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calpalirwin · 3 years ago

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Tranquil Waters

Summary: Bucky finds peace at the aquarium.

A/N: A gift for @jessalyn-jpeg, that was also beta read by her.

Word Count: 1.9k

And away, and away we go!

Even with a plain, battered ball cap covering up hair that brushed along the tops of his shoulders, as if he was hoping it would somehow make him inconspicuous, you took notice of him. After all, how many men came alone to an aquarium? How many still could be transfixed by the shark exhibit for hours, sitting on a bench looking up at the tunnel, or leaned against the railing as he peered into the lagoon below? And how many of those men would return day after day, no matter how long he had watched the sharks the day before?

“You know we have a membership,” you told him on his eighth consecutive visit. “Probably cheaper at this point.”

He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly to the side in confusion.

“I mean, if you’re here every day. Might as well. Save yourself a few bucks.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly startled that anyone had picked up on his habit. “Uh…”

“It’s a hundred for the year. Unlimited visits. Come as little as five times a year, and it pays for itself. Come more often than that, and it’s a steal.”

“Is there a payment plan option? I’m uh… it’s weird to explain. I have the money. It’s just a…”

“Budget thing?” you guessed. “Totally get it. Yeah, we have payment options. I can have today’s ticket count towards the pass if you like. Then the bill is monthly, but you can pay it off sooner if you like.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” he said, giving you a small smile, and laying a twenty dollar bill down.

You pulled open the little drawer that held the passes, selecting one that specifically had sharks on it for him, before scanning it into working order. “Here you are,” you said, handing it over along with his receipt.

“Thanks,” he nodded, turning the card over his hand, the smile still rooted in place. “Sharks, cool. Thanks again…” his eyes flickered down to read your name tag, “Y/N.”

“Enjoy your visit.”

It came as no surprise to you that, after he nodded politely at you again, he headed straight to the shark exhibit. It also came as no surprise to you that he was still there when you made your rounds to clear the aquarium of visitors for the night.

“Sir, we’re closing in ten minutes. So if you wouldn’t mind making your way towards the exit.”

“Oh, is it that time already?” he asked, rising slowly from the bench. You took notice as he stretched out his right arm, but didn’t feel the need to do so with his left.

“Unfortunate, I know. See you tomorrow, sir.”

“Bucky,” he said.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Bucky.”

“See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

“See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

~~~

Four more days of visits, each started with Bucky handing you a twenty dollar bill to put towards his pass, and ending with the two of you bidding each other farewell until the morning.

On the fifth day, out of habit, he walked up to your window, the twenty dollar bill already in hand. “Oh, you’re all paid off, Bucky.”

“Oh… Right… Sorry, force of habit.” His cheeks flushed a soft color of pink. “See you later I guess.”

“Send the sharks my love.”

“Will do.”

As you watched him walk off, you caught sight of the stack of flyers beside you. “Wait!” you called out to him, grabbing one of the flyers.

“Hmm?” he asked, coming back to your window.

“Here,” you said, sliding him the flyer. “We’re hosting a lecture on shark migrating habits.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Is it soon? I haven’t seen anything put up about it.”

“No, it’s happening next month. We just got the flyers this morning. Figured you’d want to know though.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Bucky turned to go visit the sharks, but at the last second he turned back around, a shy look on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be going to this would you?”

“I am, yeah. I got lucky in that they scheduled it after aquarium hours.”

“Cool… Would you maybe want to go together?”

“As a date?” you asked suggestively.

“Or as two people who share an appreciation for sharks? Whichever reason gets you to say yes.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

~~~

Even though you’d seen Bucky daily for nearly two months, you still felt shy flutters in your stomach as you raced to change out of your work polo and khakis, and into something that felt more “first date” appropriate.

When you got back to the aquarium, you spotted Bucky outside waiting, sporting a long-sleeved red henley shirt, and surprisingly no baseball cap. “Hey, Bucky,” you greeted, walking up to him.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hand digging into the pocket of his jeans. “I was going to bring you flowers, but I thought that’d be awkward for you to carry around all night. So, I hope this is an okay replacement.” He took his hand out of his pocket, unfurling his hand to reveal a shark pin resting in his palm, no doubt something he picked out in the gift shop.

“It’s perfect,” you laughed, stretching up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth that flooded his face. “Thank you.”

“Course,” he mumbled, trying to undo the pin with only his right hand. But undoing the pin without using his left hand proved to be difficult.

“Um, it might be easier without the gloves?” you suggested. “Or maybe if you used both hands?”

“Oh, to hell with it,” Bucky grumbled, taking the fingers of his left glove into his mouth, tugging it off to reveal a metal hand. Swiftly, he also took off his right glove, and got the pin undone.

“Wh-what happened?” you questioned as he attached the pin to your blouse, paying special care not to knick you with it.

“War accident,” he answered shortly, quickly putting his gloves back on.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could think to say.

“It was years ago,” he offered as a way of explanation, before jerking his chin in the direction of the aquarium doors. “Shall we?”

You linked your arm through his right arm when he offered it to you, walking into the aquarium and following the small crowd to the theater where the lecture was being held.

Quietly, you and Bucky sat side by side, his hand resting on your thigh as you both listened to the lecture. It was easy to tell when the lecturer said something that Bucky found particularly interesting because his fingers would squeeze into your leg. And anytime you stole a glance, his eyes were shining brightly, a soft smile on his lips. And anytime he caught you staring at him, he’d give you a small wink.

“The aquarium is so different after hours,” Bucky commented, making conversation as you walked out, hand-in-hand after the lecture. “More peaceful somehow.”

“Is that why you like the shark exhibit? It’s usually our quietest area. Certainly less crowded.”

“Nah, I like sharks because they’re misunderstood. Everyone thinks they’re killers. But, they’re just doing what they need to do to survive.”

“Something you can relate to?”

“More than I’d like to, that’s for sure.”

You looked around at all the guests flocking for the exits, an idea forming in your head. “You wanna see something really cool?”

“What’s this really cool thing?” he asked as he let you pull him away from the crowd of people and deeper into the aquarium. His excitement however died down significantly when you pulled him into the security office. “This was the really cool thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Shh,” you said, fixing your focus on the cameras, watching the aquarium empty. “Just wait.”

With a sigh, Bucky watched the monitors with you.

“Annnnd, tada!” you announced as there was a loud sound of the lights shutting off in the building with the exclusion of the security room.

“We’re alone in the aquarium?” he questioned with the same note of skepticism as earlier.

You grinned up at him, nodding. “We’re alone in the aquarium.”

“Can’t we get in trouble for trespassing?”

You pulled your work badge out of your purse, along with a set of keys. “Nope!”

Bucky gave a soft chuckle. “You’re a little troublemaker, aren’t you?”

“You wanna go see the sharks or not?”

“Lead the way.”

~~~

“So,” you started, your voice quiet as you both leaned against the railing, watching the sharks swim in the lagoon below. “Is you liking sharks because you can relate to being misunderstood related to your hand at all?”

“A little. And it’s not my hand. It’s my entire arm.”

“Your entire arm?!” you screeched, turning sideways to look at him fully.

He sighed, turning towards you. He pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow, and pulled at the collar of his shirt to show you how the metal went all the way from fingertips to shoulder. “Yup.”

“Bucky,” you said to yourself. “As in?”

“As in the former Winter Soldier. Yup. Or as in James Buchanan Barnes, but people nowadays tend to not remember that part.”

“Holy shit… Wait. So you’re a fuckin’ Avenger, and you tell me that you spend your free time coming to watch sharks all day?”

“Well, sharks were originally the reason. Now, they’re just an additional perk.”

“I’m not following…”

“Well, I like sharks. Always have even before I could relate to them. But then I got a crush on one of the workers. And as much as I like to think I’m still here for the sharks, I’m also here for her.”

“Oh, you mean me?!”

“I mean I did ask you out on a date.”

“So you admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That this is a date.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe two people who share an appreciation for sharks?” you teased.

Bucky laughed. “Alright. In my defense, I said that to make you not feel bad if you told me no.”

“What made you think I was gonna say no?”

“I’m me. The 100 year old with an extremely complicated past.”

“Mmm, then maybe I should let you in on a secret.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that Miss Troublemaker?”

“I have a soft spot for the misunderstood.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Saying things like that are gonna make me want to kiss you.”

“Saying things like what? Things that suggest I’m just as interested in you as you are in me?”

“Yes.”

“And what if that’s what I wanted? For you to kiss me?”

“Then I’d have to do this.” He stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as his head ducked down. You stretched upwards on the tips of your toes, meeting his lips halfway. Underlying the softness of the kiss was a strength you wanted more of. Somehow sensing that want, Bucky deepened the kiss, one hand moving to cup the back of your neck, the other dropping down to rest on the small of your back, pulling you in closer to him.

“That was one hell of a first date kiss,” you gasped when you broke apart, each of you breathless.

“You’re one hell of a girl,” he said, nudging your nose with his and drawing you back in for another kiss.

Tag List

@cxddlyash @stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @frontmanash @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @jessalyn-jpeg @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @rougese7en @milea

#tranquil waters #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #avengers #calpal irwin

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

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Thanks fo’ saving my ass (Part 3)

Here is the final installment for these two, and when I say ‘installment’ I mean a teeny less than 3k of pure filth. Hope you like it, if you have any thoughts/comments/requests, I would love to hear them and you can find a link to my other works at the end of the piece. Happy readings xx

You can read these two first: Part1 & Part2

The whole walk from Gibson’s to y/n’s apartment is a blur. A nebula of lighthearted giggles, an unrehearsed waltz of grabby hands and tripping feet, all coming to life under the moon’s maternal gaze. Stolen kisses against traffic light posts while waiting for a green light, as though they haven’t been dreaming of a go-ahead for months now. The crisp air wafting through the bare streets collides with their perspiring skins in a drift of goosebumps, but it’s not enough to cool off their blazing desire.

The ride up to her floor heats up to a rhumba of bolder kisses and more adventurous hands that draw out sinful moans from their heaving chests. The buttons on the elevator’s panel successively light up one after the other but if it weren’t for the final ding announcing their arrival, they’d still be climbing up and down the building, making out like their life depended on it.

Numbed by want and impatience, y/n’s jittery fingers unlock the door, and the sudden slack created by the unfastened bolt makes their body tumble forward in a clumsy web of limbs. Quickly catching herself with the console table sitting in front of the entrance, y/n finds herself encased by two strong arms each side of her head as Harry stops his own fall against the wall. She can feel the expansion of his chest against her back with every intake of breath he takes, and every soft puffs of his exhalations hitting her neck. The latter are quickly replaced by a trail of spongy kisses traveling across her skin, while his arms move around her waist and across her shoulders.

Y/n’s mind turns in an intoxicating fuzz under his ministrations, "mmm- Harry, I should cl-," her head fall back against his shoulder as diligent lips suck the pleasure out of her skin. Her eyes are squeezed shut, hand slipping through silk locks though she knows there are a few things she needs to tend to before they can lose themselves in mutual bliss. "Shit…I really need to-mmm" she tries to inform him of her intentions but they keep drowning in her moans, "…the door, Harry."

Her insistence only makes him half relent by loosening his hold and letting her walk him backwards until his back meets the front door. Turning around, as soon as she’s facing him, she’s welcomed by a crushing kiss and two hands tenderly cupping her face. Smiling against his pink lips, she makes do of the embrace and blindly works the lock, "done."

The confirmation that they’re safely tucked home is all Harry needs to slip his hands under her thighs and wrap her legs around his waist. He doesn’t go far into the apartment before he’s got her propped against a wall, lips tangled in passion and his hips bucking forward in quest for some relieving friction. The sudden pressure has y/n gasp in his mouth, fingers digging into his biceps over the thick material of his suit. She rids him of the heavy jacket with one quick sweep across his shoulders while he pins their forehead together for a much needed breath, "are y’really not wearin’ anythin’ under that sexy dress?"

His mouth is damp and lazy when he drags them down her neck and across her collarbone, "why don’t you see for yourself." The cheeky response plucks at his lips in amusement, his nose brushing against the skin of her throat in silent acquiescence. He doesn’t waste a second to slide eager fingers up her thighs underneath her skirt, until they’re met with smooth and bare skin. Curiously, the lack of garment is not what widens his eyes and drops his mouth open; that has everything to do with the wetness already coating his fingers. "Christ love, s’almost runnin’ down yo’ thighs."

Y/n whimpers at his gritty words and at the teasing journey of fingers, never quite reaching the root of her sensitivity, "and yet you’re not."

Harry brings his mouth to her ear, taking the cartilage hostage between his teeth, "is that what you want then? My head between your pretty legs?"

"That’d be a good start," y/n quips back against his throat before planting open-mouthed kisses along the skin.

His thumb keeps circling her knot in meticulous feather-like swipes, "mmm I dunno, I kinda wanna bend you over that dinnin’ table right now," he slightly turns his head to gesture towards the small living room. "S’no pool table but I reckon it’ll work jus’ the same." He punctuates the retort with a heavy stroke of his fingers in-between her swollen lips before spreading her arousal up around her clit.

"After," she counters in a whine but her voice weakens as soon as he finally greets her bud with earnest rubs.

The flushed and starving look in her eyes isn’t quite familiar to him yet, but he hopes he’ll be privy to it enough times to have it permanently engraved behind his eyelids. "Suppose I could," he muses as the tip of his finger pets at her entrance, "but do you really deserve it after those stunts you pulled at the bar?" He dips a knuckle or two but withdraws right after, enjoying her soft pants, "had me proper fucked out back there."

Harry watches intently as her face twists with an avalanche of emotions; first, disappointment pulling at her brows, then frustration curling her lips in a pout, before her eyes finally alight with a newfound determination, "I’ll make it worth your while," she purrs against his parted lips.

The syrupy sound of her promise makes his length throb with excitement and earns her a nick at the neck in reprisal. "Ruthless negotiator you are," he rasps out before finally sinking two digits in her heat and curling them against her sweet spot. It is small retribution for all his teasing but if sex were a music, the sound of her moans vibrating in his eardrums would be enough to fill a goddamn orchestra.

Y/n’s thighs clench around Harry’s waist as she grips the hair at the nape of his neck, "handsome please, put those sinful lips on me?" Her plea is followed by damp kisses across his cheeks and underneath his jaw. She may drive a hard bargain, but y/n has never planned to make it easy for him; she doesn’t play to lose, after all.

Harry laughs once at her untamed advances, his head dipping down to rest against her shoulder, "fuck, you make me so weak," he leaves a small peck on the skin under his lips and brings his head back up. "Alright, where d’you want me?"

"Be creative."

She squeals when he lifts her off the wall and starts walking into the living room, the destination clearly having looped in his mind to the point of no return. "That table was really talking to you, huh," y/n chuckles once he finally sets her down on her grey oak dinner table.

"Thought it was only fittin’, I was raised to eat at the table."

Y/n’s nose scrunches and lets a giggle escape her lips at his boyishness, but her laugh quickly vanishes when a hand gently pushes her down to lie down under his fervent gaze. Quickly, he gathers up the skirt of her dress around her waist, and the sight greeting him with a sweet welcome then, makes him hum in gratitude. Harry doesn’t waste a second more to flatten his tongue across her pussy in one bold lick, lips wrapping around her knot and sucking until y/n’s legs flutter under his palms.

Gratified by her response, he brings her quivering limbs on top of his shoulders and dives back with gusto, happy with the more opened angle. While he flicks the tip of his tongue at her sensitive bud, he takes advantage of his newly freed hands by letting one join his oral work and bringing the other over her lower stomach to keep her still.

It’s an overload of stimuli attacking y/n then; two blunt fingers disappearing in her warmth and pumping against its raw spot, swirls of his tongue lapping at her clit in teamwork with the thumb of his hand above. Her chest is covered by a thin film of perspiration, and if she weren’t already teetering the edge of an eden abyss, she’d stop him to take off her dress. But be that as it may, y/n is barely coherent enough to whisper pleases and don’t stops for her to actually suggest otherwise.

When he feels her clenching for dear life around his fingers, he switches tactics and plunges his wet muscle far inside her, not wanting to miss a drop when the scale of her rapture tips over. It’s a race to her unraveling then, parched licks against her clamping walls while his nose bumps into her engorged bud. But what really sends her spiraling in pleasure is the smacks of his fingers against her throbbing center. After a couple of daunting strikes, y/n’s whole body is seized by ecstasy, back arching from the table, toes curling against his shoulders as she cries out in rhapsody.

Harry is there to catch it all in eager slurps that have her legs and center quivering in oversensitivity, but he doesn’t pull away until she’s tugging at his locks with panting breaths. His lips then pilgrimage their way back to her chest and neck to proffer his adoration against her divine lips. Once he straightens back from his hovering stance, he guides her wobbly body up with him, "fuck c’mere. You okay?"

He doesn’t wait for her answer before dipping for another kiss and letting her have a taste of her own pleasure. Their tongues indulge in a languish stroll before her need for oxygen is too strong ignore, "amazing," she breathes out against his mouth.

"Did so well fo’ me, darlin’." Harry keeps praising her, his own body still reeling from making her lose her wits so intensely. He gives himself a quick squeeze of relief, feeling the material of his boxers moisten as his arousal dribbles from the tip of his length, "fuck, m’so hard."

Y/n quickly takes over by unzipping his suit pants and yanking them down his legs in one swift motion. His shirt his next, and while she plants an array of kisses across his torso, Harry kicks his shoes and pants off his feet. Then there he is. Standing in the middle of her living room, clad in a pair of black boxers with disheveled hair like they’ve already fucked and this is how she finds him the next morning; doe eyes, snooping around for mugs to pour them some coffee.

With a hook of her fingers, his last layer joins the rest of his clothes on the floor and then it’s her turn to take him in in all his glory. "So pretty, Harry," she purrs against the damp skin of his neck and it remains elusive as to whether she’s talking about him or just his cock. Regardless, her hand wraps around his tender member, the mere graze of skin on skin contact making him hiss in sensitivity.

Her grip tightens the slightest when she starts stroking up and down his shaft, before she edges herself closer to him on the table. Then she slides his length along her soaking folds to spread her residual juices across his skin, "tha’s it love, prep me good." Harry’s eyes roll back in unadulterated bliss when his tip teases her entrance, but he becomes quickly irked at y/n’s dress shrouding the pornographic view.

Without hesitation, he lifts her off the table and unclasps the few pressure buttons holding the dress at her neck. The material unceremoniously drops at her feet and Harry’s knees almost follow suit when he’s met by her fully naked figure. "Jesus, you’re a sight," he exalts in a pained voice, his eyes unable to settle on one curve of hers. His hand reaches up to tenderly cup her breast with his thumb kneading at her nipple while his other smoothes down her ass to grip at the flesh. His cock rests tall between their stomachs and the contact has them both moan in each other mouths.

Y/n’s skin itches to get their core closer together, but before she can wrap a leg around his hip, Harry spins her around and bends her over the table. Just like he said he would. He may drive a hard bargain, but Harry’s always planned to make good on his promise; he’s a man of his word, after all.

He quickly resumes the languid sweeps across her heat, nestling his cock between her drenched lips, "you feel so fuckin’ good already, how s’it inside darlin’?" His eyelids squeeze at the sweet burn tingling at the bottom of his spine, before his hand comes down on her ass in a ring-clad spank. The unexpected move immediately draws a sinful whimper from y/n’s blissed out face and Harry thinks he might finish right there and then on the skin of her back.

"Come on then," y/n taunts him with a look over the shoulder, "take what you want."

He doesn’t need to be told twice before he sinks his swollen shaft inside of her wet core. They both cry out at the feeling of her walls accommodating his girth, Harry’s hand gripping at her hip to prevent her muscles from siphoning his release. Y/n’s forehead drops against the cool table in her own attempt to stave the heat boiling at the pit of her stomach. She’s just orgasmed a few minutes prior but her body is already on the brink of another crashing wave.

The faint roll of her hips against his is all the permission he needs to starts working his hardness in and out of her, bottoming out with added force at every thrust he gives her. "So tight, so wet, fuck, you’re a dream," he can’t help but ramble his desire for her and yell out in pleasure when he delivers another smack to her backside that has her cinch around his cock like a damn vice.

Y/n has to swallow a couple times before words can form on her lips, "Yes. Fuck, you feel so good too. Please don’t stop, Harry," she brings a hand to hold his thigh against the back of hers, as the force of his movements starts rivaling the power behind each of the shots they’d taken back at the pool bar. Even the wood of the table starts mixing noises with their moans and gasps, as the whole room is caught up in a haze of sex and passion.

Both of them start feeling the uncoiling of highly anticipated deliverance, a hint of blitz burgeoning all over their bodies from toenails to the tip of hair. Harry’s lips brush along the skin of y/n back until they reach the nape of her neck where his teeth nip at playfully, "takin’ me so well, love. Are y’close?" The string of filth tumbles from his puffy lips before he can second-guess it, eyes drooping and strides occasionally staggering against her undulating hips.

"So, so close, Harry, you’re gonna make me come so hard," y/n props herself onto her elbows, twisting her head so she can soak up the sight of pure sex pounding at her pussy like his life depends on it. The image is almost to much for her; his eyes pouring fire into hers, the sweat pearling around his flushed face, his tuft of hair bouncing with each of his plunges, his lips beaten red by his own teeth. That’s all it takes to let herself be taken by euphoria as her orgasm implodes from the deepest part of her.

Her release immediate triggers Harry’s, his cock fully sheathed inside her as he delivers more warmth to her heat in several spurts. He collapsed against y/n’s back and buries his face against the back of her shoulder. For the second time tonight, she can feel his quickened heartbeat thumping against her back as he hugs her to his chest.

"Mmm, best sex o’ my life," Harry laughs against her skin before happily pecking it and y/n giggles at his candid sentiment. She absolutely, definitely, a hundred percent, top to bottom, hands down, agrees with that statement.

The two of them lazily dislodge from one another before treading to her bedroom for a peaceful slumber. The next morning, Harry wakes up to an empty bed but the sheets under his palm are still warm. Begrudgingly, he removes the soft covers from his naked body, pulls up his boxers from the pile of clothes they’d thoughtfully brought back to the room and makes his way towards the living room. His frown immediately softens when his eyes fall on y/n’s figure moving around the kitchen, and is lips extend in the cockiest smirk as soon as he registers the expensive garment draped on her shoulders, "who’s goin’ to pick at my suits f’you start wearin’ them my love?"

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #smut #reader insert #coworker!harry #part 3 #friends to lovers

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years ago

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Make it last forever (Poe x reader)

Summary: Poe brings you breakfast in bed, and you wish this brief respite from the war could last forever. Fluffy with a lil angst, but only so Poe can comfort you, sweeties.

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (Dunno how many I can do but gonna try and blitz a few requests out tonight. I’m doing these quickly so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!)

Warnings: hints of steam but no explicit smut. Rated TEEN.

GIF: by @wilsonsamt

You grin as Poe shimmies back under the covers, having carefully settled the breakfast tray on to your lap.

Your hands eagerly reach for him and filter into his raven curls, pulling him to your lips for a quick, lazy kiss before he sits back on the propped pillows next to you.

“Where the hell did you get koyo juice?! Baby! You got koyo juice?!” you exclaim excitedly as you survey the items on the tray. Your eyes widen with joy as you bring the tumbler to you nose and inhale the sweet, reassuring scent of home. You take an eager sip and the flavour is like a taste explosion in your mouth.

Poe smiles widely, utterly happy when you’re happy, and he wraps his sturdy arm around your shoulders as you butter the breakfast cake and eagerly sprinkle some seeds on to the plate of fruit.

“This is perfect. You’re perfect,” you praise, planting another kiss to his stubbled cheek, his face creasing beneath your lips into an easy smile. Before Poe can say something smug in response, you shove the still warm bread cake towards his mouth for him to take a bite.

“Mmm,” he says around a hearty mouthful. “That is good. I did good, baby.” Apparently he doesn’t mind praising himself as well, which makes you smile even more broadly. he deserves all the praise he can get.

Poe begins shovelling food into his face with little dignity, crumbs falling down on to his gorgeous bare chest. You simply watch him enjoying the moment, your initial joy becoming something bittersweet as you realise how rare it is to share something so simple together. Breakfast in bed like this is special, yes - undoubtedly a treat- but even so, it is a rarer occasion than it should be.

Yesterday had been especially tough. You can still feel yesterday lingering in your body. The stiffness in your joints and muscles, the scrapes and bruises on skin. The residual stress. The despair. The tiredness which goes so deep it can only be described as existensial. You were thankful, as ever, that the two of you made it back, of course. But this domestic, blissful pageant before you only highlights everything you will have to return to tomorrow. As though you are merely playing house while waiting for the war to find you again.

Oblivious to your turmoil, for now, Poe snaffles the remaining half of his bread cake as you idly sip your sweet koyo juice, but he looks at you with concern etched into his strong features as soon as he realises the sadness which has overcome you.

Poe’s eyes soften with understanding, rather than hardening with judgement. His brows furrow briefly in thought before he delves his nimble pilot’s fingers into the fruit bowl, plucking out a strawberry and bringing it up to your lips. He had hidden that treat at the bottom of the bowl, but now, upon seeing the sadness cloud your eyes he figures life’s too short; why wait to put a smile on your beautiful face?

It works too. Your eyes light up again as the rare red fruit catches your eye.

“Take a bite, come on,” he coaxes, holding the fruit out and hovering it in front of your lips. “I know, I know. I’m the best.”

Poe smirks at you, finally managing to be smug, and you can’t resist dipping forward to take a bite. The sweet, ripe fruit bleeds sticky, red juices all over his fingers, which you lick innocently off before they can form rivulets all the way down his hands and onto the sheets.

Poe eyes you hungrily as your tongue rasps over his skin. Hungrily, as if the tray of delights before him is forgotten, but he doesn’t pursue his urges just yet. Instead, he swipes a rogue drip of red from your chin and cleans it from his finger with a soft pop of his lips, more focussed on the glumness backlighting your eyes. He can see you trying. Trying to be happy, and if anythign that hurts him more.

“You okay, honey?” he probes softly, whispering in case the ghosts in the room hear him. There are often ghosts in the room when you’re alone with him. Especially after days like yesterday. It seems so impossible to escape this war, sometimes, that even mornings like this can remain haunted.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, Poe. This is all so sweet. I don’t know where or how you even found all this stuff. Or how the kriff you convinced Leia to align our rotas. It’s just...” you trail off, looking down at your naval in contemplation.

Poe knows. Poe understands, without you needing to go on, but he also knows that it can feel good to let it out anyway. He brings a sticky, strawberry scented hand to cup your face, gently tipping your head up until you meet his gaze again. His whole manner is open, receptive. Encouraging you to talk to him.

“It’s just... Poe. The war is so long, and moments like this... moments together, they’re so short. I just,” you clench you fists in front of you as you talk, as if you’re grabbing something invisible, “I want to hang on to these moments and stretch them out forever, but before we know it we’ll be back up in the skies, fighting for our lives. For each other’s. For the entire kriffing galaxy.”

You look at Poe apologetically, as if you’ve ruined the morning, but you haven’t. He knows exactly what to do. He scoops up the tray and sets it aside for the moment, before bundling you into his arms, resting your head on his lap while he soothingly strokes your hair back from your face, his other arm draped lightly over your torso.

The sounds and tapping of his fingers brushing over your hair are instantly soothing. The way the rolls of his soft, scrunched up belly press intermittently against the side of your head, with each rise and fall of his breath, is infinitely comforting. When he speaks, his sandy drawl slow and steady, you feel even more relief.

“I see why y’ think that, honey, but I have a different way of looking at things,” Poe muses, a gentle furrow still playing in-between his brows as he mulls over his half-formed words of comfort.

You look up at him hopefully. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he continues, stabbing the air emphatically with his wagging index finger. “Now hear me out.” You watch the furrow disappear, his expression becoming misty as he looks down at you. Poe is handsome even from this peculiar angle, his strong chin and nose and thick lashes prominent as you gaze up at him. “Moments like this don’t pass quickly. They last forever. These moments... they... bury themselves in me, like a tree. Or the seed of a tree. They are planted, and they just keep growing, through me. Like the force tree on Yavin spreads its roots into the ground and its branches up to the sky.”

You look up at him with admiration, even though he has yet to fully flesh out his metaphor, Poe still searching his head for the words to express what flows so easily in his heart. You love his soothing, honest, storytelling voice, and you could listen to him all morning like this, you think. You are happy when he continues, still stroking and caressing you with his fingertips.

“You think the war is long, but it’s moments like this which get me through, sweetie,” Poe says, his eyebrows shooting you, face becoming more and more passionate and expressive as he finds his stride. You love watching him speaking like this when he’s delivering briefings in the command centre, but you never love it more than when he’s animated by his passion for you. With his love for you. You smile fondly, and you wouldn’t dream of interrupting the words which keep coming.

“In this war, I think of what I love. About what I want to keep, forever. And, honey, the sum of all these little moments you think slip away too fast? I’m carrying them with me forever, baby. They’re gonna live forever. This is what I think of when I’m in an X-Wing, fighting for my life; for yours; for the galaxy. When I’m fighting, I don’t really think about flying- don’t have to. I think about you. Us. These stolen little moments last years, honey, last a lifetime, because they play over and over in my head any time I’m not next to you. I’m gonna remember stuff like this, here, right now, and take it with me everywhere. Your face lighting-up when you see a simple glass of koyo fruit, because it reminds you of home. The weight of your head in my lap and your soft hair on my thighs. Seconds? Minutes, baby? No, they’re gonna last forever, and then some.”

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. Wet tears channeling down the sides of your face and mingling in your hair and your ears and falling on to his hands as he caresses you.

How could you hear that and not cry? How could you be so loved and not weep? How could you love this much?

Poe’s words were raw and spontaneous and spoken right from the heart. From that good heart. That beautiful heart of his.

You wish this moment, although over in seconds, could be eternal too. Except, now you realise it will be, because it has embedded itself in you like a seed, like a force tree, and it will only keep growing through you. The moments where you love and are loved by him become indistinguishable from your love itself. Your love for Poe, which has never slowed or wavered but has only grown taller and stronger and bigger and denser, roots reaching to the core of the universe and leaves all the way beyond its outer extremities.

You raise yourself up from Poe’s lap with a renewed vigour, and you wind your arms into his glorious inky curls. You kiss his cheeks and his lips and his face and you hold him so close. So tightly. This good man. This good heart. This good soul. You know you have to make the most of this moment. Make it the best it can possibly be, because you’re never going to let it go.

“I love you, Poe Dameron. I love you forever.”

Poe pulls back momentarily to look you in the eyes, his warm hands skimming over your back, and the beauty of him as he gazes softly at you makes your heart skip a beat. This beautiful man, who loves you with his whole, good heart.

Poe reaches down for your hand, and twists his mother’s wedding band on your finger. “I love you, Mrs. Dameron,” he says fondly, voice infused with adoration. “I love you even longer than forever.”

“Always so competitive,” you tease fondly, and his lips split into a smile, those delicious creases lining his eyes and mouth, and a crinkle in his nose.

Poe’s forehead comes to rest against yours as fresh, happy tears mingle on your cheeks. You press your lips to his, mouths moving together in your own private language, your tongues mingling and speaking secrets to one another as you share each breath.His kiss is sweeter than a koyo fruit, and more reminiscient of home.

You wrap your limbs around him, lovingly, fleetingly. And while your bodies may be entwined only for now, you are sure that your souls will be entwined for always.

You sink into the bed as Poe gently lowers you to the mattress, strong, warm hands beginning to roam lovingly over your body, moments becoming lifetimes, seconds becoming eternity.

The war may be long and these easy mornings short, but for now the war can wait. This moment belongs to you and Poe alone, and you intend to make it last; to make it last forever, and then some.

#poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron blurb #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fic #sw #star wars #tfa #star wars fic #oscar isaac #poe dameron

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ronoken · 4 years ago

Text

Story starter - Take Your Shot

This is something original that I’ve started brewing. It’s loosely based on my fan works, but this is 100% mine. I think I know where I want to go with this, but I figured I’d post the first rough chapter here for you to enjoy.

Let me know what you think.

***

“Step right up! Step right up! Take a shot and win a prize! One dollar gets you ten shots!”

Gina Mosey took a bite of her ice cream cone as her eyes drifted to the shooting booth. It was a warm autumn evening and she and her friends were out enjoying themselves on a Friday night. The carnival had rolled into town just that afternoon, setting up in the abandoned General Miller’s grocery store near her home. She was out with her friends, Andre and Tulip, and after riding several terrifyingly flimsy rides, they were wandering the game booths and pigging out on sugar.

“Hey, check out that booth,” Andre said. He was munching on an oversized elephant ear and gesturing with his food towards the stand. “It’s setup like an old timey shooting gallery.”

Gina made a ‘mmm’ noise in agreement as she took another bite of her chocolate cone. She was careful not to get it on her jean jacket. It may have had a slew of frayed band patches all over it, but the ornate stitching on the back had been done by her mother. It had been a birthday gift, and even thought Gina didn’t make a big deal out of it, she absolutely adored it. So what if it did clash with her black, flower print tee shirt? So what if it didn’t exactly go with her jean shorts and black leggings? Aside from her beat-up converse, her jacket was her prized article of clothing, and she wasn’t about to get a stain on it.

Beside her, Tulip started hopping up and down excitedly. She was in a green dress that offset her dark skin nicely, and the green barrettes in her short, black hair shown yellow in the carnival lights. Her face was fixed in what Gina had long ago accepted to be a permanent smile.

“I wanna give it a try! This looks fun!” Tulip said. She broke from their small group and half-ran over to the large, dark shooting booth. Gina and Andre followed, both taking in the detail of the gallery. There were painted hills, some houses, a fence, and what looked like a barn in the corner. Moving on a rickety track were metal ducks, cows, chickens, and on a fence post in the back was a small squirrel. All of them were on what looked like small metal sticks.

“One dollar gets you ten shots,” the carny sad from beside them. Gina noted he was dressed exocentrically for a barker. He had an old, red felt tuxedo and an oversized top hat. His eyes were hidden behind a set of oversized spectacles, and he was grinning like a jack-o-lantern. He turned his head towards Gina and leaned in. “Care to give it a go?”

Tulip handed the carny a dollar and picked up a flimsy-looking BB gun. She took aim and after ten shots, managed to knock down three ducks and a cow.

“Not bad, not bad,” the carny said as he handed her an oversized green duck plushie. He looked again to Gina. “Miss? Care to try?”

“I’ll try,” Andre said. He fished a dollar out of his red flannel shirt and handed it to the carny. Gina watched as he ran his hand through his slightly unkept blond hair and took aim. He managed to hit a chicken, a cow, and four ducks.

“Why, not bad at all, sonny. Here, have a prize for your trouble.” Gina watched as the carny handed her friend a small, red and green basketball.

Andre smirked at Gina and said, “Bet’cha can’t do better.”

Gina glanced at the targets and then at the carny. She considered saying no, but it did look kind of fun, and if there was one thing she had never been able to do in the 15 years she had been alive, it was turn down a challenge from Andre. They had grown up together, and as a result, they had been through hundreds of dares, challenges, and fights.

And Gina hated losing to him. Like, seriously hated it.

Gina handed him her ice cream and fished a dollar out of her jean jacket. She handed it to the carny and reached for a BB gun, but the carny cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said in a slightly quieter voice than before. Gina watched as he reached behind the counter and brought out a very different looking gun. It was larger, and slightly heavier. The handle looked like it cocked down and up to load, just like the other BB guns, but it was obvious that the overall quality of the gun was superior to the ones out for use. “I believe this rifle might be more to your liking, Miss.”

Gina stared at the rifle for a moment before giving a small nod and carefully taking the gun from the carny’s hands. She hefted it for a moment, allowing herself to get used to the weight before she settled against the counter and adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. Green eyes narrowed as she followed the sight at the end of the barrel towards a flimsy tin duck.

BAM!

Three ducks went down in a row.

Tulip let out a whistle as Andre shrugged and frowned. “So what? It’s just beginner’s luck.”

Gina frowned and glared at the chicken targets. “Hey Andre?” Gina muttered.

“Yeah?” Andre replied.

BAM!

“Shut up.”

Andre and Tulip stared, slack-jawed, as two chickens, two cows, a bird, and a rotating sun target over the barn all fell one after the other.

“How’d you do that?” Andre asked, dumbfounded. “Your mom doesn’t even let you play laser tag!”

Gina shrugged and took aim at a rabbit target. She pulled the trigger and watched the rabbit fall.

“Dunno,” Gina said. “I just… Did?”

“You have one more shot,” the carny said. He pointed at the squirrel target in the back. “If you can hit that squirrel, I might have a special prize for you.”

Gina bit her lip and took aim.

BAM!

The tin squirrel rocked back and disappeared.

“We have a winner!” The carny cried out. He took the gun back from Gina and rooted around behind the counter. Meanwhile, Tulip was staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers.

“You’re amazing! Do you have a shooting game at home?” Tulip stared awestruck at her friend.

Andre let out a snort. “Dr. Mosey wouldn’t spend money on a shooting game if her life depended on it,” he said. Gina nodded in agreement.

“It’s true. Mom isn’t a fan, so, yeah.” She glanced at the targets again. “I just, um, did it. That was my first time.”

“Well then,” the carny said as he popped up from behind the counter. “I’d say that deserves something special. A special prize for a special lady.”

Gina eyed the carny as he handed her what looked like a leather bracelet. She looked back at Tulip’s green stuffed chicken and cocked an eyebrow. “Um, no offense, but how is this better than a chicken?”

“That right there is a special charm bracelet,” the carny said as he handed it to Gina. “There’s not many out there of this quality, nor that can take charms quite like these. I assure you,” the carny leveled his gaze at Gina. “This is a very rare prize. In fact, I’d been waiting to see who would win it, and here you are.”

“Yeah,” Gina said as she backed away from the somewhat creepy carny. “Here I am, and here I go. Thanks, Mister.”

“Anytime,” the carny said as the trio of kids drifted away. He grinned after them as they disappeared into the crowd. “Anytime at all.”

***

By the time Gina got home, it was late. Andre and Tulip had walked her to her door, but honestly it wasn’t like it was out of their way. They all lived on the same little winding suburban street. It was one of those neighborhoods that was teetering on being either really nice or really run-down, and with the number of rentals that had popped up over the last few years, it was tilting towards the latter.

Gina kicked off her shoes and looked around the quiet, dark two-story home. Her mother was working late, as usual. Gina let out a small sigh and headed to the kitchen for some soda. It wasn’t like she blamed her mom for working; someone had to, after all. Gina just wished from time to time that they had more time for each other after…

Gina popped the top of her soda can and took a long swig as she wandered into the living room. She then glanced to the family picture hanging above the couch.

“Hey dad,” Gina said to the picture. He was in a white dress shirt with a red tie, and his arm was around her mother’s waist. She was grinning and her hair was curly and hanging in her face, and between them was Gina, just a year younger than she was now.

Gina sighed. The three of them looked blissfully happy.

“So, I had fun at the carnival. Andre won a basketball. Did you know he sucks at shooting?”

Gina smiled and took another sip of soda. “And, like, I’m apparently awesome at it? Who knew? You would have been impressed.”

Gina stood in the dimly lit room and hugged herself. “I wish you’d been there. We should have all gone together. I wish mom could have gone, but she’s done nothing but work since, well, you know.”

Gina held up her hands. “And that’s cool! I mean, I get it. She’s trying to make sure we’re taken care of, but, like…”

She looked around the empty room.

“I’m lonely, dad. I miss you. I miss telling you about my day.”

Gina wiped at the hot tears starting to slide down her cheeks. She quickly finished off the can of soda and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

“So,” she said as she closed the door to her cluttered, poster-lined room. Around her, the faces of numerous grunge bands stared back. She carefully navigated around the piles of dirty clothes and flopped down on her bed, her jean jacket jingling as she did so.

She fished into her pocket and pulled out the charm bracelet. Idly, she examined it in the yellow light that was pouring in from her window.

“Weird,” she muttered as she slipped it on. “I mean, the bullet is cool, I guess? Could I even wear this to school? Hmm.”

Gina turned her wrist slightly, letting the bullet charm catch the light from the streetlamp. Gina didn’t notice as the light shining on it went from the pale yellow to having some blue reflecting off of it.

“I guess I’m a crack shot,” she mused. “I wonder what kind of gun that was?”

“Well, it looked ta me like a really cheap Berthier rifle.”

Gina let out a surprised cry and scrambled to a sitting position against her wall at the sound of the voice. It had a thick southwest accent, and it had come from right beside her.

Horrified, Gina stared wide-eyed at what was before her.

Standing right next to her bed was a glowing, ghostly blue outline of what looked like a short woman in her 20’s. She was in what looked like a rugged dress with some ornate lace around the collar and sleeves. She had long, curly hair and a huge grin on her face. She was holding what looked like a glowing blue rifle, and she winked as she reached up to tip her Stetson hat to the terrified girl.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

Gina screamed.

#original character #original story #take your shot #Gina Mosey

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p0tatonoah · 4 years ago

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Cinnamon and Carrots

For: @jostenlovesminyard for the Winter Fellow Exy Junkies fic exchange ☃️

Word count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

As Andrew applied ice to Neil’s ankle, he felt the man shiver.

“Fuck,” Neil whimpered as goosebumps covered his skin.

Andrew swallowed hard and moved away from the couch, intensely focused on the need to light the fire.

✨Wanna read the rest of my stuff?

“Again!” Andrew heard the man say. He’d been trying to stand on his snowboard for two days now, but every time he started down the hill, he’d fall face first into the snow. As much as Andrew liked to think himself a good instructor, this Josten guy was a lost cause.

He had showed up yesterday looking ridiculous in an offensive, head to toe, orange outfit saying he didn’t need any help. He’d taken in the short hill and the steady board and waved a dismissive hand at Andrew. “Pff I got this.” He didn’t, though. Sure, he had some instincts, but the lack of technique had him overcorrecting his posture and eating buckets of snow. Andrew thought better to intervene before Carrots killed himself.

So now Andrew sighed and helped the redhead with his gear, touching him lightly on the back of the knees and lower back to correct his stance. As Neil positioned himself to brave the mountain yet again, he grinned at Andrew and said “Hundredth time is a charm,” winking before sliding downhill.

Down he went, one, two, three feet, finally able to keep his ass off the snow. Minyard heard a little whoop and watched as the dork pumped a fist into the sky and dragged himself to the lift. As he got closer, his smile widened and, before he was out of the moving cart, said “Again!” To which Andrew responded with a snort.

Carrots’ joy was short-lived, though, and he grunted as his feet got tangled moving out of the lift. The redhead fell to the snow in slow motion, ending in a heap of limbs and curses. Andrew moved closer checking for injuries, but Neil dismissed him with an “I'm fine.”

“You're limping.” The instructor remarked.

“It's nothing. 'Been falling all day, one tiny bump won’t kill me.” Neil tried to sound convincing but failed miserably when he had to put weight on his right foot.

“C’mon, I’m taking you to the nurse’s.”

“I'm goo-“ He started before hissing painfully. “Shit, fine. But no nurse, just help me get to my cabin, ok?”

When they finally reached the cabin -which, now that he’d seen it, sounded like an overstatement- he helped Neil inside and propped him on the couch near the fireplace. It only took Andrew one quick look to have a complete tour of the place. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a rickety counter and the bed was located a few steps away, near a window (was that a plastic bag on the last panel?). Turning back to Carrots, Andrew asked “You're here alone?”

Andrew guided Carrots all the torturous way to his cabin, holding him by the waist, while the other man’s arm rested around his neck. This close it was hard not to notice how blue his eyes were, or the sharp contrast between his dark lashes and the tiny snowflakes that hung from them. Josten’s lips were slightly parted and his breaths looked like short plumes of smoke in the cold air. Neil smiled, probably sensing he was being watched and Andrew tripped on a tree root. Minyard looked up at the sky in silent prayer, how much longer until the damn cabin?

“Yeah, my friend couldn’t come.”

“Probably for the best,” Andrew murmured, removing his coat and immediately regretting it. How did Neil sleep in this freezing ass cabin?

“I'll take off your boots. Gotta check that ankle.” Andrew said, but waited for confirmation before kneeling next to Neil and getting hold of his boots. He took them off gently and removed Josten’s right sock. Neil's skin felt colder compared to his warm hands and he could see goosebumps forming where his fingers had touched. As Andrew slowly massaged the ankle, he heard Neil take a deep breath.

“Hurt?”

“Just a bit,” Neil answered with a grimace.

“It's not broken.” Andrew stated, carefully placing Neil’s foot back on the couch.

“Told ya,” Neil said and removed his wet coat and gloves.

“But you need to keep off your feet for a while, or you’ll make it worse.” Andrew added and went to the kitchen to get some ice.

“Don't you dare,” Neil said in warning, eyeing the cold pack. "I still can’t feel my face from all the snow.”

“You'll live.”

As Andrew applied ice to Neil’s ankle, he felt the man shiver.

“Fuck,” Neil whimpered as goosebumps covered his skin.

Andrew swallowed thickly and moved away from the couch, focusing too hard on the need to light the fire.

“Drew…”

“Andrew,” He corrected.

“Andrew,” Neil repeated, managing to sound, at the same time, mocking and infuriatingly sweet. “Can you get me that blanket?” He asked, straining to get to the blanket on the chair next to the couch, but falling short a few inches. Minyard did not notice how that made Neil’s pullover hike up his waist. Nope. Didn’t even glance at the marked v line leading into his pants.

“Andr-“ Before Neil finished speaking, Andrew threw the blanket over to him, hitting the guy in the face. “Why, thank you.” He heard the redhead snicker as he headed to the kitchen again, hating the whole open plan situation.

He rummaged the fridge trying to find something edible and cursed at the emptiness of it. The cupboards were no better, but at least he found some cinnamon tea. No sugar. What kind of living hell was this?

Andrew just growled and focused on making tea.

"I should drag your ass back to my apartment." Andrew muttered under his breath.

"Whad'ya say?" Neil asked from the couch.

When Andrew came back with the hot mug of tea, Neil smiled and scooched over, holding the blanket up for him. Minyard hesitated, but sat down and offered Josten the mug. As Neil gripped the cup, Andrew noticed the scars on his fingers and on the back of his hands. It wasn't his business, so he didn't say anything, but the question must have shown in his eyes, because Neil said “Matt thought it would be fun to deep fry a turkey for thanksgiving.”

“Were you trying to die?” Andrew asked incredulously.

“It was just some light burns.” Neil shrugged and laughed as he remembered something. “Matt lost both his eyebrows. Dan was so pissed.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He answered and sipped at his tea. "Ugh. This tastes like balls!" Neil complained, sticking his tongue out. Andrew hurriedly took the cup from his hands and set it on the floor. The heat at his neck and cheeks was purely due to Carrots' ungratefulness.

“Matt is…” Andrew prompted, burying himself under the blanket.

“My brother. Sort of. We grew up together. Our parents were never around so we took care of each other.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was, is.”

Andrew raised a questioning brow and Neil rested his head on Andrew’s shoulder.

“He's getting married next weekend. Everything will change.”

“Is this bad?” Andrew said, stroking Neil’s curls absentmindedly.

“I dunno,” He sighed and continued. “Do you have brothers?”

“One, a twin.”

“Cool, and where is he?”

“College. Wants to be a doctor or whatever.”

“And your parents?”

“Dad coaches snowboard athletes and mom’s a sports doctor.”

“They work here?” Neil asked. When Andrew hummed in response, he added. “Is that why you stayed in freeze-your-ass-land?”

“I like the peace and quiet.” Andrew eyed Neil pointedly, but the redhead only laughed quietly and sighed as he leaned into Andrew’s touch.

Realizing what he was doing, Minyard pulled his hand away.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, that feels good,” Neil’s eyes were soft as he stared at Andrew. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Neil said, eyes fixed on Andrew’s lips.

Andrew’s throat was suddenly very dry.

“Can I kiss you, instructor?”

Andrew’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Neil cocked his head, his stupid blue eyes teasing, and Andrew gave the barest of nods. Neil closed the distance between them.

The kiss was soft. Their lips touched lightly for a moment until Neil’s tongue teased Andrew's lower lip and he opened his mouth, tasting Josten’s cinnamon breath. Allowing Josten to taste him. It was a slow kiss. Like they were trying to savor the moment, commit it to memory. Neil’s hand cupped Andrew’s face and he hummed, which made Neil smile and brush kisses along Andrew’s jaw and neck. Stopping just under his ear, Neil pulled back just enough to lock his blue gaze on Andrew. Minyard had never used the word “mesmerized" in his life, but at that moment, it made sense.

“Instructor?” Neil whispered, and Andrew was very aware of every contact point between them.

“Mmm?” Was all Andrew could utter and Neil's grin was devilish.

“Again.”

Thanks for reading! 😁

Maybe let me know what you think?

Reblogs are appreciated 🥺

#Andreil #snowboarding!andrew #Twinyards are Wymack and Abby's kids #because they deserve to be happy #Neil sucks at something sporty #if Kevin knew this he would die #from laughter #soft andreil #tfc #all for the game #no exy au #aftg #winter #potato writes

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fandomn00blr · 5 years ago

Note

What does Marian’s household look like physically and what is the vibe? How are Fenris and Anders getting along, being married to the same woman? Do the kiddos look obviously like/take after one of them or the other? How do the 3 of them divide parental duties? -Your secret Palentine!

Thank you, Secret Palentine!

Ah, domestic fenhanders

Under a cut, because it ended up being super long…

“We have enough elfroot to heal an entire army, Anders. Why do you keep planting more?”

Hawke hated harvesting the stuff and unlike Anders, she preferred not to think about all the situations they could possibly find themselves in which might require such a quantity of the healing herb.

Fenris, on the other hand, had come to appreciate the work of tending to their family herb and vegetable gardens…it was like meditation to him, so long as Hawke was far enough away that her cursing could be tuned out, or the children, working and playing alongside him, weren’t intent on asking too many questions. Or Anders wasn’t chattering incessantly at him about Maker-knows-what. Luckily, Anders often managed to get out of the majority of the harvesting by keeping the children occupied. So there was usually just the matter of Hawke to worry about.

Anders laughed. “I like to plant it so that Fenris has something to do. Plus, elf…root. Geddit? Huh?”

“No.” Fenris deadpanned as he squatted back down to begin harvesting another row. “Please…explain.”

Anders stuck his tongue out at him before turning back to Hawke. “But seriously, though, there’s no such thing as too much elfroot.”

“I could probably harvest it alone much more efficiently…” Fenris drawled.

“I’m helping…aren’t I?” Hawke held up a plant she’d ripped out of the ground and waved it at them before hissing and dropping it. “Maker’s balls! Why does a healing herb have such evil little pickers on it?!”

Before either of them could answer her, Leandera came running toward them from the other side of the cottage, out of breath.

“Papa! Malcolm was just practicing his magic without adult supervision!” she gasped.

“Is anything on fire or frozen or stuck in the Fade?” Fenris asked, wearily.

“Umm…no. He was just shooting sparkly things into the air. It was really pretty actually, but, but…he was using MAGIC!”

Even though she was normally very obviously Anders’ daughter, with her unruly strawberry-blonde hair and her freckles and his nose, she actually looked a lot like Fenris in this moment.

“And then when I asked him to keep doing it, he stopped.”

Ah, yes. There it was. So this was merely a revenge tattle.

Fenris sighed with a little bit of relief, eyeing Anders. This was his area of expertise, after all.

Anders leaned down, beaming close to Leandera’s face. “What kind of magic was it?”

He didn’t even try to hide his excitement, even though he was the one who had suggested the rule for their son in the first place as an attempt to demonstrate to Hawke and Fenris that he could be responsible. He was, unsurprisingly, also the least likely to enforce any consequences when the curious young mage broke it.

“I dunno. It was…bluish? Greenish? A little pink at the end? Really sparkly, though!”

“So long as there was no blood involved or reanimated corpses, it’s probably fine…right?” Hawke shrugged.

Fenris grumbled something to himself and then resumed his work with the elfroot.

“But Daddy,” Leandera whined. “You told Malcolm he wasn’t allowed to do any magic without you or another adult…”

“You’re right, of course, Lele…” Anders nodded, trying to look very serious. “I’ll go speak with him at once. And then…” he whispered, just to her, “Maybe we can make more sparkly things together for you?”

“Okay!” Leandera went skipping ahead.

Anders turned back and shrugged at Hawke and Fenris.

“Why did we ever decide to let him get involved in raising our children?” Fenris muttered.

Hawke laughed. “It was your idea! You pulled him out of the Fade! I just wanted to stay mad at him forever…”

“Oh…right. Perhaps it’s not too late to send him back.”

“I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW?!” Anders called out from the other side of the cottage.

“WE MEAN WE LOVE YOU AND HAVE NO REGRETS WHATSOEVER ABOUT THE COURSE OF EVENTS THAT HAS LED US TO THIS LIFE WITH YOU!”

“I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT I HEARD YOU SAY…”

Hawke smiled and shook her head fondly. “You just had to go and be in love with him, too, huh?”

“I truly do not regret a thing.” Fenris stood up determinedly and kissed her.

Hawke pulled slowly away, a satisfied grin across her lips as she let the familiar taste of him – citrus and metal and faint floral notes – linger. “Mmm…it hasn’t been easy, though, has it?”

“Nothing worth doing ever is.”

“Did you read that cliche bullshit in one of Varric’s books?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I believe it’s something you once said…”

“Oh shit, yeah.” She winced. “I was drunk, though, so it doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Well, I still appreciate the sentiment.”

“Ok, but like, be honest, now that Anders is out of earshot…this is excessive, right? The elfroot I mean?” She gestured out across the expansive herb garden.

There were a few stalks of embrium, and a small patch of deathroot, but their overflowing herb garden was almost entirely planted with elfroot. Their pantry and cellars were already full of it in its various dried and preserved forms, and they had enough potions to supply the entire Denerim City Guard for a month.

Fenris took a deep breath. “He worries. About you, about the children, about me. About the unsettled state of the world. And if hoarding elfroot gives him some relief or comfort in that, then I will gladly indulge him. It’s harmless, at least. Helpful, even, to have an overzealous healer for a husband…and I really don’t mind harvesting it.”

“Why are you such a better person than me?” Hawke groaned.

“I’ve lost both of you before. I won’t take either of you for granted again.”

“I don’t take you…or him…for granted!”

“I know. But you two, this family…” Fenris’ voice had gone hoarse. He tried to clear his throat, but the words wouldn’t come, only the glistening of tears in his eyes.

“I know.” Hawke pulled him into her arms before they could escape. “I love you. You make me want to be a better person. Even if I fall short of the ridiculous standards you and Anders set by example for our children.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured into her shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

Anders had come back around after his ‘intervention’ with Malcolm had ended in a combined fireworks display that had Leandera shrieking with glee and Malcolm smiling mischievously at him…a parenting win, he was certain.

He watched Fenris and Hawke, a warm smile on his face, not wanting to interrupt whatever tender moment they’d been having just between the two of them. He loved the quiet, steadfast way they loved each other, and he even enjoyed admiring it from a distance sometimes, as something unique and different from the ways they each loved him.

“Come here,” Hawke waved him over.

“I didn’t know if this was meant to be a group hug or if you two were having a ‘moment.’”

“We were,” Fenris huffed. “But when has that ever stopped you before?”

Anders grinned and wrapped his long lanky arms around them both. Fenris was nearly smothered between the two of them, and he feigned an obligatory amount of protest but nuzzled in against Anders’ chest far too quickly to convince anyone that he actually minded.

“Did you convince her not to kill me again?” Anders asked.

Hawke kissed Anders’ cheek as he drew in closer, a wordless ‘thank you for dealing with the children’ before her smile became more menacing. “No, but he managed to make me feel just shitty enough about myself to hold off a bit longer.”

“Ah, good.”

The three of them stood in their huddle for awhile, savoring the brief moment of peace and comfort that had settled over their often-chaotic, messy lives.

Anders finally pulled away with a sheepish grin. “I told Malcolm he could do magic tricks to entertain his sister, but that he was not allowed to aim anything directly at her and he wasn’t allowed to make any fireballs or ice blasts or Fade fists or…well, he seemed to get the idea, anyway, that he wasn’t to use any kind of combat magic or anything without one of us present.”

“Oh, well, that sounds like an easy policy to enforce with a four-year-old,” Fenris muttered, trying not to laugh.

“He’s a very precocious four-year-old!” Anders exclaimed.

“Exactly…”

“Well, at least Leandera will be sure to let us know if he violates any of these new rules,” Hawke offered as reassurance.

…

#dragon age #anon ask #secret palentine ask #fenris #hawke #anders #fenhanders #LF Hawke #malcolm asaara #leandEra fenara #hawke family #Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence #long post #my secret palentine

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forbetterorworsefinalspace · 5 years ago

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Dog’s Breakfast

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Final Space

Part: 5

Link- 🌌

_______________________________________________________

Finally Sheryl begins her search for the Dimensional Keys, Gary just gets in the way and Sheryl goes through an actual mom experience.

Just don't get your hopes up.

_______________________________________________________

“Don’t run o- GARY! DO NOT RUN OFF!”

“I won’t!” Gary responded, still taking off in the same direction.

Oh FUCK me….

Sheryl ran a hand down her face as she watched the child stop to look at a sale stand. They were currently on day one of their stay in Furtasanguinis and it was their first day in the marketplace. This city was the largest on the planet, and the black market here was more of just a market. All around were shady characters, buying and selling wears. Sheryl eyed a bird monster who shuffled by, dripping in a green goo that was likely alien blood.

So you know, a child friendly location.

She had set up a meeting with one of her contacts, who would either know something about these keys, or know who to ask. It was in half an hour by the fountain- well, fountain turned drowning pool. Sheryl frowned as a large group of Aliens began to drown another in the muddy water, the fountain just spurting sludge.

“Mom! MOM! Come look at the bugs store!!”

Sheryl kept watching the drowning, pulling a ciggy out to light up. Gary just kept on calling her.

“Mom! Mom!! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!Mom!! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!Mom!! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!-”

“Eh?” Sheryl responded when the alien finally went slack and the bubbles stopped.

“Bug store mom!”

Uhhhhh…

Sheryl turned and slumped over to the vender Gary was referring to. The vendor was a lean character with eight arms, three eyes and a weird feeler mouth, like a shrimp. On his table were a variety of bags in jars and cases, from all over the universe.

“Look! Mooncake could’a made some friends.” Gary tapped one of the cases with a weird slug, crab thing inside. “C-cute little guys!”

“Mooncake?” Sheryl asked, smoke wafting from her mouth.

“Yeah! My Lunar moth caterpillar! He’s in the jar back home.” Gary smiled.

“Oh that thing.” Sheryl responded lazily, smoking her cigarette.

“Uh huh!” Gary looked over the display. “I wonder if there are any earth bugs here?”

“Nah, not rare enough.” Sheryl sniffed.

“Do you know any of these?” Gary asked, gesturing to them. “What are they?”

“Sure lets see.” She started pointing at them with her cigarette. “Endangered, endangered, rare, endangered, venomous, poisonous, on the no trade list, endangered, technically extinct, venomous,-”

Then alien vending the shop started to yell at them then, shaking four of his eight arms. He was screeching in a forgin language but Sheryl understood every word. Gary darted behind her but Sheryl didn’t notice him, she was solely focused on the very angry broomstick before her.

She let him finish, not moving an inch, but when he was done, she took out her cigarette and fried back at him. Twice the intensity, twice the volume and twice the vulgarity. No one stopped to watch as this was pretty commonplace, but the shop vender was certainly shaken, head ducking lower and lower as Sheyrl blasted him, verbally into next week. Finally he just took off, scuttling into the back of his shop, crying a little.

Victorious, Sheryl put her smoke back in her mouth, dusted off her shirt and went back to the fountain, Gary trailing behind.

“What happened?! Why was he such a wet turd?!” Gary whined, staring back at the store. “He just started yelling!”

“Thought I was calling his wears garbage.” Sheryl said, sitting down on a bench near the fountain. “I showed him who the real garbage was though.”

“Oh.” Gary looked back. “How you speak his language?”

“I speak many languages, all part of the espionage business Gary.” Sheryl sniffed, tapping her cigarette free of ash. “Tweedlepick is actually pretty easy to learn. It's just making the right mouth shapes that’s hard. They got that bottom feeder mouth shape, more blubbing.”

“Wow! Can you show me to do that?” Gary asked, excited.

“Ahhh, maybe later kiddo.” Sheryl spotted her contact through the crowd. “Here, my friend just showed up, stay close to me.” She tossed her smoke into the muddy water and was shocked when it erupted into flame in an instant, people yelling and screaming. It died down in less than five seconds though, so she shrugged and walked off.

“Sssherylllll…” The hooded centipede creature hissed, red glowing eyes peering out at her.

“Scheer, yah old bastard, how are you?” Sheryl asked, clasping him on the back.

“Allssss welll. You?”

“Not as well.” She admitted. “I have a sorta mission I’m on, trying to find something called Dimensional Keys. You ever heard of ‘em?”

“Dimenssssional Keysss…” Scheer garbled, scratching his chin with a bone like hand. “I have heard whisssperssss.”

Thank god, maybe this wasn’t a goosechase from a drunken nightmare.

“Oh? What have you heard?”

“That they are but the thing of legandssss.” Scheer explained, shuffling on his many legs. “However, I have not looked into them much farther than that.”

“How much would that cost?” Sheryl asked.

“Dependssss on how much work it issss.” He chuckled deeply. “My work issss not cheap.”

“I got money.” Sheryl said. “And some nice Earth shit. You don’t get much Earth drugs up here, do you?”

“Mmmmmmmm…” Scheer looked thoughtful. “No….”

“Tell you what, you put your feelers out, get the ball rolling, and I’ll let you have a taste.” Sheryl smiled. “Follow through, get me what I want, the entire stash I have is yours.”

“How much issss there?”

“Truthfully only a couple dozen bags, but when something isn’t plentiful, you can charge more for it.” She explained. “So what do you say?”

“...I will ssssee what I can find.” He crackled. “However if the effort beginsss to outway the reward, I may have to raissse my pricesss.”

“Your always worth the costs Scheer.” Sheryl said, but leaned in close. “Just don’t try to fuck me over.”

“I can only assssk for the sssame thing.”

“Then we understand one another.” Sheryl said, standing back. “When should I expect news?”

“Give me an Earth week.” Scheer whispered, starting to scuttle away. “I’ll sssee what I have for you.”

“Alright then.” Sheryl said, watching him leave.

Same old Scheer, even after all these years. Slimy but reliable.

Anyway, there was no real reason to stick around for now. They could grab some food and head back to the Trailer, where she parked in the middle of the woods.

“Alright Gary, lets-” Sheryl turned and looked at her feet, only to find dirt.

Oh god damn it.

“Gary.” Sheryl scowled, looking up over the crowd and stalls around her. “Gary!”

Nothing.

Confused, Sheryl looked to the bug stand to the west.

No.

Then to the street meat buggie to the east.

No.

Then everything in between.

NO.

“Gary?” She called, looking around a few more times, to no avail.

He was just gone.

A small shard of glass stabbed at something under her rib the moment she realized Gary was awol. It was a forgin emotion to Sheryl, she had never felt it before and she stall for a moment.

Fuck.

Fuck! FUCK! God Damn, shitty FUCK!

Sheryl forced herself to breath. Calm down! There are only two reasons Gary could be gone. Either he wandered off, or he was taken away. There's no time to panic.

She knelt to the ground, looking in the dirt.

Thankfully earth sneakers were a very visible and traceable patterns.

She followed them a little ways away to an alley, where they quickly turned into a scuffle before two larger prints were running down into the shadows.

Great. Kidnapped.

Sheryl looked down the alley with a scowl.

Should she really go after him? Honestly she told him to stay by her. What use was he if he didn’t listen.

Sheryl rolled her eyes.

Supplies would last longer for one person. Be more quiet. Less mess and disorder. Hell, she may get the job done faster. Not to mention he’d just be a liability wherever they go…

She should just go back to the ship and forget about this.

‘What kind of monster has a child with someone, just to steal some plans?!’

‘If yah ain’t gonna be useful, you should just get busy dyin’!’

‘No ones comin’ ta save you this time sweetheart. Your rooted.’

Sheryl inhaled deeply and scowled, but started down the darkened alley.

Fuckin hell.

Thankfully the footprints were very distinct, she was able to follow them through the winding pathways to edge of the marketplace. A few places they were cluttered or destroyed by other prints, but she was able to guesstimate where they were headed and catch up farther down the line with the tracks again.

Finally she came out to a more stable like area of the city, bustling with aliens and animal aliens of all sorts. Looking down she could see a large stack of cages by a shipping container, and Gary was seated in one at the bottom.

Sheryl ambled over and knelt beside the sniffling boy, she stared to a nearby wall.

“So!” She said, startling him. “What’cha doing Gary?”

“Mom!” He scrambled to wipe his eyes and turned to her quickly. “Your here! Some jack-ass-alope took me away and locked me up in here!!”

“Did he.” She stated. “Now how in the hell did he do that with you standin’ right next to me?”

“Uhhhh…” Gary deflated.

“Could it possibly be that you didn’t listen and took off?”

“...Maybe…”

Sheryl blew some hair out of her face. “Mmm, ok then. Have a good life Gary.” She stood up and began to walk away.

“H-hey! Wait!” Gary waved at her to stop. “Aren’t you gonna save me?”

“You made your choice Gary, now you have to live with it.” Sheryl tutted. “I mean, clearly your able to go off on your own, like you wanted-”

“No! No! I just wanted to see the shops while you talked!” Gary shouted, panicking.

“I dunno, you don’t seem to want to listen to me.” Sheryl hummed, looking at her nails. “It might be best if we-”

“No! Don’t leave me here!!!”

Sheryl paused, looking to the ground for a few seconds before groaning. She came back and squatted by the cage, eyes narrowed. “You gonna listen to me?!”

“Yes!”

“You gonna do as your told?!”

“Yes!Yes! Pease!!!”

She grunted. “Fine.”

“HEY! Who are you!?” A voice shouted angrily. Gary yelped and crawled deeper into the cage as Sheryl turned around. She looked up into the face of a very grumpy, toad like alien. Then down to a set of very framilerly shaped feet. “Get away from my products!”

“Right.” She reached into her boot for her combat knife and stood. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ten minutes later she left the city in the direction of the camper, dripping in blue blood. Again no one paid her any mind, not even when she had Gary in one hand, forcing him along in front of her by the back of his shirt.

“When we get back home, you are in charge of dishes, mopping and getting the fire ready- DO NOT LIGHT IT UNTIL I AM THERE- I will be taking a soak in the tub.” Sheryl ordered, making him walk up onto a bridge. “I am understood?”

“Yes mom.”

She let him go and kept walking, heading back to camp. Gary took a moment to catch up to her.

“Mom…”

“Eh?” She grunted.

“T-thanks for not leaving me behind.” He sniffled. She glanced at him, frowning when she saw he was sporting a black eye, clothes dirty and hair askew.

She looked back out to the woodlands. “Yeah, well, don’t make me regret it.”

Gary didn’t respond.

#sheryl goodspeed #gary goodspeed #Fanfiction #final space #bad parenting #Hurt no comfort

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inthegroundontime · 5 years ago

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Title: So, You Married a Selkie Rating: PG Ships: Rudyard/Liesel ( @ncvaflows ), mentions of Chapman/Masha ( @enjcyourselves & @caughtintherevolution ) Characters: Rudyard Funn, Georgie Crusoe, Liesel Ivanov Summary: Rudyard may not have noticed that he’s been married for the last four months, but it hasn’t escaped notice altogether.

It’s unorthodox, but Rudyard supposes he quite likes having the shifter woman around. She’s kind to him in ways no one, not even Georgie or Antigone has ever been. She listens to his stories and shares some of her own. At dawn, when she returns from her swim, he makes her a cup of tea and she sits with him, reading her book while he does the Piffling Matters crossword. Together, they delight in typos and the simple pleasure of a sunrise in Piffling Vale before the rain rolls in. It always does – especially when she leaves to swim again and Rudyard departs for work. As he worries about her safety, the storms sometimes abate, but every now and then, the lightning becomes fierce and he thinks hers will be the next body Antigone embalms. Liesel. She’s an unusual woman, with sad, dark eyes. Sometimes she seems quite happy in his company, but when he can’t stay with her or when they part for the evening – him for his bed and her for the sofa (Rudyard really ought to charge her rent but he can’t bear to) -she looks at him with such profound despair, it breaks his heart a little. Nothing has broken Rudyard’s heart in a good, long time.

He no longer sleeps well in the bed. It isn’t particularly comfortable – it never has been – but it never seemed so large before, so empty. It’s cold under the blankets and Rudyard eagerly springs from bed in the morning to make tea and toast to go with the kippers Liesel has hunted off the coastline. Once, she brought him back a pearl the size of his thumbnail. He keeps it in his other top pocket – the one above his heart, where Madeline does not sit. He used to keep nothing but lint and a pen there. He doesn’t know why he does this foolish thing, but he does it anyway. It gives him comfort, allowing him to pretend Liesel is nearby when he knows she is swimming and he is trying to keep the funeral home afloat in a much less friendly tide. Across the square, Chapman has only grown more cheerful. No one wonders how he enticed the island’s newest resident – a pretty blonde whose presence dripped magic in a way Rudyard thought was bad form, but that everyone else seemed to take for charm – yet everyone speculates why Liesel hangs around Rudyard. Rumors circulate. He has used a love potion on her. (He hasn’t. He can’t brew a decent one to save his life and Antigone finds them unethical). He has stolen her skin and enslaved her. (He hasn’t. He returned her pelt to her the day they met. Slavery makes his skin crawl). He has hypnotized her, enchanted her, cursed her. (He has done none of these things. Since reconnecting to his witch roots, he has not ever attempted something so advanced).

No one, not even Rudyard, knows why Liesel stays.

No one, except Georgie Crusoe.

Rudyard is half-in the flue of the crematorium, scrubbing the bricks clean of soot and unnamable junk. Georgie, meanwhile, sits on the table, flicking through a manual on cremation that Rudyard shoved her way this morning. As they work, Rudyard can’t help but lament certain goings-on.

“Chapman is allowed to have a mystery woman turn up and follow him around and no one accuses him of enslaving her!” he grunts between scrubs. “Meanwhile, I open my home to a woman who prefers the sea to my company and the whole town thinks I must’ve bewitched her to sleep on my sofa when she gets tired of swimming!”

“Course no one accuses Chapman of anything,” Georgie says without looking up. “The whole ruddy island still thinks he’s human.”

“Of course, he’s human. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be much of a novelty around here, now, would he?”

“Mmm.” Georgie pauses and then asks, “Does Liesel always sleep on the sofa?”

“What, now?” Rudyard pops his head out from inside the chimney, coated in black soot. “Yes, of course, she does. What kind of impropriety-“

“ ‘S not impropriety if you’re married, sir.”

Rudyard smacks his head on the bricks as he climbs out of the chimney. Massaging his scalp, he looks at Georgie with shock and then sternness.

“Now, look here,” he says, “I think I would know if I was married to Liesel. I don’t appreciate your new brand of humor and demand you quit while you’re ahead.”

“I don’t think you would,” she continues. “Know if you’re married, I mean.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’d know.”

“R-i-i-i-ght,” Georgie says. “Oi, Rudyard?”

“What?”

“Are you married?”

“Good God, no! Like I said – I would know. And I am – and will always be – a bachelor.”

“I don’t know how much longer you’ll have that option.”

“It isn’t optional, Georgie. It’s a fact of life. No one would nor ever shall marry me. I’m short-tempered, bossy, and wholly unsuited to the enterprise.”

“Yeah. You’re unsuited all right.” A pause. “But how d’ya like Liesel?”

“Well, of course, I like Liesel,” Rudyard stutters. “She’s kind and smart and doesn’t ask me stupid questions and she’s been contributing to the household in her own way and-“

“But how d’you like her?”

Rudyard scrambles back into the chimney. Scrubbing the bricks furiously, he waits a long time before answering the question.

“She’s kind to me, Georgie. You have to understand, I have something of a weakness for people who are kind to me. And she listens to me – about anything, like what I have to say is important. No one does that. Not really, anyway. She makes me feel… special? Is that the word? … Valued? And I would return the favor instantly, but she looks so sad all the time and we both know I’m rubbish at cheering people up and besides, she spends so much of her time in her seal-skin, swimming and fishing and bellowing at Chapman when he goes for a dip in the ocean, so I get the feeling that maybe she’s only being nice to me so I won’t charge her rent since she prefers the ocean to me, which shouldn’t hurt, since she wouldn’t be the first, but I wish I knew how to make her stay…”

“Rudyard!”

“Yes? What?”

“Do you like Liesel? As in, do you fancy her?”

“Well, of course, I do, but that’s nobody’s business but my own, thank you very much!”

“Then why the bloody hell do you make her sleep on the couch?”

Rudyard smacks his head on the bricks again as he emerges. He grumbles for a moment.

“Now look here, Georgie-“ He sounds more tired than he does angry; resigned and almost sad. “-That’s not how things are done. When I fancy somebody, I don’t ask them to bed. I shove it down and wait for the feeling to die. It inevitably does. And then, since it’s already buried deep in my psyche, I don’t have to worry about giving it a proper send-off.”

“Oh my God.”

“It isn’t as if telling her I like her will amount to anything,” Rudyard continues. “Talking about your feelings has never gotten anyone anything.”

“Rudyard, you stupid-“ Georgie doesn’t finish that thought. “Tell me the story of how you met Liesel.”

“That’s hardly relevant,” Rudyard says. “But it was on the beach. I was trying to enjoy a cheese sandwich as far away from Antigone as I could get, so I’d gone down to the beach. It was an idyllic day – perfectly toasted sandwich, peaceful scenery, really, all except the angry wind, which I managed to stop, thank you very much! And a curious thing happened: a fur coat washed up on the beach at my feet. I picked it up – I can’t abide littering – and then this woman, lovely eyes, totally naked, begged me to give her her coat back. Well. Of course, I did, but not without lecturing her about beach rules! This isn’t the Riviera, after all! The last thing Piffling needs is a nude beach! And then, somehow, we got to talking and I offered her a place to stay until she was back on her feet – or flippers, I suppose. A little shifter humor. And the rest is history.”

“So, Liesel is a selkie.”

“Well, when you put it like that… yes. I suppose she is.”

“And you had her pelt?”

“I didn’t know it was her pelt! I thought some irresponsibly and obscenely wealthy woman had left a valuable fur coat lying about!”

“And you returned it?”

“She was naked! What else was I meant to do?”

“Rudyard. D’you know anything about selkies?”

“Sure. They’re seal-shapeshifters and they enjoy Russian literature, fresh flowers, and get weepy over televised ballets.”

“No, that’s just Liesel,” Georgie said. “Do you know what if means when a man takes a selkie’s pelt?”

“I didn’t take it on purpose!” Rudyard snaps. “It washed up on the beach, I picked it up, I handed it to her.”

“Men don’t normally do that.”

“Are you saying I should have kept it? Proved all those damned rumors true? That I can only earn someone’s affection by enslaving them?” He sits down on the hearth. Drawing his knees to his chest, he looks bleakly over at Georgie, who has abandoned her reading. “I didn’t realize then that she was a selkie, but even if I had, I still would have returned her pelt to her. She deserves to choose for herself how she wants to spend her life.”

“Have you noticed how she’s chosen to spend her life?”

“Miserable in the funeral home at night and in the morning; in the ocean the rest of the time?”

“With you.” Georgie joins him on the hearth. “When a human offers a selkie her pelt back, he’s proposing. She accepted. Congrats, sir. You’ve been married for four months.”

“I’ve been what?”

“It’s a shame we couldn’t have thrown you a real stag party.” Georgie elbows him. “I bet we coulda gotten Chapman to jump outta a cake.”

“Good heavens, why would I want that?”

“Dunno. It would be hilarious, though.”

Rudyard chuckles weakly. Imagining Chapman looking like an idiot, covered in buttercream frosting almost distracts him. But suddenly, the color drains from Rudyard’s cheeks – not that it’s easy to see under the grime.

“Wait. I’ve been married to Liesel for four months?” he asks. “When was anyone planning to tell me?”

“She thought you knew,” Georgie says. “Still does. And you are a rubbish husband.”

“Well, we’ve established that I would be!”

“Yeah, but you’ve been ignorin’ her. Makin’ her sleep on the couch. You’ve never even tried to kiss her… I mean, have you?”

“No, of course not! I just learned that we were married thirty seconds ago! How was I supposed to know I was meant to act as a husband?”

“Dunno. A little cultural sensitivity?”

“I don’t have that,” Rudyard laments. “I don’t even have a paradigm of what a good husband does!”

“What about your mum and dad?”

“We don’t talk about them,” says Rudyard. “Their marriage wasn’t exactly ideal. I’d want to do better by Liesel. She deserves better than to only be acknowledged on birthdays and holidays.”

“Yikes.”

“Indeed.” Rudyard runs a filthy hand down his filthy face. “I need to start planning. I need to woo her. Show her I’m serious about making this marriage of inconvenience work.”

“I think the phrase is ‘marriage of convenience’.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to. The point is, I do fancy her and if I want her to spend less time at sea and more time with me, I’ll have to let her know, won’t I?”

“So you’re not gonna just push this down?”

“Things have changed, Georgie. I’m a married man now.”

“Just like that, eh?”

“What do women like from romantic partners? You’re a woman. What would you want from your ideal husband?”

“A flamethrower. A helicopter. A trip to the Maldives.”

“Now you’re just being difficult.”

“Nah. Just bein’ me. What would Liesel want?”

“I suppose I could get up earlier… Go with her to the beach. Learn to make a better breakfast.”

“And ask her to sleep in the bed instead of the sofa?”

“We walk before we run in this relationship. We’ll see.”

“Rudyard…”

“… I’ll ask, but if she leaves me over it, I’m blaming you.”

Rising to his feet, Rudyard walks towards the door. Georgie watches him curiously. He stops at the threshold and turns. For a moment, he looks as if he’s about to thank her. Instead, he nervously fidgets with the wilted collar of his shirt.

“How do I look?” he asks.

“Like hell.”

“Oh. Good. Women love a bad boy.”

As he walks out the door, Rudyard hears Georgie’s last bit of yelled advice: “Oi! Rudyard! Take a shower, you daft bastard!”

What he doesn’t hear as he veers upstairs and towards the bathroom – a shower might not be a bad idea – is Georgie’s whispered hopes.

“Good luck.”

#x. drabble #ncvaflows #.002 | making funerals magical since the 15th century #r: for once i'm lost for words | {rudyard x liesel}

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mosylufanfic · 6 years ago

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Me and My Shadow

I was digging around in my files, as I am wont to do, and I found this story from last season, about 95% finished. Remember when they basically had no scenes at all together? And we were all starving for any little bit of Killervibe we could get? This is something of what I wanted to see after S4′s mid-season finale.

Just as a refresher, this takes place toward the end of the episode where Amunet Black kidnapped Caitlin, locked dampening cuffs on her. Before that happened, however, Caitlin discovered that Cisco, Harry, and Ralph all had private jokes and funny stories about hanging out with Killer Frost.

This story isn’t overtly romantic but it is about Cisco and Caitlin’s relationship at that point in the show. Title from the 1927 song, sung by oh so many people.

Me and My Shadow

Cisco peered at the power dampener Amunet Black had fastened around Caitlin's wrist. "Who designed this, the Incredible Hulk?" He tapped it. "Could it get any bigger and clunkier? Ugh. I'm so offended."

"Me, too, considering it held me prisoner," Caitlin said dryly. She waved her wrist a little, inviting him to look at the catch. It was a heavy-duty metal latch with wires woven over it in some way he couldn't quite follow. "Can we remove this, please?"

"Oh, yeah." He opened the toolkit he'd brought upstairs from his lab and pulled out some wire snips and an electric saw.

"Careful!" she said.

He paused. "It's not gonna blow up if I don't snip the right wire, is it?"

She angled her wrist. "No, but it's got spikes on the inside. It's part of the function somehow."

Now he could see them, thin metal needles piercing her flesh. A few dots of blood smeared her skin.

"Shit!" He yanked his hand away. All his poking and prodding must have been digging them in even further. Why the hell hadn't she said anything before this?

Probably the same reason she'd waited to ask him to remove it until after Dominic Lanse had been taken to a hospital and thoroughly checked over. Caitlin putting herself last again.

Another thought occurred. "Oh, fuck, it's not stabbing your veins or anything, is it?"

She touched the inside of her wrist. "No, it's just the top and sides."

"Well, that was nice of her," he said sarcastically, and got to work on the catch. The design might offend every aesthetic bone in his body, but it was doing the job very well. He could feel his own powers going a little fuzzy and wobbly, this close to it. And it also seemed to have solved the power issue he'd struggled with so much. He was going to have a look at this when he got it off her wrist.

She was quiet while he worked, and while he normally would have chattered and joked, all his lightness seemed like it was trapped underneath a boulder in the pit of his stomach.

Yelling at Ralph had helped some, but he still felt like a turd. Sure, Caitlin, the nasty, mean alter ego that you never wanted is our favorite new buddy. Yeah, we have a great time with her! We have inside jokes and everything!

He knew she knew he hadn't meant it like that. But just because he hadn't meant it didn't mean it hadn't hurt her. He remembered the look in her eyes.

And Harry had gone to apologize first. Harry! When Harry I-Can-Only-Relate-to-Other-Versions-of-Myself Wells was doing better at friending than you, that was kind of a bad sign.

He'd come for her. He'd rescued her from Amunet Black. She had to know he valued her more than Killer Frost. Right?

Yeah, he'd come for her, but so had fucking Ralph.

He glanced up, wondering how to start saying he was sorry, and found her staring off into space, looking thoughtful.

"Hey," he said, and her eyes came back around. They looked like root beer in this light, the way he liked them best. He smiled at her. "What's churning your butter, cup?"

"Just thinking how nice it was to handle something on my own for once, instead of having to depend on my mean roommate."

His stomach dropped. "Caitlin - "

She looked at her wrist. "Maybe you should leave this on."

"Leave on the spiky hurty ugly accessory? That's a hard no," he said, and snipped one last wire. "Lay your hand down and keep vewwy vewwy still," he added in his best Elmer Fudd imitation.

She smiled absently and flattened her palm to her lab table. He turned on the circular saw and started cutting through the lock. It was tough stuff, and he had to stop a couple of times to switch out the blade. Finally, the bracelet cracked in two, and he switched off the saw before it brushed her skin.

She pulled the cuff open, wincing as the spikes tugged out of her flesh, and let it clatter to the table. Now she wore a cuff of tiny pinpricks, welling with blood. It wasn't a good look, in Cisco's opinion.

"Mmm," she said, grimacing at the injuries. "I'd better get this cleaned up and bandaged." She rummaged in some drawers.

"Frost up," he suggested before he thought, and felt his stomach drop again. God. He'd stepped in it again. "Just - just to get rid of that," he added quickly. "Let her hypermetabolism take care of it."

"It's fine," she said, not looking at him as she wiped each pinprick down with a sterile wipe. "It's good. You should get along with people who are fighting alongside you." She tossed a used one, pink with blood, into the biohazard bin and pulled another one from the dispenser.

"Look, don't pretend we didn't hurt your feelings."

"They're my feelings," she said. "I'll handle them."

"Yeah, that's a skill you excel at."

She gave him a withering look. "I had a bad evening. I got over it."

"Okay, then how about letting me apologize?"

"You have nothing to apologize for. You can have friends other than me. You do have friends other than me. It's selfish and self-centered to be jealous of that."

She recited it as if it was something she'd said to herself over and over again.

"It's human to feel left out," he said. "And I was part of making you feel left out, and I'm really sorry for that."

"Yes, and I handled it." She bowed her head over her wrist, dabbing antiseptic cream on the marks. "Thanks for getting that cuff off me. You should probably clean it." She handed him a container of Q-tips and a bottle of ethanol.

He took them back to the table where the cuff still sat, dark and powerless now. He started cleaning the spikes, watching the white cotton soak up pink blood. He found he was gritting his teeth.

Why wouldn't she smile and accept his apology?

Why wouldn't she just let him feel better about seeming to prefer her darker side?

Why couldn't he just go back to thinking that she'd made peace with Killer Frost, now that she wasn't one of the bad guys, and didn't have any feelings about her divided self whatsoever?

Just like he was perfectly fine with the thought of Reverb, or any of his other evil doppelgangers that infested the multiverse. Oh yeah. No misgivings there at all.

He let out his breath and tossed the Q-tip down.

"You know," he said, "eight months ago, you never would have convinced me that there could be anything I liked about Killer Frost, but I do."

Caitlin looked up, but didn't say anything. She just watched him, silent, her face flat and expressionless.

"She's tough. A survivor. A fighter. She sees what needs to be done and gets it done. She's smart and she thinks on her feet. Every time she throws down, I swear she has three or four nifty new tricks that never even crossed my mind."

"Okay," she said. "I get it. You don't have to keep singing her praises."

He went to her and took her tight shoulders in his. "And you know what? Everything I like best about her is something she gets from you."

Her eyes met his. They were darker now.

"Tough. Smart. Creative. Gets the job done. Sound familiar?"

"A fighter, though?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not a fighter. I run and I hide," she said bitterly. "Just like Harry told me to do at Jitters. I didn't even try and bring her out until I was cornered, and that didn't work."

"Have you ever once run and hid when someone needed medical help?"

"That's different."

"I dunno if it is. That's your wheelhouse. Kicking ass is Frost's. Use the right tool for the right purpose. Killer Frost isn't always the right choice for what needs to get done."

She was quiet for a long moment. "Amunet Black said something like that."

He recoiled. "She did?"

Caitlin shrugged. "She wanted me to get the job done. She probably could have threatened me some more, but she took the logic route and pointed out why she needed me, not Frost. It worked. I got the job done."

Okay. He officially sucked as a friend. Amunet Black had figured out what Caitlin needed to hear before he had. That she, Caitlin, was valuable and valued, that her skills weren't lesser, that she was strong and effective in her own way.

He tried to make his voice light. "Much as I hate to agree with someone with that dated of a hairstyle, she had a point. We couldn't do what we do without you."

Her eyes searched his and then she sighed. Not a resigned sigh or an unhappy one. There was relief in it. As if she was letting out a breath she'd held for too long.

Then she hugged him, hard and quick. "Thank you," she said.

"Anytime," he said. "Really, I mean it. Anytime you're feeling conflicted over your morally ambiguous doppelganger, talk to me."

"It's not her state of evil or good," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, obviously I would rather she's fighting against the bad guys rather than alongside them. But it's - " She rubbed her wrists again. "It was easier when she was the bad one and I was the good one, and I had good things - like friends - and she didn't."

"I don't think either of you are that simple," he said. "I don't think anything's that simple."

She toyed with the q-tips. "The thing is," she said, brows drawn together, "I've spent my entire life trying not to show it when I'm scared, or angry, or upset, or even just sad."

"That's not news," he pointed out. He still remembered nearly a year of her flat, expressionless face after the explosion.

"Because nobody has time for that," she went on. "You know? Nobody wants to put up with that. People like a cheerful, helpful, smart little girl. Nobody likes a crybaby who can't do anything."

One day, Cisco reflected, he really was going to go find Mama Snow and punch her in the mouth. He didn't like hitting women, even the ones that hit him first, but boy, could he make an exception.

"So I tried to be cheerful and helpful and smart, and if I couldn't manage to fake any of those, I could at least push down all the bad feelings and show nothing. Until last year. I stopped being able to push things down. And in a way, it made sense that when I lost control of all my rage and my fear, that I lost you. All of you. Because that's what you get. Nobody wants you if you're like that."

He opened his mouth.

She aimed him a look. "And yes, Cisco, I know that I lost all of you because she joined forces with Savitar and was instrumental in H.R.s death and Iris's attempted murder. I understand that. I'm not stupid."

He had been going to say, she'd lost them because she'd left, but that was a fair point, too. "As long as you get there's a difference."

"I do," she said. "On a logical level. But when I realized that she was coming back, I tried to run, because I couldn't bear to lose you all again like that."

He refrained from pointing out that she would have lost them anyway.

"And then I didn't," she said. "And then I realized that you actually liked her. You have jokes together, you like fighting alongside her, Ralph thinks she's sexy. "

"Ralph tried to hit on a lamppost the other day," he pointed out. "Just saying."

"And in that case, what's the point? What's my reward for fighting down the worst parts of myself, if it isn't to keep my friends?"

"Look," he said, taking her hands. "You're going to have to figure that out yourself. I think the past year has shown that no outside influence is going to work to get a handle on Killer Frost. Power-dampening cuffs, solar necklaces, whatever it was that Black gave you - none of that, on its own, is ever going to be a permanent solution. You've got to get a handle on her yourself, for yourself, because it's the best thing for you. But while you're doing that, here's something I think you should keep in mind."

"What?"

"We like you," he said. "We like you when you're being smart and cheerful and helpful, yeah. But we also like you when you're snarly and mean, or sad, or upset. I like you. You don’t have be perfect to be our friend. You just have to be you." He waved at her up and down, trying to encompass her entirety. "Everything you are."

She swallowed hard. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said, starting to go back to the dampener cuff. He paused. "By the way, your mom is wrong."

She looked up. "My mom?"

"Yeah. When she told you all that stuff about how nobody likes little girls who aren't sweet and nice all the time."

"Oh, Cisco, My mom didn't tell me that."

He blinked. "Who did, then?"

She shook her head, smiling at him a little. "Nobody had to tell me. All little girls know that."

"Well, they're wrong," he said.

She tilted her head. The smile got sharper; colder. "Are they?"

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #Caitlin has a lot of feelings about KF #I do too #the flash

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shortstories-slp · 3 years ago

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Undiscovered Texts

The days roll on and the sky never returns to the soft blue hue. Instead, it is replaced by dark grey never ending storm clouds. It has been like this for weeks with no sign of change. Trying to get to the root of the problem a young Interviewer decides to visit Romania, where the storm is believed to have started.

It is at this point that we meet Miss Calinescu, who lives in the middle of the woods in Romania. She lives in a modest manor alone apart for a few maids. There is not much known about her either. She is an odd character and people seem to go missing in the woods around her house a lot. They just seem to disappear like they never existed. Thus, the conduction of this interview.

“I thought I told you that there is no reason to be so formal.” Miss Calinescu Maricara states and moves aside, sitting on her lavish couch.

“Ah yes. My apologies. Anyways, I have come here with a few questions. The first being, exactly who are you?” The interviewer asks, holding a fountain pen gingerly in his hand.

“Well, my name is Maricara Calinescu, but my maids just call me Mari. I like to think of myself as a researcher of sorts a collector maybe.” She says in a slightly cheery tone. He nods and jots this down. A maid silently walks into the room and stands next to the couch. Maricara looks up at her and the maid leans down, whispering something quietly in her ear.

“Oh. Will you excuse me for a moment? Luminita can answer a few of the questions you may have in the meantime.” She suggests and the interviewer agrees and watches Maricara leave the room.

“What would you say about Miss Calinescu? Is she a good person to work for?” He asks and watches Luminita carefully. She grips the frilled apron of her dress and speaks in quiet tone.

“She is a very sweet, charitable person, and a bit mysterious. However, she did take me in. So, I trust her with my life.” He writes that on his notepad and gets chills up his spine.

“Uhm. Well, what is with the inverted cross on her left cheek? Is it a tattoo or..?” He starts to ask and Luminita cuts him off.

“We do not talk about that. You do not need to know.” She says in a defensive tone and narrows her eyes on his pen.

“It seems to me that you should be leaving.” She continues and watches as a puddle of ink forms on his notepad. He drops his pen and looks down at his notes, hearing a noise down the hall.

Was that a scream?

He collects his belongings quickly and nods at Luminita, running to the front door. He slams it and loads his stuff into his car. He drives a little way down the long driveway and parks behind a big bush. He sits there and thinks to himself.

If that was a scream I should go back. Maybe she is holding someone hostage? Well regardless something weird is happening there. I should try and get back in there later tonight. He nods to himself and waits for the sun to go down.

Four Hours Later

He sneaks into the manor and hears classical music playing quietly from a room down the hall. He walks down the hall and goes over to the door that is slightly opened, peeking in. He jolts back in disgust, quickly covering his mouth to hold back any sound. He looks around panicked and starts to run back down the hallway. He gets to the window that he climbed in through. However, he feels a hand sit on his shoulder and he moves back, falling on the floor. Maricara laughs and looks down at the interviewer, a dark look looming over her perfectly sculpted features.

“You really should have minded your business.” She says coldly and licks her lips, watching him back away slowly. Maricara continues

“I’m really hungry and defiantly not in the mood to chase you, but since I have such fast reflexes. I will give you a head start, but this is the only time I’m doing that.” He shakes and continues to slide back on the floor.

“Y-You’re a vampire?!” He shouts and stumbles to his feet, backing away slowly. She rolls her eyes and starts to count.

“You have until the count of three to run as far as you can. 1… 2…” He shouts and holds up his hands.

“Wait! Wait. Stop.” He looks up at her and gets an annoyed look.

“Nope. You are done.” She says simply and he turns around, finally noticing he is surrounded by four maids. Luminita looks at him with a malicious grin. Maricara turns around and starts to walk away, waving her arm to the side.

“Go ahead and have fun with him but keep it quiet. I have a lot of work to do.” She states plainly and the maids respond in unison.

“Okay Mari.”

The Next Morning

The sky is still grey and there is no change in sight, a storm is brewing, and I am defiantly not the cause. Is that what the fool thought? Maricara looks out the window, before looking back at the interviewer’s notepad that the maids stole from his car. She tosses it down on her desk and rolls her eyes, hearing a soft knock on her door.

“Come in.” She says and sits on the padded bench. Dumitra walks in and bows slightly, before saying.

“We got rid of him and his belongings the only thing left is the notepad.” Maricara gets up and tosses it into the flames of the fireplace.

“There. Now it is like he never existed. Can you go get Luminita and Sorina? Along with our oldest bottle of wine? Then, come back in here so we can celebrate.” She says and fixes Dumitra hair, tucking a piece behind her ear smiling. Dumitra nods and smiles, rushing out of the room to gather the other maids. Maricara sighs and grabs a cigarette, opening the window slightly before lighting it and taking a long drag. She blows out a big puff of smoke and watches lightning flash in the distance.

“Yep. It’s only worse than before.” She states in a sarcastic tone putting out her cigarette. Soon enough the maids are running into the room with wine glasses, the bottle of wine, and cheese.

In the Evening

Maricara hears footsteps in the hall that are headed to her room. She sighs and gets up from her bed, looking over at Luminita who is sleeping half naked in her bed. She gets dressed quickly and walks over to the door, stepping out before the person could reach her door.

“Ah. It’s you Mirza.” She says and smiles looking up at her older brother, who practically towers over her.

“Mhm. What were you doing in there? Having sex with one of the maids?” He asks, looking down at his younger sister.

“No. I just needed someone to cuddle. You know it’s hard for me to sleep.” She says in a mocking tone.

“What are you doing awake anyways?” She continues and he responds

“Hey, Hey. Do not get a tone with me. I could easily kick you out of the manor.” Mirza looks down at her and speaks

“I’m awake because I’m hungry. Now, I am going to go hunting. Unlike you. Who would rather starve and ruin your lungs until some dimwitted person falls into your trap {walks into here}.” He walks away from her down the hall, heading to the manor’s front door.

“Please be careful.” Maricara says and Mirza hums, before walking out the door. She sighs and looks over at Sorina, asking.

“Will you go watch over him please?” Sorina replies

“Yes Miss Mari.” She bows and blushes a little, carefully tailing behind Mirza. She climbs up into a tree and jumps from limb to limb, quietly. Mirza senses that he is being tailed but ignores it. He finally gets next to the main road through the woods, waiting alongside of the road for a car to pass. He sticks his hand out and puts his thumb up. The car slows to a halt and rolls down the window.

Jackpot!

Its just a woman driving alone. He fixes his jacket and smiles.

“Hey miss! Would you mind giving me a ride to the next town? My car doesn’t work, so I have to walk usually, but it’s been so stormy out.” He explains and the woman looks at him in awe, blushing.

“Uh uhm. Of course!” She says and unlocks the car door, letting him in. Sorina groans quietly and watches the car drive away. Mirza asks

“So, What’s your name Doll?” She keeps her eyes on the road and quietly says

“It’s Ana-Maria.” Mirza responds

“What a beautiful name, for such a beautiful girl.” She bites her lip, feeling Mirza’s hand on her thigh. He leans over and kisses her neck, gently grazing it with his fangs. She gasps and slams on the breaks. Mirza quickly sinks his fangs into her neck. She lets out a shocked scream and he pulls away for a breath, her blood staining his cheeks and chin. She looks at him and faints. He sighs wipes his face off, carefully bandaging the woman’s neck.

“Mmm. A bit too sweet for my tastes, but it will have to work.” He mutters and carefully leans over, steering her car off to the side of the road before parking it and turning it off. Mirza gets out only to be greeted by Sorina.

“Are you ready to go back to the manor Mirza…?” She asks shyly and he looks at her, rolling his eyes.

“Why does she always send someone after me? I’m older than her.” He states moving closer to Sorina, causing her to back up against a tree.

“Hmm?” He hums and she states

“I-I dunno. I would assume that she just gets worried.” Her face flushes more and Mirza leans in, looking into her eyes. He sighs and mutters

“Well, lets just get back before she gets more antsy.” Sorina nods shyly and follows behind him carefully. Mirza walks through the woods and Sorina hears a noise, quickly running to his side holding onto his jacket sleeve. He looks over at her, watching her cling onto his sleeve deciding to pull his arm away and wrap it around her waist. She blushes feeling his arm lightly resting on her hip. He opens the manor door and allows her to walk in first, before going in behind her shutting the door.

“Well. I’m going to take a bath to relax my nerves.” He says and Sorina looks at him, all too hastily asking

“W-Would you like me to get the bath water ready?” Mirza just smirks and says

“Sure. Why not. You can even help me bathe. Get those hard-to-reach places.” He tosses a wink her way, and she quickly runs off to the bathroom. Mirza walks to the bathroom after about 10 minutes and knocks on the door before opening it.

“Hm? You look like you are ready to join me.” He teases Sorina and closes the door behind himself, locking it. She blushes more and walks away from the tub a bit.

“I-I will wait for you to get undressed and step in.” She says, turning her back to him. He shrugs to himself and starts to get undressed, tossing his clothes on the floor into a pile. He walks into the tub and starts to carefully get in, settling down into the warm water. Sorina turns around and smiles, her face still flushed like a beet. She sits on a stool next to the bath and rolls up the sleeves of her dress, pinning them up. She grabs soap and a washcloth, starting to wash his back carefully. He hums in a grateful tone it felt nice to have someone help him out occasionally. She continues, cleaning behind his ears, his neck, his sides, and his thighs. He watches her hands carefully and he leans back closing his eyes. She bites her lip and moves to kneel on the floor next to the tub. Mirza opens his eyes and looks down at her.

“Why don’t you join me?” He asks in a cool tone.

“W-Would that really be appropriate? I don’t want to take up all the space in the tub.” She replies. He grabs her wrist and assures her.

“It will be fine. Trust me.” He says in an extremely gentle tone. Sorina blushes and lets out a sigh of defeat.

“O-Okay, but can you look away while I get undressed,” She says in a quiet voice. He nods and looks away, starting to wash himself off. She starts to get undressed, unbuttoning her dress, untying her apron, and taking her hair down. She leaves her clothes in a neat pile on the floor. She walks over and carefully sits in the tub across from him, covering her chest.

“Y-You can look now.” She says, her long black hair falls over her shoulders, the ends floating into the water. It was now Mirza’s turn to blush. He stares at the maid in awe, as if he never seen her before. He was taken aback to say the least.

“Wow.” Was all that he could say. Sorina looks up at him and starts to awkwardly wash off. Mirza clears his throat and says

“Let me wash your back and your hair.” She nods and turns her back to him carefully. He grabs a washcloth and soap, carefully moving her hair to the side as he washes her back. Mirza leans closer kissing the nape of her neck, before gently washing her sides causing Sorina to shiver. He moves her hair back and starts to get it wet, beginning to wash her hair. He leans closer and whispers in her ear.

“Are you like the other three maids here? Have you slept with my little sister too?” She quickly moves away, blushing.

“No I haven’t! A-And when you say it like that it sounds very lewd!” She shouts and slaps his cheek, freezing after realizing what she had just done. Mirza puts a hand over his cheek and looks at her equally shocked.

“What the hell!? I was just joking.” He says in a low angry tone. She looks away with tears in her eyes. He continues in a cold tone.

“Just get out. I can finish this bath on my own.” Sorina sniffles and says

“I-I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry!” She sobs and sits on the edge of the tub, covering her face. Mirza looks over at her and sighs, standing up and grabbing a towel. He wraps the towel securely around his waist and grabs another one putting it on his shoulders.

“Get back in the tub. I will finish washing your hair.” He says in a gentle voice. She nods and sinks back into the tub, allowing him to finishing washing her hair.

#vampire #oc backstory #oc #story #long reads #tumblr writers #tumblr writer #writer #writer on tumblr #writer on wattpad #fiction #original fiction #vampire ocs #chapter 1 #written in word #part 1 #critique me

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nowitsdarkfic · 5 years ago

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chapter eleven (”i used to make out with medusa”)

November 28, 1988. Wellesley, Massachusetts.

“Wow—mmm, you're better than me.”

“Well, I dunno 'bout that.”

It's after sundown here on the edge of Boston, and the sky is still that pure white with the reflection of the sun on the steam. Meanwhile, Matt and I are still here in this pub: I'm pretty sure he's hammered because he keeps giggling every five seconds even though I haven't said a word. I've had to run into the bathroom twice now because of the root beer, but otherwise I'm the sober one here. Reminds me of when Lars got kind of tipsy back in the City. I put my arm around Matt to ensure that he doesn't fall out of his chair and onto the hard floor. He bows his head towards my shoulder with his golden blond hair spreading over the front of my shirt: I had taken off my coat and my gloves after I climbed out from behind the drum kit, and set them down on the bar in front of me, right in the same spot I had my fish.

“You aren't gonna barf, are ya?” I ask him in a loud enough voice for him to hear me over the crowd around us.

“Nah—” he sputters. He hesitates, and I think he stifled a burp there.

“Well, tell me if and when you get a hankering for upchucking, 'kay?” I tell him.

“Yeah—” He bursts out laughing. “I drank so much stout!”

“It wasn't that much,” I assure him. “At least not when I was sitting here with you.”

“I had—another refill, but—” He pauses again. “—I—I—” He rolls his head over so I can see the side of his face pressed against my chest, and he opens his mouth again, this time for the tip of his tongue to spill out like a dog. He spits out some hair and gives me this hysterical giggle.

I sigh at the sound of it.

The least I can do is stay with him until he's able to stand on his two feet. Unless he can stand on his own two feet and he's just being a silly drunk at the moment. I turn my head to the right when I hear a sound that sounds like someone calling my name. No one behind me, just an empty space on the honey colored floor there next to the stools. I return to Matt as he's struggling to push some of his hair out of his face.

I help him out with that when I hear the woman's voice again.

“Joey?” I turn my head again to see the kinky curls of black hair weaving her way through the crowd.

“Dominique!” I call out, and return to Matt for a brief second. “Your lady's here.”

“Cool—” he stammers. She hovers over me, her gloved hand right above my shoulder. I eye her fingers and, about an inch away from them, the crotch of her jeans. Her boyfriend has had one too many and I drummed almost just like him not too long ago. She knits her eyebrows together and scoffs at me.

“What happened here?”

“He had a little fun with the stout stuff,” I confess, and he laughs again. “It wasn't my doing—I swear.”

“Well, I was just gonna ask if either of you fellas wants to join Angeline and me for a bite of dinner, but I think it's a bit too late for that.

“Besides, uh—no, thank you, anyways—I'm stuffed.” I set a hand on my stomach.

She sniffs the side of my head.

“Yeah, you smell like French fries.”

“Eh, close. It was more fish than anything.”

“You're not drunk?”

“I had root beer.”

“I see.”

“Where is Angeline, by the way?”

“The other side of the room.” She gestures back towards the entrance and the sign reading “open mic night.”

“Hey—Hey—Hey—” Matt sputters out, wagging his finger at us. He rolls his head up towards me again, never taking the side off of my shoulder.

“What?” she asks him.

“Yeah, what's up?”

He stifles another belch in his throat.

“I forget.” He bursts out laughing again; I turn back to her as she's rolling her eyes and snickering at him.

“She wants to talk to you, by the way,” she says. “That's part of why I came over here, aside from telling you that Angeline wants us to take us out.”

“Who, me?”

“Yeah.”

“About what?”

“Not sure, she didn't say. But yeah—she told me distinctly 'I want to have a word with Joey.'”

“Alright.” I glance back at Matt again, right as he's yawning and closing his eyes at the sight of us. “What about him, though?”

“Don't worry 'bout him. I got him.”

She takes a seat in the other stool to the left of him so as to tug him off of me. I fix my shirt before standing up. I take one last sip from the root beer on the bar before heading over to the other side of the room to meet up with Angeline. I duck into the front lobby to find her lingering near the doorway with her handbag dangling off of her wrist. She's digging around on the inside of the bag for something.

“Angeline?” I call her, and she lifts her head for a look at me. Her face lights up at the sight of me.

“Oh, hey!”

“You wanted to speak to me?” I approach even closer to her so she can hear me.

“Um, yes. This isn't about Anthrax, even though I interviewed Scott and Dan just the other day. I asked them about you and they said they're not sure where to go from here with John.”

“Really?” I'm stunned by that.

“Yeah. Dan said they're considering and recalculating everything as it stands, and even though they seem pretty dead set on John, they're not ruling you out.”

“Wow. Because I was told I was done.”

“That's what Scott said, too. But—you know the whole thing about being in a band. Things and circumstances happen that bring about changes of heart on a regular basis.”

“Right.”

“Anyways, I wanted to speak to you about—what happened in here not too long ago.”

“What, my drumming?”

“Yes.” Her face lights up and her eyes gleam at me. “Dominique and I heard you playing outside in the alleyway, and I totally forgot how much your voice just fills out a whole room. So I want to know if you're planning on doing stuff of your own, because I would love to write about it in the future.”

“Well, right now—at the moment—I have some songs written down, back home—but I'm still trying to get the feel of them, you know? Like I don't know if I'll sing and drum, or if I'll just sing to them.”

“Oh, okay.” She gives her blonde hair a little toss back from her face. “So they're definitely gonna be Joey Belladonna songs?”

“Absolutely. Unless—either of the dudes from Anthrax wanna jam with me in the future?”

“I don't know—Scott told me he's going through kind of a difficult time right now, relationship wise, and it's really helping him out with writing their new album. Who knows really, because I've found, from my experience in writing and doing journalism work with bands and musicians, you can interview someone and you'll never hear the same story twice all the way.”

“Right—and I used to make out with Medusa, too,” I joke to her, and that coaxes a laugh out of her.

“I also want to ask you about Maya. The writer, Maya Sorensen. You know she's been missing, right?”

“That's what I've found, yeah.” I step out of the way of a young woman in a black overcoat and thigh high leather boots walking towards the bar.

“I thought the name sounded familiar when Dominique first brought it up to me. Like I've seen her name pop up in magazine publications and whatnot. I tried to get an interview with her because she had such an anti authoritarian attitude to life, like it reminded me of the punk bands in New York City, but I never could get her. And yes—her family is here in Boston, not too far from this pub and the school actually. The problem with that, though—”

“Trespassing?”

“Well, yes, but also—I guess her father, her foster father is a bit of a curmudgeon.”

I think about the curmudgeon down the block from Brick's house.

“How so?”

“He's one of those people who—do you ever come across someone so fixated on what they're doing that the slightest of interruptions is like setting off a bomb?”

“—yes?”

“That's what he's like. Going to their house for anything, much less an interview with me, a reporter, is a sure fire to get yourself killed.”

“What does he do again?” I ask her, trying to recall what Molly had told Lars and me in New Orleans.

“He's a business man, albeit a rather wealthy one. He helped build most of the real industrial side of Boston here.” “Oh?” I raise my eyebrows at that as I fold my arms over my chest.

“In fact, he introduced some of the—he calls them 'drones', you might have seen them either here, or in New York City, or in Seattle. They're like these chrome miniature airships about the size of a sofa.”

“I think I have,” I admit to her, “like I saw them flying over the freeway, coming over here.”

“Named such because they make this quiet drone that's rumored to drive a person to the brink of paranoia because it's on the threshold of human hearing.”

“Well, why's he making them if they do that?”

“They're prototypes. At least, that's according to what he has said publicly. I've seen them in Queens, in Manhattan, and over Staten Island, and yeah—they are kind of creepy looking, especially at night because they look like airplanes but they're not. But I guess it's to help out with things like photography and watching traffic. That's why he introduced them to New York City first because of all the traffic they get down there.”

“Have you actually interviewed him?”

“I haven't, no. I have interviewed her sister, though. Her sister, Candace.”

“And I assume Candace has said everything is peachy at home?” I'm thinking back to what Molly said.

“Actually according to her, life here in Boston has been anything but peachy.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. According to her, their home life was kind of lonely. Like it was just the two of them, they had to look out for each other.”

“That's not what her mom told me.”

“You interviewed her mom?” She raises her eyebrows at me.

“Foster mom. Molly. I wouldn't say 'interviewed' like you did with Scott and Danny, but yeah—I have spoken to her. Me and Lars both spoke to her in her home in New Orleans, and she told us some things about life here in Boston. How they've pretty much been treated well here at home.”

Angeline frowns at that.

“That's… not what I heard. Candace told me that she and Maya had to pretty much fend for themselves growing up, like after Maya was brought home.”

She opens her handbag again, this time for a little black book and a pen.

“What'cha lookin' for?” I ask her.

“I guess I'm going to have to arrange an interview with Michael Morlente because something here doesn't add up. All of this is stumping me.”

“You're telling me. If there's one thing that's stumping the hell out of me about her it's this tidbit about knowing where to find her. She told me that the other night while we were in New York City.”

“You know where to find her?”

“That's what she told me, yeah. It's almost like she's trying to hide things about herself from me, even though she wants to come closer to me.”

“Interesting. But anyway, I'll see if I can do a phone interview with him because I don't know any other way around it.”

Matt's voice floats in from behind me. I peer over my shoulder to see Dominique cradling him in one arm and holding my jacket over the other.

“Terrible idea,” she cracks.

“We can go by their house, though,” Angeline assures me as she scribbles something down in the little black leather bound book. “Like just to get an idea of it and everything, y'know?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Dominique hands me my coat and the gloves, which I presume she tucked into the pocket because I didn't do it, and I slip them on for this chilly late autumnal evening. Angeline tucks her book and her pen back into her handbag before leading us outside: Matt staggers about the sidewalk as we return to the alleyway with the air conditioners and then back to the street to the car I borrowed from Maya and Angeline's car. I take the key out of my coat pocket right before the driver's side door.

“Besides, I need to take this car back to Maya,” I tell her in a low voice as Matt and Dominique wobble past us.

“This is her car?” she asks me.

“Yeah. I think it's just a rental, but she drove me home in this and then she left it at my place.” I stop, and then I turn my head to her.

“Wait a minute,” I begin again, looking on at my reflection in the dark window. “Angeline, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“I think so,” she confesses. “But just as a reassurance, tell me.”

You know where to find me, Maya told me. I do.

“I think I know a way into their house—and not in the way that'll get either of us killed.”

“Hang on a second,” she tells me off, and rushes up to Dominique for a word. I'm sure of it. This is how I'll uncover the next secret about Maya.

Soon, Angeline returns to me, slinging her handbag over her shoulder.

“I gave her the key to my car,” she tells me, “like she and Matt will go to a park so he can rest and then you and I can—do whatever it is that you have in mind with the house.”

“It's a deal,” I flash her a wink and then the hydrogen hum within the car fires up in front of me as a result.

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mattrudeboysmith · 7 years ago

Text

026 :: movin’ on up.

lilydillyjames:

Lily rather enjoyed the process of moving everything in and feeling like a mature adult but she supposed it was different for Matt since he’d been living with his parents, unlike her who’d technically been living without hers for the last few months. It brought joy to her to see all their things being brought into the flat and although they didn’t really have much, she knew that’d change once they went out and properly shopped for the baby as well as collecting little bits and pieces they didn’t have for their home yet. She didn’t even mind helping with the carrying since she could jump in the lift rather than climb the stairs and she occupied herself by making their bed with the bedding she’d been allocated to bring up to the flat while Matt and his parents carried on with the heavy lifting. The KFC that was bought for them for dinner was much appreciated, especially by their baby who immediately settled once Lily had filled her stomach with something more than the rice cakes she’d been snacking on all day. It was still quite odd to be sitting somewhere other than Lynne’s house having dinner but it was a thing she was sure she’d get used to doing soon enough, even if it did mean they were both left to make their own dinners from now on and wouldn’t be taken care of by home cooked meals by his parents anymore.

By the time Matt’s family left, it still hadn’t really settled in that they were now left to their own devices but Lily breathed in the silence once the door closed and shrugged with a smile. “I dunno, I guess we just get on with it and grow up?” She chuckled, resting her hand on her lower back as she looked around. A few things needed to be unpacked still but it was a start and she walked over to their sofa to sit back down with a groan, already looking forward to saving up enough money to buy a new one. “You okay?” She asked with a smile, patting the cushion next to her for for him to come and sit beside her. Being without her mum for a while had left Lily with a feeling of forced independence but for Matt, losing the daily connection with his family must have been harder. “We can invite them over whenever you want and hope they bring us dinner because I honestly have no clue how the oven works here.” She grinned, not even able to say she was joking about the hope of his mum still cooking for them and providing them with better things than a microwave lasagna or a bowl of tomato soup. “We could go shopping tomorrow if you like? We need to look for a cot because it’ll probably take us months to put it together.” Lily suggested, hoping if they kept busy it’d stop them missing their old living situation.

With his parents gone, it was a strange feeling to be stood on their own in the flat. They were only a ten minute drive across town, but without a car to borrow every now and then anymore, it felt oddly isolated. It would take a while to get used to, but Matt didn’t expect any genuine homesickness to kick in for a few days yet. Being at university would have given him the distraction of nights out and his other flatmates to occupy his mind from being away from home for the first time, but all he had here was the sense of responsibility they’d chosen, and Lily for support. Lily’s response to his words had him wincing though, well aware that that was the reality now, and he breathed out a sigh at the thought. Her question caught his attention though, and he soon joined her on the sofa, happy to give his feet a brief rest at last. “I’ve got you, ‘course I’m okay,” he responded gently, but gave her an earnest smile nonetheless. He wasn’t sad or scared, not really, but it was difficult to pin down exactly what he was feeling; there was no use worrying her sick with undefined emotion though, and so he kept it positive until he could properly understand it.

Despite his words though, Lily seemed to pick up automatically on the root of his emotion, and he sighed, letting his head rest against her shoulder. “Mmm... Laura can stay at home though,” he murmured with a chuckle, tilting his head to press a kiss to what he could reach of her jaw. The playful jest was true though -- they’d have to learn the ins and outs of the flat to be fluent in living in it by the time the baby came -- and working out how the cooker and the washing machine and the heating worked were all part of that. “Maybe just food shopping tomorrow...” he suggested, not wanting to dent into their savings immediately just because they had no parental supervision anymore. “We can shop around online for a bit first for furniture, then go out to have a look? Saves bus fair on pointless trips,” he suggested, not wanting to put a damper on the situation, but they had to be careful with their money now. Everything had its price. “Do you want a hot chocolate?” Matt asked after a moment, lifting his head with a small smile. “I robbed it from the cupboards at home just in case baby princess didn’t like coffee or tea,” he grinned, lifting his hand to Lily’s bump and hoping a nice, warm drink helped settle them into their new home.

#026

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

Text

Over The Hills And Far Away

"Dr. Malone," said Lyra in the morning, "Will and me have got to look for our daemons. When we've found them, we'll know what to do. But we can't be without them for much longer. So we just want to go and look." "Where will you go?" said Mary, heavy-eyed and headachy after her disturbed night. She and Lyra were on the riverbank, Lyra to wash, and Mary to look, surreptitiously, for the man's footprints. So far she hadn't found any. "Don't know," said Lyra. "But they're out there somewhere. As soon as we came through from the battle, they ran away as if they didn't trust us anymore. Can't say I blame them, either. But we know they're in this world, and we thought we saw them a couple of times, so maybe we can find them." "Listen," Mary said reluctantly, and told Lyra about the man she'd seen the night before. As she spoke, Will came to join them, and both he and Lyra listened, wide-eyed and serious. "He's probably just a traveler and he found a window and wandered through from somewhere else," Lyra said when Mary had finished. "Like Will's father did. There's bound to be all kinds of openings now. Anyway, if he just turned around and left, he can't have meant to do anything bad, can he?" "I don't know. I didn't like it. And I'm worried about you going off on your own¨Cor I would be if I didn't know you'd already done far more dangerous things than that. Oh, I don't know. But please be careful. Please look all around. At least out on the prairie you can see someone coming from a long way off..." "If we do, we can escape straight away into another world, so he won't be able to hurt us," Will said. They were determined to go, and Mary was reluctant to argue. "At least," she said, "promise that you won't go in among the trees. If that man is still around, he might be hiding in a wood or a grove and you wouldn't see him in time to escape." "We promise," said Lyra. "Well, I'll pack you some food in case you're out all day." Mary took some flat bread and cheese and some sweet, thirst-quenching red fruits, wrapped them in a cloth, and tied a cord around it for one of them to carry over a shoulder. "Good hunting," she said as they left. "Please take care." She was still anxious. She stood watching them all the way to the foot of the slope. "I wonder why she's so sad," Will said as he and Lyra climbed the road up to the ridge. "She's probably wondering if she'll ever go home again," said Lyra. "And if her laboratory'll still be hers when she does. And maybe she's sad about the man she was in love with." "Mmm," said Will. "D'you think we'll ever go home?" "Dunno. I don't suppose I've got a home anyway. They probably couldn't have me back at Jordan College, and I can't live with the bears or the witches. Maybe I could live with the gyptians. I wouldn't mind that, if they'd have me." "What about Lord Asriel's world? Wouldn't you want to live there?" "It's going to fail, remember," she said. "Why?" "Because of what your father's ghost said, just before we came out. About daemons, and how they can only live for a long time if they stay in their own world. But probably Lord Asriel, I mean my father, couldn't have thought about that, because no one knew enough about other worlds when he started... All that," she said wonderingly, "all that bravery and skill... All that, all wasted! All for nothing!" They climbed on, finding the going easy on the rock road, and when they reached the top of the ridge, they stopped and looked back. "Will," she said, "supposing we don't find them?" "I'm sure we will. What I'm wondering is what my daemon will be like." "You saw her. And I picked her up," Lyra said, blushing, because of course it was a gross violation of manners to touch something so private as someone else's daemon. It was forbidden not only by politeness, but by something deeper than that - something like shame. A quick glance at Will's warm cheeks showed that he knew that just as well as she did. They walked on side by side, suddenly shy with each other. But Will, not put off by being shy, said, "When does your daemon stop changing shape?" "About... I suppose about our age, or a bit older. Maybe more sometimes. We used to talk about Pan settling, him and me. We used to wonder what he'd be - " "Don't people have any idea?" "Not when they're young. As you grow up you start thinking, well, they might be this or they might be that... And usually they end up something that fits. I mean something like your real nature. Like if your daemon's a dog, that means you like doing what you're told, and knowing who's boss, and following orders, and pleasing people who are in charge. A lot of servants are people whose daemons are dogs. So it helps to know what you're like and to find what you'd be good at. How do people in your world know what they're like?" "I don't know. I don't know much about my world. All I know is keeping secret and quiet and hidden, so I don't know much about... grownups, and friends. Or lovers. I think it'd be difficult having a daemon because everybody would know so much about you just by looking. I like to keep secret and stay out of sight." "Then maybe your daemon'd be an animal that's good at hiding. Or one of those animals that looks like another, a butterfly that looks like a wasp, for disguise. They must have creatures like that in your world, because we have, and we're so much alike." They walked on together in a friendly silence. All around them the wide, clear morning lay limpid in the hollows and pearly blue in the warm air above. As far as the eye could see, the great savanna rolled, brown, gold, buff-green, shimmering toward the horizon, and empty. They might have been the only people in the world. "But it's not empty really," Lyra said. "You mean that man?" "No. You know what I mean." "Yes, I do. I can see shadows in the grass... maybe birds," Will said. He was following the little darting movements here and there. He found it easier to see the shadows if he didn't look at them. They were more willing to show themselves to the corners of his eye, and when he said so to Lyra, she said, "It's negative capability." "What's that?" "The poet Keats said it first. Dr. Malone knows. It's how I read the alethiometer. It's how you use the knife, isn't it?" "Yes, I suppose it is. But I was just thinking that they might be the daemons." "So was I, but..." She put her finger to her lips. He nodded. "Look," he said, "there's one of those fallen trees." It was Mary's climbing tree. They went up to it carefully, keeping an eye on the grove in case another one should fall. In the calm morning, with only a faint breeze stirring the leaves, it seemed impossible that a mighty thing like this should ever topple, but here it was. The vast trunk, supported in the grove by its torn-up roots and out on the grass by the mass of branches, was high above their heads. Some of those branches, crushed and broken, were themselves as big around as the biggest trees Will had ever seen; the crown of the tree, tight-packed with boughs that still looked sturdy, leaves that were still green, towered like a ruined palace into the mild air. Suddenly Lyra gripped Will's arm. "Shh," she whispered. "Don't look. I'm sure they're up there. I saw something move and I swear it was Pan..." Her hand was warm. He was more aware of that than of the great mass of leaves and branches above them. Pretending to gaze vacantly at the horizon, he let his attention wander upward into the confused mass of green, brown, and blue, and there - she was right! - there was a something that was not the tree. And beside it, another. "Walk away," Will said under his breath. "We'll go somewhere else and see if they follow us." "Suppose they don't... But yes, all right," Lyra whispered back. They pretended to look all around; they set their hands on one of the branches resting on the ground, as if they were intending to climb; they pretended to change their minds, by shaking their heads and walking away. "I wish we could look behind," Lyra said when they were a few hundred yards away. "Just go on walking. They can see us, and they won't get lost. They'll come to us when they want to." They stepped off the black road and into the knee-high grass, swishing their legs through the stems, watching the insects hovering, darting, fluttering, skimming, hearing the million-voiced chorus chirrup and scrape. "What are you going to do, Will?" Lyra said quietly after they'd walked some way in silence. "Well, I've got to go home," he said. She thought he sounded unsure, though. She hoped he sounded unsure. "But they might still be after you," she said. "Those men." "We've seen worse than them, after all." "Yes, I suppose... But I wanted to show you Jordan College, and the Fens. I wanted us to..." "Yeah," he said, "and I wanted... It would be good to go to Citt¨¤gazze again, even. It was a beautiful place, and if the Specters are all gone... But there's my mother. I've got to go back and look after her. I just left her with Mrs. Cooper, and it's not fair on either of them." "But it's not fair on you to have to do that." "No," he said, "but that's a different sort of not fair. That's just like an earthquake or a rainstorm. It might not be fair, but no one's to blame. But if I just leave my mother with an old lady who isn't very well herself, then that's a different kind of not fair. That would be wrong. I've just got to go home. But probably it's going to be difficult to go back as we were. Probably the secret's out now. I don't suppose Mrs. Cooper will have been able to look after her, not if my mother's in one of those times when she gets frightened of things. So she's probably had to get help, and when I go back, I'll be made to go into some kind of institution." "No! Like an orphanage?" "I think that's what they do. I just don't know. I'll hate it." "You could escape with the knife, Will! You could come to my world!" "I still belong there, where I can be with her. When I'm grown up I'll be able to look after her properly, in my own house. No one can interfere then." "D'you think you'll get married?" He was quiet for a long time. She knew he was thinking, though. "I can't see that far ahead," he said. "It would have to be someone who understands about... I don't think there's anyone like that in my world. Would you get married?" "Me too," she said. "Not to anyone in my world, I shouldn't think." They walked on steadily, wandering toward the horizon. They had all the time in the world: all the time the world had. After a while Lyra said, "You will keep the knife, won't you? So you could visit my world?" "Of course. I certainly wouldn't give it to anyone else, ever." "Don't look - " she said, not altering her pace. "There they are again. On the left." "They are following us," said Will, delighted. "Shh!" "I thought they would. Okay, we'll just pretend now, we'll just wander along as if we're looking for them, and we'll look in all sorts of stupid places." It became a game. They found a pond and searched among the reeds and in the mud, saying loudly that the daemons were bound to be shaped like frogs or water beetles or slugs; they peeled off the bark of a long-fallen tree at the edge of a string-wood grove, pretending to have seen the two daemons creeping underneath it in the form of earwigs; Lyra made a great fuss of an ant she claimed to have trodden on, sympathizing with its bruises, saying its face was just like Pan's, asking in mock sorrow why it was refusing to speak to her. But when she thought they were genuinely out of earshot, she said earnestly to Will, leaning close to speak quietly: "We had to leave them, didn't we? We didn't have a choice really?" "Yes, we had to. It was worse for you than for me, but we didn't have any choice at all. Because you made a promise to Roger, and you had to keep it." "And you had to speak to your father again..." "And we had to let them all out." "Yes, we did. I'm so glad we did. Pan will be glad one day, too, when I die. We won't be split up. It was a good thing we did." As the sun rose higher in the sky and the air became warmer, they began to look for shade. Toward noon they found themselves on the slope rising toward the summit of a ridge, and when they'd reached it, Lyra flopped down on the grass and said, "Well! If we don't find somewhere shady soon..." There was a valley leading down on the other side, and it was thick with bushes, so they guessed there might be a stream as well. They traversed the slope of the ridge till it dipped into the head of the valley, and there, sure enough, among ferns and reeds, a spring bubbled out of the rock. They dipped their hot faces in the water and swallowed gratefully, and then they followed the stream downward, seeing it gather in miniature whirlpools and pour over tiny ledges of stone, and all the time get fuller and wider. "How does it do that?" Lyra marveled. "There's no more water coming into it from anywhere else, but there's so much more of it here than up there." Will, watching the shadows out of the corner of his eye, saw them slip ahead, leaping over the ferns to disappear into the bushes farther down. He pointed silently. "It just goes slower," he said. "It doesn't flow as fast as the spring comes out, so it gathers in these pools...They've gone in there," he whispered, indicating a little group of trees at the foot of the slope. They looked at each other, a curiously formal and serious look, before setting off to follow the stream. The undergrowth got thicker as they went down the valley; the stream went into tunnels of green and emerged in dappled clearings, only to tumble over a lip of stone and bury itself in the green again, and they had to follow it as much by hearing as by sight. At the foot of the hill, it ran into the little wood of silver-barked trees. Father Gomez watched from the top of the ridge. It hadn't been hard to follow them; despite Mary's confidence in the open savanna, there was plenty of concealment in the grass and the occasional thickets of string-wood and sap-lacquer bushes. The two young people had spent a lot of time earlier looking all around as if they thought they were being followed. He had had to keep some distance away, but as the morning passed, they became more and more absorbed in each other and paid less attention to the landscape. The one thing he didn't want to do was hurt the boy. He had a horror of harming an innocent person. The only way to make sure of his target was to get close enough to see her clearly, which meant following them into the wood. Quietly and cautiously he moved down the course of the stream. His daemon the green-backed beetle flew overhead, tasting the air; her eyesight was less good than his, but her sense of smell was acute, and she caught the scent of the young people's flesh very clearly. She would go a little ahead, perch on a stem of grass, and wait for him, then move on again; and as she caught the trail in the air that their bodies left behind, Father Gomez found himself praising God for his mission, because it was clearer than ever that the boy and the girl were walking into mortal sin. He watched them go in among the trees. They hadn't looked back once since coming over the top of the ridge, but he still kept low, moving down the stream at a crouch, holding the rifle in one hand, balancing with the other. He was so close to success now that for the first time he found himself speculating on what he would do afterward, and whether he would please the Kingdom of Heaven more by going back to Geneva or staying to evangelize this world. The first thing to do here would be to convince the four-legged creatures, who seemed to have the rudiments of reason, that their habit of riding on wheels was abominable and Satanic, and contrary to the will of God. Break them of that, and salvation would follow. He reached the foot of the slope, where the trees began, and laid the rifle down silently. He gazed into the silver-green-gold shadows, and listened, with both hands behind his ears to catch and focus any quiet voices through the insect chirping and the trickle of the stream. Yes: there they were. They'd stopped. He bent to pick up the rifle - And found himself uttering a hoarse and breathless gasp, as something clutched his daemon and pulled her away from him. But there was nothing there! Where was she? The pain was atrocious. He heard her crying, and cast about wildly to left and right, looking for her. "Keep still," said a voice from the air, "and be quiet. I have your daemon in my hand." "But - where are you? Who are you?" "My name is Balthamos," said the voice. Will and Lyra followed the stream into the wood, walking carefully, saying little, until they were in the very center. There was a little clearing in the middle of the grove, which was floored with soft grass and moss-covered rocks. The branches laced across overhead, almost shutting out the sky and letting through little moving spangles and sequins of sunlight, so that everything was dappled with gold and silver. And it was quiet. Only the trickle of the stream, and the occasional rustle of leaves high up in a little curl of breeze, broke the silence. Will put down the package of food; Lyra put down her little rucksack. There was no sign of the daemon shadows anywhere. They were completely alone. They took off their shoes and socks and sat down on the mossy rocks at the edge of the stream, dipping their feet in the cold water and feeling the shock of it invigorate their blood. "I'm hungry," Will said. "Me too," said Lyra, though she was also feeling more than that, something subdued and pressing and half-happy and half-painful, so that she wasn't quite sure what it was. They unfolded the cloth and ate some bread and cheese. For some reason their hands were slow and clumsy, and they hardly tasted the food, although the bread was floury and crisp from the hot baking-stones, and the cheese was flaky and salty and very fresh. Then Lyra took one of those little red fruits. With a fast-beating heart, she turned to him and said, "Will..." And she lifted the fruit gently to his mouth. She could see from his eyes that he knew at once what she meant, and that he was too joyful to speak. Her fingers were still at his lips, and he felt them tremble, and he put his own hand up to hold hers there, and then neither of them could look; they were confused; they were brimming with happiness. Like two moths clumsily bumping together, with no more weight than that, their lips touched. Then before they knew how it happened, they were clinging together, blindly pressing their faces toward each other. "Like Mary said," he whispered, "you know straight away when you like someone - when you were asleep, on the mountain, before she took you away, I told Pan - " "I heard," she whispered, "I was awake and I wanted to tell you the same and now I know what I must have felt all the time: I love you, Will, I love you - " The word love set his nerves ablaze. All his body thrilled with it, and he answered her in the same words, kissing her hot face over and over again, drinking in with adoration the scent of her body and her warm, honey-fragrant hair and her sweet, moist mouth that tasted of the little red fruit. Around them there was nothing but silence, as if all the world were holding its breath. Balthamos was terrified. He moved up the stream and away from the wood, holding the scratching, stinging, biting insect daemon, and trying to conceal himself as much as he could from the man who was stumbling after them. He mustn't let him catch up. He knew that Father Gomez would kill him in a moment. An angel of his rank was no match for a man, even if that angel was strong and healthy, and Balthamos was neither of those; besides which, he was crippled by grief over Baruch and shame at having deserted Will before. He no longer even had the strength to fly. "Stop, stop," said Father Gomez. "Please keep still. I can't see you - let's talk, please - don't hurt my daemon, I beg you - " In fact, the daemon was hurting Balthamos. The angel could see the little green thing dimly through the backs of his clasped hands, and she was sinking her powerful jaws again and again into his palms. If he opened his hands just for a moment, she would be gone. Balthamos kept them closed. "This way," he said, "follow me. Come away from the wood. I want to talk to you, and this is the wrong place." "But who are you? I can't see you. Come closer - how can I tell what you are till I see you? Keep still, don't move so quickly!" But moving quickly was the only defense Balthamos had. Trying to ignore the stinging daemon, he picked his way up the little gully where the stream ran, stepping from rock to rock. Then he made a mistake: trying to look behind him, he slipped and put a foot into the water. "Ah," came a whisper of satisfaction as Father Gomez saw the splash. Balthamos withdrew his foot at once and hurried on - but now a wet print appeared on the dry rocks each time he put his foot down. The priest saw it and leapt forward, and felt the brush of feathers on his hand. He stopped in astonishment: the word angel reverberated in his mind. Balthamos seized the moment to stumble forward again, and the priest felt himself dragged after him as another brutal pang wrenched his heart. Balthamos said over his shoulder, "A little farther, just to the top of the ridge, and we shall talk, I promise." "Talk here! Stop where you are, and I swear I shan't touch you!" The angel didn't reply: it was too hard to concentrate. He had to split his attention three ways: behind him to avoid the man, ahead to see where he was going, and on the furious daemon tormenting his hands. As for the priest, his mind was working quickly. A truly dangerous opponent would have killed his daemon at once, and ended the matter there and then; this antagonist was afraid to strike. With that in mind he let himself stumble, and uttered little moans of pain, and pleaded once or twice for the other to stop - all the time watching closely, moving nearer, estimating how big the other was, how quickly he could move, which way he was looking. "Please," he said brokenly, "you don't know how much this hurts - I can't do you any harm - please can we stop and talk?" He didn't want to move out of sight of the wood. They were now at the point where the stream began, and he could see the shape of Balthamos's feet very lightly pressing the grass. The priest had watched every inch of the way, and he was sure now where the angel was standing. Balthamos turned around. The priest raised his eyes to the place where he thought the angel's face would be, and saw him for the first time: just a shimmer in the air, but there was no mistaking it. The angel wasn't quite close enough to reach in one movement, though, and in truth the pull on his daemon had been painful and weakening. Maybe he should take another step or two... "Sit down," said Balthamos. "Sit down where you are. Not a step closer." "What do you want?" said Father Gomez, not moving. "What do I want? I want to kill you, but I haven't got the strength." "But are you an angel?" "What does it matter?" "You might have made a mistake. We might be on the same side." "No, we're not. I have been following you. I know whose side you're on - no, no, don't move. Stay there." "It's not too late to repent. Even angels are allowed to do that. Let me hear your confession." "Oh, Baruch, help me!" cried Balthamos in despair, turning away. And as he cried out, Father Gomez leapt for him. His shoulder hit the angel's, and knocked Balthamos off balance; and in throwing out a hand to save himself, the angel let go of the insect daemon. The beetle flew free at once, and Father Gomez felt a surge of relief and strength. In fact, it was that which killed him, to his great surprise. He hurled himself so hard at the faint form of the angel, and he expected so much more resistance than he met, that he couldn't keep his balance. His foot slipped; his momentum carried him down toward the stream; and Balthamos, thinking of what Baruch would have done, kicked aside the priest's hand as he flung it out for support. Father Gomez fell hard. His head cracked against a stone, and he fell stunned with his face in the water. The cold shock woke him at once, but as he choked and feebly tried to rise, Balthamos, desperate, ignored the daemon stinging his face and his eyes and his mouth, and used all the little weight he had to hold the man's head down in the water, and he kept it there, and kept it there, and kept it there. When the daemon suddenly vanished, Balthamos let go. The man was dead. As soon as he was sure, Balthamos hauled the body out of the stream and laid it carefully on the grass, folding the priest's hands over his breast and closing his eyes. Then Balthamos stood up, sick and weary and full of pain. "Baruch," he said, "oh, Baruch, my dear, I can do no more. Will and the girl are safe, and everything will be well, but this is the end for me, though truly I died when you did, Baruch, my beloved." A moment later, he was gone. In the bean field, drowsy in the late afternoon heat, Mary heard Atal's voice, and she couldn't tell excitement from alarm: had another tree fallen? Had the man with the rifle appeared? Look! Look! Atal was saying, nudging Mary's pocket with her trunk, so Mary took the spyglass and did as her friend said, pointing it up to the sky. Tell me what it's doing! said Atal. I can feel it is different, but I can't see. The terrible flood of Dust in the sky had stopped flowing. It wasn't still, by any means; Mary scanned the whole sky with the amber lens, seeing a current here, an eddy there, a vortex farther off; it was in perpetual movement, but it wasn't flowing away anymore. In fact, if anything, it was falling like snowflakes. She thought of the wheel trees: the flowers that opened upward would be drinking in this golden rain. Mary could almost feel them welcoming it in their poor parched throats, which were so perfectly shaped for it, and which had been starved for so long. The young ones, said Atal. Mary turned, spyglass in hand, to see Will and Lyra returning. They were some way off; they weren't hurrying. They were holding hands, talking together, heads close, oblivious to everything else; she could see that even from a distance. She nearly put the spyglass to her eye, but held back, and returned it to her pocket. There was no need for the glass; she knew what she would see; they would seem to be made of living gold. They would seem the true image of what human beings always could be, once they had come into their inheritance. The Dust pouring down from the stars had found a living home again, and these children-no-longer-children, saturated with love, were the cause of it all.

#AmberSpyglass

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