give them a three-run lead already.

Today is already going better than yesterday.

And as time goes on, no matter how inwardly uncomfortable Emma feels with the men she’s working with, outwardly, she becomes entirely comfortable, knowing when to interject and when to stay quiet. It’s definitely not a match made in heaven for the three of them, which doesn’t really bode well for her future, but that’s not something she focuses on as the game wears on so that they’re now in the top of the fourth inning.

That’s when it happens.

One moment Emma is looking down at her notes while messing with the ring on her neck, twirling it around her finger, and the next she’s looking through the booth’s window to see Killian hunched over with his left hand gripping onto his right shoulder as his hat covers his face so that she can’t see anything. The hair on her arms stands on edge, her heart starts beating at a pace quicker than it was this morning, and bile rises up in her throat when she watches Will drops his glove and run from behind home plate to the mound so that he’s talking to Killian.

“What’s happening?”

Emma thinks the words come from her mouth, that she’s voicing the question that’s running through her mind, but it’s not from her. It’s from James.

“I think he’s hurt,” Isaac answers, and she knows that she doesn’t imagine the fact that his voice is smug.

Hurt.

No.

Killian can’t be hurt. He can’t be. And if he is, it’s something minor. Of course it’s something minor. There’s no need for her to be freaking out or for heat to be rising to her cheeks while that bile keeps coming back.

This is no big deal. It can’t be.

She also can’t let anyone know that she’s about to throw up because something is wrong with her boyfriend, and she can’t…there’s nothing she can do about it.

There’s a commotion down on the field as Will and Al walk Killian down to the dugout and there’s a brief pause in play while Roseman warms up before replacing him, and even though Emma asks their producer if they can find out what exactly just happened with Killian, she’s left sitting in the dark clutching onto his ring as the game goes on like there’s been absolutely no change.

But there has been one.

And she needs to know more about it.

But she can’t, and every time she moves to get her phone so that she can text Ariel or Liam or Elsa or anyone, they’re back live on air, and she’s having to force a smile on her face and continue to do her job like the abrupt change in pitchers isn’t a big deal to her.

It’s a huge fucking deal.

It’s also the bottom of the ninth inning now, two outs and two strikes on the board to signify the very near ending of the game, and an hour and fifty-seven minutes have passed since Killian left the field. She thinks she’s finally about to get to run out of this room and use her press credentials to get into the locker room when the door to their booth opens behind them so that their producer is sticking his head inside.

“Hey,” he starts at the same time that the word strike is spoken through her headset and the stadium erupts in cheers, “before you go off air, let everyone know that Killian Jones has been taken to the hospital.”

And nothing else can be heard over the thumping of her heart and the sound of Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “New York, New York” playing over the speakers like at the end of every single game.

Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today.

[eeveemasters]

hey, all you lovely people!  full disclosure i talk a lot and i have thought about this character thoroughly when you look under that read more... oh boy... just a heads up. anywho... guess i’m the last here i see, well, that’s typical. I’m late to literally everything, although this time I do have a good excuse. i’d tell you what it is but you don’t really wanna read about me gettin’ it in all weekend and drew is my bro -like literally. we share blood. we came outta the same womb. 26 hours of labor. 19 minutes apart. our poor mother-  so he def doesn’t wanna read about it and that is a swill of information about me before ya even know my name which says a lot, doesn’t it? inst-y-ways, I’m maddie and I’m Jewish, you’ll figure out why i’m putting that out there now. also hello again. i hope y’all are ready to get this party started, cause this is where it’s at! look below & hit that read more and I will tell you all about my baby girl, Eevee.

TW: DEATH, DEPRESSION, STALKER, MURDER, KIDNAPPING

★ ━  ( candice patton,   cis-female,   she/her )  ━ ★   just to be clear, ya didn’t get this information from me.   The person you’re lookin’ for is     EVELYN LUCIA MASTERS.   also known as     EEVEE.    Last I heard she was born on   APRIL 7TH, 1988    in    SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS,   but she’s been livin’ in   RICHMOND,    for about    EIGHT MONTHS.    Word around the districts is, this doll,    EEVEE  can be    VENGEFUL,   SELF-RIGHTEOUS,   &    A KNOW-IT-ALL,   but i gotta tell, ya, alls I seen is good things, like the fact that she’s   RESILIENT,   CHARISMATIC,    &     ENERGETIC.   I guess that depends on how well ya know ‘em, though.   the last thing ya need to know is that she works as an   A-LIST ACTRESS  &  CO-OWNER OF EXCALIBUR COMICS.  I don’t know much about what that’s all about but I do know that’s all I can tell ya the rest you gotta find out on ya, own.  ━     ( ooc:  maddie,   pst,   28,   she/her ) 

Evelyn Lucia Masters.

the irony of her name is that it means “wished for child”

she was definitely not.

hence why she goes by... 

Eevee. 

Yes, like the Pokemon.

No, it’s not a stage name or a gimmick.

She legally changed her name.

It’s on her credit card. ( so are kittens! )  

Born in San Antonio Texas.

Jewish, Bisexual & Very Proud.

Collette Rivers

Her mother.

One of the first and few Black, Soap Opera stars.

Had a wildly popular sitcom for a hot minute.

Career was on fire in the 80′s & 90′s.

Transitioned to clothing designer and eventually a reality tv real housewife when she couldn’t get jobs anymore.

Joseph Masters.

Her Father.

a former actor

was very well known for CSI.

was on broadway.

became a sought after director.

it’s a whole family in the biz, so of course...

@ two years of age, Eevee became an Actress™

baby diaper commercials with her mom.

then singing lessons.

then dance lessons.

then pageants.

more commercials.

a bit of child modeling.

more commercials.

reoccurring kid on sesame street.

then a reoccurring (but not staring) role on Gullah Gullah Island.

1998. She’s 10.

lands a role on Broadway opposite Leon Thomas III as Nala in The Lion King. 

this is the jumping-off point of her career. where it really shot off

but ignoring that for a minute...

Eevee has 5 other siblings.

4 of them are alive.

when Eevee was 15 she’d just gotten season 1st ( and eventually only ) season of her Disney show renewed and she had a stalker. on her 16th birthday, the stalker snuck into her sweet 16, cornered her when she and her older, brother Elias were alone, stabbed Elias, and kidnapped Eevee. Elias was rushed to the hospital when they found him but died shortly after.  They found Eevee, recovered her from the stalker unharmed, but when she asked about Elias... shortly after Eevee sunk deeper into her depression, and also suffered from survivors’ guilt and eventually had to stay in a mental hospital and was released a year later, a few days after her 17th birthday. being in the real world was hard for her and in a few weeks time, became legally emancipated from her parents because her father had taken control of monitoring her finances, her decisions, and became too controlling of her schedule and time out of his concern for her and her mother acted like none of it happened and expected Eevee to pick up where she left off and to get more jobs and keep working. It was an environment detrimental to her health and sanity so she had to get out of that and got her own place and moved away from her parents and unfortunately, her twin sister and younger brother.

Took a break from acting to finish high school.

had to have private tutors

excelled at the school aspect of her life.

had very few friends but she did have a girlfriend.

eventually, Eevee broke up with her

to seize her 5 minutes of fame she outted Eevee as a lesbian to TMZ.

It didn’t take long for Eevee to speak out.

At 17, in 2005, Eevee came out publically as Bisexual.

as a Black 17-year-old girl she was proud of herself.

but it did not go well for her in the media or in magazines.

didn’t help what little career she had left.

but she also kinda didn’t care

Became known for outspoken activism for LGBTQ+ youth.

Started her own charity and outreach program to finance and help struggling youth in the LGBTQ+ community by providing them with shelter, food, and treatment for health issues both mental and physical.  

went to college...

Northwestern State University.

joined the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority

double-majored in theater and business

got married to one of her best friends at one point to help him out with his financial situation.

graduated with degrees. 

and real friends in and out of her sorority.

WORKED HER ASS OFF TO GET HER CAREER BACK ON TRACK.

it took a lot of hard work.

a lot of mediocre jobs.

a lot of auditions. 

a lot of shmoozing & playing the long game.

she pulled every single string

cashed every single favor

ate a lot of shit.

including going to her mother whom she hadn’t spoken to in six years.

EVENTUALLY ROSE BACK TO THE A-LIST WITH A VENGENCE.

Several Independent Films.

Supporting roles in TV shows.

Supporting roles in a few movies.

Starring roles in a number of pilots that never got greenlit.

Starring roles in 2 tv shows. 

one was canceled the first season.

the other had THREE SEASONS.

won an Emmy

Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series

landed a few ad campaigns

Eevee went back to Broadway a few times over the years.

Bring It On: The Musical

played Danielle

won a tony

Best Featured Actress in a Musical.

Newsies: The Musical

played Katherine.

dream come true.

Hadestown

played Eurydice.

nominated for a Tony.

The Lion King

played adult Nala.

life coming full circle.

Currently stars in her own Netflix show. 

season 2 just finished filming which is why she has moved to Portland.

PERSONALITY:

very much a complete dork. loves video games, loves comic books, has a lot of memorabilia all through her house, it’s practically a dork museum, always telling puns. always joking. always been an adorable ray of sunshine. she really likes to be a light and enforce positivity for her friends and others.

talks far too much for her own good especially when she’s nervous.

very kind, generous, and loving, always willing to help a friend.

always willing to cook for someone as a way to comfort them. She’s a well-versed home chef and an excellent baker.

she’s in-between the vodka aunt and the mom friend. she’s the first to suggest doing shots and getting fucked up, but she’ll also make sure everyone’s okay and be responsible.

She’s that friend who if you fuck with one of her friends in any way she will go into protective mamma bear mode and straight-up end that person for you. if you need someone to back you up in a fight, literally, and have your back she is your girl.

she isn’t great at flirting or really being around anyone she finds attractive, she turns into a rambling, nonstop talking, pile of adorable.

up until the end of December last year, she was a virgin. She’s only ever slept with one person so she’s not really the sleep around kind of girl but respects those who do, you do you boo, but also please don’t mistake her for a relationship type girl either. she’s neither. she’s great at fooling around and hookups that usually stop before they get to the sex part. she’s actually just very awkward when it comes to intimacy and feelings and getting close to people in that way. It fucks with her anxiety so she just needs someone who can get her out of her head and that is very hard to find for her.

She’s a feminist and believes women should be there to support each other, but also is aware that feminism isn’t always equal and some women don’t include her as a woman to support because she is a woman of color and because she’s Black and will call someone out on their white feminist or anti-black bullshit.

she’s kind but is in no way a pushover. she’s very opinionated and steadfast and isn’t afraid to reason with someone and argue with them and stand up for herself.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS:

Friends: people who can put up with her non-stop chatter and find it endearing.

Fake Friends: people who are using her for fame, recognition and what her name can do for them.

Crushes: could be one-sided, could be both-sided, let’s talk about it.

Boxing Friendship: sparing partners, or someone who sees her at the boxing gym in her workout outfits that include but is not limited to color-coordinated custom gloves, that match both her outfit, her shoes, her gym bag and the giant cheerleading bow on the top of her high ponytail,  but has never actually stuck around to see her box so don’t believe she can throw an actual punch because they can’t take that seriously, because she’s just a pretty little celebrity what can she actually do, but then one day end up in an argument with her and challenge her to a sparring match and to their surprise kicks their ass and they become sparring partners. I don’t know, clearly I haven’t given that plot much thought.

Step-family member: Eevee doesn’t have a relationship with her mom, but she is aware the woman got married to another woman who has kids when Eevee was 19 or so. She’s never met any of them. Never spoken to any of them. Never been invited to family functions. Knows full well they exist and they know full well she exists and they have actually hung out with other members of her family, just not her. So that sounds like awkward and traumatic fun for all involved right?? Bring the angst.

Fellow Actors: They could be real friends, could be fake friends, could have worked together, could just know of each other, could be a publicity friendship, dude, I don’t know.

Fans / Haters: like her work or don’t like her work???????????? I don’t know I’m just throwing stuff out there at this point.

I don’t know we’ll figure something out, I AM PUMPED AND EXCITED!!