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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years ago

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Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21 It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark.

Special thanks to @norbertsmom for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

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Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly.

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la lista de los niños malos?”

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever.

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep.

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight.

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story.

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me.

Canasto!

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach.

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me.

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath.

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas.

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it. Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas! If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes. It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug.

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring.

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name.

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes.

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me.

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks.

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name.

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me.

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen.

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals.

Prim continued her story about elves. ��The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

Pt 2

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.”

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.”

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory.

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.”

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look.

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.”

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.”

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile.

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon.

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said.

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.”

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.”

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?”

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level.

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread.

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops. Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous.

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station.

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes.

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance.

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard.

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time.

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.”

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed.

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor.

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller.

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.

I nearly snorted.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers.

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit.

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around.

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum.

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.”

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa.

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command.

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.”

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died. “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears.

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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haillenarte · 5 years ago

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white day 2020;

Here is a full translation of the (thus far) Japanese-exclusive White Day 2020 Developer’s Blog post.

First, the dry translator’s disclaimers: I acknowledge that this post is four months old. Once upon a time, I was the sort of fan translator who would have rushed to get this done within a week of its posting, but in this case, I was busy with the Ishgardian Restoration Skybuilders’ Ranking when it was first posted, and then after that... well, I just busied myself with other things. I was tempted to skip doing this one completely, but then I felt obligated to complete the series given that I’d translated the post from 2018, so... goodbye to my Saturday morning and afternoon, I suppose.

This post is intended as a polished translation on par with official content. As such, I have taken certain liberties with the text: though it was originally in more or less a script format, I embellished it to make it a prose post consistent with other English developer’s blog posts. Most of the moogle’s narration was invented by me in order to preserve humor and narrative flow. This is nothing that the localization team itself does not do. I can assure you that the core details remain essentially intact and untouched.

If you would prefer to read a more literal take on this text, I am sure that more than a few rough translations exist of it already, so please look for someone else’s post if you want something that’s more of a word-for-word take.

Special thanks to the person I trust best to write Urianger’s dialogue for helping me with Urianger’s dialogue, and then to a second good friend for Elizabethan grammar-checking the both of us!

Happy White Day, Kupo!

March 13, 2020

It’s ever so nice to speak with you again, kupo!

Do you remember me from the last report, perchance? ‘Tis I, the ever-industrious deputy postmoogle’s apprentice! The rising star that’s, ahem, still training to become a full-fledged postmoogle... kupopo...

This Valentione’s Day — like every Valentione’s Day — we postmoogles were once again entrusted with delivering confessions of love all throughout the realm. So I’m here to give you an exclusive rundown on how my deliveries unfolded, kupo!

First, I tapped into my considerable experience as an aspiring postmoogle to... erm... take care of the most difficult delivery on my list before all the rest. A-As any professional would, obviously!

...Phew!

Oh, it was such a relief that he was asleep when I dropped by, kupopo... I thought my heart was going to thump straight out of my fluffy chest! My paws might have been severed... my pom plucked...

Honestly, I was of the distinct opinion that I had done more than my fair share of the year’s work after that, kupo, but of course I tirelessly flew away to my next destination without complaint!

The second set of Valentione’s Day packages in my delivery satchel were meant for Lord Hien of Doma!

Lord Hien greeted me himself, kupo, friendly as ever. "Ah, the postmaster — right on time as always!” he said, a little breathlessly. “You have my thanks. Would you just leave your deliveries on that table so that they come to no harm?”

What harm? I was more a bit confused, but then I realized that he was in the middle of some sort of... game?

He was running around, being chased by the leader of the Buduga clan, kupo. I suppose they were in the middle of an extremely spirited game of tag! How fun! I remember when I was a young moogle playing tag with my friends, floating in circles with the wind in my whiskers... Oh, for those halcyon days!

Daidukul received a fair bit of stuff from his admirers, too, kupo. More than Magnai, that’s for sure...

Then Isse looked at me as I was laying out everyone’s packages. “Oh, the postmoogle’s arrived?” he asked. “Um, by any chance, are you the one who delivered the year-end gifts from last time? I meant to give my thanks to the person who sent me something then...”

Of course, I told him that would be perfectly fine!

After all, even when it’s not Valentione’s Day, it’s the responsibility of a delivery moogle — or delivery person — to ensure that all the tender feelings they’ve been entrusted with reach their intended recipients. That’s why there’s no better job for me than being a postmoogle!

After my business in Doma was concluded, I flew back to Eorzea, kupo.

I’m a real go-getter — and someone really ought to tell the deputy postmoogle of my great work ethic — so I darted straight to the Black Shroud to unload my paws of all the packages I had for the people there. And what luck! As fortune would have it, I met one of my delivery targets on the road: Sanson Smyth!

“Happy Valentione’s Day, Sanson!” I chirped. “I have some very special deliveries for you and your usual companion!”

“Companion?” Sanson repeated. He sounded a little incredulous. “Er, no, that’s not quite right — it would really be more accurate to call him a vexing subordinate... Regardless, if it is Guydelot you seek, he is no doubt at his usual tavern. Would you like me to walk there with you?”

Oh, but of course I did, kupo! Sanson’s such a thoughtful, helpful man, isn’t he? It was so very nice of him to ask.

Taverns are where travelers go to rest, so they seem like such wonderful places to meet other people, kupo...

Once I’d finished with my deliveries in the Shroud, I let the cool northern winds carry me straight to Ishgard, kupo. And what change it’s gone through! The city was just bustling with the reconstruction effort!

I told Edmont (Count Edmont? Lord Edmont? So confusing!) that I’d come to deliver joyful tidings of love to everyone in House Fortemps again, kupo!

And to Ser Aymeric as well, of course!

And... well, I had a whole sack of things to give to Estinien, but just like last time, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Since writing his name on it and leaving it by the window seemed to work last Valentione’s Day, I asked Aymeric if I should do the same this year, but... kupopo... He didn’t quite seem to approve of the idea.

“We’ve received word from our men afield that Estinien may no longer be operating in Ishgard,” Aymeric explained, “so it may not be enough merely to leave his gifts by the nearest window and expect him to come across them.”

My pom drooped a bit at this pronouncement, kupo. After all, how was I going to deliver Estinien’s presents if even the Ishgardians couldn’t find him? Was it all hopeless, kupo?! All those packages to be returned to their senders... What a waste!

“No, well... Another report indicated some success in luring him with the scent of roasted kraken, seared by dragon’s breath. We might try that, if you’d like.”

I thought that seemed like a reasonable suggestion, but Edmont looked a little concerned. “Ser Aymeric, do you truly think — ?” he began, but then he seemed to change his mind. “...No, forget that I spoke. That being said, the restoration of the Firmament is proceeding apace, so I would exercise caution around undue use of fire...”

Well, I am nothing if not a cautious moogle, so I very carefully cooked up some delicious grilled kraken over an open fire, kupo. We postmoogles truly go above and beyond for our work!

I left his packages with the salted cephalopod as it was roasting, so I’ll bet he was thrilled to find everything set up for him!

I didn’t forget to make deliveries to this place either, kupo.

Whenever I come here, the atmosphere of the room feels so... so holy, kupo. As if the very air is clear... but empty, too. Do you know what I mean?

I cleaned up my posture before I left, kupo, and then it was off to finish the rest of the deliveries!

I had successfully shared everyone’s expressions of love with all sorts of people in Eorzea, and now it was time for... um... the impossible, kupo. You see, I still had a whole stack of especially challenging deliveries to make to the First!

We moogles have a lot of special tricks up our poms, kupo, but even I can’t possibly visit another shard without a bit of help...

I really hadn’t the foggiest idea how to get there, so I wound up consulting the helpful folks at the Eighteenth Floor to ask them how I could get to the First!

And do you know what? They were so nice, kupo! They said that because Valentione’s Day was such a special day, and because they wanted to accommodate everyone’s heartfelt feelings, they’d let me use a special door that would take me safely to the First. Though it was not without... stipulations...

They handed me an enchanted pocket watch and said that if I failed to return before the hand on the watch made a full turn around the clock, I’d never be able to go back to Eorzea again, kupo.

Terrifying! Utterly terrifying! What other job would possibly ask you to put your existence as you know it on the line, kupo?!

But I am, as I’ve said, a professional beyond compare... so I made up my mind and zipped right through that door!

...I admit, I passed out and lost consciousness as I was traveling between the worlds, kupo. But when I came to, I was in a beautiful purple forest, and I could vaguely hear someone calling for me!

So I bounced back into the air and fluttered off to the Crystal Tower, kupo!

Naturally, the first First resident I delivered packages to was the Crystal Exarch. I had things to give him as the Crystal Exarch, and... other things to give him, too, kupo. Presents from a different time, from when he went by a different name.

Now, I must admit, I’ve never quite understood his situation, but I did dutifully deliver his Valentione’s Day gifts each and every year! I simply wasn’t able to enter the Crystal Tower, so I would leave them at the entrance, kupo. I told him this, and then I asked him if he’d received them.

...But he didn’t answer me, kupo! He just started crying!

What was a poor moogle to do? I mean, you’ll notice our paws aren’t exactly great for wiping tears away. Had I made a terrible mistake after all? Should I not have done that?

“No,” the Exarch said, shaking his head. “No, you... you have done nothing wrong, little moogle. Forgive me. Let us move on. We must needs formulate a plan to keep you safe as you navigate this shard.“

I was very grateful to have made the acquaintance of such a cooperative colleague, kupo! With his help, I charted a path through Norvrandt that would let me finish my deliveries in time.

Next time, though, I hope I’m given a bit more time to take in the sights. I still think of those beautiful flowers in Il Mheg, and all the sights and sounds in that luxurious seaside city, Eulmore...

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn were there on some sort of business trip, I suppose, and of course they received as many gifts as ever, kupopo. I was very pleased to meet young Ryne for the first time, though!

She was delighted to meet me too, I do believe, and when I explained to her what Valentione’s Day was all about, she smiled and said, “It’s so wonderful that there are such beautiful holidays on the Source!”

“I’m sure Norvrandt will begin celebrating its own holidays before long, now that it isn’t under threat of the Light,” Thancred told her. “If you want, you can start a holiday of your own, with your friends.”

“That’s true,” Ryne giggled.

Urianger was especially pleased to see Ryne smile, kupo! Er, what was it he said again? “Pray enjoy thy gifts, to the delight of those who give thee affection.” Something like that, kupo? And also, um... “Have care lest thou shouldst cross paths with pixies and their kin, for therein lieth a penchant for mischief most troublesome.”

Yes, that was it, kupo!

Seeing everyone smile made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy too, kupo. I realize I’m always warm and fuzzy, but I mean extraordinarily so!

After ensuring that all of my packages arrived in the hands of their recipients on land, I then had to travel all the way to the bottom of the deep blue sea. It still boggles my mind that people on the First live beneath the ocean waves, kupo!

It took me some time to find someone who would respond to me, but I managed it eventually. “Why, hello there!” I said. “Yes, you, the tall fellow over there! Do you know where I might find someone by the name of Emet-Selch? I’ve a long story that I haven’t the time to tell, but to cut it all short, I have a pile of presents that I must see into his hands!”

I couldn’t quite make out the tall fellow’s face behind his mask, but I got the impression that he was smiling at me, kupo. “You are troubled, little one. Yes, I understand... If you would deliver these glad tidings to him, then let me give you a helping hand. Here.”

Poof!

I couldn’t believe my eyes, kupo! With a snap of his fingers, the tall man made all my packages for Emet-Selch disappear into bits of light!

This wasn’t in any of the procedural manuals the deputy postmoogle made me memorize back-to-front, so I admit I might have panicked a little bit... but the tall fellow calmed me down soon enough.

“Even sweet gifts such as those you bear are only masses of aether,” he explained. “Once reduced to their base components, they will go to where he is — where all life eventually arrives. Be at ease, child. Whatever his faults in character, our lord of the dead and king of the underworld is an exceedingly clever man. No matter how vast the sea of life may be, he will surely be able to pluck his presents from the aetherial flow... supposing he desires to do so, that is.”

Now, I didn’t truly understand the finer points of this explanation, kupo... but the masked man seemed sincere about getting those gifts to Emet-Selch, so I decided to believe that he hadn’t done any harm.

I wanted to thank him for his help, but then he was gone in the blink of an eye! Even though I was in the middle of speaking with him when he vanished!

The citizens of that place are so mysterious, kupopo...

After all that was said and done, kupo, I had one final delivery to make. Just one last addressee to track down, and then I’d be finished, kupo!

And I really put my all into it. I swear upon my postmoogle’s cap and bag! I looked everywhere, every mountain high and valley low, but I simply couldn’t track him down.

The time left on my pocket watch was starting to run out, kupo, so I had to accept defeat. Disappointed, dragging my drooping pom behind me, I made my way back to the door between worlds, which already looked like it was in danger of disappearing, and leapt through the gates...

Mayhap I had cut it so close to the last second that something went wrong, kupo?

I passed out again, and when I came to, I was rolling around on an unfamiliar grassy knoll... while someone was poking at me to wake up, kupo!

What luck! What incredible luck! It was the very person I’d been searching for, for all that time, up until the very last second — Ardbert!

I almost cried and threw myself at him, I was so happy! To think that I would find him like this! “Ardbert, Ardbert!” I said, like he was an old friend. “I finally found you! I had all these presents to give you, kupo!”

He laughed and took it all in stride, though this must have been greatly puzzling to him. “What’s this? Another reward for the quest we just finished?”

“No, it’s not, kupo!” I replied, perhaps a little more crossly than I should have. “Here, this is for you! Take this, and this, and this! It’s all yours, kupo! Each package represents someone’s feelings for you, kupo! Everyone loves you so much!”

“Careful, now — oh, these look delicious!” he exclaimed, affably embarrassed as he sorted through the boxes I was admittedly pelting him with. “And this is all for me? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, kupo! Eat them all up and have more faith in yourself, Ardbert!”

His eyes crinkled at their corners when he smiled. “Hahah! You’ve got a point. Then I’ll share these with my friends just over there. My thanks for bringing them all this way here, postmoogle. You’ve done a great job.”

...

I don’t quite remember what happened after that, kupo...

When I came to, I was lying on the counter of the Seventh Heaven, evidently having dozed off next to that Wandering Minstrel fellow. At first, I thought perhaps meeting Ardbert in that strange world had been nothing but a dream, but when I checked my postmoogle’s bag, I realized that it was much lighter, kupo!

So I really had met him, and I really had completed all my deliveries!

This year’s Valentione’s Day deliveries were arduous and difficult, kupo, but at the end of the day, I really did have a lot of fun.

I delivered all of your love to everyone else, kupo... and now I’m here to deliver their love back to you!

One more time, for everyone’s sake: Happy White Day, kupo!

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star-wars-scribbles-ff · 4 years ago

Text

Where I Belong | Chapter 2

Story Summary: The only family she’d ever known gave her a name; back when she belonged to something. But when that family is lost, she leaves it all behind. When destiny drops her in the last place she ever wanted to be, she has to earn back the trust and respect of the Republic that left her to die. Caught between the Jedi and the Grand Army of the Republic, she’ll discover where she belongs.

Fandom: Star Wars | Galaxy Far Far Away

Rating: T+

Story Genre/Warnings: action/adventure/found family | war violence, death, torture, discrimination, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, found family, lots of clone boys, [more]

Words: 7,712

Disclaimer: Majority of properties within this fanfic are owned by Lucasfilm/Disney. My OCs, as well as a few other things within this fanfic are of my own creation. Republic Cog header made by me 😊

CHAPTER NOTE: Next chapter! Little shorter than the last so I hope that is acceptable. Don’t have much to say other than I hope it is enjoyed 🥰 OH! Check out one of the links below to see some arts I did for my OC Arwen Corcer! Her name is pronounced [ARE-when COURSE-er] for those interested!

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter | Arwen Corcer Mercenary Visuals

Present Day…

The sun was just beginning to disappear behind the Coruscant skyline. Colors ranging from orange to purple were splashed behind the whisked clouds. The cityscape shadowed much of the surface, making it seem much darker than it had been minutes prior.

Knelt on the ledge of one of the complex buildings, Arwen Corcer cradled an adventurer slugthrower rifle close to her body, cheek nestled over the stock as she stared through the scope, down the barrel.

Bum bum…. Bum bum…. Bum bum. It was prevalent in her mind; the one thing she could hear. Breath steady, and both eyes open, she kept her dominant eye trained through the scope at the target. It was the only thing that could take precedence over the sound of her heart beating slowly, calculatedly.

Just over a mile away, the target stood on the balcony of a large complex with other party guests attending a fundraiser. Since the outbreak of the war between the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems, he'd been finding ways to make money off of both sides, all of which were illegal, helping to settle her conscience about the job.

Arwen didn't know the motive behind the client who had hired her to eliminate the individual, but from what dirt she'd been able to turn up on the target, they had their fair share of skeletons in the closet- not including their double dealings with both the Republic and the CIS. Whatever the motive was- Arwen didn't have any desire to know; it wasn't her business, and it was also the job not to ask questions. That she learned early on.

The target had a female Twi’lek on his arm. She was relatively close; too close. Arwen would need to wait for a proper window.

The balcony was a large half circle that acted as a roof to half of the tower it rested upon; the outer wall of the half-circle was lined with finely arranged floral bushes and other organic material that contrasted starkly with the harsh greys of the city. Seating also scattered the sides of the balcony. Twenty-four individuals resided on the balcony, including the target who was talking with multiple associates.

Finally the moment came, and the female left the target to walk inside. There was an opening.

Allowing her gloved fingers to make a minuscule adjustment on the barrel of her rifle, Arwen kept her breath steady, gaze locked on the target.

Bum bum…. Bum bum…. Bum bum.

Her finger began to slowly squeeze the trigger.

Bum bum.

She breathed in.

Bum bum.

Then out.

Bum bum.

She went to squeeze the trigger when a flash of blinding light overrode her senses.

“Haar'chak!” Arwen cursed and lowered the rifle, squinted eyes raised towards the sky to see a Republic transport coming to a stationary hover around twenty-five yards above her.

Spot lights flashed around her as individuals in the transport angled them towards her. Voices echoed over the roar of the transport. Republic Police.

Raising her rifle again, Arwen quickly found the target once more.

Identify. Breathe in. Breathe out. Squeeze.

The recoil of the rifle doubling back into her shoulder coupled with the force of the rifle pushing what air that was left from her lungs was familiar, oddly comforting, as she resettled the rifle, watching through the scope as the target was knocked to the ground with the force of the slug.

Not a blaster bolt. Arwen would take a good blaster any day, but using old fashioned solid rounds was always a sure way to handle a job. Took authorities longer to get leads and she could make the ammunition herself if she so desired.

Quickly flipping the safety on the weapon, Arwen swings the rifle over her body, securing the safety strap to her armor plate before taking off across the roof of the complex. Disappearing into the maze of air conditioning and ventilation units and other structures, Arwen pulled the fabric hanging around her shoulders up, securing it over her nose before pulling the hood over her head.

The authorities yelled as they repelled down onto the rooftop and began a chase.

Dodging ventilation units and other cubic structures that littered the rooftop of the tower, Arwen came face to face with several GU-series Police Droids.

“Halt,” One held up an arm towards her, SS-410 pistol in hand. “You are under arrest.”

There were too many here to have happened to notice her presence. She had been set up.

Dodging the fire of one of them, she lunged forward and pushed them over before continuing through the maze of structures. She just had to get to the opposite end of the complex. Those droids would have speeders; she’d take one and dump it near one of the vents; they’d suspect she's gone into the lower levels.

Rounding a large unit, Arwen came to a screeching halt at the overwhelmingly bright colored individual.

“Stop!” A standard Republic clone trooper fitted in the signature bright white armor pointed his blaster at her. He looked rather taken off guard.

Arwen, still controlling her breathing, allowed her jaw to briefly clench before her ears perked and she heard the Police droids and her lips parted. Her eyes jumped to the side for a split second before she felt her eyebrows twitch.

“Don’t move.” He ordered, going to step closer to her.

She remained still as he approached, waiting for her opportunity before slapping his blaster away. She was quick to emobilize him; having grabbed his forearm she turned and put her back to his chest before throwing the trooper over her shoulder.

He let out a cry of surprise before grunting in pain as he crumpled to the ground. Arwen’s pistol was already pointed down at him, his head at her feet. His helmet was already facing her but he seemed to flinch moments later; an indication he’d now noticed his predicament. He went to unsteadily raise his hands with hesitation.

Breathing now uneven and not controlled, Arwen stared down at the trooper. Mouth turning dry, she swallowed before her head shot up.

They were coming.

Shooting the briefest look back down at the trooper whose head was at her feet, she quickly holstered her pistol and ran for one of the speeders hovering off the building ledge. As she jumped onto one, droids and other Troopers came flooding towards her. Cranking the throttle, she took off across the Coruscant skyline.

After dumping the Police speeder near one of the vents, Arwen returned to the establishment owned by her client called Lanter’s Tavern. It was obvious she’d been set up; an arrangement made most likely so he wouldn’t have to pay her. It wasn’t a surprise, but needless to say, she would have preferred this transaction to have gone smoothly.

Walking across the first level of the bar, Arwen made her way towards the back hall. The client owned this bar, however it was more a front; operated by employees to keep authorities off of his scent.

Arwen swallowed, face still clothed in her dark grey, ragged hood, and cloth piece over her nose. The look was drawing eyes, but as soon as she made eye contact with any of them, they’d look away rather quickly. She wasn’t dressed like a civvy. Armored chest plate, shoulder, knee, and torso plating, rifle slung over her shoulder, blaster on her side and vibroblade attached to her boot- she looked like a gun for hire.

Her eyes snapped to the side when yelling flooded the room, and she quickly spotted a group of men cheering at one of the screenprojectors above the bar. This wasn’t one of the rowdier bars, but when certain pod races or other sporting events came on, it drew in crowds of the like.

One would assume it was just your average evening on Coruscant. Many of the people residing on the planet had essentially no idea just how the war was currently strangling the galaxy. Sure Coruscant had its own problems, but most of these people didn’t know. They were content to be here, ignorant to the trillions of others surrounded by war throughout the galaxy.

It was… a lonely feeling; being in the know in some manner while being surrounded by those with no knowledge of the conflict that had been at the center of her life until recently.

Continuing through the crowds to the other side of the large area, she was able to pass people virtually unnoticed until she began heading down the back hall. Graffiti was sparse but painted the walls here and there. It was a relatively clean establishment, just enough to blend with the top level of Coruscant at least.

As she walked down the dimly lit corridor, out of sight from others she pulled the hood off of her head and lowered the cloth covering her face. Turning the corner, she spotted a human male guard at the door. Upon seeing her, his eyes widened as he went to scramble for his blaster, currently holstered.

By the time Arwen was in front of him and he had the blaster pointed, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him forwards with enough force to cause his face to collide with her shoulder plate with a clang. He sputtered before dropping to the floor.

Stepping over the body, Arwen pushed the control on the wall to open the door. As soon as it opened, her eyes met the barrels of multiple blasters pointed in her direction. She eased to a stop, picking out the multiple individuals preventing her from entering before she heard the muttering of words coming from further inside the room.

“Let her in, let her in.” It was a familiar voice, the client.

Arwen waited for the hired protection of the client to ease their weapons. Her own posture was relatively relaxed, however at a moment's notice she could have her blaster in hand.

The individuals finally began stepping away, and Arwen waited until she had enough room before entering the converted office space, one calculated step after another. Her gaze dotted from one person to the next; a few Weequays -two male and one female- one male Nikto, one male human, and two Siniteens - male and female. All of them were armed.

“Well, I admit I didn’t expect to see you again. Alive at least, after taking that job.”

Arwen turned her attention to the individual sitting at a desk in the corner, a datapad now abandoned in front of him sitting on the desk.

“No thanks to you,” Arwen countered, hand resting over her belt as she met the eyes of the client.

“You’re lucky, mercenary.” The Belosar considered her for a moment, eyes wandering over her as if he was looking for a sign of wear or evidence that his attempt to get rid of her wasn’t a complete waste. A couple beats of silence followed before he gave a decided hum and stood from his seat. Even at a stand, he was small, only five feet, maybe a couple inches more; his skin was almost a sickly grey, common for Belosars, his antennapalps protruded from his dark locks.

A chuckle left his lips as he walked around his desk and past her, towards the right side of the room.

“You do drive a hard bargain for your services,” He tsked, waving a finger before going towards a large safe built into the wall.

“Well, you aren’t the first client to attempt to sell me out, Gerdon.” Arwen responded, notes of amusement on her tongue as she followed the Belosar with her eyes.

“I assume if you are here, and that you haven’t started shooting, that you have finished the job, yes?” The antennapalps atop his head twitched as he turned to look at her from around the safe door, which stood taller than him.

Belosars’ antennapalps gave them the ability to detect drastic emotional changes around them as well as immediate danger, so he already knew she wasn’t here to do him harm.

“You’d assume correct.” Arwen found her hands gripping her belt buckle as the client finally walked over with a small satchel that she assumed was full of credits. It better be at least.

He held it out and she went to grasp the strap of the satchel, noticing almost immediately how he wasn’t planning on letting go of the item.

Her gaze remained on his as she searched his expression, careful not to give anything away in her own as she waited.

She could feel the presence of the protection detail around her. They were on edge, and by what Arwen could tell, hadn’t received previous orders on how to handle the situation- meaning they were reacting off of whatever Gerdon was doing as each second passed.

If it was one thing she hadn’t been raised to deal with- it was these types of people. Not that she struggled; she knew how to navigate the life, but she’d experienced plenty of instances of learning on the go. So far not one client had questioned her validity as a mercenary or bounty hunter. Only a few had questioned her as they hadn’t seen her in the business prior, however it was an easy thing to explain. Big galaxy.

Sometimes it made her rethink just how good she was at the life… being a criminal. She’d received the best training in the galaxy and this is how she was using it… Then it would come back - why she was in this situation to begin with and how she’d come into the life.

Her eyes flicked towards some of the armed individuals before returning to Gerdon.

“I recall we discussed proof of your success being displayed upon your return?” He tried, spare hand drumming lightly on the satchel, the other gripping the other end of the strap.

“That was before you sold me out to the Republic.” Arwen stepped closer, causing a few of the surrounding hired guns to pull their weapons slowly. “You’ll see it on the Holonet News first light; given the Republic will allow the word to spread.”

The Galactic Republic had taken over the HoloNet News, or just HNN, shortly after the war broke out. Everything ran through them, as to ensure the CIS wasn’t aided in any potentially sensitive information. Despite that effort, there was a Separatist presence on Coruscant - hell on every Republic system - besides Kamino possibly; there were terrorist cells everywhere, and information was always being leaked. Arwen doubted things had changed at all since she… left.

“Either way, word’ll get to you.” Her voice was low and sharp as she maintained steady eye contact with the man, the height difference between them not going unnoticed as the Belosar shifted where he stood. She easily stood at around 5 feet, 9 inches and her footwear added an extra inch in the sole. This Belosar’s eyes barely met the top of her chest plate.

Gerdon considered her momentarily, his jaw tightens briefly before his lips pull back and he grins. Chuckling he released the satchel and pushed it into her grasp before patting the hand she’d been holding the strap with.

“Yes yes of course, it is only fair I suppose.” He appeared almost distracted as he headed back to his desk, shifting things on the tabletop surface as he went. “It is the pay we discussed. I threw a little extra in for your trouble.”

“How thoughtful.” Arwen couldn’t help the deadpan tone that leaked through her words.

“It was a pleasure,” The Belosar clasped his hands together, resting them on his desk once he had taken a seat. The silence that followed was a clear indication that she was excused.

Arwen watched him for a moment, using her peripheral vision to keep an eye on the hired protection in the room before bowing her head a fraction in response.

Satchel in her grasp, she went to leave, meeting the eyes of one of the Weequays before heading out of the office. She stepped over the still unconscious guard on the ground and continued down the hallway back towards the bar.

The breath that slipped out through her lips caused her stomach to tighten a fraction as she closed her eyes momentarily.

That was too close. If she didn’t have to worry about the heat from the authorities, she’d probably have dealt with that piece of rankweed Belosar; the only one of his kind she had met who wasn’t in the Death Stick trade. Gerdon was something of a coward, but could weasel his way out of a lot of problems. She’d been warned he might pull a stunt like that, but it still caught her off guard when it happened. Thankfully she was able to get away without hurting anyone.

Face now exposed, Arwen made a beeline for one of the more secluded bar counters at the back of the room where multiple bench seating areas resided. There were only a few other individuals at the bar, several seats down when she took a seat on the far right. Grabbing the rifle off of her back, she rested it against the bar between her and the wall before raising her hand in a small gesture for the bartender.

“Be there in a minute, girlie.” Ignoring the man’s words, Arwen gripped her fist with her right hand, resting her chin on her thumbs.

Despite feeling more at ease, her shoulders were still tight, and her back was tense. She needed to disappear for a while. After that phiasco, there would be bulletins out for her; she’d be on the HoloNet News probably. The police droids most likely snapped images of her; they’d have a loose idea of her face, but not enough to use recognition software. If she stayed low for a while, she might be able to stay on Coruscant but… She’d have to wait a long while before things cooled down. It might just be easier to leave. However she didn’t have enough loose credits to get off-world.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment before running a hand over her hair that was braided off to one side; her bangs were loose and tousled from the hood she’d since removed. Movement on the other side of the bar counter caused Corcer’s eyes to lift, and she met the gaze of a human male.

“What can i get you?”

“I’ll have an Ardees.” Something strong and bitter to ease her nerves.

“If you don’t want the nonalcoholic version, I’ll need to see some identification.” The man responded, resting one hand on the counter. Her previous job didn’t exactly give her an identification card, much like in the Republic’s military. That was something civilians had.

Arwen closed her eyes momentarily before looking the bartender in the eye. Letting on hand slide away from the counter and to her lap.

“I just finished a job with Gerdon; that should be enough.” Arwen countered. If you knew the name, it was essentially a pass. This bar was named Lanter’s because that was the façade Gerdon used, and if you knew his real name you were involved in his work.

The bartender’s expression flickered with mild uncertainty before he gave a curt nod and went to prepare the drink.

Feeling her expression soften a bit, Arwen let her gaze fall to the counter before she returned both arms to the surface, balancing her elbows on the edge.

Putting off a threatening vibe to everyone she came into contact with was tiresome; infuriating at times. It wasn’t really who she was, but she had plenty of anger to expel, which made it easier on days like this. That aside, most of these people were rotten anyhow.

The satchel settled in her lap, Arwen tapped her thumb against the back of the other as she waited. Letting her gaze bounce subtly around at the space off to her left, she lingered on a few different individuals before drawing her attention back.

“Look a little tense there, kid.” The bartender announced, setting a glass down before pouring the liquid.

Arwen waited until he was finished and had pushed the glass closer before she grabbed it and downed it. She hid the grimace as the liquid burned her throat for a moment before setting it down with a grumble.

“Close call on a job.” She decided to say. Bartenders sometimes made small talk; it was harmless enough and this guy wasn’t giving off a deceptive vibe. She could always tell that about people; read their character, at least in the moment. Something her squa… it was something some people she used to know would call her ‘special power’.

“I’ve had my fair share of ones like you coming out with that look.” The man gestured towards her with the bottle of Ardees. “Boss sell you out on a job?”

Arwen eyed him for a moment, considering her options before giving a slight twitch of her eyebrow. “I’m sitting here aren’t I?”

“That you are,” He chuckled, going to pour more of the bitter liquid into her glass once she had held it out. Filling the glass he set the bottle of Ardees down close enough for her to reach before patting the counter. “Help yourself, kid.”

Arwen simply gestured towards him with the glass before going to drink down more of the strong liquid.

Once he walked away, she set the glass back down and cleared her throat. It had been months since she’d adopted the façade, but she still wasn’t used to the amount of alcohol she’d find herself consuming at times; even to appear to blend in with the criminal/low life element. The nature of her previous-... job… Prevented her from drinking often. And even then she didn’t really have a need to. Now she found herself with the occasional drink just to calm her nerves. Thankfully she could hold herself pretty well after consuming alcohol.

Swallowing the remnants of the bitterness in her mouth, Arwen went to raise the glass again.

“Hey- the Commander wants us back by 2300.”

Her hand froze before the glass reached her lips, parted lips closing as she clenched her jaw. Keeping her posture where it was, Arwen looked out of the corner of her eye, turning her head only a fraction to the left as she quickly spotted the source of the familiar voice.

“Of all the bars you could think of - you chose this one? Seems a little… dicey.” Arwen spotted the four clone troopers heading to an oval shaped bar area in the center of the room, their backs to her as they came to the counter.

“Maybe so, but not as bad as The Nexu’s Den; I heard they don’t even serve clones.”

“79s serves clones, and its not down here in the-”

“Don’t get your blacks in a bunch, this place is fine. The Corporal says he’s been here with some guys; they didn’t have any problems.”

Turning back to face the counter, Arwen’s grip on the glass in her hand tightened momentarily.

These guys were on break. The authorities probably hadn’t even processed the incident involving her yet. And by the armor markings- these guys were probably back on leave. They wouldn’t be a problem. But all the same… She needed to leave.

Grabbing some credits from the satchel, Arwen waved the bartender over before putting the small pile of money down, discreetly sliding it towards him.

He took it with a nod but quickly noticed the amount far surpassed the bill for her drink.

“I- kid-”

“I wasn’t here.” Arwen cut him off, searching his expression for a sign of reassurance to her comment.

The bartender processed her words before ultimately giving a small dip of his chin, carefully moving the credits to his pocket.

Arwen patted the counter and gave him a nod in return before getting to her feet. Swiftly swinging the rifle over her shoulder and securing the satchel, she began heading out of the bar.

Her eyes drift off towards the soldiers at one of the main bars, all seemingly enjoying themselves and toasting their drinks.

At the sound of their laughs she clenched her jaw and looked away before continuing out of the establishment. Before her thoughts could dwell too much on her past however, a medium sized ball of fur suddenly crowded her at the entrance to Lanter’s Tavern.

“Hey Bek,” Arwen chuckled, kneeling a fraction to greet the anooba happily panting, hindquarters shaking with excitement. Kneeling down onto one knee, Arwen rustled the fur around his neck before leaning back in surprise at the smell of the animal’s breath.

“Whoa- what did you get into?” Arwen can’t help the smile that broke across her face as she got to her feet once more. “C’mon bud,” Heading down the walkway outside of the tavern, the Anooba followed eagerly. “Let’s get something to eat.”

It was around 2200 by the time Arwen got to her basecamp for the night. She couldn’t stay in a hostel because of Bek; most establishments didn’t allow animals, and even then, she couldn’t trust such establishments to be safe - especially with the heat that could be coming down on her soon.

Fishing into the bag of food, Arwen pulled a couple of nuna jerky strips, holding one out to the Anooba who was waiting patiently.

She felt the smile tug at her lips as Bek didn’t waste time in beginning to chew on the meat. Lifting her own strip, Arwen peeled off a small piece before tossing it into her mouth. Her eyes rose to trace the skyline of Coruscant. Sometimes it looked alright… Right now it didn’t look too bad. The lights that covered the planet contrasted with the darkness of the sky; the lines of traffic were relatively calm; rush hour was long past. From her perch on the roof of a building she could see several notable structures, as well as multiple Republic cruisers in the distance.

The sight of one Republic cruiser in particular caught her eye as it departed from the cruiser staging area; a Venator-class star destroyer. The familiar rumble of the engines of the large ship made her chest tighten as she stared longingly after the vessel as it took off towards the atmosphere.

Drawing her eyes away, Arwen continued to pull at her jerky, putting a small bite-sized piece into her mouth. After giving a moment to consider it, she put the food away, having lost her appetite and pulled the satchel into her lap.

She felt the warm breath of Bek panting and looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You had your share, mister.” The anooba only gave a small bark of protest before beginning his circles to lie down.

Opening the satchel, Arwen looked over the credits and tousled them a bit before nodding to herself. It was more than she really needed. Not nearly enough to get off world, but half of it had a home to go to.

“Looks like we’ll have to hitch a ride to Saleucami, bud.” Arwen looked down at Bek, who had since curled up in a ball beside her.

His head perked up at her words, ears standing at attention before his mouth fell open and he began panting again.

Scratching along the standing fur of his back, Arwen gave her companion some well-deserved attention for a few minutes before resting back against the sloped structure acting as her bed for the night. One thing from her training she didn’t take for granted- learning to sleep anywhere and everywhere.

The Anooda next to her stretched his legs out, giving a yawn that showed off all of his teeth, and absence of the large front tooth, before settling back down. She had found him early on when she arrived on Coruscant. She had come across him while on a job, the target had ties to the animal trade; but when she found Bek, it was obvious he’d been used for dog fighting. He’d had his front tooth removed, a vital defense mechanism against other predators. Since the job he’d followed her around ever since; disappearing at times when she had jobs, but popping up hours later just as happy to see her.

Adjusting her head where she laid, Arwen let her eyes gaze up towards the night sky. It was settled. She’d head off-word; get to the outer rim or at least away from the core words for a bit. She could head to Saleucami and meet up there with a friend before getting back to it.

The Next Day…

She’d been to countless establishments - too many - looking for work. She needed a big payout to get off-world and she needed it fast. She was getting desperate. She’d visited at least two dozen locations now, and dealers and contacts that usually had plenty of jobs were coming up empty, or with jobs with too little a payout.

There would be plenty of work in the outer rim, but getting there was the problem. Just hiring someone to get you there, in the middle of a war no less, was the problem. The only stipulation she had was how job offers would change the further from “civilized planets” she got; it would be harder to stay anonymous as a gun for hire out there. Regardless of that risk- she needed to get away from the Republic before they started tying her to any jobs. If they knew some of the jobs she’d taken out… One could just say she wouldn’t see the outside of a prison cell for the rest of her life.

Not that she took “bad” jobs. She had been relatively consistent in keeping her jobs focused on the vile and corrupt; it was her methods of dealing with those people that the authorities wouldn’t agree with. And her… history with the Republic Military wouldn’t help matters.

Coming to a slow stop outside of one of the last establishments she’d come to know, Arwen found her eyes meeting the sign above the building: One Round - just your average dicey bar, however like many of the businesses, there was always some morally grey business going on the side. Your average civilian would see the name of a bar like that and assume it meant one round of drinks, which it did. But in the criminal world, it also stood for one literal round, as in ammunition. She’d gotten some credible leads from the bartender that ran the establishment. Hopefully he had something.

Walking inside, Arwen was quick to notice it was quite busy; more so than she’d expect it to be for the late afternoon. Bek trotted along at her side as she made her way to the back of the room where she knew Ramic, the bartender, would be. He seemed to spot her in the sea of people before she even did, and he waved her over to one end of the bar that was less crowded.

“Corcer,” He gave her a small acknowledgement as she stepped up to the counter and leaned forward onto it, not bothering to take a seat.

“Ramic,” Arwen responded in return, watching as he went about cleaning several glasses that littered the back counter.

“You lookin for the usual? Cause I hate to tell ya this, but I-”

“Actually, I’m looking for something a bit- stronger,” Arwen chose her words carefully as she watched the bartender’s movement and shifting expression.

He seemed to process her statement for a moment before looking over towards her.

“Stronger eh?”

Corcer dipped her head in response, forearms supporting her weight on the bar counter as Bek seated himself near her feet, facing away from the bar and towards the crowd.

“... I might have something.” He seemed to be considering his words, his voice grew quieter. “It’s no easy feat I warn ya. Few others tried it, and it was a little too much for their tastes.”

Shifting her weight around so her hands could clasp in front of her while she leaned on the counter, Arwen thought quietly to herself.

Most likely a high risk job. That might come with heat. She needed to be careful. Accept the wrong job and she could be in serious trouble.

“Have any other details?” She tried.

He gives her a small shake of his head, setting a couple more glasses down behind the counter.

“Sorry, kid. That’s all I know.”

Arwen nodded in response, the movement turning into a head shake as she internally cursed herself.

“Haar'chak - I’ll give it a shot.”

Ramic seemed hesitant, brow knit and hesitant eyes searched her for a brief time before he finally nodded and gestured towards the door a ways away from the bar.

“Your man is back there.”

Arwen looked to him and then the door, seeing two guards. Standing up straight, she quickly tipped Ramic with what credits she had in her pocket before heading over. She didn’t miss the nod he gave to the guards, most likely a signal to her let pass.

They stepped aside and Arwen walked through the space and down a small hall. She’d never taken a job directly through One Round before. Usually Ramic would point her in the direction of work, but it never originated out of the bar. He owned the establishment; unless things had changed recently.

Coming to the end of the hall, Arwen stopped at the final door. The muffled sound of the music from the other room was still within hearing range, but quiet enough that there must be sound dampeners within the walls of the hall and possibly the doors as well. Not a good sign.

Arwen looked down at Bek, seeing the anooba looking at her expectantly.

“You ready?” She deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow.

The animal stepped back and forth between paws, something he did when excited before giving a small bark.

She breathed out sharply through her nose in amusement before nodding.

“At least someone is.” She mumbled to herself before pushing the control panel button for the door. It slid up with ease, and she quickly met the gazes of multiple individuals. The majority of them were human, however there was a Duros present, and a Rodian. Just by body language and appearance, she quickly picked out the potential client, and when her gaze landed on him expectantly, he seemed mildly impressed.

“If Ramic let you in, you must be fit for the job.” He evaluated her momentarily, gaze lingering on Bek for a moment before returning to her eyes.

“Care to enlighten me? Ramic was pretty sparse on the details.” Arwen cocked her head to the side lightly, taking a few steps into the room. Getting comfortable in her stance, she rested her hands on her belt.

“Forgive him on that account,” The man had his hands clasped as he took a seat adjacent to a desk, facing her. “The nature of this task demands a certain level of delicacy. We can’t just have the details flying around, I assume you understand this.”

He was rather pale in his complexion, dark hair and a somewhat square jaw. He had a strong but almost dainty build, dark eyes and hair shaven down low to his scalp; didn’t look like the type to handle dirty work himself, but certainty had the deep pockets to have someone else do so. He evoked a certain confidence, but also perniciousness; it wasn’t enough to make her uncomfortable, but certainly cautious. There was something off about this job, she could already feel it.

“Of course,” Arwen appeased him with the response, and he seemed somewhat delighted, but remained eerily at ease as he rose from his seat.

“I need explosives planted at a certain location. A few have attempted other locations of the like, however they haven’t yet had success.”

Arwen swallowed in an effort to prepare herself to speak. This wasn’t the kind of job she was looking for.

“Where would this location be?” She asked.

“Destabilization is the key.” He all but ignored her question and continued with his subtle monologue.

“Enough with the dramatics,” Arwen cut him off, causing him to slowly turn with a soured expression. “What is the job?” Her tone leaked with mild agitation, expression relaxed but set hard in a display of confident frustration.

His eyes fell to her boots, and to Bek for a moment before they rose once more and he pulled a hand-held holoprojector. Activating the device, a hologram of a location rose into the room. The space was dark enough that she could easily make out what was in front of her and she felt a cold sweat start to bead between her shoulder blades beneath her armor plating.

“That’s a Republic Military base.” She stated, looking the hologram over further despite not needing to second guess before turning her eyes to the client.

“Indeed it is,” He responded. “My superiors would like to see a blow struck to it. We need someone to go in and plant the devices in suitable locations; casualty high locations are preferred; barracks, mess halls, weapons depot... Locations that will shake the Republic's stability, and hurt its military power here on Coruscant; but most importantly, weaken the people’s faith in the Republic’s military might.”

Arwen was quickly thinking it over in her head as he spoke. No easy way out of this situation. If she turned the job down, it was very likely that they'd kill her right here. This could be a Separatist cell, it was a likely candidate. However it could also be a crime faction. Didn't seem Hutt related, although she couldn't eliminate that possibility.

Taking in a steady breath, Arwen pulled her eyes away from the projection to meet the eyes of the client.

Ramic, needless to say, was caught off guard when Arwen slumped down into one of the stools in front of the bar.

“Well, how’d it go?” He puffed out a hard breath with amusement before going to pour something into a glass.

“You could’ve given me a little insight into my lack of choice in this job once I entered that room, Ramic” She offered, gesturing back with a thumb over her shoulder.

He gave her a subtly apologetic look before setting the glass down in front of her. “Sorry, kid, but if I told people that, then they wouldn’t be interested.” He chuckled and Arwen couldn’t help but do the same, however it was more so from the nerves if anything.

“How’s it looking?” He leaned on the counter for a moment as Arwen took the glass and downed the drink rather quickly. He watched curiously before his brow knit and he pulled his lip tight. “That bad?”

“Worse. I’m not looking for that kinda heat; I get caught or this goes sideways and… It’s not looking great.” She tried to sum it up simply, but couldn’t really find the words. She still needed to process this herself, and also beat herself upside the head with something.

Finishing the glass of the alcoholic beverage, Arwen set it down and patted the counter.

“Thanks for the tip.” As playfully reluctant as her tone may have been, the man seemed apologetic.

“Good luck, kid.”

Arwen pulled out some more credits, covering both the drink but also the job tip before giving him a lazy two finger salute. Briefly looking down at Bek, she made her way out of the bar.

The client, who didn’t even provide a name, had given her a set of coordinates. Once there, she’d meet up with one of his associates who would provide her with the supplies she’d need to carry out the job.

As she walked the upper streets and walkways of Coruscant she finally came to the end of the road. She’d call an air taxi and get relatively close to where she needed to go. Her eyes catch the sign above a building and she quickly realizes where she is; she’d been walking so blindly and ended up in the last place she should be.

The weakening daylight did little to dull the sign that blinked in bright neon colors: 79s. She knew it was one of the clone tolerant bars, even before hearing a trooper mention it last night.

Feeling her back begin to tense, Arwen searched the skyline for incoming traffic, but found no air taxis in site.

“Great.” She muttered to herself. She could be here a while.

Her rifle disassembled and hidden away in the satchel she’d acquired, she blended in alright. No one was paying her too much mind thankfully.

The various sounds, including the humming and rumbling of ships and speeders in the sky, as well as the chatter around her and music coming from the bar was distracting, but not enough to put her completely on edge. If anything she felt exposed where she was, it was pretty open and being at the corner of the walkway waiting for an air taxi was something she didn’t enjoy doing.

Her ears perked slightly, picking out familiar voices in particular.

She cursed quietly through her teeth before glancing to her right, seeing several troopers a ways down the walk, huddled near the railing of the walkway. A woman was cozying up to one of them.

Her interest perked, Arwen allowed herself to watch quietly as the woman let her hands glide along the torso and chest plating of the trooper who looked especially nervous but equally exhilarated as the troopers around him seemed increasingly amused by the event unfolding.

Arwen couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips before she forced herself to look away with a slight shake of her head. It was innocent enough.

A couple moments passed, and Arwen felt a nagging feeling tugging at her to look again. Finally giving into the temptation, she spared a glance towards the troopers and the woman, only to have her eyebrows jump in surprise.

She watched as the woman slipped a hand into one of the pockets of the trooper’s belt while he was distracted, snatching a few credits.

Arwen felt her lips part in disarray and astonishment. As if those men had anything to begin with, you've got pickpockets preying on them now.

The woman coddled him a little more before walking away in Corcer’s direction.

“Unfortunate,” Arwen muttered before adjusting the grip she had on her belt buckle. Taking a small step back, Arwen waited until the woman was close enough before smoothly and intentionally taking a wide step, tripping the woman and causing her to fall and the credits to go flying.

The woman let out a startled cry as she landed awkwardly on her stomach, hands splayed out towards where the credits fell out of her reach.

Arwen took several steps around the woman and picked up the scattered credits. People in the vicinity had noticed and the woman went to snap at Arwen once she got to her feet, but backed off once she got a better look. While Arwen was being rather discreet in her clothing, she still looked like a hired gun. That was for sure.

Bek growled at her side, catching the woman’s attention as she seemed infuriated, quickly disappeared into the crowd, hands balled in fists. Rolling the credits around in her palm, Arwen hesitated a moment before taking a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“How much did you have on you?” She turned, walking towards the troopers who still wore expressions of surprise.

“What?” One asked, familiar brown eyes wide. He was the one the woman was getting handsy with.

“Credits,” She reaffirmed. “How much did you have on you?” She tossed them lightly in her hand.

“Um,” He swallowed and stuttered a bit further, subconsciously going for his pocket before he swallowed, trying to recall as his comrades looked on with amusement.

Arwen took the moment the soldier was processing his thoughts to look him over. He looked so young. He must be pretty fresh off Kamino; the troopers with him looked about the same.

“Here,” She took the opportunity of him being distracted to lightly grab his wrist and push the handful of credits into his hand. It was probably three or four times as much as he originally had on him. “Watch those pockets, boys, alright?” She warned, a little taken off guard by the warmth in her own voice before she turned to leave.

“Th-Thanks,” The statement was called after her. “Don’t tell the Sarg.” The second statement came quieter and Arwen smiled.

“When we get back to base you’re gonna-”

The smile fell away and Arwen drew her attention off of the soldiers. The base… right. The one she was about to…

She walked for a while back the way she had come before finally grabbing an air taxi. After briefly squabbling with the driver over Bek’s presence, she finally got the Sullustan to take her where she needed to go. By the time she arrived at the destination, it was around sunset, and she met the associate on the roof of a building at the edge of the newly added Military district. The Republic’s main military base was within view; still under construction. It wasn’t the target she was being hired to hit. There were other military bases in the area.

The Quarren seemed curious regarding her, or maybe surprised.

He chuckled as he handed over a large cloth bag full of the ordnance she’d need.

“Good luck,” He muttered before walking away.

Arwen felt somewhat sick as she held the bag strap in an iron grip before looking over her shoulder as the being left.

“Take as long as you need. But it shouldn’t take more than a few days tops.”

She clenched her jaw before reluctantly returning her gaze to the Coruscant skyline ahead, towards one of the GAR bases that was in view, but much farther than the base currently under construction.

She gritted her teeth briefly before shaking her head, letting her voice slip out in a whisper. “What are you doing?”

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter | Arwen Corcer Mercenary Visuals

CHAPTER NOTE: Been stumbling over this chapter for a while, and I hope it turned out well! Getting Arwen’s introduction right has been causing me anxiety for a while so I hope she seems intriguing? Next chapter should be up soon! Next week with luck on my side 😁

Support in the form of a comment or reblog is very much appreciated if you had fun reading :)

#my fic #my writing #clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #clones #grand army of the republic #star wars ocs #clone wars ocs #jedi #republic military #coruscant #79s #galaxy far far away

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gofordrakgo · 4 years ago

Text

Dwelling Chapter Eighteen

"His heart swelled for a moment, overwhelmed by how sweet a gesture it was. The amount of time and care she must have put into doing the work for him was… was… well, overwhelming. As fast as the sight of what she’d done made him feel as… - happy? loved? - good as it did, they crashed just as fast, and he was sent spiraling."

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Seventeen

Dwelling Chapter Nineteen

He supposed that there was one benefit to not being able to fall asleep, which was that forgetting to set his alarm wasn’t really a problem. Also, the sunrise really was quite beautiful. Not quite as beautiful as the young woman sharing his apartment - which was precisely the kind of thought he was meant to be avoiding! - but still nice enough to look at as he watered the plants on his fire escape from a stray bottle he’d found under his bed.

The discomfort of dried fluid still present on his body made itself known once again as he watched pink clouds float across the sky. How did the saying go again? Something about sailors and red skies? He hoped the pink clouds meant something good, although he supposed the little rhyme had more to do with weather than luck. Nonetheless, he ducked back in his room, tossing the water bottle that he’d hardly noticed he’d crumpled across his room where it dropped to the floor with almost no sound at all.

His need for a shower and his desperate desire to not accidentally run into Shea after the events of the previous night created a pool of fiery anxiety in his belly as he stared down his bedroom door. Even the lavender scent of the fresh towel he’d forgotten to put in the linen closet did nothing to calm him.

Swallowing his fear, along with the bile rising in his throat, Drew finally risked letting the door swing open. When he didn’t immediately see Shea standing outside waiting to confront him he practically threw himself into the hall and made a mad dash for the bathroom across the hall. Which really was only just a few steps, so there was no excuse for him to be panting as hard as he was, he berated himself. Although it was likely more due to increased nerves than it was due to actual physical exercise. After a moment his breathing evened out enough for him to decide he wasn’t having an asthma attack. Good. It would be the first in years. He wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Throughout his entire shower, he was torn between being glad that the running water was taking away some of the lasting physical evidence of his body’s late-night betrayal and listening for any sign that he’d woken Shea. By the time he made to get out, he realized he’d been so distracted that he couldn’t remember what aspects of a normal shower routine he’d completed and which he hadn’t. Trying not to let frustration bring tears to his eyes he stepped back under the spray and cleaned himself for a second time - or maybe a first if he really had just stood there for several minutes as he feared he had.

Clean and dressed he found he felt better than he had at any point in his tossing and turning throughout the night. That did not, in any way, shape, or form, mean that he was prepared to deal with the possibility that Shea would be awake. Attempting to prepare himself for inevitable disaster in the humidity of the fogged-up bathroom, Drew brushed his hair back for the third time. Immediately upon swinging the door open he gave into cowardice and started to rush back to his bedroom.

Glasses, he remembered quite suddenly, worked better when he actually put them on his face. Running head-first into the doorframe was always a good reminder of that. Sheepishly he shuffled the rest of the way into his room, pulling his glasses from where they hung on his shirt, and tried to ignore his now throbbing head.

He could only stall for so long. Soon enough he was ready to go... if he ignored the fact that he had to grab his textbook and notebook that he’d left on the coffee table the night before. He knew he would finally have to face the possibility of running into Shea.

Sure enough, she wasn’t in her room. That she was asleep at the table brought only the slightest relief, which vanished the moment he realized he must have misremembered where he’d left his textbook because it was not on the coffee table as he’d thought, but rather under Shea’s sleeping head.

Tip-toeing closer he weighed the risks of trying to pry the book out from under her. His notebook, at least, looked easy enough to grab. So, naturally, she had to stir the moment he did. Panic, as always, took over and he scrambled out the door, abandoning his textbook on the table, along with any hope of eating breakfast.

He wanted to believe he’d only imagined a quiet voice calling his name as he fled. Needed to believe it, or he’d swear his heart would break thinking about the fact that he’d decided overnight that she would be best finding somewhere else to go. Somewhere where he wasn’t.

The pink clouds were not a good sign he concluded halfway to the bus stop when the first raindrop splattered on his glasses only moments after deceptively blue skies grew dark. He made the mistake of pausing to look up and was met with a brief moment of calm before a smattering of rain began to pour down over him. Throwing his bag over his head with a groan he failed to stifle, Drew hurried the rest of the way to the stop. A futile effort - every spot on the bench was full, and he was left standing in the torrent of water without so much as a coat to keep himself dry.

Soaked to the bone and colder than he would have expected for early September, Shea was the last thing that should have been on his mind. And yet he stood there shivering, wondering only if she was okay. Fearless as she seemed, he was sure she had to be afraid of something and as thunder cracked overhead he considered that she might be afraid of storms.

If the bus arrived even a moment after it did he might have turned around and ran back to check on her. Perhaps in an evidently rare stroke of luck, the bus arrived when it did, and the thought to go check on her as if that would resolve him of any of the guilt and awkwardness he felt occurred to him only after the driver peeled away from the curb.

The realization that he hadn’t completed his homework finally pulled his mind away from his resident runaway pest. The respite was brief. Flipping open his notebook he was glad enough to discover that he’d closed his sheet of homework inside when he’d grabbed it earlier. Dread started to settle in as he realized he needed his textbook to complete it. His textbook, which was presently under the head of the most interesting, stunning, and mind-invading woman he’d ever met.

No. Not a woman. She wasn’t. She was sixteen and he was twenty-one and he was the one who needed to back off. Even if he wanted nothing more than to spend his time with her, and get to know her even better. He would be better off trying not to get to know her well at all. Everything she said and did, even her pronouncement - announcement? - that she might have killed someone made his heart ache for her in more ways than one and—

His heart did not ache. This was a crush. Childish, immature, and stupid. And he was done. He had to be.

She liked to make things difficulter… no that wasn’t right… more difficult for him.

Beside his sheet of homework, scribbled inside his notebook in Shea’s perfect handwriting, were the answers. Complete with the page in the textbook she had found the answers on. That must have been the book she was reading when he’d woken up the first time. It explained why she seemed too embarrassed to tell him what she was reading.

His heart swelled for a moment, overwhelmed by how sweet a gesture it was. The amount of time and care she must have put into doing the work for him was… was… well, overwhelming. As fast as the sight of what she’d done made him feel as… - happy? loved? - good as it did, they crashed just as fast, and he was sent spiraling.

Why would she do his homework? Hadn’t he said the night before that she shouldn’t leave because she hadn’t helped him enough? Was that why she did this? Would she be gone before he got back? He didn’t want her to go before he could say goodbye. He didn’t want her to go at all. Not even with his… uncomfortable feelings - emotional and otherwise. Whether or not she was right before and her leaving would be better he didn’t care. He didn’t want her to go.

Fighting back tears - he really was as much of a crybaby as she’d teased him for being - he filled out his homework sheet with the answers she’d left for him. Maybe she did it to prove to herself that she was a good person. She’d been upset about that the night before. Hadn’t she? It was just the night before?

The few days that had passed since she followed him home like a stray puppy had been a whirlwind of chaos - the likes of which he was never fond of. He hated losing track of time like that. Had there really been nothing more than a measly matter of hours between her insistence that she was a bad person and when she… she kissed him?

She kissed him.

And he pushed her away.

Well, not physically but he told her she shouldn’t have done something he’d all but directly asked her to do. If only he could wrap his mind around why she did it - it wasn’t as if he’d tried to convince her, or even himself, that she wouldn’t be able to kick his a— butt… if she wanted to.

She was drunk, he reminded himself. Er… drinking. She couldn’t get drunk, she’d said. Or she couldn’t get hungover? She’d been drunk, he was sure, that night. That night which had also been such chaos that he wasn’t sure anymore which night it had been. Two nights ago? Three? What did it matter how much time had passed, anyway? She was only going to leave if she wasn’t gone already.

But, then again, he argued, maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she liked him too, although not likely in the same way he found himself drawn to her. The same reason, he remembered with a jolt of frustration that made him want to scream, that he had decided to help her find somewhere else to go after fighting himself all night.

As lost in thought as he was, he didn’t notice the bus pulling up to his stop until the driver began to peel away from the curb. A panicked, “Wait!” bubbled out of him as he shot out of his seat, and promptly fell over when the driver slammed on the brakes. Scrambling back to his feet amidst the barely concealed laughter of people in the surrounding seats, Drew ran to the front of the bus, practically leaping out of the open door with a quick apology to the driver, who only growled something unkind in return.

The rain hit his skin like shards of ice. For a moment he paused, stunned into a blissful and rare mental silence as his brain practically reset, the rain a cold but appreciated reminder that the world still existed outside of the jumbled frenzy of his back and forth thoughts.

In a daze, he barely thought to hitch his backpack over his head as he began his trek to class. His… multitude of predicaments regarding Shea didn’t entirely leave his mind, but he supposed his stomach had settled by the time he arrived. Without much thought behind it, he shook a hand through his hair, sending droplets of water flying through the air as he stepped into the room.

He heard a disgusted scoff behind him right before a girl he faintly recognized from various classes throughout the years knocked her shoulder against his in a manner he was sure was deliberately not nice. “Are you a dog?” she spat, loud enough to draw the attention of almost the whole small class.

He could feel his face heating up as, for the second time in a matter of minutes, people started laughing at his expense. He scurried to the back of the room and ducked into a desk in the corner, as far from the mocking as possible.

In high school, between the crack in his glasses, courtesy of one trip into the garbage can or another, and his generally being the shortest in the class, he’d always had to sit in the front row of every class. Back then it was a haven for him. Sure, people threw things at his head often enough, and certainly, on more than one occasion, someone had stuck gum in his hair, but he was safe from any real physical harm with a teacher so close by. The moment he arrived at MIST, however, he’d realized the situation was quite different. Students typically fought tooth and nail for a seat in the front row, which meant the back was the safest place to be if he wanted to avoid being humiliated.

But it was lonely.

High school had been lonely as well, of course, but this was worse. He wasn’t quite certain he wanted to know what was so wrong with him that he found himself an outcast amongst outcasts. He had his friends and all, but he so rarely had classes with any of them since they’d moved onto the more subject-specific classes of grad school. He tried not to let it hurt that they’d all gone for some form of astro-science, and still had classes together most days of the week.

What did hurt, no matter how hard he tried not to let it, was that they all had friends outside of their little group. They didn’t rely on his friendship nearly as much as he relied on theirs. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to have friends and be happy but— but he was jealous!

He hated being jealous more than most things in the world because all throughout his life there had been someone to be jealous of. Children in his kindergarten class who could find their words in word searches while he was struggling to make the squiggly letters stay put on his page long enough to have the chance, kids who didn’t have a dumb dyslexic brain like his that was never going to read right, anyone who didn’t have a dead dad and a—

No! Don’t think about that.

He slammed too hard on a computer key, in his desperation to stop his thoughts from spiraling any further than they already had. He watched the letter P fall to the ground and bounce three times before sliding under a shelf and out of sight.

Drew heard a voice in his head calling him a freak, even before someone in class actually did. He wanted to bolt out of the class, but instead, he shrank in on himself, hastily returning to typing with excess gentleness. If how lucky he was to be attending college at all wasn’t so important to him, he may actually have run home.

The clicky-clack of typing around him resumed, and as he typed strings of letters he could only hope were correct without quadruple checking them, his brain slipped away from reality again. If he could just go home, he would change out of his damp clothes and into his warmest pajamas, heat up a can of soup - not as good as his recipes, but nostalgic enough to be pleasant - and relax on the couch. One of his favorite childhood movies would be playing, and even though Shea would tease him about the choice, she’d surely watch with him, curled up under the blanket with her head on his—

No, no, no! She could not become part of his stupid rainy-day fantasies! Not like that. Not like anything. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about cuddling on the couch together, or having dreams about her moaning his name as their bodies joined into one, or wishing he’d slipped his tongue between her lips and stolen a taste of her while he had the chance, or…

Focusing on reminding himself what he wasn’t supposed to be focusing on made it impossible to focus on anything else. Maybe if he knew just what it was about her that made it so hard for him to get his mind off of her, he would be able to find a cure for his lovesick heart. He just hoped he didn’t discover he was actually just a pervert, attracted to her because of her age. He wasn’t sure he could live with that.

But really, he wondered, what was it about her? It wasn’t as if she was particularly nice to him. Well, she was nice, he had to admit. She teased him, but at the end of the day… She had stayed with him all night after they watched that awful movie together, making him feel safer than he was willing to have her know. She tried to help him through his nightmares, offered to check his work without even making fun of his dyslexia a little, and had felt so warm when she’d fallen asleep against him that he’d almost let temptation goad him into easing them both down and falling asleep. Not to mention, of course, that when he was supposedly threatened… she hadn’t hesitated to protect him. And she’d kissed him.

He could still feel her lips on his, electrifying every atom in his body into a strange, energized state of excitement and horror. The back row, lonely as it may be, was also good for hiding embarrassing erections.

Glaring at the computer screen - which he was increasingly tempted to slam his head against - he couldn’t help counting how many times she had brought about such a reaction from him. Well, it wasn’t her fault, per se, but… He didn’t want to think of how many times he’d popped a boner or whatever at the sight or thought of a sixteen-year-old in the span of five days.

Maybe it had something to do with those superpowers of hers! He hadn’t gotten one until she’d sauntered over to him and lit her hands on fire in a dazzling light show the likes of which he’d never seen before. By the time she’d put her hand on his chest the very next day, in the middle of mocking him about sex, of all things, he’d gotten so many that he couldn’t fight natural instinct any longer, and had had to lock himself in his room and… take care of the problem. Another two days of trying to ignore his body’s disgusting reaction to her presence and, evidently, his body had elected to take care of things itself while he slept.

Boundaries. Boundaries had definitely been crossed. As the adult, it was his fault for not setting ground rules in the first place to prevent such feelings from emerging. Not that he’d ever had to worry about that before.

Reluctantly he admitted to himself that he was going to have to talk to her about establishing proper boundaries if she wanted to stay as much as he wanted her to. Ideally, he could find a way to bring up the subject without accidentally revealing the fact that, not only did he find himself with a crush, but also that he was also physically attracted to her to an uncomfortable degree.

He hardly even recognized that he’d left his programming class when everyone else did, too distracted by making a list of the rules he would have to suggest when they spoke. No more sitting so close together on the couch that they could easily fall asleep against each other. It was big enough for three, so there was no justifiable reason for it anyway! No more talking about subjects that were inappropriate for someone her age - more specifically no more talking about sex. And under absolutely no circumstance was he going to let her drink again. Well, she could drink water and such. He wasn’t going to mistreat her for something that was his fault. Alcohol, he mentally amended. She shouldn’t be drinking alcohol.

His resolve to man up and actually have a talk with her about things - including that she shouldn’t be kissing him because she was so much younger than him, and apologize for making her think she had to - lasted all through his robotic engineering class and the entire bus ride back to the stop closest to his apartment.

And finally, he broke.

The fear of facing her - or worse, getting back to discover she’d already fled - overwhelmed him and he lost conscious control of his muscles. He found himself turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction.

The library wasn’t a place he usually preferred to go on his own, books weren’t really something he enjoyed all things considered, but that’s where he wound up. Climbing the stairs he considered that if he picked out a movie and forced himself to go back right away then… then maybe he wasn’t hiding from her like a coward.

A wave of instant regret hit him the moment he opened the door. Did she ever go home? Drew wondered as he spied Paige Fisley working the desk. Again.

Shea had teased him about being oblivious to her flirting with him, but that wasn’t quite the truth. And her attempt to use him hadn’t been as simple as mere flirtations.

He tried to slip around the corner before she could spot him, but he was too slow and she squealed his name so loud that several people shushed. Don’t shush the shusher! At least that stray thought made him snicker, even if turning to face her made every part of him feel queasy. He could imagine Shea rolling her eyes and telling him to just ignore her if he really disliked her that much, but she wasn’t capable of being nearly as loud as the imaginary voice of his mother, reminding him how impolite it is to ignore someone - especially a lady.

He forced himself to offer a small wave. That was precisely the wrong thing to do. It prompted her to step out from behind the desk and damn near skip over to him. “What can I do you for, Drew-doll?” she asked, linking her arm through his before he could stop her.

If only he could force his attraction for Shea onto Paige, he thought, things would be okay. Then Shea could stay, and he wouldn’t have to have a terrifying conversation with her about already uncomfortable subjects, because the problem of his attraction to her would be gone. And maybe the memory of the night he’d finally realized why Paige had seemed so excessively nice wouldn’t make his tummy turn anymore.

As it was, the memory overwhelmed him at her touch, clogging his throat and making his vision go funny. Or was the phrase “vision go fuzzy”? He wasn’t sure and at the moment he didn’t have the mental capacity to consider the difference.

He’d been thrilled to work on a project with her when the assignment was first given. She always sat next to him, whispering to him during class. While the distraction wasn’t always appreciated, it was nice to not be completely alone in at least one of his classes. During the late nights they spent in the lab and typing at respective computers her usual niceness got dialed up too far for him to like anymore, but he couldn’t quite place why. All of a sudden she seemed inclined to touch him whenever possible, attempting to massage his shoulders until he shrugged out of her touch, or twirling his hair between her fingers, her face unnecessarily close to his while they went over coding plans together.

He was too oblivious to what was happening to have realized he shouldn’t invite her back to his dorm, but it had been late and the project had been due in a mere matter of hours. More stupidly, he had informed her that his roommate was out so they wouldn’t have a problem working through the night.

Paige Fisley did not have the intention of working through the night. An hour after they’d gotten to his dorm, and half an hour after Drew had given up trying to keep her from sitting pressed against his side despite how many times he’d shuffled away or reminded her she could sit on Bobby’s bed, she’d brought up her twin brother, Darren. Darren Fisley, who was at the very bottom of Drew’s class for lack of effort alone. He’d apologized to her, but confessed he could do nothing about his grade, even if they were there on a joint scholarship.

And that was his biggest mistake of the night, not that he knew it for another few hours. She brought him up again a few times, but he refused to do anything more than answer her the same way.

It was at about three in the morning that she finally stood off his bed, and he sighed, relieved at the removal of the ever-present feeling of her body so close to his.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to change your mind, Drew-doll?” she’d asked. Before he knew what was happening the part he’d been working on was ripped out of his hands, and her hands were… somewhere he most definitely wished they weren’t.

He sputtered and stuttered and couldn’t make himself tell her to stop, even as her rubbing her hand over him through his jeans made him so uncomfortable he wanted to cry. When she leaned in with her lips puckered, she slipped her hands inside his pants, and finally, he gathered enough sense to push her away from him. She shouted at him, all kinds of horrible sounding names he’d never heard before, and stormed out. He’d locked the door behind her, pushing a chair under the handle for good measure.

In class the next morning, she’d acted completely back to the way she was normally, which made him feel all the more unsettled. He didn’t sleep well until after his request to transfer to the Tuesday/Thursday class was approved.

“Well, Drew-Drew?” Paige asked lightly, pulling on his arm and graciously enough, out of the memory of her touching him somewhere a little lower. “Looking for something special?”

“No,” he choked out and jerked his arm from her grip. “I was just going to pick up a movie for Shea,” he lied, noticing the way her eyes narrowed as he mentioned his runaway pest of a roommate, “but actually I think I already have it, so I’ll be leaving now.”

His mother would kill him for not saying goodbye, but Mother wasn’t there and he no longer cared about being polite to Paige.

Racing back out the door, he hated himself just a little bit more. If Shea were to do what Paige had… he would probably beg her to keep going. Why couldn’t he want Paige? She was a few years older than himself, and she certainly wasn’t ugly, and he’d been quite fond of her collection of science pins. And maybe she really was attracted to him! So why did he have to find her touch so revolting?

Stronger than he had all day, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to just… be with Shea. And, he realized with an undue amount of pride, he wasn’t even thinking that in a creepy way. He just wanted to get home, and do his work, and have her sit with him reading her book, and simply exist in the same space as her for a little while. And, he reminded himself, slowing his rushed pace back to his apartment, eventually have a chat with her.

It was a little less than halfway back that he spied an all too familiar Mighty Martian t-shirt on an all too familiar runaway superhero with an insane monetary reward promised to anyone who helps force her back to her old life. He’d spent half the day worrying that she might have run off before he got back home, but now that he actually spotted her outside the apartment, the only thing he felt was a shocking wave of fury at how stupid she was being. Didn’t she realize how many people would do terrible things for money? Didn’t she realize that included selling her back to her family?

Her face was broadcast on every other news channel, and front page on every paper, and there she was… out for a jog as if the world had never hurt her before.

Drew bolted across the street in hopes of reaching her and making - politely asking - her quit being stupid and get back inside before someone saw her. He didn’t think much about how she might react to having her arm grabbed as she jogged (very quickly) past someone. Especially how she might react because he hadn’t thought to say something to give her some indication of who he was before he touched her.

In one fraction of a second, too fast to comprehend, his fingers wrapped around her arm, and the ground disappeared from beneath his feet.

#drakgo #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #shea go #shego x drakken #drakken x shego #fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #Dwelling #16 pages #4946 words

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nautiscarader · 4 years ago

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Marco/Harem 24

Smutember - You can touch, but can’t look, Marco/Harem, 1.6k

(Ao3)

Not that much sensory deprivation, as a much as an excuse to write more Marco harem. Also, incorporates a strange idea from, er, strange_idea, who sent me it literally 24 hours earlier.

If you liked my story, here’s a Ko-fi link if you’d be so kind ❤️.

==========================

Marco Diaz considered himself very, very lucky. After a long day of hard work, he would return to his home where he was greeted by not one, not two, but three beautiful ladies he has met during his life. And though each had their lives of their own, on days like these he felt beyond happy to see them all.

Or at least he would be happy, if he could see them.

With the blindfolds on, he was led to their bedroom unsure what his girlfriends prepared for him this time.

- Star? Jackie? Hekapoo?

He asked when he felt lack of any support, nor their voices. He traced their bed, a spacious piece of furniture Star brought with her magic, and sat on it, waving his hands to detect if the girls were there. But only when the door to their bathroom opened up, Marco's nostrils picked up three very distinctive scents of his loved ones, and he could almost hear them walking towards their heart-shaped bed.

Star was the lightest, and her giggling gave her away; Jackie was the most graceful, yet the most silent, and Hekapoo's fiery aura gave off pleasant warmth. The mattress lifted Marco's body slightly when the three joined him, and Star explained why did they blindfold him.

- Okay, Muscles - Star said, accentuating the nickname Hekapoo gave him - Here's the deal... We will give you a test. - A test? - We will see how good you are at knowing us! - Jackie eagerly added - And our bodies... - You said you could do it with your eyes closed last week, so we thought "eh, why not?" - Hekapoo finished.

Marco smirked, feeling the three pairs of hands on his body.

- It would be my pleasure.

He unbuttoned his shirt and instantly he felt a pair of delicate hands gliding up and down his muscular torso, tracing his abs. They weren't nearly as pronounced as in Hekapoo's dimension, but he nonethless remembered Star's first reaction at seeing him half-naked, so it didn't come as a surprise that she was the one starting this night.

His jeans came down next, and with them, his cock found its way to an equally gentle, but a bit more dominant embrace. He would never be able to forget the first time it happened, back when they were still in high school, and Jackie was thanking him for a long, long make-out session.

And then warm, ravenous lips closed around his tip, and a long tongue coiled around it, trying to gulp him in one go... and Hekapoo succeeded, letting out a tiny moan of longing, wishing he could grab her horns which would of course gave her away. Marco wished it too, but in the interest of fairness he kept his hands off their naked bodies coiling in his nearest vicinity.

Star continued her caresses, but as she kissed his body, her kisses became more and more fierce. Meanwhile Jackie's usually stoic behaviour turned bubbly, as she helped Hekapoo in her endeavour, while the fiery mistress herself giggled and moaned feeling Marco's cock twitching.

When Star joined them, Marco's senses were overloaded with emotions. Three pairs of lips, three tongs and three lovely ladies worshipping him broke him pretty quickly, and soon he was chanting their names as ropes of his cum landed in their mouths and on their faces, a sight he could only imagine, though without his sight all the other senses of his strengthened, proving him even more sensations.

Soon, it was only a battle of lips, as Star was the most ravenous when it came to licking him off clean, with Hekapoo getting most of the leftovers, and Jackie landing a final kiss on his head.

The three listened to Marco's breathing slowing down, and once he swallowed loudly, Marco was asked the final question.

- So, Marco, who was where? - Easy. - Marco smirked - Star was here, Hekapoo there, and Jackie by my right side...

There was a moment of silence, and the girls burst into laughter. Unsure what was going on, Marco lifted his blindfolds and was stunned to see that neither of his predictions came true. But he was even more startled when he heard Star's explanation... coming from Jackie's mouth.

- See, we wanted to try something extra, something new! - Jackie said in Star's voice. - So, we asked Star if she had some of those sexy spells by Eclipsa... - Hekapoo added with Jackie's characteristic nonchalance - And we swapped our bodies. And the voices, because we wanted to mess with you a bit more, Muscles. - Star leaned against the other two, ending their with Hekapoo's trademark nickname.

Marco eyed his girlfriends with widened eyes, feeling his head becoming lighter by the second. The three women crawled towards him, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes, until he finally babbled his answer.

- O-Okay, I admit, you got me there... - he gulped - So what do I have to do now? - Now.. you are under ours command.

Jackie's voice sounded much more commanding coming from Hekapoo's lips, and when she spread her arms, four fiery chains erupted Marco's hands and ankles, tying him to their bed and spreading his body.

- Woah, wicked cool. - Jackie admitted - Wait until you clone yourself. - Hekapoo added, climbing Marco's body - Wow, is that how you feel, Star? Without my rack I feel so much lighter!

She quickly got on top of Marco's cock and teased him, sliding her folds against his length. And she let out a yelp when she realised she can do much more.

- Oh, wait, I can fly! - Hekapoo said and fluttered Star's wings - Well, I could just blast myself with fire previously, but still... - Don't forget I can also turn into a six-handed monster obsessed with boys. - Star spoke, kissing Marco with Jackie's lips - Or rather "a man"...

And with that, Marco ill-named "punishment" began. Hekapoo eagerly wanted to see how fast she could bounce on Marco's cock with her lighter body, while Jackie and Star teased Marco with their breasts, each one bigger than the one they've started with.

Hekapoo understood why Star was so protective of Marco to begin with. His cock was filling her to the brim instantly, whereas in her old body, only the buffed version of their lover could truly claim he has done so, nearly reaching her womb.

Star chirped when Marco's lips covered her bosom, one she was always jealous of. Jackie's body was much more athletic, and though she had no magic, she could easily twist herself to line her sex with Marco's fingers, still trapped in the fiery chain.

But his head was quickly turned to his left, and met with Hekapoo's puffy lips, which, upon being licked made Jackie moan with pleasure. her bigger body meant she couldn't maneuver as gracefully as she could, but the sight of Marco's head between her thick thighs was one she wouldn't be able to pat ways with quickly.

With his lips busy, Star moved to join Hekapoo, and her, or rather Jackie's lips, met with Star's pussy as she rode Marco's cock, occasionally dipping to caress him as well. Meanwhile Marco was pleasuring not one, but two Jackie's as the human girl gladly used her new powers to engulf Marco's head with two copies of herself, feeling both of her bodies caressed at the same time, which quickly made her undo Marco's chains so his hands could help her.

And indeed, with two hands on Hekapoo's puffy lips, Jackie was brought to her climax swiftly, and when she came, and one of her poofed away, she was granted the pleasure her clone lived through, making her body coil and writhe in blissful agony.

But it was nothing compared to the mental whiplash that occurred when Jackie saw herself between her legs. Star was always eager to eat Jackie out, but now, being in her body, it felt more than appropriate. With Marco taking care of her pussy again, all four young adults were moaning and coiling their bodies in pleasure, as they rocked their joined bodies to a shared climax, the first of many.

Because once Marco filled Star's body with his seed, listening to Hekapoo begging for it, Star herself demanded a turn, reminding him of Jackie's prowess at riding him. The Mewnian princess used all the skills as a surfer to easily beat her body's record in bringing Marco to his peak, while Jackie herself eagerly dived between Hekapoo's lips to lick the cum she has just been supplied with.

And finally, Jackie herself got a piece of the Marco Diaz cream cake, first engulfing his cock with her enormous breasts she now possessed, and only when he was brought back to action she, and her body double sandwiched him between their puffy lips, so they could watch as their white body becomes even whiter with Marco's final, explosive cumshot.

With Marcofinally freed from his chains, his three lovers gathered around him, longing for his soothing kisses and he was glad to provide them, though his lips were as sore as his cock, and his throat was as dry as his balls. But nonetheless, he thanked each of his girlfriends for the unforgettable night, and wondered if maybe they can repeat that a few more times. After all, there were a few more combinations they could try to test Marco's senses...

#Marco/harem #marco diaz #marco harem #hekapoo #jackie lynn-thomas #star butterfly #smutember #day 24 #lemon #nautiscaraderfics #thatguywiththefaceog

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aliceslantern · 4 years ago

Text

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 19--Lion’s Den

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Newly a captive, Ienzo tries to learn what Xehanort wants from him, as well as his plans.

Read in on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo woke suddenly, flailing against the blankets draped over him. His breasts ached terribly and there were wet spots on his shirt; he must’ve been under for some time. He touched one, wincing.

Xehanort’s son. Strands of nothingness around his throat. Darkness.

Where was he?

He was in a small, narrow room. It was minimally furnished--the single wrought iron bed was against one corner, by a narrow window; a small, very old oak writing desk was against the other wall; a squat, two drawer dresser was next to it. The walls were painted a faint violet, adorned with a crown moulding. A cracked door opened to a tiny bathroom with a shower. Ienzo padded across to the other door and tried it; locked, of course. He reached for his magic and found it sluggish, deadened. He darted over to the window, looked outside, and his heart nearly stopped.

Ienzo knew where he was; the castle in what was once Radiant Garden. A strange, faint mist wreathed the city, vaguely sulfuric. Massive poles in the distance held floodlights, likely to defend the remaining populace against Heartless. He opened the window and tried to reach out, but a ward blocked him.

He was a captive.

Amalia.

Panic overtook him then, and he tried the door again in vain, pounding on the thick old wood. “Let me out!” No response; he suspected a muffling charm had been placed on the door.

He hadn’t realized how dependent he was on her presence, her aura until it was gone. He had to have been drugged somehow, or enchanted, for his magic to simply be sleeping like this. But he hoped more than anything that Amalia was safe back in Demyx’s arms. He found himself mouthing a fervent prayer to whatever was listening for that to be the case. He had no idea what Xehanort or his sons would do to his newborn daughter if they had her. Kill her? Mold her into a shiny tool to use? He had no idea which was worse.

The door opened, and he struggled to conceal the wetness on his shirt with his blanket. He saw a small old woman with a tray of food, water, tea, and of all things, a lily in a thin crystal vase. “Good, you’re finally awake,” she said. She had a kind smile. “You must be starved, poor thing.”

Ienzo was reeling, wondering how to react, what angle to play. Motionless, he watched her cross the room and set the tray down on the writing desk. He could physically overtake her, he knew, and bound out the open door--unless that was warded too. But how far would he reasonably get before he ran into a guard, or worse? He couldn’t defend himself from prowling Heartless without magic.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “I treated those scratches on your throat, the bruises. Just awful, in my opinion.”

“Who are…” he trailed off.

Another smile. She brushed off her skirt; she was wearing what had once been servants’ livery under Ansem’s reign, crisp, comfortable, and functional. “My name is Lydia,” she said. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me, your highness. I was once the castle librarian. You were always there, weren’t you?”

Ienzo blinked slowly; a veil of time and panic made it hard to remember. Lydia had looked much younger then, her hair brown instead of gray. She’d always been happy to give him the books that Even said were too mature for him. “I apologize, I--”

She smiled again. “I know, I haven’t aged well.” A wry laugh.

He swallowed. “Am I a… prisoner?” he asked cautiously.

“The word being used is “guest.”” She bit her lip. “I think that’s for you to determine, your highness.” She pulled the domed lid from the plate, revealing a breakfast--eggs, toast, hash browns. Ienzo struggled not to react; ever since he’d been breastfeeding, his appetite had been nearly insatiable. “I’ll bring you a change of clothes. Go on, eat.”

She left, and shut the door behind her; Ienzo heard the click of the tumblers as it locked. He approached the food warily, sniffed it. His magic could tell him if it was poisoned, or drugged--except it was dead.

The practical thing to do would be to wait out this sensation until he could sense if anything was in the food.

But the smell made him weak . He’d need food to be able to think clearly, to plan. He sipped the water timidly; it tasted normal, so did the tea. The flavor of the egg nearly brought tears to his eyes. Xehanort must’ve kept the castle’s chefs; it all was the same as he remembered.

Focus, Ienzo.

He was nearly finished when Lydia returned with a small cloth bundle. “Better?” she asked.

“...Quite.”

“Remy heard you were here and made it specially. He so rarely gets to cook the way he wants to anymore. Xeha--er. His Lordship prefers things sour, bitter.”

Specially. What did that mean? “Give him my regards,” Ienzo said in a neutral voice.

“...Of course.” She reached past him to take the tray. “I’m told someone will collect you in half an hour, if you’d like to shower and dress.”

Ienzo hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to appear like he was playing into Xehanort’s hands--but maybe he should? To find out what he could? Play innocent, naive, claim Even had been coddling him all this time.

Either way, he could not go wherever he was going covered in breastmilk. If they didn’t know about his daughter, he couldn’t risk letting them find out. Perhaps the rush of magic from her birth had been confused for a spell of his own creation. And if that were the case... why wait four weeks? To lull them into a false sense of security, he realized equally.

He showered--the water smelled vaguely like iron--and winced, his nipples twinging again as he touched them. Without magic, he couldn’t exactly strain it off into the sink or toilet, despite the relief it would give him. The soap smelled harsh, but at least it washed off the scent of the milk. He washed his stained shirt thoroughly and left it to dry on the towel rack.

The clothing he’d been left was simple, but rather formal--slacks, a neatly pressed button-up, a white sweater vest, a purple ascot. He combed his messy hair with his fingers.

And then Ienzo waited.

It didn’t take long before someone came for him. There was a gentle knock at the door, then the lock clicked open. Ienzo tried to keep his expression open, neutral, but it was difficult when he saw their face.

Xemnas. The man had the gall to smile. “Old friend,” he said, in a voice that had only deepened with age. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

Definitely medicated, Ienzo decided. “Quite. You’ll have to give your father my thanks.”

“You may do so yourself. Would you like to go for a walk?”

Ienzo smiled pleasantly. He followed Xemnas out of the open door. The man was dressed similarly smartly, in a well-tailored black suit with a red tie. He realized he was being kept in the old servants’ quarters, from before Ansem had given them the apartments; his suspicions were correct and a pair of armored guards were at both ends of the hall.

“Please do not take offense to this,” Xemnas began. “But when my brother brought you in… we were rather surprised. We were expecting…”

“A princess?” He made himself smile again. “I’m afraid that phase of my life was left behind long ago.”

“I’m sure it protected you quite well.”

“Quite.”

Xemnas paused. “No harm will come to you here,” he said. “Be sure of that.”

“That so?”

“My father seeks to earn your trust. I hope it will work in the other direction too.”

“All this talk… I have never actually had the pleasure of meeting your father.” He found himself infinitely glad of the etiquette lessons Even had given him when he was younger. Best be diplomatic for now, until he had more information.

“I’m afraid outside opinion may have tarnished your view of him.”

Ienzo had to bite his tongue. “...Perhaps.” They continued walking in silence for a while. Xemnas’s pace was sedate, even relaxed. The faint smell of sulfur was everywhere; Heartless dazedly wandered the halls, but did not come near them. “Our guards,” he explained calmly. “After all, they do not need breaks, nor they need to eat.”

“Practical,” Ienzo said, trying to swallow the horror.

The castle, to his surprise, was much the same, down to the decorations; the only thing that had been changed was all the crests, away from the violet he’d known under his father, replaced with a deep red with a large X. “The symbol “chi,”” Xemnas told him, “Though some pronounce it “key.””

“...I see.”

He saw a few human servants here and there; they paused to bow to Xemnas as he passed. All the while, Ienzo swallowed the bittersweet nostalgia that threatened to overtake him. Memories stabbed him behind the eyes--here, Braig teaching him to ride the stair bannister; hiding here from Even as he chased him for his lessons; riding Aeleus’s shoulders along this hallway on their way to the gardens. “...Is it good to be home?” Xemnas asked, cutting his gold eyes to Ienzo.

“It certainly is nostalgic.”

“It could be your home once more. Had I… my way, you’d have never been forced to leave.”

He struggled to come up with a response, anger scalding his veins. Had Xemnas kept him here, doubtless they would've used and abused his power. “It seems there was poor communication all around,” he said vaguely.

“Indeed.”

They reached the throne room at last. Ansem had hardly ever used it in his reign other than for public events; he was much more comfortable meeting dignitaries or the public in his labs, his studies. It makes us more approachable, less mythic, he’d told Ienzo. The last thing you want to do is foster a divide between yourself and your people. We are royal, but we are not superior.

Ienzo’s heart beat heavily in his chest. He tried to keep breathing steadily, aware Xemnas was watching every little twitch of his face.

A pair of guards opened the large, heavy double doors.

It was just as Ienzo remembered, yet it had been perverted, too. The high, Gothic ceilings with the stained glass, sunlight pouring through; the marble, carved and laid in the shapes of flowers, polished to a shine; the long marble columns, the mural painted on the back wall, of the gods’ first contact with what was considered Ienzo’s first ancestor. The three thrones were the same, too. The middle one, the most prominent and most ornate, was reserved for the ruler, the lesser two for their heir and their consort.

All three of these thrones were occupied, and the mural was partially covered with another large banner, but this one had a different symbol; a black and red heart with an X crossing through, its bottom flared into a strange parody of a fleur de lis.

And there they were. The youngest son who had kidnapped him; the eldest son, boredly reading a book. And Xehanort himself.

He was much older than Ienzo thought he would be, in his eighties most likely, his bald head wrinkled, the veins visible. When he stood and spread his arms in welcome, his back was slightly hunched, and his legs were spindly. He took slow, long steps towards Ienzo, and when he got closer, bowed deeply. “Might I say it is an honor to meet at last, your highness,” he began, in a low, scratchy voice that sounded like he’d gargled marbles his whole life.

“Please, call me Ienzo,” he said. He offered a polite smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Aren’t you a polite young man.” He stood back up. “Ienzo. Is that, perhaps, after the first archmage?”

“The very same.”

“Aren’t names so much more meaningful, when we can choose them?”

He nodded once. He noticed the youngest son was watching him with a wicked smirk; he was petting something. Ienzo thought at first that it may have been a black cat, but the thing lifted its head. A Heartless. A disconcertingly small Heartless. He wasn’t quite able to mask his fear. It wasn’t--not--

“Oh, did you see young Xehanort’s pet? Bring it here, would you, son?”

He obeyed. Ienzo tried to keep breathing. It had sharp, long antennae, but it seemed rather content in its master’s arms.

“My eldest made these,” Xehanort explained, giving the Heartless a stroke. “Pure shadow--and nothing else. We’re hoping to see if they develop sentience, the way our other Heartless have. You’re a man of science, aren’t you, Ienzo?”

“...Quite.”

“Darkness is not quite so evil as you’ve been taught your whole life. Rather… it is one side of a coin. That balance is crucial to all life; one can never hope to crush out all darkness.”

“Do you seek to crush the light, then?” he asked, without meaning to.

Xehanort chuckled. “Of course not,” he said. “Of course not.”

It was the repetition that put Ienzo ill-at-ease. Instead, he just nodded.

“Darkness gives power, stability, clarity . It’s never been fair that your kind has been able to utilize magic, whereas the common folk… cannot. Think of how many fewer people would die of sicknesses, injuries, starvation, dehydration, if they just had the means to… borrow power from the earth.”

“Can the darkness do that?”

“Quite, my dear prince. I’d be happy to show you. But alas, we are only new friends.” He smiled. “I want to make this world better . Your father… well meaning as he was, simply could not stop what has been brewing for years. People should be equal .”

“And magic is an equalizer?”

“ Power is an equalizer.” He paused, as thought to let that sink in.

“...I see.” Scarily, Xehanort had a point. But some bodies simply couldn’t handle magic--the entropy and energy alone could kill, or in Isa’s case, degrade. Was that worth it? Was there not another way?

“I hope you’ll come to understand what we’re doing here,” Xehanort said.

“Perhaps I will.”

---

For most of the rest of the first week, Ienzo was kept in that small room. He was allowed out once a day for a half-hour walk with Xemnas. Other than Lydia bringing Ienzo his meals three times a day… Ienzo was alone. He realized that even in their most desperate circumstances, with Even he’d never been alone . There was always someone to talk to, scheme with, fight with.

Ienzo kept trying to use his magic. For three days he flushed his meals down the toilet, hoping maybe it was some kind of drug that would wash out of his system, but nothing came of it and he was only making his own head cloudy.

His breasts still ached tremendously. He tried to squeeze the milk out, with his hands, but all he did was give himself bruises, his already too-pale flesh marking easily. The omni-present ache made him think of his daughter, the way she felt in his arms, the way she smelled. The way it felt when the three of them cuddled together, so perfect, like nothing was missing. Ienzo’s heart felt like it was on fire.

Demyx. Amalia. Their names echoed constantly in his head, and more than once he woke with tears in his eyes. Please let them be safe. Please. Please.

Ienzo could not fall apart. He couldn’t afford to. He had to keep his head on straight, to perform, to try to earn Xehanort and his sons’ trust so he could--

Could… what?

Ienzo sat up slowly. He hadn’t been sleeping well, hurting too much inside and out to get much rest. What did he plan on doing, exactly?

It came to him in a flash--the computer. If he could gain enough favor to get down to that lab, he could contact Tron, who could contact Cid, who could let the others know that he was alive and safe (relatively speaking), and that, more than anything, he had an in--even if it made him seem like a traitor.

Maybe it was time for the prince to come out of hiding.

---

He’d just fallen into an uncertain sleep, and dreamed about his daughter. Hefting her up in the air. Kissing the little pads of her feet. The joy, the love on Demyx’s face as he cared for her. When he woke his breasts were hurting more than ever, and again, milk had seeped through the thin pajamas he’d been given.

He heard the click of the lock at the door, and before he could adequately cover himself, Lydia came in with his next meal. “Oh,” she said softly, and for the first time she shut the door behind her. “You… poor dear. You’re nursing, aren’t you?”

Ienzo knew better than to lie. He could smell the milk, slightly sweet. He just pulled the blanket to his chest. One lie he could tell was that the baby had died, but as he tried to force the words past his lips, the tears ran over. “Don’t tell him.” Humiliation broke over Ienzo in a wave, along with more panic. “Please, don’t tell him.”

Lydia picked up the napkin from the breakfast tray and handed it to him. She locked eyes with him. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her dark eyes sharp and serious, and while there was complete honesty in her tone--and faint memories of her helping him in the library--Ienzo could not trust her.

He could barely eat that morning, in too much of an anxious haze. Xehanort could not know he’d had a child. He was not going to let Amalia and Demyx be doomed.

Didn’t you doom them simply by carrying her to term? An insidious voice asked in the back of his head. If you’d aborted her, she wouldn’t have ever been in any danger.

But what about the Forecast?

It took a lot of strength--almost all he had left--to clean himself up and wait to see if someone would retrieve him. Lydia came back several hours later with another tray, some cloth, and a book. The cloth wasn’t out of the ordinary--she brought him his laundered clothing--but the book was new. “Something to help with the leaking,” she said, and took the tray without another word.

Ienzo unfolded the bundle. It reminded him of a binder from years past, but thin cloth pads had been slipped into small pockets. She’d even left him some extra pads as well. He exhaled slowly and put it on. At least he no longer had to worry about this.

If he didn’t get back to her soon, the milk would dry up. Losing that connection before he was ready only made his eyes tear up further. He blinked it away. He had to be strong for her, to get through. Falling apart would only be self-indulgent. This taken care of, he picked up the book.

It was a simple volume of fairy stories, one he remembered well, one that had been taken from Ansem’s study. He sniffed the pages; old paper, leather, glue. The ribbon marked one of the pages towards the back of the book, and he flipped towards it.

Ienzo did not remember this story well. Perhaps Ansem had never let him read it, or he’d already moved on from fairy tales by then. The story was about Kingdom Hearts; that it was the gods’ paradise, and that one young god, unruly and rebellious, had gone against her parents’ wishes to visit man. She fell in love with a mortal, and when they married, their child could talk with the earth, could use that magic of the gods--Ienzo’s ancestor.

But there was more to the story than this, namely that Kingdom Hearts had thereafter been sealed to prevent more gods from giving mankind what they didn’t deserve. But the god that did the sealing was clumsy… and he dropped the key.

In a neat, firm pencil in the margins was “Keyblade.”

Suddenly the eradication of the seekers made a whole lot more sense.

Xehanort wasn’t looking to craft a Keyblade. He was looking to find one. To find one… he had to engineer a seeker or magic user, perhaps with the nothing, with the darkness…

Even’s replicas…

Ienzo’s breath caught. Of course. That was why he’d wanted them. If these “fake” bodies died from incompatible magic use, it wouldn’t be noticed--it wouldn’t matter. If they could not learn to wield Keyblades as Even had originally hypothesized… perhaps they could learn to seek those who could.

He had to get this message to them somehow.

A knock at the door. Hurriedly, Ienzo shoved it under the mattress before the lock clicked open. “Ienzo,” Xemnas said pleasantly. “My father was wondering if you might like to join us for tea.”

He swallowed. “Sounds wonderful.”

#heartlines #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #child oc - amalia #xemnas #master xehanort #young xehanort #ansem seeker of darkness

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shanlulu-writing · 5 years ago

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Levi x Reader I am all yours - Part 4

Well.... This was a roller-coaster to write.. The thing with free writing is the characters take you where they want the story to go... so even I'm shocked! Without spoiling the end of the chapter, the story isn't finished. Thank you everyone for your support, and I love all the comments that you leave for me, and I will respond as soon as I am able. Let me know what you think and if you would like to see anything in the next chapter. Also Could you let me know whether you prefer all out smut in stories or more left to the imagination? (This is for all fanfics, not this one) Much Love Lu xxx Warning - Strong Language and Mature themes Part 4 “We need to clean the wound. You don't want to die of sepsis do you?” His voice may have softened slightly, but that still didn't stop you struggling to get away from him. His arm clamps around you tightly even preventing you from squirming, so you resign yourself to fate. You rest your head in your hand in annoyance as he walks you to the medical room...

“What?” You hear Sasha cry out in surprise. Levi drops you down on one of the beds, creating a small cloud of dust to plume into the air around you. You look at your teammates with an expression of exasperation. Jean was silent, with one eyebrow raised.

“Doctor over here as deemed it necessary to diagnose me with death due to a cut on my leg.” You look at your leg again, as much as it hurt, you didn't think that you would die from it. Sasha comes over to have a look and grimaces, while Levi washes his hands.

“I cannot diagnose you with death, however, I can pronounce you dead if you wish.” He answers dismissively. You roll your eyes at him and catch a smile from Sasha as she turns to clean up the medical items she had used to patch Jean up. Jean flits his eyes between you and Levi, obviously suppressing a grin himself.

“I think we should go and see if we can make some tea don't you Jean? Give everyone a pick me up, and get our strength back?” You eye her cautiously as she motions suggestively to Jean to move.

“Right.” Jean gets up and strides out of the room. “Keep her in one piece Levi. We do need to get home.” Levi pays no attention to him as he sifts through the supplies in a cupboard next to the sink. You sigh as you sit in silence, feeling quite awkward, you weren't used to this feeling. He wasn't shouting at you, or making weird comments. In fact, the air was calm, which set you on edge even more.

“Put your leg properly up on the bed.” You do so without complaint and watch as he cleans your wound, hissing when he caught part of your torn skin. “You whine like a girl.”

“If you hadn't noticed, I am a girl.” You retort, frowning.

“Oh, I had. Just like every other male in the corps.” The words were cutting, with a premeditated sting to them.

“Well, I would hope that most people could figure out I was female, Levi. Otherwise, I would really worry about the people who were to lead humanity to salvation. Don't you?” Your frown had not left your face, it was starting to get stupid, did he honestly think that you had been with every single guy who had even looked in your general direction?

“Tsk.” He finished cleaning your wound and bandaged it to the best of his ability. He didn't make much eye contact with you at all, almost as if he was avoiding you or your questioning. You swing your legs round off the bed and stand up gingerly. The bandage wasn't too tight and seemed to stay put.

“Levi, can I ask you a question?” You astonished yourself that you were being polite to him. So was he, as it was the first time you saw him make eye contact with you for a while. His blank expression doesn't change but he nods as he washes his hands again after cleaning up. “What did I do wrong earlier? I thought I had done everything we had been trained to, but you were seriously pissed at me. I want to know why.”

He stopped what he was doing, placing his hands on the sink and leant on them. His head bowed, his hair in front of his eyes and he gave an audible sigh. He was acting strange like he was fighting with something, or maybe trying to stop himself from shouting at you.

“You know what forget I asked-”

“No.” He said sharply. He didn't move from his position, he could have been a statue. “You didn't do anything that I would not have done. The reason I was pissed with you... Even if Erwin has told you that we are equals, you, all of you, are my responsibility. I was not able to do what I should have. I was angry with the situation.”

There was something that you had never heard in his voice, there was sadness. He actually had real feelings, and as much as the child in you was giggling at the revelation, you couldn't help but feel the tug on your heart. He was hurting. Whatever had happened in his life before this point, the events of today must have triggered, a painful memory.

“Okay... Is that it?” You were careful with your tone.

“No. I had already told Erwin that I didn't want you on the mission. However, it seems through all my best efforts, you are here, injured, and it is no one else's fault but mine.” You were astonished to see this side of him. You disregarded a lot of what he said as wallowing, but you saw some real emotion there, even if it was just in his voice. You quietly walk over to him, with a new sense of empathy for the idiot who had made your life a misery and place your hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“Do Not Touch ME!” He roars at you, spinning on the spot and grabbing your wrist tightly. “Don't fucking dare do that again, brat!” You are so surprised by it, something about his reaction really cuts through you. You were so stupid to think that you had actually made a connection with him, to think that you might have caught him with his guard down. It was rare that you offered a hand of comfort, but to be so harshly rebuked for it hurts you deeply. Before you can stop yourself you feel your eyes well up with tears.

“Let me go.” You whisper angrily through tears that were now falling down your cheeks. You wrench your arm away from him and run out of the room. That was it, he had done enough, that was his last chance. You stupid fucking idiot, a pathetic moment of weakness, and he just threw it back in your face. Serve you right!

You run down the hall, and throw yourself into a room and slam the door behind you. You sink down to the floor and sob. Everything that had happened came flooding out as if the barriers had been opened, and with your legs pulled up to your chest you cry into your arms. You hear Jean call for you after hearing the commotion, and listen to Levi making up some crap about you having an emotional outburst because of the Titan and to leave you alone.

After a while of crying, you shake yourself from your self-pity and put on your professional face. You go to one of the bathrooms and wash your face. Your eyes were puffy a blotchy, from what you could see in a cracked mirror on the wall. Gorgeous. You sigh, as you walk out and make your way down to the stables. As you pass the front door, you turn on your heels, remembering your items were still in the room off to the right. You quickly walk in and pick up your bag, and go to leave again.

“(First name)” You hear the cold tone of the Captain. You do not respond, or even acknowledge he even spoke. You continue out of the main building without uttering a word, you pass Jean who starts to speak to you, and stops when he sees your ashen stare. You pack your items back into the saddle bags, stroke your horse and check the reins. All good. You were ready to go.

“Er, hey. Are you okay?” Jean asks quietly.

“I'm fine.” You respond, without any emotion in your words. “Are the rest of you ready to go?”

“Yeah, Sasha is just getting Hanji's notes now and then we are all set.” Jean seems taken aback by your blank expression and short answers.

“Good. We will leave as soon as she has them.” You mount your horse and trot out of the stables. You shift in your saddle as you feel your wound on your leg hurting in that position, it was going to be a long ride home if it hurt the whole way back. Jean readied Sasha's and his own horse and waited with you in the courtyard. Sasha soon joins you and mounts up.

“Where is your gear (first name)?”

“I have lent it to Levi to use, as he is obviously more qualified than I to use it, and seeing as his is broken at the moment, I am left with no choice.” Your tone was matter-of-fact and to the point. You see Sasha frown and look at Jean, he shrugs and looks back to you.

“Look, whatever argument you and Levi had, don't take it out on us.” You look back at them, still feeling hollow from the crying. You didn't want to act so cold, but you didn't want to end up crying again either. To act so weak, to be taken down so easily by him, and it wasn't just him that you were upset about. You had to at least give yourself some credit, it was just the last straw, holding everything in for years and not truly dealing with it, it was bound to happen at some point, just a shame it had to be him to break the proverbial camels back.

“Sorry, I just don't feel like talking at the moment.” Levi walked out, went to the stables and soon returned with his own horse. He was wearing your gear but still held the same disinterested expression, as always. You turn away from them, and set off at a slow trot, hearing them behind you, you quicken your pace and ride as fast as you can back to headquarters.

You sigh deeply as you embrace the hot water pouring over you. You had needed this, it felt like a million tiny fingers massaging your body. You had ridden hard, to the point where you had almost broken formation on several occasions, and in complete silence, much to the annoyance of the Captain. People had avoided you when you walked in, your aura must have screamed 'leave me alone' and they had thankfully obliged.

You rouse yourself from the soft caress of the water and get out wrapping a towel around you. You dry off to the point where you can put your underwear on and cover up again with the towel. Walking out into the dorm, you see it's empty, and you are glad. The last thing you wanted was to be harassed by stupid questions. You pull your trousers on, under the safety of your towel and do up the button. You are just about to throw on your top when you hear the door open and someone walk in.

“(first name) I wanted to speak to you.” You groan, recognising the voice.

“Captain Levi, I would like you to leave, I am still half undressed and I have no want to talk to you.” You feel your annoyance rise at his presence, you make sure he knows of your displeasure. He walks further into the room, ignoring what you had just said.

“I would like to explain myself.” His tone, even being monotone was not harsh, you raise an eyebrow.

“I don't care what you have to say. You made yourself perfectly clear at the outpost. I don't care what you went through, your attitude stinks, when all I was doing was trying to do was help.” His eyes harden.

“You will listen to what I have to sa-”

“(first name)!” You hear as Eren enters the room, interrupting Levi, he glides past him with ease and walks straight up to you, completely oblivious that you were still only wearing underwear and towel on your top half. “I'm so glad you are back home safe.” He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into an embrace, with his head nuzzled into your shoulder. You try to prise yourself from his grasp, shocked as you were at the display of affection, he was warm against your cold naked shoulders. Eren lets you go and places a chaste kiss on your cheek, you flush instantly. “I am really glad you are back! I'm going to run some errands for Erwin, but once I have finished, we should have a catch-up.”

He winks at you and walks away, staring triumphantly at Levi, who, when your eyes fall on him, was seething with anger. His fists were clenched, turning his knuckles white, he was tight-lipped and glaring at you with malice.

“What?” He just stood there looking at you, not saying a word. “Levi, seriously, what is the matter?”

“You. You just don't know when to fucking quit, do you?” You frown, he was back to his old self again, Mr Happy-Go-Fucking-Lucky.

“Quit what? I didn't do anything! Why do you believe that I instigate everything? I was in here getting changed, minding my own business. You were the one who waltzed in here unannounced.” You fold your arms defiantly.

“You and Eren-”

“Let me stop you there. There is nothing going on between me and Eren. Even if there was, it has nothing to do with you.” With that he tutted and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a thud, leaving you completely stunned with what had transpired. What the heck was going on? What was Eren playing at? You needed to have words with him.

You quickly change into a long-sleeved dark green top, not exactly standard issue, but while you waited for your shirt to be cleaned, it was the closest thing you owned. Shoving on your jacket and scarf, you scurry out of the room in search of Eren. It didn't take you long to find him, in fact, he seemed to be loitering outside the mess hall.

“Eren.” He looked at you with a warm smile. “We need words.” You grab the arm of his jacket and take him down one of the quieter corridors away from the hall. He eyes you cautiously, and genuine concern. “Look, I don't know what you're playing at, but pulling a stunt like that is only going to get me more shit from Levi.”

“On first name terms now, huh?” His face changes to an expression of discontentment. He folds his arms in annoyance.

“No, don't you start as well. Eren, please, the last time you played on it, I almost ended up getting killed or don't you remember?” You place a hand on his folded arms and move into his line of vision. “Oi! Don't start acting like him! You aren't a spoilt brat!”

“I just can't stand the way he treats you. I was coming to find you anyway, and as he just so happened to be there, I wanted him to see what treating you right actually means.” His eyes soften, and he smiles at you again.

“Aw, that's cute and all, and I appreciate what you were doing but please try to tone it down around him, as it's only going to put me in the shit and make my life worse.” You smile at him, feeling warm inside, his concern for you really made you happy.

“And you just look too good in just a towel.” He quipped, moving out of arms reach, laughing as he ran down the hallway. You chase after him, yelling to come back and let you smack him, funnily enough, he didn't do as you said.

After a while you lose him, and bending over, with your hands resting on your thighs, you breathe heavily. As much as he was a pain, he really was fun to hang around, but that kiss on your cheek made you feel weird. It wasn't bad, but it just didn't feel right, Eren was your friend and you never really saw him as anything more than that. Your mind darts to Levi, not that he would ever believe you.

Why would you need to justify that to him anyway? It's not like you had feelings for him.....Right?

“(last name)” You straighten from your resting position and see Commander Erwin standing in front of you. You salute, as is required of a Cadet. “At ease. I wanted to speak to you. Would you please join me in my office.” You gulp and nod, and begin to follow him. What had you done wrong now? Levi had probably been spouting shit about you again, no doubt. Even now he was still making life hard for you, but if he was involving Erwin, then he was stepping it up a notch.

“Please sit.” You sit down in his office as he closes the door behind you. “I know you are probably wondering why I called you here.” You nod and wait anxiously for what he had to say. “I would like to say well done for your work on the mission. If it hadn't been for you, then we would have lost Captain Levi, and probably the rest of the team.”

“Oh, I didn't do anything that we hadn't been trained to Sir.” You explain quickly.

“No, but your quick thinking made sure we had no losses, and that shows that you really are an asset to the Corps. However..” Here it comes! “The interactions with Captain Levi leave much to be desired. It has caused a lot of disruption to the workings of the squad, and as much as it saddens me, I think it would be best to transfer you to either the Military Police or the Garrison.”

“No!” You gasp and leap from your seat. “No, sir! You can't do that! I love it here! I would die for any of my teammates if it meant saving even one life! It wasn't that way when I first joined, but now things have changed. I cannot leave.”

“I am sorry, but I have to do what is best for the squad, not just by you. You and Captain Levi should be kept away from each other at all costs, and the only way we can do that is transfer you. I understand that it is not all your fault, Levi is as much to blame, but we cannot afford to lose Levi from the front lines.” You feel the tears fall down your mortified face.

“When do I go?” You ask quietly.

“Tomorrow. Again, I am sorry.”

“May I be dismissed?” He nods, as you blink through your tears. You slowly walk out the door and close it behind you. You feel your world shattering in front of you, it felt like you were dying a death of heart and mind. You cover your mouth to stifle a sob and begin to run down the hallway, narrowly missing Levi in the corridor, presumably on his way to the Commander's office. You didn't know where you were going, but away, away from all of this, away from everyone.

You keep running until you are outside and hidden in a small thicket of trees. It was quiet here, and backing into a tree you fall to the ground, weeping miserably. It felt like your heart was pouring out of you, your soul disappearing with every sob, this is what death must feel like. Levi got his wish, he had completely finished you off.

You had never felt this way before, even when your family had been killed after the onslaught of Wall Maria. Their loss had been hard to bear, but you knew that in the end, they were finally free. This was different, this was having your living breathing, slightly strange adopted family ripped away from you. To have that snatched away because of someone's dislike for you was just too much.

Not long after, you feel hands reach along your arms and pull you from where you were sitting. You fall into their arms, uncaring as to who, or why they had come to you. It didn't matter anymore. You feel the arms wrap around you tightly, their body warm, and heart beating steadily. Your eyes stayed shut, wondering whether you were in the arms of an angel, ready to take you away. A little over dramatic, a little voice in your head whispers, which is soon drowned out with the noise of more sobs. You must have stayed there for what felt like hours, really in truth it was probably only half an hour, just being cradled and you felt no need to see who was holding you. In fact, it was probably better that way.

Your sobs had quieted to irregular breathing, and your mind starts to clear. You become more aware of your surroundings and shift in your position. You realise the only one who would sit like this with you is Eren, of course, it would be, he was such a good friend. Your eyes flutter open, the sky was dark now, having just turned to dusk. You raise your head.

“L.Levi?” You stammer. A rush of emotions wash over you; fear, anger, sadness, none of which are good, apart from the strangest one which lingered behind, curiosity. “What... What are you doing?”

“I was hoping you would listen to me now.” You glare at him weakly, not moving from your cradled seating.

“Taking the advantage I see.” You sigh and wipe the dampness from your face, feeling disheartened it wasn't Eren. “It doesn't matter what you have to say, Levi. Erwin is sending me away.” You feel him tense unexpectedly.

“Yes, I am aware.” He says distantly.

“Look if you bothered to hold me like this, at least act like you give a shit. You are the reason this has all happened. I am losing everything again because you can't get a grip.” You feel yourself start to well up again, you wipe your eyes again instinctively, trying desperately to save face. Not that there was much point, considering you had just spent the best part of an hour crying.

“I don't like that it is happening. It was never meant-” You shift to look at him directly, your temper becoming hard to keep under wraps.

“It doesn't matter whether you meant to do it. You orchestrated all of this! Think about this logically, this was bound to happen. Erwin wasn't going to stand for it much longer.” You watch as his head falls, hiding his features. He seemed really odd again, and even though he wasn't shouting at you, you didn't really like it.

“I did it to protect you.”

“Protect me?!” You explode, standing up in the same instance. “Protecting me does not usually include trying to get that person killed or thrown off the squad! Protecting someone is making sure they don't get hurt and keeping them safe.”

“That is what I tried to do, Idiot.” He stands up, and looks at you intently, his eyes void of any expression. It makes you even angrier, if he was here to comfort you, he was doing a really bad job.

“Well, a good fucking job you did there!” You growl at him. “I can't actually believe you. If this is your way of protecting me... Wait, why are you trying to protect me?”

“It doesn't matter why. My reasons are my own. I will not have you interrogate me over this.” All feeling had gone from your heart, you felt numb. Levi was just rubbing salt in the wound. You stride up to him and slap him.

“Don't fucking bother.” He grabs your hand, and pulls you closer to him, winding his second arm around your waist.

“Brat. Listen.” You try to escape from his iron grip without success. “I did this, against my better judgement.” He relinquishes your wrist, slides his hand behind your neck and places a kiss on your lips. Your eyes widen in shock, but you cannot move. It was happening again. This guy was in desperate need of a psychiatrist. It was different from the last one, almost tender. Even though this was much more enjoyable than the last one, you pull away.

“What are you doing?!” You try to lean away from him.

“As I said, going against my better judgement.” His eyes lock with yours, his gaze almost searching for something and goes to kiss you again. You shake yourself away, even though the feeling of kissing like this was better than you had imagined.

“Levi, stop. You can't keep doing this. You can't take what isn't given and expect something in return.” He releases you abruptly, his eyes hardening with a furrow on his brow. He turns from you and begins to walk out of the thicket.

“If that is what you chose then so be it, brat.”

“Chose what?” You call out without a clue as to what he meant. You received no response.

“He said what?!” You hear Eren and the rest of the table shout in horror.

“He can't transfer you!” Sasha exclaims. “You saved our lives, and you are one of us!” You look around the table, all of their faces were the same, shocked and unbelieving.

“Well, It is happening. Nothing that can be done about it. I leave first thing in the morning.” You lower your head, it was here that you felt the happiest, where you realised you had true friends. Armin places his hand on your arm and rubs it gently.

“At least you won't have to deal with Titans on the front lines anymore.” You knew he was just trying to comfort you, but it still didn't lessen the blow.

“Armin, she never had a problem with that in the first place.” Mikasa joins in. “Look (first name). Maybe after a little while, you can transfer back after it has quietened down. Then you can just come back.”

“It's all his fucking fault.” You notice Eren glaring at the Captain at the other end of the hall. “I have a right mind to tell him to fucking leave!” You watch as Jean places a forceful hand on his shoulder to make sure that he doesn't move.

“There's no point Eren. It isn't Levi's decision, and they would probably just kill you if you started acting out.” Jean reasoned.

“Look, there's no point debating the issue. I'm leaving, I cannot change that. No one can, but I just wanted to say thank you to all of you, for being here for me. I never thought that I would have people who care for me, and I just wanted to let you know that I really treasure every one of you.” You get teased for being mushy and sentimental, but they manage to make you laugh. Something that only they could do. They really were special.

You retire to your dorm early to pack your things, a few girls came in and out to pick things up and wish you farewell as you were leaving early the next morning. It was harder than you thought, your personal effects only amassed the size of a satchel and you sat on the bed hoping to wake from this terrible nightmare.

Your thoughts turn to Levi, his cold eyes and his tight-lipped expression. His unwavering nerve to destroy everything that you held dear. Your hands clench at the thought, wanting to smack him all over again, and then out of nowhere, you feel his arms around you again, holding you gently. His soft lips on yours, hungry for more, it was more than you could handle. Your mind was full of conflicted feelings, putting it down to the fact that you hadn't really had attention like that, ever, was the only course of action. He bamboozled you, and he knew it.

“Looks like you're busy packing.” You raise your eyes to see Levi standing in the doorway. He glances over your bag and walks into the room. “Not much to pack?”

“No. Not really, all I have are memories really.” You say solemnly. “Is there something I can do for you, Captain?” You notice a slight shift in his aura, and muse that he was a little uncomfortable. He stands more rigidly than normal, just generally looks awkward, you tilt your head to the side and try and work out what he is holding behind his back.

“I wanted to give you this.” He hands you a parcel, wrapped in stereotypical brown paper. You raise an eyebrow at him. “It's a book.” He adds quickly. “You will be travelling by cart back to the city. I believe this will help pass the time.” You gaze up at him, trying not to laugh at how strange he was acting, but you could see that he was trying his utmost to be nice, it must have been very painful for him.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, masking a smile.

“Does what hurt?” He sounded confused, once again your humour was wasted on him as looks at you puzzled.

“Taking the stick out your ass.” You laugh as you watch his eyes darken again, you did so enjoy annoying him, maybe a little too much.

“No more than constantly dealing with you, brat. Good Riddance.” You watch as he storms out of the room, this was becoming more common place than him shouting at you these days. He couldn't take a joke, what a bore. One point to you at least. You sigh, good riddance, huh? Well good-fucking-bye to him too.

You spend the rest of your evening tucked away in your dorm, and eventually after tossing and turning you fall asleep. You dream of Titans and Levi. Of him shouting at you, and in your final dream, eventually suffocating you. You wake with a start and find it is early morning, you rub your eyes as the sun filters down into the room. You go over all of the night's dreams and shudder, they hadn't been pleasant.

You make yourself get out of bed and dress in your uniform. You hear a thud on the floor and see the book, from Levi, still tied in its wrapping, and you bend down to pick it up, running your thumb over the top before throwing it into your bag.

Everyone was still asleep when you exited the dorm and made your way down to the kitchens. You were greeted by the cooks who had lovingly prepared you a small packed breakfast and were given a fond farewell. Your heart warmed at the gesture, and you thank them profusely. You leave not long after and walk out into the courtyard. You missed the place already and wondered who would eventually take over your bunk. You walk over to the cart, which was already being packed by members who were journeying back to the city. You shove your bag in, and help them with the bags and other items that would be going with you, you ended working up quite a sweat.

“(first name)!” You turn to see Eren running across the cobbles, and collides with you in an enormous hug. “I didn't want you to leave without saying goodbye... We all didn't.” You look past him and see your friends walking behind him, smiling, they were sad smiles, but they had come to wave you off.

“Thank you, everyone. It means so much that you came.” Sasha offers her arms to you, trying to hold back tears. You embrace her tightly, as only friends would, and feel another pair of arms around you, Armin, had decided to hug you at the same time. Mikasa rolls her eyes, and very unlike her, joins in, shortly followed by Eren. Jean rolled his eyes at you all, smiles and added his arms to the bundle of people. You all laugh after a while, as you break away.

“I will miss you all.” “C'mon (last name). It's time to go.” You give them all another hug, and see Erwin saluting you in the distance, as you get onto the cart you return the gesture. Your eyes scan the courtyard, no sign of Levi, and for some reason, your heart sinks. It would have been nice to get the last word in before you left. The cart rolls off down the path with your friends waving behind. You take one last look at your headquarters and are shifting to sit comfortably when you notice someone standing at one of the windows. It was Levi. You couldn't see him greatly well from this distance but you knew it was him, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled. He didn't move from where he was, he just seemed to be watching you. You give a wave, directed for him, even if he had made your life a misery, things wouldn't be the same without him in it. “Goodbye, Captain Levi.”

I will miss you....

#levi #levi x reader #levi aot #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #levixreader #Levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction #aot fandom #snk #snk levi

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lessofthelego · 5 years ago

Text

MURKY OF MIRKWOOD

[Part Two: Elven Steel]

“Let’s have these off you, Murky-me-lad!!” says a doughty guard removing the irons: he was back in the Walnut Cellar, his details finally processed. The dwarf gestures rightward to a blind-ended hallway, short and dark stained: “Second door down, get yourself washed; there’s nowhere to run, I’ve got the key… I’ll knock on when we‘re ready for you!”

So-named ‘Murky’ finds himself in a curiously hot and dim booth with a curtain in front, the waxy tanned fabric feels strangely moist to his fingertips as he pulls it back. Immediately a wall of hot air encompasses him about and bright light blasts through. Beyond this lies a steam-filled bathing area; the sudden illumination shows no sign of any other present therein and at his right-hand side there is revealed a wooden chest nestled in the cubicle. He guesses rightly that the curtain and box are employed to save any clothing from excessive damp; therefore he disrobes and enters in, drawing the screen behind. Having passed through a swirling cloud of hot steam he fully discerns a sunken bath; a chunky square column stands to the left, atop which and set flush rests a wide silver font, almost filled with a brown substance like clotted mud. The mixture looks disgusting but the scent of it intrigues him; almost like the grasslands nigh to the Elven-gate of Greenwood in the days of his infancy. He dips in the tip of his left hand for a closer whiff as memories of his mother sat peaceably in a meadow light his mind’s eye. He undertakes to rub off the sticky matter on the back of his right hand but finds that it thins with friction and the more he wipes the further it spreads up his arm. Reaching toward the bath water to wash it away the immense heat almost scorches him ere he plunges in his arm, he swiftly withdraws. Something happens then that he does not expect… a thing remarkable: the mud balm reacts to the heat and hardens, moreover wherever it makes contact with his skin it feels cool. He forms a fist with his right hand and the brown surface cracks into dusty fissures as his arm muscles and tendons contract. The residue is easily brushed aside and the soft flesh underneath gleams new; but most noteworthy, the reddening and soreness about the top part of his wrist is gone. He hurriedly revisits the clothes chest to retrieve thongs to tie up his long hair and proceeds to coat himself from top to toe in the earthy salve.

Before long Legolas gingerly submerges into the searing pool: the ‘Mad Matted Mudman!’ of fable; and so, he enjoys the most invigorating bath he has taken in a long time, if indeed ever. Alas, it was over all too soon: knock—knock—knock! The bather reluctantly removes from the water to find a rubbery second skin has formed about him. He manages to peel away the coating almost in one piece without any pinching or resistance against his blonde mane, nor even fine body hair; moreover, the gashes on his shin and head have inexplicably healed. He is instantly dry and feeling good as new. knock—knock—knock: “I needs be clad” he shouts in reply.

At the sound of laughter beyond the door, Legolas finds that his garments have been confiscated and replaced by a scratchy dun sack with hastily cut-out holes to fit his arms and head. His annoyance is heightened as he wonders how he did not hear the dwarves engaging in the swap; but there is much about dwarf keys that the elves do not know. Thus, he has no choice but to tie the sack around his waist with the tatty rope provided and meet the captors bedecked as a beggar; whence he is led barefoot to reconvene upstairs at the Hall of Hearing. Upon mounting the first tread he hears tumult above, and by which time they reach the top Legolas witnesses the leading out of hapless Dimroc and Gimroc. The dense hall-door slams behind them, causing the elf to detect a feature he had not before noticed: sunken in the wall on either side of the door frame there are mounted two enormous horns with gilded flutes ever poised to announce themselves.

In-going: the disparity versus wood and stone registers immediately beneath his exposed sole, whereat Legolas motions to revisit his former place of standing. The cubic chamber is disproportionately large, being designed no doubt to daunt any unfortunate respondent summoned there. This room offers scant lighting (unlike other regions in the vast subterranean development) save at the fore where the Heads wait; all seated in a preformed and hastily assembled semicircular bench, behind which is an usher’s pulpit with a granite hoarding beyond concealing the high seat of the absent Lord Dain. At the centre of the wooden crescent sits a round dais of bare brick, hooped at its kerb, serving as a dock. The heavy door stands directly opposite the bench, and dim-lit public galleries fill the side walls. Hence the walk from the stairs to the bench seems rather excessive; especially so when countless sets of accusing eyes monitor every footfall from the shadows. At length he ascends the stony disc as his four escorts surround him at ordinal points marked on the floor. Each dwarf faces the front and dares not crane his neck upward; Legolas however stands at a height where his eyes meets those of his prosecutors. And then… nothing: no pronouncement, no whispers nor grunts, nothing but silence! Legolas wonders greatly at this since his former appointment had been met with much derisive clamour and expectant chatter. Moreover, a draft of cold air concentrates all at once about him; and not knowing prior that of old the Dwarven engineers had contrived adjustable ducts leading to the outside world, he finally guesses at the reason for his abrasive burlap garb.

Another minute passes by in chilly silence. Presently, four bell peels mark the time of day and Legolas realises that one hour exactly has passed since he last stood here. A deep low chant blends seamlessly with the dying reverb of the final bell; the Heads rise from their seats being closely followed by the sounds of shifting and shuffling as the meeting stands to its feet. The intensity and volume of the chant grows into discernable words uttered in ancient Dwarvish. The unseen cantor stops abruptly and those assembled answer him reverentially; this process continues for two more call-reply cycles, concluding with one last solo intonation. Throughout all this the scholarly prince discerns the words ‘Mahal’ and ‘Durin’; this in itself is remarkable since no outsiders are learned in Dwarric-wisdom. Therefore, having no way of knowing what this means he supposes that the ’fourth of noon’ must be a sacred hour among them, or that this date and time holds some significance on their calendar.

The Head on the far left begins, “Are you ready to furnish this hearing with your true name, Elf?”

“I have given it!”

“Very well,” he sighs, “If we are to continue in this pretence, have the Arraigned registered as ‘Prince Murky’ and be done with it!” The gallery erupts with laughter but the speaker remains unimpressed, “Since you come to us with such an implausible account, ‘Your Highness,’ we must view this question most seriously, the Dispensation charges you with spying and trespass: what say you?”

Legolas answers disbelieving: “Spying, on what grounds?”

“Face the front!” demands the dwarf: The so-called ‘Arraigned’ slowly complies, having already noted the radial iron petals set around his feet. The questioner continues, “I note you do not contest the charge of trespass!”

“On what grounds?” repeats the elf.

“I’d worry more about the penalty than the grounds if I were you, Murky!”

“Please enlighten me!”

“For spying, death by hanging!” he gloats “...and for trespass...” but soon falters as one caught out “Der-death by hard labour!”

The room gasps: “Since you mean to kill me either way; I am as well to take the harder charge and the swiftest course.” reasons the elf.

“We mean to hear you!” another interjects sternly, “Now, lest we gravely lose our patience, reveal yourself and your purpose!”

“Murky of Mirkwood, trespasser and spy, or Legolas Greenleaf, traveller of what used to be called the ‘Free-lands’: what difference does it make here?”

“We could wring the answers from you!” puts in a third.

“I am sure the dutiful Dimroc and Gimroc would oblige you.”

“How do you know their names?” demands the first.

“I asked them: does that equate to spying in these lands?”

The same dwarf sniffs in retort: “You’re awful sure of yourself… for such a one in your shoes…”

Impassive, Legolas glances down at his bare feet with a slight tilt of the head. The flushed inquisitor barks out unformulated words whilst the others splutter and cough; all of them save one, himself of the two panellists who directly faces Legolas, being sat to the right from the elf‘s viewpoint. He is an immutable and permanent looking fellow, not unlike the plain granite behind him: inscrutable yes, but lucid.

As the muttering subsides, Legolas addresses this one directly: “May I speak?”

“You may!”

“Sirs, I hold it decorous to compliment your inspired dwelling; especially the bathing facilities, of which I can truly say I have never before benefited from the like. However, it is plain to all that I do not find myself stood before you now clothed as I was one hour prior. Is it reasonable to assume that the joint-board has possession of my garments and belongings; and that they have been duly inspected?”

“It is!”

“There is much at hand in those effects to substantiate my words and to confirm to you all that you have indeed (to be blunt) bagged a prince. Would it be adequate then to say that in terms of my answering thus far, in relation to who I am, I have not attempted any deceit?”

“It would:” the dwarf then addresses the reporter, “Revise the name on the register to that formerly specified by the Bidden!”

“Not the Arraigned?” considers Legolas to himself.

“How very clever of you,” sneers the first Head, “You have talked yourself into becoming a hostage of war: Haha, and apt for hard labour after all!”

Legolas answers steadily, “I am not aware that our peoples are at war!”

“Oh really,” he snarls, “Our Warrior Lord and his finest soldiery departed these lands not much more than thrice-a-day’s hence: now, Wood Prince, why was that?”

“Ultimately to succeed Thorin Oakenshield as King under the Mountain, it would seem.”

“Ah yes, our beloved Thorin and the elves…”

The centrally sat dwarf stays him, “Ffodor: enough for now, my friend!” who then fixes his gaze on Legolas: “Why are you so eager to prove who you are; when (war or no) my co-auditor rightly points out your value as a hostage?”

“I am not a liar!” replies Legolas.

“And that is your only reason?”

“Is that not enough?”

“Do not misapprehend the licence of this Dispensation, Prince, nor its willingness to act!” calls out the other Head facing Legolas; who then acknowledges his neighbour already addressing the newly renamed Bidden: “Wãelyn, you know elves are dishonest, never tolerate them the slipper‘s twist!”

“Thank you, Karnaech, I need not remind you that the ‘Branch of Juris’ falls to my family this season; however, I will reassure the Mete again that every measure stands upon the sounding and hearing of all occupants at this form!”

Silence falls momentarily until Wãelyn speaks again to Legolas: “So, you are not a liar, I am sure your mother would be most plea…”

“My mother is dead!”

“Do not over-speak me!” blasts Wãelyn, “If it pleases the Branch, whom I am, we could set a holder’s-bit about you and proceed in your hearing only…”

Legolas stalls…

“As amusing as we find your florid obsequiousness, the Dispensation is not satisfied with your scrubby responses to direct questions, hence I reiterate: Why the fervour to prove your credentials against the merit of your being our hostage?”

“And speak plainly!!!” demands a heckler from the gallery.

Wãelyn makes to stand up, whereupon no other onlooker dares to coo or jeer in agreement with the last comment. At considered length he resettles: “Indeed, be plain!”

“I am not accustomed to Dwarric Law and do not understand the intricacies of standing before you as the Bidden or the Arraigned: I could cite myself as the Ambushed, the Assaulted, the Abducted or the Tortured…”

Seven faces snarl at him: but Wãelyn, although calloused to these opening words, remains attentive. He considers the state of mind of the one stood before him, pondering how given the situation he could remain so at ease. He thinks to himself, “Does he not realise that I could have him hanged right now without issue or repercussion?” The elf continues…

“However, I stand before you as Legolas, called Greenleaf by his mother after her people, Son of King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm in Greenwood! And in the absence of King Dáin, I concede to the authority of his Dispensation.”

“How very kind of you, Highness!” gloats Karnaech; some others harrumph at this but neither Legolas nor Wãelyn react to the interruption.

“You found me recently departed from Erebor where, after the slaying of Smaug by one of the Lake-towners, a battle had ensued…”

“Aye, no doubt prompted by your king!” adds Ffodor.

“Enough!” demands Wãelyn: Legolas resumes…

“For my part I embarked upon a scouting mission to Gundabad and there witnessed the marshalling of the second host set against Erebor; it being led by one Bolg, son of Azog, whom I later slew in single combat. It was here that the fatal contest took place between Thorin and the Defiler, Azog himself; the king fought val…”

“Wait now,” interjects Wãelyn, “you witnessed this but did not intervene?”

“I was engaged with Bolg at lower quarters and did not witness their fight; however I aided him with a sword!”

“Can you produce witness to this effect?”

“I am not sure: my comrade and a Halfling traveller were close by but I do not know what they saw.”

Ffodor laughs, “Haha, you provide a little truth to bear out a big lie! You don’t know what your comrade saw: What then: did you and he have a falling out, are you not talking anymore?”

“She... was immobile at Bolg’s hand and about to be slain ere I befell him.”

“Oh it just gets better,” he sneers, “elf-maids trading their silks for armour.”

“Believe what you will,” answers Legolas.

Wãelyn asks, “What of this Halfling?”

“I know that he was a companion of Gandalf and known to Thorin’s company; I heard him referred to as Mr. Baggins but did not catch his first name!”

“Our people trade with the Shire-folk,” says another, “they’re not fighters nor wizard‘s apprentices,” he sniffs: “Huh, shopkeepers more like!”

“Wait now… Baggins, Baggins… I have heard that name before: Haha, Old ‘Third time pays for all’ Bungo the Broker!” Wãelyn smiles for the first time: “He worked for the Took family as I recall, many years ago, he must be ancient by now; a decent fellow, but I’m inclined to agree: not warrior class!”

“Even so, Mr. Baggins was there; but not so old I would guess,” says Legolas.

“And yet, there is something more,” adds Wãelyn.

“I cannot add much more about him, save that he attended to Thorin as he died of his wounds: this I saw at Ravenhill some way off!”

“I notice that throughout you are skirting the issue of your father, the King!”

“What would you know?”

Wãelyn summons the usher to bring him a thin stack of documents: “Perhaps it is time that you should hear what we know!” He straightens the bottom edges of the papers against the board and clears his throat: “I have here a number of drafts of the ‘Ravens’ sent to our Lord Dáin by the hand of Thorin himself…” He hands the notes back to the usher, “Wylenhin, read these aloud for the benefit of the Mete!”

Wylenhin takes up his position on a high rostrum directly behind Wãelyn and Karnaech, proceeding to read in a loud and clear deep-brown voice:

Lord Dáin,

Allow me to be the first to inform the Seven Families through you, Esteemed Cousin, that despite your shared reticence I am finally to come into my own. The key to the hidden door of Erebor has come down to me from my father; and now on this our day, Durin’s Day, the King’s Stone shall return to its rightful owner.

Thorin Oakenshield.

Lord Dáin,

At long last our people are avenged: the worm is evicted and Erebor is ours. Come and see it, Dáin; see the blanket of gold in which we smothered Smaug the Terrible ere he met his end. Bring with you your bards and minstrels and let us compose a new song: ‘The Ballad of the Toy-makers and the Merchants!’

Thorin ii, son of Thráin.

Lord Dáin,

So it begins, the birds descend: the Lake-town lackwits insist on remuneration, I might have aided them had they not so soon enlisted an army of wood-elves to press their claim. The starlight grubbers are upon my doorstep but these I will not entertain; lest of course it is in like manner to which King Prig and his heir forcibly and unjustly entertained my company and I not long since prior: behind bars!

The King under the Mountain.

“Hang him! Axe him! Make him suffer!” demand several onlookers.

“What say you to this!” says Wãelyn to Legolas.

“To which: the hanging, the axing or the suffering?” he answers amid much uproar and general incredulity.

“The Frequentery will hold its peace…” insists Wãelyn; “The Bidden will curb all glibness and I will have his answer!”

“You refer to the letters just read aloud?” clarifies the elf.

“I do!”

“I have naught in those sheets save for a thinly veiled insult…”

“Read between the lines: tell us of your encounters with Thorin!”

“Very well…” begins Legolas. “Thorin and his company had become ensnared in a giant-spider nest and were fighting their way out, when my division first came upon them. They must have strayed from all known pathways to become thus straightened. However, our greater forces purged that colony of monstrous pests which had been…”

Wãelyn interjects, “You say ‘my division’ meaning that you were in command?”

“Correct!”

“Hmm… so this was not a rescue of dwarves but rather a vermin-control exercise where by some strange chance your company and Thorin’s momentarily fought a common foe?”

“Correct!” repeats the elf.

“So the bugs were squashed: Continue!”

Legolas takes pause to consider his response…

Ffodor speaks gravely, “We come to the truth at last, the Bidden is lost for words; no quick witted retort in light of facts that now lead to the inevitable end. We know Thorin and his company were detained with prejudice by the Woodlanders, we have the evidence of the letters; there is also the testimony of he whom it was that gave the very command to…”

“I believe it was upon me to continue…” puts in the elf.

He is overridden, “HE whom it was that gave the very command to seize our beloved king…”

Legolas defies him again, “So this is what is meant by the inevitable end!?”

“OUR BELOVED KING:” insists the dwarf, “Whom it was His Father that had turned his back upon our kin in the gravest hour of need!”

“I am standing trial for my father too?”

Rising suddenly, Wãelyn slaps down on the board with a mighty thud: “You are the one stood before us, and the only other apt to represent his house. You may continue if you wish…”

“It is true, I apprehended this party of dwarves! In my military capacity I did everything necessary to ensure that my father’s orders were carried out.”

“And his orders were?”

“To imprison them!”

“And release them when?”

“No such command was given: they escaped!”

“How was that?”

“They secreted themselves in barrels and floated downriver to Lake-town,” explains Legolas; “With hindsight I surmise that Mr. Baggins assisted in this endeavour since we knew not then of his part in this…”

“The resourceful Mr. Baggins!”

“Quite so…”

Wãelyn sinks back into his chair, blank faced with his hands loosely cradling their opposing elbows: “Hmm… The Mete has not heard any reasons for your prolonged encampment on the borders of these lands: indeed upon this rests the validity of the charges against you! How do you respond?”

Presently, a brassy note reverbs mightily through the hall by way of the horns beside the entrance. The door creaks slowly open revealing two figures, notable in their differences; the taller clad in grey advances with the aid of a staff, allowing his tiny companion to keep pace as they take the long walk of the accusing eyes.

At length Wãelyn speaks, “Not casually do the Horns of Juris sound during session, Gandalf the Grey; the Branch and this form will hear the cause of it!”

“Indeed, no casual matter at all!” says the wizard who mounts the platform to stand beside Legolas, the hobbit refrains and waits behind: “Much has occurred these last days since the battle; I carry a document of importance, a North-east Accord, if you like...”

“What is that to this hearing?” inquires Wãelyn, gesturing to have it: Wylenhin accommodates him as Gandalf waits.

“It matters much, Sirs!” says the wizard at length, “Erebor and the Woodland Realm have pacted together with the Lake Town Men to rebuild Dale and renovate the waterways of Esgaroth. This means employment of all kinds for all kindreds; surely wine and ale will flow freely once more…”

The gallery combusts with applause; not even Wãelyn’s glower can stop it, but he remains patient holding up a forefinger to stay his colleagues until the clapping abates: “I tire of speeches in place of answers and I say again, what is that to this hearing?”

“I am sure by now you have verified the seal of the King under the Mountain and noted the signatories in front of you…”

“I have!”

“As you can see this declaration is to be sent to all regional authorities of peoples concerned. Perhaps an adjournment is in order whilst you peruse the document...” suggests the wizard.

“Agreed!” says Wãelyn.

“Perhaps too, my friend here might have his effects returned to him as you deliberate!” adds Gandalf.

The Branch of Juris assents to this amid his fellows’ habitual snippy discontent: “We shall have the truth in this!” he tells them; and to the wizard he says, “I should also like to speak with you separately, that goes for your little friend malingering behind your cloak tails too!”

“Of course!” says Gandalf with a courteous nod.

“But tell me, Gandalf,” asks Wãelyn ere they retire to chambers, “How is it that you came thither in person and did not send a herald, or nary a raven?”

“Some birds fly higher than ravens and can see much more clearly!”

#legolas #movie verse #hobbit fanfiction #lotr fanfic

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arizaluca · 6 years ago

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Stories and Costumes - Chapter 2

And here is the second part. Honestly, why am I doing this and not being productive doing something else?

Oh yeah. I’m sitting in a hotel room.

After a few minutes of cautiously poking at her surroundings to confirm that they were real (in other words, getting scratched by one of the thorn branches and nearly tripping over a gnarled tree root), she ended up looking at a bush with this weird fruit that looked kind of fuzzy. Think a peach, but about the size and shape of a strawberry.

Also the color of a blue raspberry Jolly Rancher.

“Didn’t realize little humans were interested in fuzzfruits.” A deep baritone issued from behind Allie, sounding rather smooth and calm.

“Fuzz-- no such thing,” Allie replied rather tersely, still crouching and looking at the fruit and trying to figure out what the heck it was.

“If there’s no such thing, then how are you looking at it?”

... he had a point there.

Allie reached out and took the... fuzzfruit, the stem of the fruit snapping the second she had it in a secure grip and resulting in her holding a blue fuzzy strawberry. “That’s kind of a lame name, don’t you think? I mean, at least call it a more creative name,” she said absentmindedly, turning to face the speaker-- and abruptly feeling her heart stop beating in her chest.

A wolf that was probably twice her height if he was on his hind legs with dull gray fur that was matted with something that Allie really didn’t want to think about even if this was some sort of weird fever dream and eyes that were the shade of the apple that was in the basket on her arm was sitting on the forest floor, tail ramrod straight as he leered at her in a way that would make most moms scream “Predator!” at him and then grab their kid and run away.

(Look at her, calmly describing this gigantic wolf. Honestly, she had no idea how she was processing this without screaming and running away.)

Dream. Dream. This had to be a dream. A Red Riding Hood themed dream, sure, but a dream. Or a nightmare, I guess, ‘cause the wolf was here.

“I mean, I suppose you have a point.” The wolf’s sneer grew more pronounced as his body slinked up off the ground, paws pacing himself forward as he stared at the thirteen-year-old girl, tongue flicking across black lips. “Though I don’t hear you offering any suggestions.”

Swallow. Allie was acutely aware that her throat was suddenly achieving desert-wasteland levels of dry. She was tempted to grab the bottle of prune juice and drink it, before dismissing it. She wasn’t that thirsty. “Uh... no, I guess not. Um, listen, I, I sort of had a prior engagement--”

Allie barely had time to cringe at the fact that she’d just used the words prior engagement before her back was slamming into hard dirt, basket bouncing and somehow not dumping its contents all over the ground, the fuzzfruit (seriously need a better name for that) clutched in a suddenly very sweaty palm.

The wolf’s lips peeled back in an angry snarl from where he was pressing her into the ground, paws resting on her shoulders. His voice somehow still sounded smooth, if not... menacing.

Very, very menacing.

“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?”

Dream. Dream. This is a dream.

A hot splotch of drool from the wolf’s lips dripped off, hitting her cheek and making her aware that his breath smelled like he smoked cigarettes 24/7.

This is a dream. This has to be a dream.

“Uh... would you care for a truffle?”

Don’t ask me why Allie asked this. Her brain had just totally short-circuited and now she was spitting out the first thing that came to her mind. Cue really, really poorly timed questions and silly responses to situations that most people in their right mind would never, ever do.

The wolf’s paw slapped the basket out of her hands, the wicker basket stinging her fingers from the force of how hard he’d slapped it into a bush somewhere behind her, snarl somehow growing more pronounced. “Good god, no, I hate truffles. Now answer me.”

Cue the good decisions train as Allie did the first thing that came to her-- her hand came up and slapped his nose. The wolf did the sensible thing, which was to jerk back, clap his hands (er... paws) to his nose, and say “Ow!”

Allie’s limbs started to move jerkily, propelling her backwards until one hand knocked the wicker basket the wolf had whacked out of her hands a few moments before. Said wolf was recovering from his surprise and glaring at her, teeth baring as he looked like he was about to snarl at her.

Panic mode promptly cued in, and Allie simply flung the strawberry... fuzzfruit... whatever the heck it was right at the wolf. Miraculously, her poor aim actually functioned this time, and said fuzzfruit went soaring straight into the wolf’s throat, as the wolf had coincidentally opened his mouth to snap at her.

He promptly choked and started pawing frantically at his throat, as if trying to keep from choking to death on a fuzzfruit. (Wow, that... would be a stupid thing to put on a tombstone.) His red eyes widened as he gagged, looking much like he would like to throw up.

Allie pawed through the basket that she’d recovered, finding a handful of truffles. Grabbing them out of the basket, along with the bottle of prune juice, she held them like they were ninja stars and not... well, a handful of fungi and prune juice. “Come any closer and I will not hesitate to throw this disgusting filth at you!” she shouted.

(Hm. That had sounded better in her head. Less dorky.)

The wolf was still trying to swallow the fuzzfruit as Allie gave an angry growl herself, lowering her ammunition and narrowing her green eyes at the wolf as her brain finally stopped short-circuiting. “Okay, look you stupid fur-face, this is a dream. I want to wake up. If you eating me is what it takes, then... fine, go ahead.”

He promptly made a grossed-out face in her direction. Which was a new experience, because Allie had not realized that wolves could make grossed-out faces. “Wh-- no! Ew! People taste disgusting, last thing I want to do is eat you!”

He gave a violent shudder, fur kind of standing on end like a cat’s momentarily. “No thank you! The heeeeeeck--”

Allie was about ninety percent sure the ‘heck’ had originally been a ruder word. This was a new experience, apparently this wolf knew swear words too.

“-- has gotten into you, Red?! You disappear for who knows how long and then you pop in and start acting--?”

“Excuse me excuse me excuse me-- what?!” Allie interrupted, one eyebrow shooting up. “Did you just call me Red?! Like Little Red Riding Hood?”

The wolf gave a scowl. Seriously, this wolf was making all sorts of facial expressions that Allie would’ve never expected. “Yes! Seriously, what’s going on with--?”

“Oh.” Allie abruptly calmed down here. It was a dream-- or a hallucination, or whatever-- so no point in getting mad now. “Uh... I’m not Little Red Riding Hood.”

His words didn’t fully make it out of his throat as his brain processed them, before the wolf cocked his head at her. “Oh, you’re not?”

“No. Why, do I look like her?” Allie paused and then gave him a weird look. “And if you’re the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood-- I am certainly hallucinating, by the way-- then shouldn’t you be trying to eat me?”

The wolf scrubbed at his head, a sheepish expression crossing his face as he gave the most awkward cough that Allie had ever heard. “Oh. Uh. That explains things.”

Upon clearing his throat, he gave his head a shake and gave Allie a sheepish smile. (Somehow. She was learning all sorts of things about facial expressions today.) “Er... no. We just reenact the whole Little Red Riding Hood nonsense.”

Allie nodded. Really, this was a dream. This was the most logical dream she’d had thus far in her life. Usually she had something about cats in her dreams, so this was really a refreshing change. “Mm-hm. I see.”

The wolf cocked his head at her again. “Uh... would you like me to explain things?” He paused again, rather awkwardly, before giving a toothy smile that somehow did not look predatory. “Er... I’ve got tea.”

“... are you inviting me to your area of residence for tea?”

Okay, maybe she was dumb for asking, but she was trying to reconcile this weird moment in her dream/hallucination/whatever-the-heck-this-was with normal logic.

A wolf...

Wanted to explain things to her...

Over tea.

"Um... yes.”

Allie blinked twice at this very eloquent response.

“Okay.”

Uh, so this was originally part of the first chapter in the original. That was dumb spacing. Here’s a ‘second chapter’ I guess.

Three notes on either the first or the second chapter and I’ll randomly upload extra chapters.

The original is crap.

... oh boy.

#chapter 2 #stories and costumes #ariza luca #original story #story #book #from 2014 technically #old #old story

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sunset-wishes-upon-hill · 7 years ago

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The End of Eternity (Jessica Stanley’s death)

A/N: I’m sorry for being inactive here but I had to go on a 12 hours flight on 10th to Korea, pick up my cousin then do another 12 hours back to UK on 12th and I’m really tired so until I slowly recover from fatigue, please understand I might not be responsive as fast as I wish. Thank you. I hope you enjoy this heavy chapter.

In Forks, novelty was a strange affair. Nothing seemed to change much – the people, the weather. Everything seemed on stand-by like steady beat of metronome, an undisturbed surface of water; waiting for that momentum to trigger the Newton’s cradle into motion.

Click.

Maybe people liked it: the familiar, auguring re-run of yesterday than obscuring uncertainty. The comfort of knowing was especially enticing.

Jessica woke up this morning to another rainy day. Her phone ‘ting-ed’ with a notification of a text from Amy: ‘Hey, Lauren can’t make it :( can you come instead? I’m waiting in front of your house.

She along with Amy and Lauren had decided to go on a road trip to Seattle for two nights until Jessica backed out the last night, wanting to stay home. Jessica looked out the window, seeing the small white car, parked by the curb.

Beeeeep

Jessica quickly washed, dressed and gulped down a glass of coffee, intending to grab something to eat in the rest stops between the journeys. She said goodbyes to her parents and her dog and cat before getting in the car.

..che..che..

Amy grinned excitedly and turned the radio up high, then they’re off. The road was wet and it was still raining, gently hitting the windshield with rhythmic pitter-patter. The combined sound of the rain and windshield wipers forms some sort of odd lullaby and she leaned her head against the car window, gazing at the scenery zipping by – a tableau of forest green, wispy strands of fog clinging to the ground and heavy grey storm clouds up above. The window fogged up and Jessica closed her eyes, concentrating on the notes of the rain, wipers and song playing in the background.

I’m kinda glad I decide to come..

A large white truck emerged from the intersection in frightening speed clearly above the 30mph speed limit. An ear-screeching skid. Desperate honks. Someone screaming.

Jessica slowly opened her eyes–

The ten-ton box truck ploughed into the passenger side with enough force to deploy their airbags, her head smashed to the side window she had been leaning against. The doors tore off and sent her seat toward the driver’s side. The truck propelled the chassis into the air, jouncing across the road and slashed the engine apart as though one was swishing the cobwebs with a duster. The small Chevrolet spark was demolished, the truck slammed into the tree across. Wheels and hubcaps rolled and collapsed onto the road where the car once was. Specks of sparked gas tanks formed tiny candles and lapped at the wet road.

Pop

Crackle

The radio from Amy’s car was still playing a song, broadcasting into the tranquil forest road.

Jessica Stanley was pronounced dead on arrival. The truck has crushed her tiny body with its front two wheels. The paramedics predicted it would have been a swish and immediate death with little pain. Her body has been left in horrendous condition. They found Amy breathing but unresponsive and she was immediately sent to the ICU where she had yet to gain consciousness. The CT scan showed her brain had little activity. The truck driver, who was overworked and sleep deprived and did not see the small car in the fog, survived and was taken into custody.

Carlisle, in his ER shift, was one of few doctors that greeted her dead body. He had let out a chocked cry as black bag was unzipped to reveal Jessica’s eviscerated body, body hunched over the cold, silver table.

Her family was contacted. Her mother fainted on the hospital corridor. Her father let out a screeching wail as he confirmed his little girl’s body through a photograph in a sitting room, an image that was forever burned into his brain. It wasn’t her face that would haunt him to his grave. No, the photograph was done tastefully, showing only the necessary identifiers. Her birthmark beside her belly button, a scar beneath her chin when she had fallen over from a bike at five and a necklace carved with the name Jessica he had given her for her 18th birthday. It was her skin. Her usual warm skin was now grey and cold, almost hard looking as though someone copied his daughter’s marks on a mannequin. The doctor had said they could not show him her face and he knew why: ‘Remember your daughter the way she was when she left this morning.’

Soon after, Bella, Edward, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, Angela, Mike, Tylor along with other members of the family, came rushing into the hospital. The humans’ face had sickly patches of white undertone in them as though they were going to be sick any moment. Angela and Bella began crying; leaning on each other for support while Alice let out a dry choke, angered and shamed at her blindness toward what could have been avoidable.

Jessica was never supposed to have gone. She was supposed to have stayed home. How? Why?

Rosalie had never looked so sad as she was now. Emmett pulled her into a tight embrace. The boys were silent. Mike slid down to the cold hospital tile, eyes afar and expression blank while Tylor erupted into whining sobs. Angela pulled him close. Edward slowly walked toward Carlisle, who stood afar with shaken Esme, both unspeaking.

“W..what happened?” Edward managed out.

“There was a car accident,” Carlisle slowly explained, his voice faltering the usual professionalism he managed during his work hours, “..The truck driver fallen asleep on the wheel and..crashed into their car.” He trailed off, unable to continue.

Edward gulped, “H-have they been informed?”

“I gave them the call just a moment ago.” Carlisle revealed, “They’re..they’re coming here right now.”

Edward’s gaze espied to the ICU where the truck driver was being treated, “You know they’re not going to let that driver live.”

“Yes.”

“And the driver won’t be the only one in danger right now.” Edward muttered fearfully, “They are going to massacre the whole hospital. The whole town…us.”

Carlisle did not reply. His eyes darting from side to side, troubled before clenching it shut.

“We have two hours.” Carlisle finalised, “I’ll greet them first.”

There was nothing more dangerous, more frightening, more tragic than the loss of love.

Forks were a town where things seem ever so unchanging, mundane. The people, the weather.

Until the day of incident that had claimed two young lives and more tragedies occurred afterwards. Amy never woke up from her coma. The truck driver mysteriously disappeared that night along with Jessica Stanley’s body. The truck driver’s family was found torn to shred in their home few days after the neighbour complained of foul smell coming from the house. They found his wife and two small children, two and five, mutilated beyond recognition. The police suspected a member of Jessica’s family but their alibis were confirmed. Her mother had been with a grief counsellor at that time. Her father at work with colleagues and clients. Her aunt at the hospital. Her uncle with a friend.

Times goes on. With or without Jessica Stanley. The seat that had been Jessica Stanley was taken up by another exchange student from Seattle. Lauren Mallory’s clique gained two new members; Angela, Tyler and Mike were slowly and gradually learning to move on in loving memory of Jessica and Amy. Bella and the Cullens’, however, hadn’t been so adaptive as others. The emptiness of her existence was still being felt. Her death still lingered and clung on like the fog on the day of the accident yet it will never impact them the way it did to them.

Italy, Volterra, down the dark, deep corner of the tall castle on the hill was a small room. In the centre of the room was a large open glass coffin, filled with thick light yellow hued liquid. Submerged inside was the missing body of Jessica Stanley, partially restored. A right side of her skull was missing; her face slightly spiralled and twisted and her mangled body hidden by the long black dress. In odd, Frankenstein-ish way, she looked monstrously beautiful and serene; a funny, mix-matched puzzles of veins and flesh and bones.

The three vampires never did recover. They were frozen in time. Frozen on that day. Caius’ greatest fear came to life – became one thing he constantly mocked and snubbed. Now there were two sets of statues on the throne. Demetri’s usual flamboyance and charming demeanour dampened into callousness and dour; Alec became more withdrawn and almost ill-tempered resembling of his sister. He had become more impulsive and short-fused. Jane had now moulded into her role as an older sister. She wished the old Alec back.

Things were difficult for Aro now. His balance of power and political maneuvering has completely tipped to one side. Marcus apathy was useful when confront against Caius’ zeal for punishment and justice and gave Aro the chance to play the neutral ground to sway the judgements to his bearings. This often gave the defendant the mirage the hearing they received was good and fair. It had worked for millenniums and there were little chances this modus operandi could fail.

But now, Aro was in a problematic position. His position was now being threatened – his strategically placed chess pieces were now, one by one, eaten away.

“You taught me once again how fragile human life is. And how utterly destructive love could be.” Aro muttered. He hadn’t had a good company to confer with for some times.

And so he comes here. To this room, where the dead girl laid. He imagines what she’d say. Her little, idealistic orate to his sentimental pessimism. Her willing hand in his. Memories and thoughts shared and taken. Her stubborn clinginess to fragile mortality.

“Do you regret it?” He asked, even knowing the answer he’d receive would be nothing but silence.

It was his newly conceived wonder he will never know for all he lived and he had quite few, most had unravelled with time. This will not.

“Would you have become a vampire had you known?” He leaned against the long rectangular glass, above where her face was.

��I wonder why I feel that, even then, you’d still have hesitated.” Aro hummed, “I wonder which was stronger, your love for life..or your love for love.”

Aro did not have many regrets. Nor did he dwell on them for too long. But Jessica Stanley was one of two regrets that would haunt him for eternity.

#pandora story #pandora spin-off #pandora spin off #volturi #character: alec #character: caius #alec volturi #caius volturi #aro volturi #character: aro #jessica stanley #character: jessica stanley

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my-insanity-is-an-artform · 7 years ago

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#BonAnniversairePrincess Pt. 4

Insanity Rambles: I’m really sorry this is totally late. But I plan to have Chap. 5 out by mid-jan and depending on how that goes, it’s either another chapter or the epilogue!

Shout out to whoever find my all-time favourite John Malaney reference!

AO3 LINK

Synopsis: In which Spontaneous Adoption is a valid way to make friends, Selfies are a way of life and who knew Chat Noir made such a good Thomas O’Malley?

Chapter Four: I Wanna Scream and Shout

Marinette cocked an eyebrow curiously at the old building in front of her. Muse de Chanson Karaoke Bar was one of Paris' best kept open secrets. While the outside looked like any other typical Haussmannian building of Paris, the inside apparently boasted of a much more modernistic look and an upbeat, friendly atmosphere. People of all races, gender and style would pull together to watch each other make fools of themselves in good cheer in a variety of different languages. Locals often ducked in. Regulars were common. Tourists usually only found the place if they were lost or had been specifically directed to the place. Marinette had never been but she heard many positive things about the club. "Chat?" She turned to her companion. Chat Noir grinned at her. "I figured after having dinner at such a posh place, you seemed more the type to relax and have a bit of fun. And maybe do something a bit crazy. I can only think of a few things crazier than karaoke. And!" Chat threw a hand in a grand gesture towards the blue door that had a wonky green outline of a microphone on it. "The back entrance also leads to the Marchés de Lumière Des Ètoiles." Marinette's mouth dropped open in excitement. Marchés de Lumière Des Ètoiles, also known as the Starlight Markets, was another of Paris' open secrets. The markets were held in the open air but only from sunset until Midnight during the summer months. Again, Marinette had never managed to go but she had heard wonderful things about the stalls and arcade games they held. Marinette bounced lightly on her toes, grasped a cockily grinning Chat's arm and pulled him through the door. Inside, the long corridor was well-lit with deep red walls and soft carpet. The corridor led down a small set of stairs before opening up into a dim room with a huge stage immediately to the right. All over the room were small round tables, easily fitting four seats around them. A bar was set into the wall on the far-right side of the room with two bartenders easily mixing drinks between them. The front of the room was modestly filled with most of the occupants seeming to be a part of an Enterrement de Vie de Jeune Fille or a Hen's Night as many middle-aged women were wearing sashes and party hats. A few other tables were filled with various people, all watching as a young white woman bounced across the stage as she sung slightly off-key to A Little Party Never Killed Nobody in English. What she lacked in musical ability, she more than made up for in enthusiasm as a laughing young black woman, obviously a close friend or girlfriend, filmed her. The singer finished her song with a dramatic bow, voice cracking a little on the last note, and leapt off the stage with a laugh. She landed in front of the two. Catching sight of the duo from the corner of her eye, she turned to apologise before her jaw dropped. "Bloody... You are Chat Noir, aren't you?" The woman was not much shorter than Chat with long dark brown pulled into a ponytail and bright blue eyes that were wide with shock. She had a thick accent that Marinette couldn't place. It wasn't English though it was clearly her first language. While dressed in dark bootleg jeans and a deep blue sleeveless shirt, Marinette could help but admire her tattoo of a moon on her right bicep with a wave-like design going around the arm like a band. Chat cleared his throat slightly and held out a hand with a grin. "Hello. Yes, I'm Chat Noir and the lovely lady here is Princess." Marinette smiled and nodded. The woman blinked once then broke out into a large grin. "G'day! My name is Evie. It's a pleasure to meet you. " She shook Chat's hand then held it out to Marinette who took it. "So you are the one causing all of the fuss on Instagram. Bon Anniversaire! Are you having a good night?" Evie's French was a little stilted and unsure but she gained more surety as she finished speaking. Marinette grinned wider, "Likewise and yes, I am. Thank you." "Evie? Who are you talking to... Mon Dieu! Is that...?" The woman who had been filming Evie came around the stage and stopped dead at the sight of Marinette and Chat Noir. She was taller than Evie by a full head. She had short curly black hair pushed back by a purple bandanna and gorgeous dark brown eyes that were wide like Evie's had been while her accent was definitely local Parisian. She was wearing a tight lilac square neck shirt and dark skinny jeans. Both teens looked a little awkward at the newest addition and Chat murmured to Marinette, "I didn't take this into account when I decided on this. Sorry. " She was about to respond when Evie suddenly gave a large grin, moved behind them and placed an easy hand on each of their shoulders. "Sophia! Light of my Life! I made new friends! This is Chat and this is Princess! We have room at our table, no?" Sophia's surprise melted into bemusement at the endearment and she shook off the last of the shock as Evie finished. "Sure, we do. I'm Sophia. Enchanté de faire votre connaissance." She shook both of their hands as they relaxed under the easy countenance of both women. "And Evie?" Evie hummed in acknowledgement as they led the two back to a table close to the stage near the party of women. "Stop trying to adopt the locals."

Evie pouted dramatically as Sophia laughed and introduced the two teenagers to the curious party, shamelessly staring and eavesdropping on the newcomers. Ten minutes later, the Bride-To-Be, a plump white woman with dark blonde hair and a cheeky grin named Camille, and the Mother-Of-The-Groom, a woman in her mid-seventies with shock white hair and wicked sense of humour named Renee, got on to the stage and started singing one of Jagged Stone's latest hit singles. For such an older woman who had tried to get out of singing, claiming she had a bad back, Renee was dancing along like a professional. The rest of their party sat and laughed, nudging each other and taking photos of the duet on stage.

Nearby, Marinette giggled as she sipped her drink with her things on the table next to a large jug of water and listened to Sophia try to convince Evie she couldn't adopt the locals. Next to her, Chat Noir, who had shucked off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, was being completely shameless and egged Evie on.

"But, My Moon and Stars, ..."

"Don't you Game of Thrones me. No. You cannot adopt Chat Noir." Sophia raised a delicate eyebrow and stared down in amusement at Evie's cheeky grin.

"Aw. Please! I have already adopted half of the ...er... Hen's Party!"

Chat frowned in confusion at the words.

"What do you mean by that?"

Sophia turned to Chat and Marinette with a dry look.

"How long do you think we have known Camille?"

Judging from the reactions Evie had gotten from the group, Marinette would have pegged them as long-term friends. Evie had immediately kept pouting and asked for back-up from amongst the group who had only giggled at her and one of them had told Evie that pouncing on people as they entered the door and spontaneously adopting them wasn't how you made friends. So, Chat and Marinette both shrugged.

"I'm not sure. A while?" Marinette suggested.

Sophia nodded at a snickering Evie and said in a dry voice, "Go on. Tell them exactly how long we have known that lot."

Through her giggles, Evie glanced at her phone on the table and managed to speak.

"About two hours. " At the stunned look on Marinette and Chat, Evie collapsed into a fit of more giggles as Camille and Renee neared the end of their song.

Sophia gave Evie a bemused but loving look. "Only you could spend not even an hour in presence of a bunch of people and managed to make friends with all of them while tipsy."

Evie cleared up her giggles and looked at Sophia besottedly. "Oh, I do not know. I spent three hours completely no speech when I first meet you."

Sophia took Evie's hand and gave it a squeeze. "You mean speechless, Cherie? I know. It was cute."

Marinette internally sighed happily at the interaction. 'I want that. They are so sweet together!'

Evie nodded. "Yes, that word." Evie spent a few moments pronouncing speechless as Sophia corrected her. After a few gos and Evie was mostly pronouncing it right, Sophia turned back to Chat and Marinette who both had soft looks.

"So since Evie has already decided to adopt you, how about some selfies?"

Marinette and Chat nodded eagerly and the four moved themselves into a comfortable position while Camille and Renee finished the song to an applause and the next couple took their place.

Chat and Sophia took several from the baton and her phone. As they checked out the pictures, Chat piped up.

"Would either of you mind if I put this up? I want to get lots of pictures tonight and I haven't taken as many as I want too yet."

Evie grinned widely and Sophia nodded, "Sure."

A minute later, two selfies went live on The Official Chat Noir Instagram.

One had Marinette and Chat framed by Evie and Sophia. All four had wide grins. Evie and Chat had given each other 'bunny ears'. 'Finally at #MuseDeChanson and made some new friends! Meet the wonderful Evie (left) who has adopted us for the night and the incredible Sophia (right) who doesn't believe spontaneously adopting strangers is how you make friends. #lol #BonAnniversairePrincess #AdoptingStrangersAtKaraokeIsAnEvieApprovedWayToMakeFriends #NewFriends'

The second one had all four making funny faces at the camera. 'A true friend is always willing to make silly faces in selfies with you and let the whole world see them. #lol #BonAnniversairePrincess #SillyFaces #NewFriends'

Evie giggled over the first just as a hand patted Chat's shoulder.

Camille beamed at them from in front of the table. "We've all had our goes now. The rest of us were wondering if you wanted to slip in now as the next song is open?" Chat gave a sly grin and turned to Marinette. "Well, how about it Princess?"

Marinette blinked at him then the stage, suddenly nervous. She had never sung in front of strangers before. Her parent and schoolmates, yes, but never in a situation like this.

Sophia, thankfully for Marinette, picked up on her sudden nerves. "Oh no, you don't, little cat. First rule of Karaoke; Solos! Then you can duet. Come on! You got a song in mind? 'Cause Evie looks like she might break something if she doesn't say what she wants to say."

Evie did, in fact, look like she was desperate to speak, tiny noises coming from her mouth that might have sounded like laughter. She grabbed Chat and pulled him halfway to the booth before stopping and facing Chat with a wide grin. She spoke a few words to Chat who suddenly grinned as wide as she was and handed over his baton, pointing to some things on the screen. He almost bounced over to the booth while Evie set herself in front of the stage. She turned briefly to Marinette and Sophia and winked as Camille sat herself back with her group.

Thirty seconds later, Chat opened his mouth and starting singing moderately better than Evie had. However, the song in question had Chat grinning madly, Evie and the rest of room laughing, Marinette burying her smile in her hands and Sophia looking slightly murderous.

The full vocals of Tom Jones' What's New Pussycat? was belted in full force by a 17-year-old boy dressed in a tight black suit with cat attributes. Several people had their phones out and Evie was taking several photos between bouts of laughter.

Chat danced along to the beat and sang, obviously giving it his all and desperately trying not laugh like Evie was. He bounced to and fro on the stage, his tail flicking happily behind him. At one point, he overdramatically pointed to the various pieces of anatomy that the song referenced to. He danced back to the front of the stage. As the song wound down, he bowed to a clapping audience and hi-fived Evie as he leapt off the stage.

The two laughed as they made their way back to the table where Marinette had given up trying to hide her smile and was clapping while Sophia had a strangely blank look on her face.

As Chat took a seat, Sophia stared at Evie. "If the next six songs are What's New Pussycat followed by It's Not Unusual then more What's New Pussycat, you're sleeping on the couch for a week."

Evie's grin dropped and she snapped her fingers. "Bloody... Wish I'd thought of that now!"

Sophia's eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it." She replied in English.

To prevent Evie's banishment to the couch via irate girlfriend, Marinette stood up. "Is the next set free?"

Evie nodded. "Yes."

Sophia glanced at Marinette through the corner of her eye. "Are you sure you want to sing? No one will force you."

Marinette smiled confidently. It looked like fun up there and whether he knew it or not, Chat had provoked her. She never could turn down a challenge. "I'm sure." Marinette took to the stage with Chat in front of it with baton ready. Marinette closed her eyes, took a deep breath as the humming vocals of woman began the song, opened them and began to sing.

The words to Indila's Love Story fell from Marinette's mouth and blew Chat away as well as most of the audience. She was easily one of the best in the room. Marinette didn't dance across the stage like most of the singers but she gently swayed to the beat. Her arms moved in time and added to her performance. Chat almost choked on his tongue when she gave a sly wink. When she had no vocals to sing, Marinette gave a quick twirl causing the green underskirt to flash in the low light. As she finished the song, Chat had only remembered to photograph Marinette a few times.

'This girl is going to give me a heart attack but what a way to go!'

There was a beat of silence once Marinette stopped but that was soon overwhelmed by the collective applause and whistling from the audience. Even the two bartenders had stopped mixing drinks and gave a few quick claps.

Marinette curtsied and clambered off the staged less gracefully than she would have liked but probably the best she could do in the heels she was in.

As Chat escorted Marinette back to their seat, she noticed Evie whistling and Sophia clapping wildly. She dropped into her seat and gratefully took the glass of water Sophia had poured for her from the jug.

"Wow, Princess. That was super! Your voice is lovely!" Evie gushed, obviously a little jealous but too tipsy to really mean it.

Sophia pushed a glass of water into her hands too. "Drink that before you have another. You are such a lightweight, I swear."

Evie pouted in offence. "I am not a lightweight. I am Australian!"

Marinette snickered into her drink. 'So that's what her accent is.'

Sophia pressed a kiss on Evie's nose. "You're a lightweight Australian. Now drink." She watched as Evie grumbled but did as told and turned to the birthday girl. "She is right. You were wonderful up there.”

Marinette flushed.

The next hour seemed to fly by after that. More people went up on to the stage to sing. Some had lovely voices and lifted the whole room. Others were less musically gifted but had no less qualms about dancing all over the stage. One memorable person had their voice break in the middle of a high note and couldn't finish their song because they started laughing too hard. Between songs, more groups of people came up and asked for selfies with Chat and Marinette.

Before it was even half-past ten, many more pictures had gone up on Chat's Instagram.

The first couple were of Chat in various poses that Evie had taken during his song. Marinette's favourite was of Chat; arms thrown open and head tilted back with a barely restrained smile on his face. 'Chat Noir takes to the stage! Does this Cat know what's new though? #BonAnniversairePrincess #karaoke #SophSaidI'mNotAllowedToSingItAgain #What'sNewPussycat?'

A particularly striking one of Marinette gained hundreds of likes almost immediately. She stared straight the camera with a shy smile as she sang, one hand on the microphone and the dim light behind her added to the ethereal allure. 'Princess dominates the stage and stuns us all! Look out Jagged Stone! You may have competition! #BonAnniversairePrincess #Karaoke #LikeWow #Seriously #Wow #LoveStory'

A young French couple on a date named James and Clara also came for pictures with Marinette and Chat. James, who had soft brown eyes and dark hair with broad shoulders, wrapped his arm around Clara, who had a fiery red pixie cut and looked like she could bench press her taller boyfriend, while Marinette tucked herself next to Chat as Sophia photographed them. 'Wishing a very happy birthday to Princess from James and Clara who just sang a lovely song! #BonAnniversairePrincess #karaoke #NewFriends'

There also a second picture of Clara with Evie on her back and Marinette in a princess carry, all three of them laughing happily. ‘Evie asked how much Clara could easily carry. The answer: One Princess and One Evie. #BonAnniversairePrincess #DoYouEvenLiftBro? #ApparentlySheCanBenchpressJames #NewFriends #IWishIWasThisCool #SoDoYou'

Three women who were having post-work T.G.I.F. drinks also came for a selfie with Marinette and Chat. Angeline, a white woman with sun-bleached blonde hair, bright hazel eyes, and a bright smile, crouched next to Marinette who sat in the middle of the trio. Her Hispanic friend, Sarah who had a sly grin on her tanned face as her dark eyes crinkled in the corners, stood behind the birthday girl. The final woman, an Asian woman with black hair and almost black eyes that sparkled named Minami, smiled just as brightly from the other side of Marinette. Chat was in the corner, standing a bit away to get them all in. 'T.G.I.F Karaoke and Celebrations with Princess, Angeline (right), Sarah (middle) and Minami (left)! #BonAnniversairePrincess #NewFriends #TGIF #Karoke #WhoKnewYouCouldMeetSuchLovelyPeopleAtKaraoke?'

There were also a few candid shots that Marinette had taken after swiping Chat's baton for ten minutes. Two, in particular, gained so many hits that one became a meme while the other became the profile picture for many Chat Noir fans.

The first was of Chat Noir, Hero of Paris, Wielder of Bad Luck, Holder of The Black Cat Miraculous, pouting. His bottom lip was stuck out comically and his arms were crossed dramatically. His eyes were bright and widened playfully at the amused Sophia who was just out of the frame. 'Oh, Chat. Pouting like that won't make her change her mind about Sailor Moon. #PrincessInControl #BonAnniversairePrincess #PoutyCat #Karaoke #WhoKnewChatNoirWasAnAnimeFan? #SailorMoonFan #ThePoutyChatFace'

The other picture had Chat leaning back on two legs in his seat with an eyebrow raised straight at the camera. He had finally noticed Marinette with his baton and had given her an amused smirk. His arms were casually over his green shirt and his legs were kicked up onto the chair in front of his. 'Finally realised I have his Baton and just had to pose for the camera. #PrincessInControl #YouAreNotAsCoolAsYouThinkYouAre! #BonAnniversairePrincess #ModelWorthy #Karaoke'

At some point, Evie had spotted Marinette with the baton and had propped her chin on Marinette's shoulder. Both of them smiled brightly at the camera, cheek to cheek. 'Another selfie with Evie! #PrincessInControl #BonAnniversairePrincess #Selfie #karaoke #NewFriends'

Marinette also got one with Sophia who sat behind Marinette and raised her glass to the camera. 'A drink in honour of the Princess! - Sophia #PrincessInControl #BonAnniversairePrincess #Karaoke #Selfie #NewFriends'

The final selfie Marinette got was with Camille, Renee and a woman who look like a younger version of Renee only with dusty brown hair named Annette that worked as a textile technician for Gabriel. Annette was happy to talk about textiles and how to use them in different ways and gave Marinette some wonderful new ideas for her to try at a later date. The four women crowded around the camera and smiled. 'Best wishes to Camille (middle left) who is getting married next week! I hope you have a wonderful day! Thank you to Annette (right) for the advice! And nobody can dance like Renee (far left) can! #PrincessInControl #BonAnniversairePrincess #Karaoke #selfie #HopeItAllGoesWell #SmallWorld '

"Having fun, Princess?" A cheeky voice purred into her ear.

Marinette startled and turned her blushing face towards Chat. She handed the baton back to the grinning superhero. "Yes, I'm really enjoying myself."

Chat gave Marinette a soft look. "Good."

The moment was interrupted by Evie who once again looked as if Christmas had come early.

"I checked with the guys behind the booth and you will never guess which song I found that you absolutely have to sing Chat Noir." The young woman was practically vibrating with glee.

Chat grinned. "What?"

"Thomas O'Malley from The Artistocats. They have all the songs from the film."

Chat's own face nearly split in two with the wide grin which swiftly turned mischievous. "Sure, but I want Everybody wants to be a Cat afterwards."

Sophia looked slightly alarmed at the loud cackle Evie let out.

Ten minutes later, Chat was once again on the stage, this time with an amused Marinette up next to him. There had been a slight debate whether or not the English or the French version should be sung but the French version won out as Chat claimed it was more authentic.

Evie was below them, recording the whole song as Chat serenaded Marinette causing her to giggle uncontrollably especially when Chat somehow produced a flower and presented it to her. She played along during the song when the Duchess spoke.

"Why, monsieur, your name seems to cover all of Europe!"

Chat had beamed widely.

"Well of course. I'm the only cat of my kind."

Once the song was over, Chat had taken the baton back and posted it quickly.

'The one and Only Chat Noir sings the song that every tomcat must know! #BonAnniversairePrincess #ThomasO'Malley #IHaveAlwaysWantedToSingThis #PrincessMadeAGoodDuchess #Karaoke #Video'

Once they were done and the next song was set up, Evie almost vaulted onto the stage and started gesturing to Sophia to come up too. While the bemused woman shook her head in denial, Evie looked as if she might drag her poor girlfriend onto the stage with them.

Eventually, Sophia was filming, Chat sang Thomas O'Malley, Evie sang Scat Cat's part and Marinette was once again Duchess. They had gotten Camille back onto the stage to sing Marie's parts instead.

Evie and Chat bounced around the stage, absolutely loving every second and deciding to forego any attempt at staying in key, replacing it with sheer enthusiasm. Both attempted to re-enact the dance performed in the movie but they both failed miserably thanks to how hard they were both giggling between breaths. Marinette and Camille nearly missed their own cues as they were laughing too hard.

As the song wound up to the final bars, the whole room was singing along to the lyrics. Even the two bar attendees got into it.

By the time the song finished, more than a few people were dancing around and Sophia had nearly dropped the baton several times from her own laughter.

The four singers took a sweeping bow to the pleasure of the room who burst into applause.

Sophia barely had enough time to pass the baton back to Chat before Evie collapsed into her arms. Patting her head lightly, she murmured into the exhausted woman's hair. "I think it is time to go home, love."

"No," Evie whined into her chest, but Sophia led all of the singers back to their table.

"Yes. It's nearly quarter to eleven and we have a long day tomorrow. We were only supposed to here until 10." Sophia grabbed a glass of water and passed it to her pouting girlfriend.

Evie poked her tongue out at her but sipped on the water. "I suppose you are right."

Chat picked his jacket up. "We should be heading out too if we want to spend a decent amount of time at the markets."

Sophia glanced at Chat Noir and Marinette who were gathering their things. "Marchés de Lumière Des Ètoiles? Good choice. If you head out the back then swing right, I know some of the better markets will still have some good wears still available. I hope you have a good time." She said with a bright smile.

There was a slight flurry of movement as three final things were posted to the account.

The first was the song, captioned: 'Only the best way to end a good karaoke session. Thanks to Camille for being our Marie and to Sophia for filming. #BonAnniversairePrincess #EverybodyWantsToBeACat #Karaoke #YouWishYouLookedThisGood #NailedIt'

The second was Chat and Marinette standing on the stage, back to the audience and smiling into the camera with most of the audience crowding into the background. 'Thanks for the Pawsome Time guys! Big Thanks to #MuseDeChanson for the brilliant service and the fabulous entertainment! #BonAnniversairePrincess #Karaoke #ShouldTotallyComeBackSomeTime'

The final pic was Evie, Sophia, Marinette and Chat Noir standing at the back entrance, lit by fairy lights around them. 'It was absolutely Miraculous to meet Sophia and Evie who provided us with such entertainment tonight. We will miss you! #BonAnniversairePrincess #Remember #AdoptingStrangersAtKaraokeIsAnEvieApprovedWayToMakeFriends #NewFriends #OntoTheNextAdventure!'

With a few final goodbyes and hugs, Chat and Marinette stepped out into the cool night air and turned right.

Lights scattered all around, most of them fairy lights, over the simple tent market stalls. The crowd was thick enough to have a flow but sparse enough that people could move freely. It was beautiful in its simplicity. The atmosphere lent an almost magical air to the whole dead-end street.

"It's amazing." Whispered Marinette, her jaw dropping and her eyes trying to take in about a dozen things at once.

Chat beamed at her. "Then, let's go."

Sorry if any of the formatting if off. I’m feeling a bit off for the tic but I hope you all enjoyed it!

#Miraculous Ladybug #BonAnniversairePrincess #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Chat Noir #marichat #sorry this chapter is late #I like Evie and Sophia tho #May use them again

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engiwhat · 7 years ago

Text

Scar Tissue

It hurt.

He grabbed at his own skin, rough fingers pulling at scar tissue. Pain echoed in the flesh, whether absent or present, and if it weren't for the bathroom light, his own severe expression reflected back at him, he would have had difficulty convincing himself that old wounds remained closed.

The pain wasn't new though. Sometimes, Nguyen thought of ghosts, spirits trapped inside discoloured flesh, chewing at injuries in retribution. Revenge. His fingernails dug into a deep, stiff scar on his chest, eyes glazing over as his mind chased the memory, reliving it in vivid detail.

He remembered the blood, the anger. The clawing desperation to hold on to life, and his hands being the ones to end it. He remembered the night weighing on his shoulders, starless sky offering no comfort, no presence. The loneliness and hollow sensation, like he had torn something integral to himself out and --

“Nguyen.”

He was back in the bathroom. Eyes sharpening, the only sign of surprise was the quiet and shallow inhale. In the doorway, half-illuminated by the bathroom glow, stood his boyfriend. The small man, practically drowning in Nguyen’s t-shirt, didn't move until they made eye contact through the mirror.

Even now, Nguyen hated when Cato saw his scars. Every inch of skin felt the searing heat of shame, a history of violence forever convincing himself of his lack of worth. He was monstrous -- men had died at his hands for little reason. He had caused pain and suffering.

He wrought cruel things, and his soft, small boyfriend deserved to be sheltered from such cruelty.

“Nguyen. You can talk to me.”

The words offered so much, and he wanted to mourn the selflessness of the man behind him. He couldn't meet Cato’s eyes, couldn't stand the concern there, the caring that was unearned, undeserved.

He should have known that he couldn't escape it.

Slender fingers ghosted over his skin, light at first, but gliding to run through his hair. Nguyen leaned against the counter, half hunched as though he could hide his face and everything it had seen. But, persistent in his care, Cato wrapped his free hand around the white knuckled grip of the former Yakuza. It was still gentle, still soft, but the persistence pulled at Nguyen’s heart. He looked up again to see the wide eyes, the slight pout on rosy lips, frown further pronounced with the worry written into his tan skin.

Instead of speaking, Nguyen watch his boyfriend’s eyes flick over him -- no change in expression made itself known as Cato searched for… something. Nguyen wondered what he saw, chin tilted up to be able to observe. Finally, his hand moved from Nguyen's hair to cup his face.

“Come back to bed.”

It was like music, and not for the first time, Nguyen mourned Cato’s inability to hear. The voice of his boyfriend, though it fluctuated during emotional times, was almost lilting. With the fear of being too loud, Cato often erred on the quiet side, and everything seemed to be so considerate, so careful. He followed with the slightest pull of the hand around his, and let Cato bring him back to bed.

The bedroom was dim, bedside lamp glowing on Cato's side, the sheets pushed back. Guided by the manoeuvres of thin hands, Nguyen laid down above the blankets.

“Cato, you --”

Nguyen was cut off by a finger poking his forehead, narrowed eyes silencing him with demand. In surrender, he raised his hands, and shifted to rest on his belly with the silent urging from his worried boyfriend. It hurt to see the concern on his face, to know that he put stress on Cato. He tried his best not to worry the younger man.

Regardless of his concerns, his thoughts were muted by the sudden firmness of fingers working into his back. Despite himself, he groaned with the cruel kindness of the massage. He felt muscled knots and stiff scar tissue protest in response to engagement, only to loosen afterwards. The care given to him wasn't earned -- but in the wake of what he had often deemed ‘magic fingers’, it was impossible to focus on his shame.

He relaxed; something he had been incapable of for so much of his life. Feeling small circles working through the tension between his shoulder blades, he made all manner of horrifying noises. The groans of pain and then relief escaped him without though, Nguyen coming undone at Cato's fingertips. In moments like these, there was a distinction between the present and the past he so often obsessed over; he was caught in the moment, mind cleared and thoughts quiet.

An abrupt giggle made him twist his head to look at Cato, kneeling on the bed next to him.

“What?”

Nguyen grumbled, suspicious of the sudden laughter. But Cato shook his head and replied without thinking.

“I can’t hear you, but I can still feel the vibrations whenever you make noises.”

He pointed out, and wasn’t that just the cue to let blush blossom on his face. He tried to hide the heat of his face by burying his head in the pillow, though he could hear the lasting giggles. On one hand, it was cute to listen to the break in concern, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he was being mocked a little. The sensation was lighthearted though, belied by the care that worked into his flesh.

He started to slip into sleep, slowly relaxed to a point where it felt natural. Soon, the fingers retracted, and were replaced by soft kisses. Nguyen was certain that his boyfriend had to be some sort of baku spirit -- able to ease away bad dreams and pull people into sleep. Of course, baku were a little too tapir-like to be compared to the oft fragile beauty of his man, but the sentiment was the same. Nguyen sighed at the feathery touches, lips setting goosebumps upon his skin.

Slowly, as though quick movements would break the moment and all its tranquility, Nguyen would turn to lay on his back. Firm hands dwarfed the hips on which they rested, pulling Cato to straddle him. From this angle, he looked up at the soft man, whose face was warmed by the lamp next to them. One of Nguyen’s hands raised to cup the smooth jaw of his boyfriend, who leaned into the touch as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Moments like these made him wonder if statues could come to life -- perhaps God himself carved this man from dusky stone. Those slender fingers captured the hand he had raised, and not for the first time, Nguyen felt his breath escaped him.

“You’re beautiful.”

He whispered, and like always, a blush rose on Cato’s face, the flustered sense of embarrassment that lasted no matter the situation. Nguyen grinned, the predictability of the humbleness making him ever so fond of the modest man.

“You should see yourself.”

Countered Cato, still clearly caught off guard.

No, Nguyen thought. No, I should not. But he wouldn’t speak his self-deprecation to the man who looked at him like he could offer the world. It was not his place to take that admiration from the man above him. He cared too deeply, and when Cato leaned down to place a kiss to his lips, Nguyen just pulled up from the mattress, raising his head to meet the embrace halfway.

It was so easy to get lost in the moments like these. To drink in the soft skin against his, to give into the fingers that traced themselves delicately over his scarred chest. It hadn’t been so easy in the beginning, both of them nervous and afraid of pushing each other away, but now there wasn’t any hesitation. Nguyen knew that Cato was his, that he was Cato’s -- the certainty in that had been proven time and time again, and now the moments together were as natural as rising chests, light filtering through trees.

“Nguyen.”

The whisper was half-spoken in the air between them, half-spoken into his flesh. His name on Cato’s lips (even the one that wasn’t truly his, the one he used to hide his past) sent electricity sparking to his spine, his groin. Rather than reply out loud (too breathless, too infatuated to do so), he hummed, a hand moving to cup his lover’s soft features.

“Trust me,” finished Cato, a clear plea in his light eyes. Confusion knitted together thick eyebrows on Nguyen’s face, and his thumb swiped the other’s cheekbone, tracing under somewhat watery eyes.

“I do trust you.” There was such a strong sense of worry that fueled Nguyen’s proclamation, his heart twisting as he tried to puzzle out how long his worried boyfriend had thought himself untrustworthy. More than that, the sense of guilt that threatened to flood his lungs was well founded; Nguyen didn’t share many things with Cato, but sometimes he forgot how perceptive the young man could be. It was disarming to connect the high sensitivity to feelings and social situations to such an otherwise naïve, if composed, individual. But Cato kissed the inside of Nguyen’s wrist, shaking his head.

“No. Not with this. Not with your pain.”

The explanation took the wind from Nguyen’s lungs, a sensation like having kicked a puppy or having burnt down an orphanage replacing his former assurances. Before he could begin to apologise (still trying to think about how he could keep his past from hurting his present), Cato was speaking again.

“I don’t need to know where the scars come from. I won’t ask you anything like that. I know that… for whatever reason, you can’t tell me. I understand.”

The expression on Cato’s face was heartbreaking. No, Nguyen wanted to protest, it’s not your fault, it’s all mine, you deserve more than that. He wanted to explain that it was his own fear, his own inadequacies -- but his mouth was dry and it was Cato’s turn to swipe under his eyes, wiping away tears Nguyen hadn’t realised were present.

“But please, hayatim, my dearest -- please trust me with the pains of now. I can help you through them. Whatever has passed, it’s over; you don’t need to suffer now, alone.”

No. That wasn’t what he had meant to achieve. Everything he did, every choice, it was to try and protect Cato. Cato -- his soft darling, the man who whispered sweetly to him, who scrunched up his nose at the smell of coffee and squinted whenever trying to understand technical reports. He never meant to push the other way, only to shield him and his too-soft, too-worried heart from the pains that Nguyen had earned. Even now, they felt more like karma, a deserved punishment.

But not at this cost. Not when the man he loved struggled to make eye contact, lip pulled between his teeth and worried until Nguyen broke. He pulled the other down, capturing his lips once more, and when they broke apart, he had found his words.

“I promise. I didn’t mean -- it doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you.”

The relaxation that flooded Cato’s sharp shoulders reassured Nguyen of his boyfriend’s state of mind, the metaphorical weight lifted from his poor, worried lover. The smaller man leaned forwards, careful to keep Nguyen’s lips in view, and murmured in a less strained tone.

“Thank you.”

A kiss, a body shifting to lay down next to him, head tucked under Nguyen’s chin. Then, once more, in a tone that was tainted by sleep, Cato spoke.

“... thank you.”

And if Nguyen carefully noted the breaths it took for his lover to fall asleep, the amount of time it took Cato to shake off the last of the tension from overburdened shoulders, well… that was no one’s business but his own.

And perhaps Cato’s.

#my work #my writing #oneshot #gay #scar tissue #fake identity #deaf character #hurt/comfort #staccato uzun #akira / nguyen

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rafcopter · 7 years ago

Text

Camellia

At the sound of footsteps approaching the great tree, Nefen stirred. She hadn't been sleeping, or even meditating; she'd just been away. Somewhere else mentally or spiritually, maybe, while her body remained in the real world. Whatever real meant anymore. It was getting difficult to tell after the last couple of times she'd died.

She'd been going away more often of late. None of her friends had called her on it yet, but she knew. It was probably something worth worrying about.

For the moment, though, her friends weren't here, and she had the tree to look after. She sat up, steadying herself on the branch that served as her perch, and looked around for the source of the noise. She couldn't see very much, though. The light emanating from Sigil's core had faded considerably since the last time she'd opened her eyes, and it was almost completely dark out. She could make out the various limbs of the tree stretching out around her, and the outline of the trunk descending to the ground, all in shades of mottled gray, but the owner of the footsteps was still beyond her sight.

She held her breath and listened. Something was wrong with those footfalls -- they sounded uneven, scraping, as if one leg was being dragged behind the other.

Nefen gathered herself and dropped from her perch. Her bare feet landed in the soft soil below without much more than a muffled thump, but she wobbled as she landed, and had to go down on one knee to avoid crashing onto her backside. She sneered a little at herself. She'd spent too much time of late confined by her boots and armor. She was losing the touch of her toes against the earth.

The footsteps had stopped. Their owner had probably heard her fumbling. She sighed. "Who's there?" she said, letting her irritation at herself bleed into her own voice.

There was no immediate answer. She wondered if she was imagining a hesitation on the wind.

"Look, it's almost antipeak, and I'm not in the mood to play games," she grumbled into the night, keeping her voice low enough that it wouldn't wake the shrine's other attendant. "No one skulks around Sigil at this hour unless they're up to something mean, or they're really unlucky. So you'd better let me know which one you are real quick, or I might start taking guesses."

There was another beat of uncertain waiting. Then a dry croak answered her from somewhere to her left, much, much closer than she would have expected. "Isn't this place a temple?" The voice was raspy, female, smoldering. It was also strained, like it was covering some sort of ongoing pain. "Have to say I expected a better welcome."

"Sorry, but Sigil's a dangerous place at night," Nefen remarked. "You came all this way without a Light Boy? How'd you get by the cranium rats?"

"The darkness and I are good pals," the voice intoned. "What about you?"

Nefen responded by touching her holy symbol and invoking a quick spell. A tongue of flame leapt to life in the palm of her hand, dimly illuminating the area in front of her. She squinted as her darkvision adjusted, but she was easily able to identify the silhouette of a humanoid creature in front of her. It was a woman, tall, dressed in leather armor on top of a bodysuit that were both dyed to a matte black. Her skin was a shade of burgundy red that was only slightly brighter, a color which was also reflected in her catseye pupils and curved horns. Behind her, the nervous lash of a spade-tipped tail punctuated her hunched posture, the reaction of a deer caught in carriage lights.

Nefen decided to drag the moment out, and gave the woman another once-over. She had weapons visible on her belt, although none were drawn right now. She looked like she had run the gauntlet to get here; various nicks and cuts were evident in her clothing and flesh, and some were outlined in blood. One particularly deep gash along her thigh explained her dragging step. The worst of her injuries seemed to be to her right hand, which she was cradling within the confines of her vest with her left clutched over it. Of course, she could have been concealing a weapon under there instead, but she looked more spooked than menacing. If anything, she looked set to scurry back into the shadows.

Nefen sighed again, and lowered her hands so she wouldn't appear threatening. Still, she didn't extinguish the light. "This tree is a shrine of Mielikki," she said. "A sanctuary. You're safe here. I'm sorry. I thought-- well, things have been tense lately. I'm a little bit on edge."

"Yeah, well, we all got our own problems." The woman's eyes flicked up toward the canopy, and then to the side, back into the night. "So, what now? Do I get to walk up to your holy tree, or are you gonna tell me you don't serve my kind here?"

"Huh?" Nefen blinked. "Your kind?"

"Yeah. Tieflings." She tossed her head, as if to indicate her horns. "You holy types seem extra grumpy about devils an' shit lately. So if you're gonna tell me to hit the streets, might as well be up front about it."

"Yeah, well, that's only because devils--" Nefen cut herself off before she said more than she had to. "There are rumors going round about devils and that whole thing with the Interplanar Gala--"

"Right right, crashed the party at the Twistwhistle Mansion, Lady of Pain got real mad an' shit." The woman flapped her free hand impatiently. "Wasn't me, so don't care. Do I come in or do I gotta go?"

"Well, there's not exactly an in, but..." Nefen looked behind her and up, where, on the Material Plane, she might have been greeted by the face of the moon. "All seekers are welcome here. Do... do you need some kind of help?"

"Yeah I need some kinda help!" The visitor grunted angrily. "What'd you think I was visiting temples in the middle of the night for? The torus tour? C'mon, go fetch me a priest or somethin', will ya?"

"Oh. Uh..." Nefen banished her distractions and admonished herself again. She was definitely out of practice. "I-I'm sorry. But I'm a priestess of Mielikki. What... how can I help you?"

"You are?" The woman gritted her teeth, giving Nefen a glimpse of pronounced fangs, before arching her brows in a dubious look. "Figured you for the hired muscle, or somethin'."

"We of the pack come in all kinds," Nefen scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Do you want Mielikki's help, or not?"

"Okay. Yeah. Sorry. Yeah." She swatted at her ash-colored hair, running a nail over one horn as she did so. "Look, the other temples have turned me away. Said I was asking for something sick, or unnatural. Some of the paladins wanted to smite me."

"Paladins can get like that. They don't know any better. It's not anything personal. Try not to blame them for it."

"Uh... sure. I guess." She gave a sniff, which might have descended into a sniffle. "Look, I gotta be up front with you. Can we talk?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Nefen gestured toward the trunk of the tree. "Step into my office."

"Is... is that a joke?"

"Yes." She smiled sweetly, and led the way over. The dirt felt more natural beneath her feet with every step.

"I, uh..." The woman was still clearly uncomfortable. "I know this is weird, so, er... th-tha--"

"What's your name?" Nefen asked.

"Huh?"

"Your name," she repeated. "If we're going to talk, I want to know what to call you. I'm Nefen, by the way. Hi."

The woman said nothing for several seconds. She seemed to be mulling over her response. "Camellia," she said, finally.

"Camellia?" Nefen blinked. "Like the flower?"

"Yeah, yeah. The red one. Go on. I heard 'em all."

"I'm not going to make fun of you, stupid." Nefen found a comfortable spot beneath the tree and sat down. She gestured for Camellia to do the same. "You came looking for help, and I'm going to help. So let's talk."

Camellia still didn't seem convinced. Her eyes darted this way and that, and she remained hunched in her posture, but eventually she allowed herself to drop into a crouch. "Look," she said finally. "Here's what it is. I need healing. Big-time healing. You can do that sort of thing, right?"

"Maybe," Nefen allowed. "I've learned not to get too uppity about what I can heal. But I can try."

"Can you reattach something that's been cut off?"

"That depends. Is it gross?"

"W-wha--"

"Trick question," Nefen interrupted. "If it's cut off, it's already gross. Whatever. Show me."

Camellia glanced down to the arm hidden by her vest. "Only if you promise not to ask any questions."

"I don't promise that."

She looked annoyed. "It'd be better for you, trust me."

"Nope. Don't trust you. I don't even know you." Nefen arched an eyebrow at the other woman. "I thought you said you wanted to talk?"

Camellia looked uncomfortable. "I changed my mind," she hedged.

"Look, I don't know how it works at the other temples," Nefen said. "To be honest, I haven't been in Sigil for very long."

"Makes two of us."

"But Mielikki doesn't help people by saying, there you go, cured your wounds, good luck, mortal," Nefen went on. "Here we're all about guiding people to their path. Or at least, I am. So, if you've got this problem that the other gods won't help you with, you might as well tell me. Maybe then I can figure out how we can do it better."

"Do it better? Is that..." Camellia shook her head in confusion. "Is that something a priestess cares about?"

"Trust me," Nefen said. "Lately, it's all I've been doing."

"Uh... sure. Why not. What've those gods done for me lately, right?" She gave an exaggerated shrug. "Okay. Here." She withdrew the arm she'd been concealing. The damage was worse than Nefen had been expecting, considering the woman was able to walk around and make smug remarks; the hand had been completely severed at the wrist, and the stump was swathed in a blackened bandage. As she reached out to touch it, Camellia winced, but didn't offer anything else in the way of protest.

Nefen pressed her fingers to the bottom of the bandage. She felt warmth to it, but little else; it wasn't sticky with blood, nor did it shudder with the palsy of pain or shock. "What happened?" she asked breathlessly.

Once again, Camellia hesitated. "You gotta promise not to tell anyone."

"I promise," Nefen said.

Camellia swallowed before continuing. "You heard of the Harmonium? The Hardheads? Faction big into the law, think they run things in Sigil?"

Nefen forced her expression to go blank. "I might have."

"You know they have a library in their big ol' fort? Keep it under major lock and key?"

"It... sounds familiar."

"You know they get real violent towards folk who try to break in?"

"That... sounds like something they would do."

Camellia stared at her, like she might have been reading between the lines. "Well, I broke in." Her voice and posture invited disapproval. "And then I broke out. Not unscathed, obviously. But you should see the other guys."

"So if I'm guessing -- and I am guessing," Nefen murmured, "considering the Hardheads sponsor or have bodies in half the temples in Sigil, you're probably not exactly welcome around most of them right now."

"Never said nobody saw my face," Camellia commented. "That's not the issue."

"You got into their library, tangled with their guards, and got out, and nobody saw your face?"

"Like I said, darkness and me are old pals," she said. "Believe me. No one saw my face."

"Their loss, I guess," Nefen responded.

"I-it's my hand, okay?" Camellia looked away, and reached into her armor with her working arm. With it, she pulled out the missing hand, which didn't look like hers at all. Its skin tone was completely different, being a pale shade, one more akin to a human from a northern region. The fingers of the hand were curled into a fist, with the thumb tucked beneath, as if preparing for a forceful punch. It was a strange sight to behold. Here before her was a woman brandishing a severed hand that seemed much more full of life than she, with its blue veins and tensed muscles and clear purpose. Meanwhile, she was reticent, unhappy, tense and yet slack. It wasn't a stretch for Nefen to view the hand as a beating heart, removed from its owner, who was lifeless and lost without it.

Still, this whole thing made no sense. "This," she declared, obviously, "is not your hand."

"I know, okay?!" Camellia's voice was defiant and defensive. "It isn't, but it is. It's mine. It's more me than me. I don't know how to explain it, but there it is. Can you reattach it, or not?"

Nefen ignored the question, and gave the proferred hand another examination. "This looks like a man's hand," she observed. "It's the width and the length of the fingers that make it look it. And the nails. I bet if you could get it to relax, the palm lines--"

"Look," the woman cut her off. "Can you do it, or can't you?"

"It's not your hand," Nefen replied. "So no, I can't do it."

"It is, though."

She smiled patiently. "Maybe you'd better explain."

"Ugh." Camellia gave an impatient sigh, like she was about to recount a tale that everybody should know. "His name was Avelim, okay? He was a monk, a real powerful warrior in the service of a god you've probably heard of but who cares. He was brave and capable and intelligent. He was the best. He could vanish into the shadows like he was made of them. He made rogues and sneak thieves look like bumbling idiots. He could move like the wind and hide like the darkness, but he was a human. He was an idiot. He was an adventurer and hero and he fell in love like a moron and he died."

"Uh-huh." Nefen was wearing a broad grin by the end of her recounting, but she didn't care. "And you wound up with his hand, because...?"

"Because it was me, okay? Because he fell in love with me." Camellia was only becoming more incensed and irascible, which made her visage all the more adorable. "We adventured together. We conquered kobolds and formorians and vampires and all kinds of monsters together, but in the end he changed. Died. To what, it doesn't matter. The important thing is that he refused to accept it. He made a deal with his god, in his final moment, to change himself, and me. His hand is all I have left of him, but -- and I know it's gross, and weird -- through it, I have his powers. And his protection. But only when-- only when it's attached to me. When it is me."

Nefen smiled. She kept smiling for a while. When Camellia failed to add anything, she decided to speak up. "You're right," she declared cheerfully. "That is pretty gross."

"What do you know?!" Camellia retorted defensively. She wasn't getting the joke. "What could even make sense, to a priestess of a goddess of nature? I guess 'natural' just means what's orthodox. People can only get with the people they're meant to. Half-races like me are an abomination, that's what the paladins are always saying."

"Yeah, you disgusting mongrel." Nefen stretched, and then brushed her hair back, making sure that the other woman got a clear look at her knife-ears. "Half-breeds are gross. Totally unnatural."

She still didn't look impressed. "Oh no, a half-elf," she grumbled. "Woe is me, I can get along with everyone in the world because of how beautiful I am. Look at my totally normal skin, and my lack of horns, and my nonexistent tail."

"I've had a tail before," Nefen mused. "It really helps with balance, so I don't see what you're complaining about. Anyway, let me see if I understand what you're telling me. You're saying that Avelim's hand is part of you because of a pact that he made with his god."

"Something like that. I'm inclined to believe it, too, 'cause ever since then, I've been able to do what he could." She was blushing as she recounted the list. "Flit through the shadows. Move with unnatural speed. I mean, I was always good at staying hidden before. Never too much liked the human attention. But since... well, since him..."

"It's fine. It's great. You don't need to make excuses." Nefen offered one of her palms, face-up. "Don't listen to the paladins. Or the Hardheads, for that matter. I don't know why you tried to break into their library, and I don't really care. As far as I know, the way they hoard knowledge around here, it sort of comes to them naturally."

Camellia scratched at her collar with her working hand. "It might come back to you if you help me."

"Please. Send a paladin of Torm to this tree all angry about how we helped someone in need. That'd be hilarious." She wiggled her fingers. "No promises, but let's try. If Avelim's god made good on his promises, and if you're really part of each other, then a regeneration spell should do the trick."

"Hang on. Wait." Camellia recoiled, as if she'd placed her hand too close to a fire. If that was even a reaction that tieflings had. "You seem awfully okay with this. I mean, compared to the other clerics I met tonight."

"Yeah, well," Nefen murmured. "I may know a thing or two about gross magic hands."

"W-well... what if it doesn't work? What does that mean?"

"I dunno. You got cheated on your deal, probably." Nefen forced a calm shrug. "But if you think he's part of you, who cares what a god thinks?"

"I, uh..." She looked askance, and blushed again. "What kind of priestess says something like that?"

"I dunno," Nefen said again. "A shitty one, probably."

Camellia offered no further protest as Nefen reached out and undid the bandage. Underneath, the stump was charred and blackened, with even the protruding bone caked in a layer of soot. "How can you even manage to walk like this?" Nefen marveled.

"I'm not sure," Camellia admitted. "It hurts, but not as much as it should. I think it has something to do with the magic on Avelim's hand. Back when-- when it happened, when his god asked me, I had to give up the hand that was already there. That hurt like hellfire. This, by comparison..."

"This is burned, though," Nefen observed. "Your work? Or the Hardheads?"

"Mine." The woman gnashed her teeth again. "Bit of fire to cauterize the wound, stop the bleeding. Fire don't bother me so much. Tiefling, an' all."

"Lucky. Fire bothers me a whole lot." To punctuate the statement, Nefen doused her light and touched her holy symbol again. She felt cool relief trickling out of it, and allowed herself to be caught up in its current. Before she could lose herself to it, though, she blinked her eyes and picked out Camellia's silhouette in the returning darkness. "Oh, um. One thing before we continue. Of course, I want to help you, and if this were my forest, it'd be no question. But, uh, since this is Sigil, and temples here don't exactly have a free pass..."

If Nefen wasn't wrong, Camellia seemed to be smirking. "Yes?"

"I don't like it, but I have to charge for this. You can pay jink, right?"

"Don't worry," she answered dismissively. "Money is no problem."

"Really?"

"I just told you I broke into the headquarters of the Harmonium," she responded haughtily. "How would money be a problem for me, after that?"

"I dunno," Nefen grumbled. "When I snuck in there, I didn't get any money out of it."

Camellia chuckled softly. "So attendin' a shrine is only your moonlighting gig, I take it."

"It's what I'm doing this week," she answered. "I'm starting now. Try not to talk."

Mercifully, the woman followed instructions as Nefen invoked her healing magic. She was still new to the regeneration spell; while she'd seen others cast its like before, her goddess had only recently blessed her with the means to bring it about herself. She felt warmth and patience flow out from her outstretched limb, the calm march of a natural process taking place over the course of minutes. Beneath her touch, she detected the reknitting of flesh and bone, lash and ligament. She traced the flow of blood, the flex of muscle. She listened to the harmony, and the dissonance, of human anatomy working with tiefling, the strange alchemy of mundane stock with a touch of the divine, mixed with a sprinkling of infernal brimstone. It was weird, and gross, and perfect. It was unnatural, and better for it.

She opened her eyes. Beneath her fingers, the hand had reconnected with Camellia's arm. There was a motley of blended color where the skin tones overlapped, but otherwise the joining looked seamless. Unscarred. As if this was how it was supposed to be. "Well," Nefen observed. "That worked."

Camellia was squinting her eyes distrustfully. She pulled her hand out of Nefen's grip and made a fist with it, experimentally, in front of her face. She splayed her fingers out, then clenched them together again, and then switched between the two rapidly as if she expected the hand to fail her under enough stress. When it didn't, she let an expression of wonderment spread across her face as she looked Nefen in the eye. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," Nefen answered.

"What do I owe you?"

She opened her mouth and quoted the amount that she'd been told to. For some reason, the sound didn't come out as language to her, only noise. It sounded like gibberish. Nonetheless, Camellia seemed to nod understanding. She started reaching for the purse at her belt.

"And one more thing," Nefen added.

"Yeah?" Camellia prompted, as she started fishing out coin.

"The god who gave you this blessing," she said. "The one Avelim followed, and trusted enough to tie part of his mortal body to you. Who was it?"

Camellia gave a languid shrug, and answered. Her lips formed the name, but again, it only registered as noise to Nefen. It made no sense. Still, she felt like she'd gained something, and it was important. Important enough that it might come back to her, if the need ever arose.

"Anyway, that's how he referred to it," the woman was going on. "I never knew much about it. Avelim was very private, about his discipline, his rituals, and his god. And still, he gave it all up. For me."

"What an idiot," Nefen commented.

"Yeah," Camellia agreed, a smirk on her features. "Idiot."

"It looks like whatever agreement he had is still in place, if my spell worked," Nefen observed. "But still, you should be careful. Deals with higher powers, god or devil or otherwise, are always bigger than we mortals can predict. Whether you know the details or not, you're going to have to make good on what he wants from you in the end. Are you okay with that?"

Camellia snickered. "What's that mean, coming from a priestess?"

"It means I know," Nefen sighed, feeling tired, and not only because of the magnitude of the spell. "I know that eventually, you figure out what it is your goddess wants from you, and it's bigger than anything your pathetic mortal husk could ever hope to pull off. And yet you're determined to do it anyway. Are you ready for that?"

The tiefling clasped her weird hand in her normal hand, and gave a snort. "What, are you all old an' shit? You don't even look thirty."

"What?"

"Don't give me the old lady lecture. I was raised by my grandparents, so I know exactly how that goes." She turned away and gave a haughty flick of her tail. "Who cares what the gods want? I mean, the paladins do, probably. Avelim did, to a point. I'd be dead without 'em, I bet. But that don't mean I'm not me. I got this far because of that. I made it to Sigil and the planes, and I learned I can tussle with the Harmonium and come out on top. And I know this is a place where adventurers like me are a green to a stinger."

"That's good for you," Nefen said, sincerely. "You're in the middle of your story. Hang on to that."

"And what, you're at the end?" Camellia snorted. "You said you're here this week. What're you doing the next?"

"Not really sure." Nefen took the opportunity to look away and stretch. "Not important right now. This week, I'm here in this tree, helping those who come looking for it."

"Uh-huh. I called it, didn't I? You're no stay-at-home priestess. You're an adventurer too, aren't you? You're in the middle of some dumbass quest. Something you'd crash a Harmonium fortress for, or get your hand cut off, or somethin' just as stupid."

Nefen laughed. She couldn't help it. "Maybe a little."

"So why's it gotta be the end?" Camellia's features took on a fierce look, like she wasn't talking to Nefen anymore. "Gods meddle in our shit. That's what they do. But that's 'cause they need us, as pathetic and stupid as we are. We can change anything. We can change everything. We hold all the power."

"Says the lady who came here asking the help of a goddess," Nefen pointed out.

"I ain't saying we're perfect," Camellia grumbled. "I ain't saying sometimes we don't need a hand. Except... not like... I don't mean like that, exactly." She flipped her human digits in a dismissive expression of disgust. "I ain't done. You ain't done. Avelim ain't done. We're alive. We decide what comes tomorrow. If that weren't true, the gods would wipe us out and be done with it."

Nefen giggled. "Is this the sort of thing you say in every temple you go to?" she wondered. "No wonder you got kicked out."

Camellia bristled. "The gods had their talons deep into Avelim, and look where it got him," she snarled. "I won't make the same mistake."

"Right. You're clearly doing well for yourself, after all." Nefen inclined her head respectfully. "On that note, I'll take your offering, if you don't mind."

"Sure." Camellia counted coins out of her purse, and then dropped them into Nefen's proferred palm. After she was done, she straightened and brushed her hands over her horns, looking proud. "Seriously, thank you, priestess of Mielikki. Nefen. You helped me when nobody else would. If the Hardheads come after you, or this place, because of what you did for me..."

"We'll rend them limb from limb," Nefen finished for her. "They'd be idiots to go after a shrine. But in case you want in on the fun...?"

"I'm staying at the Drunken Dabus, while I'm in Sigil," Camellia said. "Me and a couple of my friends. Ask for me there. You know where that is?"

"Yeah. It sounds familiar." Nefen glanced away, as far as she could see into the darkness. "If you're leaving now, take care. The cranium rats..."

"Yeah, yeah. Like I said, darkness. Old pals." Camellia winked. "I gotta get back. My friends'll be worried about me. But thank you. Seriously. I ain't much for gods, but when the day comes I go down cursing... well, Mielikki's name won't be on my lips."

"Gee, thanks," Nefen said dryly. "What about Avelim?"

"Huh?"

"What would he have to say about Mielikki?"

Camellia rolled her eyes. She put one hand on her hip, and glanced away. "He'd probably fold his hands together, and bow, and say something like, 'Thank you for your aid in this time of need, benevolent goddess of nature.'"

"Oh. Okay." Nefen smiled, folded her hands together, and bowed. "Bye, Camellia."

The tiefling fidgeted, and flipped her wrist indignantly. "Bye," she grunted. Then she reached out into the darkness, and she was gone.

Nefen let her go. She watched in the direction she could imagine the woman was moving, but she couldn't see anything. She just took in the quiet, and the night, and the sense that something had changed.

That was meaningless, of course. Things were always changing. That was the way of nature.

She smiled to herself as she climbed her way back up into the tree. If that was true, maybe she didn't need to go away. Maybe she still had a place here. Maybe a wayward, self-important tiefling could be right. And maybe this didn't have to be the end.

Nefen nestled comfortably back into her branch as she drifted off to sleep. Real sleep, this time, the kind with dreams. And, for the first time in the longest time, she dreamed of what came after all of this.

She dreamed of her forest.

#DnDecember #DnDecember2017

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silvertalkzones · 8 years ago

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Death Benefits: Part V

Chapter 7

After several moments, the hospital staff retrieved me from my perch, put me in a temporary cast for my newly broken wrist, and released me into the custody of Professor Orangutan. Fuck. “I suppose you’re going to kill me now,” I said.

“In your case, it’s called a 1035,” he said, “but yes, you’re going to die. First though, I’m going to take you to Home Office.”

“Is that code for a torture chamber?” I asked with trepidation.

“No, it’s where we keep our big office,” he said contemptuously. “Did you even pass out of CDP?”

I changed out of my hospital gown and into the ripped up suit that I had worn to the appointment. I wonder if the dry cleaning at Giant Eagle is good with blood stains? Fuck. Why am I even thinking about this?? I am going to die. “Why are we going to Home Office?” I asked.

“To meet the Big Boss,” PO said. I was surprised because everyone in the company has fancy names like MFS, MAT, and Supreme Being of Annuities. Was it Feeney? Was it Gordon? PO lead me downstairs and into a company car waiting for us at the curb.

Chapter 8

We arrived at our Easton location. PO told me to use my badge to get us in. It was approximately 3 a.m. and the cleaning crew had already gone. All the lights were out, except one. I don’t know why I was expecting something more sinister, but with a gun to my back, I wasn’t going to ask questions – even though I had hundreds. As we moved toward my holding pen, I noticed that the single light wasn’t coming from John-John’s office, but rather the one next to it. Compliance D sat there waiting for me.

“Hello,” he said serenely when I walked in. “Sit down.”

I assumed this was some formality. “I suppose there’s some paperwork I need to sign before I meet the Big Boss,” I said.

“Yes and no,” said CD. “Yes, there’s always paperwork. No, you will not have to wait to meet the Big Boss.”

With that, PO smacked me in the back of my head with his gun and said, “Show some respect! Bowling Green!”

“What the fuck?” I said eloquently.

CD just smiled and in his rat-like voice said, “You have to forgive PO. He has a rare form of Turret’s Syndrome where instead of cussing, he repeats phrases. You’ll find it’s very popular here. ‘Chipmunks and Cantaloupes,’ ‘fog a mirror,’ ‘sound fair’ and the like. And yes, I’m the Big Boss.” I simply stared at him with my mouth open. “Let’s begin with the paperwork,” he said and as he pulled out a phone book sized stack of papers, his whiskers twitched.

“You’re going to kill… er, 1035 me and I still have to sign paperwork?” I asked incredulously. “For whom?” (Even in the face of certain death, grammar remains a priority!)

“For me,” said CD. “I like to keep records. “ With a name like CD, I would have thought he graduated from vinyl records and moved on to digital music like CDs, or even MP3s. I thought about making a joke, but the ache in the back of my head reminded me to keep quiet. CD produced the first form. “This one says that you have received the form in front of you. Sign here. Now this one says that you signed the last form. Sign here.” And so it went. Form, Sign, Form, Sign. All the while, Compliance D narrated. “You see, when the DOL put all these regulations on us…”

“The Department of Labor is behind this??” I asked with disbelief.

“Of course not,” said PO. “Quit interrupting.” Then he smacked me again.

“With the new regulations, we had our GDR drop into second place after Philly. We can’t be in second place,” continued CD. “We created the ACES system to help us identify the people who were no longer insurable, who were going to outlive their money anyway, and with families who wanted our help.”

Despite PO’s threat behind me, I said, “Helping?? You’re killing them!”

“We are simply terminating their contracts. We are helping them,” said CD.

“Antelopes!” said PO.

“Calm down,” said CD. “Let him ask his questions. Ok, This form says that you don’t want the last form read to you in Spanish. Initial here,” continued CD.

“You mean the entire company is in on this?” I asked, wincing involuntarily for the smack that didn’t come. “ACES is companywide!”

“No, the buck stops here,” said CD. “That’s why I’m called the Big Boss, get it? Initial here. Once we complete a Needs Analysis, we know who needs our help.” He pulled out a syringe now.

“Are you going to poison me?” I asked.

CD laughed. “No, I need a sample of your blood, urine, stool and semen.”

“For the underwriter?” I asked.

“No, for the undertaker,” he said preparing the sample containers.

“Blood, urine, stool and semen… Given the last 24 hours, can I just give you my underwear?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” said CD, “but you’ll need to fill out the Important Notice Regarding Replacement form in triplicate.”

I did as told. Several moments passed when I was simply doing as told. Compliance D continued to narrate, but I think I had the big picture. CLM1 were just “fanatically devoted” enough to GDR, that they were willing to go to extreme measures within the company. CD had come up with the plan, pitched it to management, and they divvied up labor according to skill.

“Okay, almost finished,” he said eventually. “I just need ask you a few questions. What’s your current income?”

“You’re filling out a Fact Finder??” I asked.

“We have to be compliant and submit a Customer Recommendation Form,” said CD.

“But what about CTR?” I asked.

CD smiled his rat-smile and said, “Boy, I am CTR.” Needless to say, he skipped over the questions about my retirement. Then he butted the corners of his stack of papers so everything aligned, stood and nodded at Petey. “It’s time. Sir, I pronounce you ‘Not In Compliance’ and am terminating your contract.”

“Whoa!” came a voice from the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

As one, all three of us turned our heads to see Adams standing there, sporting his Easter Egg colored suit and tie combination. Oh fuck! Pete hid the gun behind his back and looked at Dan for instructions. “Adams, you need to get out of here!” I said urgently.

“Why?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing at all,” said CD. “Just some late night paperwork.”

“In that case,” said Adams, “you won’t mind if I ask you to put your fucking hands in the air!” and with that, he pulled out very serious looking gun. Pete acted without hesitation and raised his in response, but it barely cleared his waist before Adams had knocked him to the floor and disarmed him. All the while, he kept his gun pointed at CD. Upon kicking PO’s gun away, Adams put his left hand to his lips and pressed some sort of transmitter. “Pinball Wizard to all points. We got everything – the perps, the paperwork, and the recording through the CISCO phones. Bring them in.” The lights came on and perhaps twenty people stormed through the doors.

I sunk down in my chair, suddenly exhausted, but still very, very confused. “Adams?” I asked. “You’re… what the hell are you?”

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly. “I work for T.A.C.O. S.T.A.N.D., the financial planning division of the FBI.”

It all made sense now. “So the whole idiot thing was just an act!” I exclaimed.

“Of course it was,” he said. “No one can be that messed up. No, I was appointed to the FBI by our current president. Guess they needed people.”

“Thank God,” I said.

“You know,” he said. “You were looking down the barrel at a claim.”

“What?” I asked confused.

“Do you see what I did there?” he said. “You were looking down the barrel of a gun, and they call it claims, and Slick always says… said that. Get it? I propose a toast to slightly burned bread. Ha! Did you see what I did there? Yep. Once I said, ‘chili today, hot tamale.’ Hey, I have always thought they should put a chair in the copier room. There you go, sitting in a chair, making copies. Oh man, I was in Toledo at this pinball bar, and they had the best nachos! The cheese only took one lick to clear your fingers before the pinball tournament…”

Chapter 8 – Epilogue

So, as you might have surmised, I did survive that particular adventure. It may, however, be somewhat of a surprise to you that I’m still a financial advisor. I know it’s a surprise to me. It’s a lot easier in my new territory because we don’t need cell phones. Well, actually none of the cells have phones here in the Ohio State Reformatory. Oh – hold on just a second.

“Well, you see if you convert your coins into bills, they’ll be a lot easier and more comfortable to keep in your rectum. You will have to get some baggies because the bills don’t wash as easily as coins. No, washing the bills in your rectum is not the same as money laundering.”

Sorry about that. Where was I again? Oh yes, I’m living the glamorous life here, but at least the food and rent are free and I’m able to afford my medication.

Oh, and boy oh boy, do I get laid a lot! Yep. You would not believe the size of my pipeline now!

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