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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: A Waffle Lot of Trouble (baon)

Summary: Edge has learned many things since he began his relationship with Stretch, gone to a variety of places, done so many things. Surely he can endure this travesty. Surely he can survive...the Waffle House.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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“Explain to me why we are doing this?”

Edge followed Stretch through the door beneath the glowing sign and the reluctant drag of his boots did not stop his husband’s determined march.

“three reasons,” Stretch said. He did not loosen his hold on Edge’s hand, as if suspicious he might flee if given a chance and Edge couldn’t say he was wrong. “one, because i’m craving horrible unhealthy eats and your cooking, while delicious, doesn’t qualify. two, you’ve never been to a waffle house and it is an experience that everyone should enjoy—”

“Endure.”

“—enjoy,” Stretch insisted stubbornly. “which brings us to the third and most important reason. you love me.”

“I do,” Edge sighed. This wouldn’t be the first occasion that his adoration would take him to strange and sometimes fascinating places for unique meals. They used to do it quite often while they were still dating and Stretch was doing his weekly restaurant reviews for his twitter. Somehow the banquet had dwindled off as he slowly ran out of places in Ebott to review. It was a shame, really, and perhaps he should speak to Stretch about starting up again. There was no reason they couldn’t travel a bit further out of the city so long as proper security measures were taken. It would be enjoyable to find another small hole-in-the-wall or old family business eager to share their signature meal.

From the looks of this place, the food would be better left unsigned.

The booths looked as if they’d been torn straight from an old sitcom, padded red vinyl with the occasional patch attempting, and occasionally failing, to hold the stuffing in. It was a match to the stools lining the long counter, separated by little islands of napkins, condiments, and straws nestled together. The overhead lights were glaringly intense with one in the corner flickering with seizure inducing intensity and in the other corner was a jukebox to complete the scene in searing neon.

If horribly unhealthy food was what Stretch was craving, then he’d found its haven.

“c’mon,” Stretch tugged at his hand to pull him along and Edge’s dragging stride had nothing to do with the cane he was leaning on. His husband led the way to one of the booths, still chattering, “i used to come here all the time before we got together. sometimes when i couldn’t sleep, i’d sneak out and take the late bus out and sit here for half the night, taking up space.”

There were so many horrible things wrong with that statement that Edge couldn’t pick one to start with; the very idea of Stretch alone on the bus after midnight, or him here and equally alone, hanging out with the sort of Human patrons who were eager for cheap, greasy food in the wee hours, or the last indignity, that he’d hidden his excursions from his brother. Anything could have happened and the fact that it didn’t only barely kept Edge’s mouth shut.

Then his teeth ground together for another reason as they halted in front of one of the booths.

The table was the sort of sticky usually reserved for movie theater floors and while Edge tolerated it beneath his shoes, having it beneath his elbows, or worse, beneath Stretch’s bare hands, was entirely unacceptable.

Before he could give voice to one of his many protests, Stretch was already rummaging through his bag, this one with the chemical formula for caffeine boldly on the side. "don't worry, babe, got you covered."

He pulled out a package of disinfecting wipes and busied himself cleaning not only the tabletop, but also the plastic bench seats and even the salt and pepper shakers. Everything on the table got a thorough wipe down and as soon as the seat dried, Edge grudgingly sat. Much as he was relieved that Stretch came prepared, the fact that he knew to be prepared did not instill much faith.

He tried very hard not to think about the state of the kitchen.

Edge picked up one of the freshly wiped down menus to frown at. “You still haven’t explained to me why we needed to come at 3am. We could have come at noon for the lunch special.”

“nah, that’s for soccer moms and octogenarians,” Stretch scoffed. “you come at 3am ‘cause that's when you go to a waffle house, babe! it's a liminal space, a place of transition, where you cross over from one space to the next and—"

“If I’d known we’d be traveling so much I would have worn better shoes.”

“always got jokes, babe,” Stretch snickered. He lowered his voice, leaning in. “but seriously, look around.”

Edge was well familiar with the subtleties involved in a careful awareness of one’s surroundings. Without lifting his head, he looked around the diner. There were only four other customers, all of them with plates already in front of them. One a group of college-age Humans who might have been fashionably dressed up for the club a few hours earlier but now their makeup was running from sweat, their hair fallen and straggly, and simply by looking at them, he had a fair assessment of their current smell. The other person, who looked as if they might have been in prison as recently as last night, was forcefully shoveling what might have been hash browns into his mouth. It was difficult to tell; whatever it was had enough ketchup poured on top to give even Sans a pause and a moment to reconsider. He could very well have been eating shredded napkins beneath that thick layer of red.

None of the Humans paid him and Stretch any mind, so Edge silently wished the man good fortune on his recent parole and returned to looking at the menu while touching it as little as possible.

The door that presumable led to the kitchen swung abruptly open and a harried waitress came through it, coffeepot in hand. She didn’t so much as give them a second glance, only thunked down a pair of heavy white coffee mugs and poured them full to the brim.

“Be back to take your order in a minute,” she said distractedly.

“take your time.” Stretch was already tearing open sugar packets to add to his cup. He took a sip, grimaced, and added several more.

Edge reached for his own cup, already braced for whatever burnt dregs ended up as the primary flavor, when the ancient jukebox suddenly came to life, blaring out a jaunty 50’s style tune about raisins in toast. Edge jerked, cursing softly as he spilled hot coffee over his hand. He hastily stripped off his glove and turned to glare at the jukebox…except there was no one by it. No one else was even looking at the blasted thing.

A light touch on his hand sent him jerking back the other way, to find Stretch holding out a fresh pair of gloves for him with one hand as he continued to peruse the menu with the other.

“Thank you,” Edge sighed out. He dried his stinging hand with a napkin before sliding on the gloves.

"no prob. that happens sometimes," Stretch said absently. "the old waitress here swore the jukebox was haunted. whatcha getting?"

The sudden u-turn from the supernatural to the mundane was nearly enough to add to his whiplash. Edge picked up the menu again with his fingertips, still trying to touch it as little as possible. He doubted if Stretch’s supply of gloves was endless. "If I had blood and flesh, a tetanus shot. Since that isn't an option, I'll settle for the ubiquitous waffles.”

Not that he had any intention of eating anything. He only hoped that pushing it around his plate and perhaps mashing pieces with his fork would suffice. He added a silent prayer that he might be able resist the urge to slap Stretch’s plate away like a poisoned entrée before he carried his husband back out to the safety of their car. It would be a enduring struggle, he was certain.

Sudden shouts rose and Edge jerked again, turning to see that a set of the college-ish humans were engaged in a combination of shrieking and hairpulling, while their companions shouted at them, in encouragement or deterrence, it was difficult to tell.

As quick as it began, it ended, and they all returned to the table, eating their fries and cheese sticks while one held a napkin to their bleeding nose and the other, a glass of ice water against her swelling eye.

“Stretch—” Edge began, low. The best waffles in the world weren’t worth putting his husband anywhere near this sort of danger and certainly not the greasy globs of fried dough that were on offer here.

“hmm?” He turned back to see his husband hadn’t even seemed to notice the brief outbreak of brawling three booths away. Stretch only flipped the menu over and frowned, “dunno, maybe i’ll get the hash brown bowl this time, what do you th—"

He broke off at the sound of shouting from the kitchen, the entire restaurant turning to watch a burly man in an apron storm out, the waitress at his heels. Whatever his complaint, it was difficult to parse around the vigorous swearing, words that might even manage to bring a hint of a blush to his brother’s face.

Might.

What couldn’t be mistaken was his last shout, two clear, concise words. “I quit!”

The gathered assembly watched as the man ripped off his apron and tossed it on the counter, stalking out the front doors and out of their lives.

A long moment of silence, then Stretch grumbled out, “aw, man, not again. why do they always quit in the middle of the night, this is the third time!”

The waitress only stood there, a helpless expression on her weary face. She turned to them, “Sorry, guys, the next cook isn’t in until six.”

“nah, it’s cool,” Stretch sighed and started to get to his feet. “we’ll have to try again another time, babe.”

The waitress began gathering their unused silverware and Edge could hear her miserable sniffle as he followed Stretch towards the door. She was very young, and as terrible as Edge was at guessing Human ages, he suspected if she’d been a Monster, she would have been barely out of stripes. “Don’t suppose either of you cook?”

Edge paused.

In front of him, Stretch also stopped when he realized Edge was no longer following him, the reluctant leash of his hand becoming a stubborn brake. “what are you…” His expression changed, his sockets narrowing. “babe. no.”

Edge said nothing, only looked back at Stretch and watched his growing outrage, “no! you wouldn’t let me work at the haunted house that time! that guy would’ve paid us at the end of the night, we could’ve been their best workers! bet you could’ve gotten a ton of macho men to wet their pants without breaking a sweat!”

“She needs help,” Edge said, quietly. He did not bring up the ending debacle of their haunted house trip that landed them in the parking lot after an unintentional shortcut, a prudent choice when persuading Stretch.

Stretch faltered, looking around him at the waitress. Who was near tears, fruitlessly trying to call someone on her cell phone who wasn’t picking up. He blew out a sharp breath, rolling his pale eye lights, but his faint smile was unmistakable.

“always got to be the hero, don’t you,” Stretch sighed. He jerked a thumb back into the diner. “go ahead, superman, have at it.”

Edge nodded and turned back, walking over to the young waitress determinedly. “Excuse me, miss.”

It was only five o’clock in the morning when the other cook arrived, still bleary-eyed and his hair sticking up in the back. He didn’t ask about the newly shiny cleanliness of the grill, nor the fryers. And the counters. The floor. Even the mysterious dark smudge that forever haunted the smoke hood was gone, but he had no questions. He merely grunted a greeting and took possession of the equally shiny spatula, already reaching for the eggs that were sizzling on the griddle.

Edge removed his spotless apron and hung it on the peg by the door. He gave the kitchen a last satisfied look, then went out the door.

Out in the dining area in a corner booth, his husband was curled up, asleep. His skull sagged back against the worn vinyl padding, his mouth open, and a faint snore escaping on each exhale. An oversized leather jacket was spread over him that was not Edge’s and certainly wasn’t his own, Edge reached for it with a frown, lifting it off him in a jangle of chains and zippers.

“I’ll take that off ya hands.” He turned to see last night’s possible parolee holding out a hand. Wordlessly, Edge handed over the jacket and the Man shrugged into it. “He was shiverin’, didn’t want to bother ya while you was giving Anna a hand. So I kept an eye on ‘im.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him softly. The man gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“Nah, thank you for helpin’ her out,” the man said gruffly, “She’s a good kid, couldn’t afford to the lose the paycheck for the night.”

“Ready to go, daddy?” They turned as the Anna in question, the waitress, came out of the kitchen, coat in hand. Another waitress was already speaking to the other early morning customers, coffee in hand and waffles on order.

“Ready when you are, kid.” The man turned and shuffled to the door, but Anna paused by Edge.

“Thank you,” she said. Tears were brimming in her eyes, unshed. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told her, honestly. A few hours of cooking and deep cleaning was soothing to him in its own way, body and soul, and while his leg was beginning to complain, the rest of him felt nothing but deep, almost luxurious peace.

She gave him a happy smile and went after her father.

Edge watched her go, then turned back to Stretch, who was already stirring without the protection of the jacket. “hummzat?” he mumbled out, and when Edge reached out to gently cup his cheekbone in one hand, he learned with drowsy contentment into the touch.

“We can go home now,” Edge told him softly. He did not expect that sleepy look to turn to one of dismay, his sockets going wide.

“but we didn’t get any waffles!” Stretch said, with deep layers of disappointment. It was true; he’d fallen asleep before Edge even figured out the industrial waffle iron.

Edge only shook his head and took a seat on the other side of the booth, “All right then, waffles it is. You were right, you know.”

“hm?” Stretch yawned, “’bout what?”

“I did cross over from one space to the next,” Edge said, solemnly. He kept his expression as straight as a ruler, concealing even the hint of a smile. “A transition, if you will, into a liminal space—”

“i didn’t mean from the dining room to the kitchen,” Stretch grumbled. But he reached out to give Edge’s hand a brief squeeze, his thumb brushing over the ring on his third finger.

“Nevertheless,” Edge picked up a menu, though by now he knew it by heart. “Now. What are you having?”

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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green-blue-heller · 4 years ago

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Hi!! How about a one shot with first person narrative, with Jensen thinking about the video posted yesterday by Darius (jealousy?) And also the video posted by Misha (butterflies in the stomach!)? Write this story, please! 😁

Ohhh! Thanks for being so patient while waiting for this! I absolutely loved writing it. Though, as I told you, I did struggle a little because first person isn’t my strong suit, but I love a good challenge!

Hope you love it.

Because it is Cockles RPF, I put it under the break. :)

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Title: Green with Jealousy (Read on AO3)

Cockles RPF

Words: 2174

I hadn’t meant to slam my phone down as hard as I did, and when Danneel looked up at me from across the room, one eyebrow raised, I gave a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” My voice was low as I muttered, trying to keep my annoyance from my wife. But she knew me all too well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her expression go soft as she put down the security monitor she had been using to keep an eye on Arrow and J.J. as they played in the twins’ room. Guilt consumed me as I watched her make her way over.

The last thing I wanted to do was let her know how stupid I was acting, but she knew me too long for me to be able to hide anything from her. That was why I didn’t even try anymore.

“What’s wrong, Jensen?” She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder.

I grunted, not sure how to answer her. The truth was, I wasn’t even sure what exactly it was that was bothering me. There was no reason for it. It was just this feeling that I couldn’t put a name to, that slowly started to wrap itself tight in my chest.

Or, rather, a feeling I didn’t want to put a name to.

But when I didn’t say anything, Danni turned her head and softly kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch.

And fell for her trap.

I was distracted, only for a moment, but it was enough for her to reach out and swipe my phone from the countertop.

“Danni.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out in a low growl, but it just made her chuckle as she put in my pin and unlocked my phone.

And I was helpless to do anything other than hang my head, as I knew what she was

going to find.

It only took a few seconds before the sound of Misha’s voice hit me like a freight train. It immediately sent shivers down my spine as I recalled what it was like to have him next to me, whispering in my ear.

“Aw, love.” Her voice was so soft, I almost didn’t even hear her speak. But I felt the love she had for me as she wrapped her arm around me again and kissed the top of my head, as she continued to watch the video. “I know you miss him,” she continued, trying to tame the beast she knew I could be whenever I was reminded how I was missing the other piece of my heart, “but you’ll see him soon.”

I nod, not trusting my voice as I ran a hand over my bearded cheek.

Shit. She thinks this is just because I miss him. Not that I don’t. Because of fucking course I miss him. He should be here, enjoying the snowy Colorado weather, curled up on the couch while the fire is going.

Even with three kids, the place felt too empty without Misha, Vicki, and the kids. We were supposed to be enjoying ourselves before I left for Toronto in a few weeks to film for The Boys. But, of course, something happened that canceled those plans.

Not that I could blame Misha that his doctor scheduled his hip replacement surgery the week before they were supposed to come to Colorado. It just meant that I was going to have to head out to California instead. Sure, it sucked that we couldn’t get the entire family together like we planned, and we would only get a weekend together, but I knew I should be grateful for whatever time I was able to spend with Misha.

Even if it was while he was hopped up on pain killers and wasn’t allowed to do any strenuous activities.

I bite back a grin as thoughts and schemes of what we could get away with began to trickle in my head.

But then I pick up the sound of Darius’ voice from the video Danni is still playing and I let out a scowl. It isn’t that I don’t like Darius, it’s just that I can’t help worry about how much Misha likes Darius.

Danni clears her throat and I cast a glance over to her, only to see her quirk an eyebrow at me.

I can’t even muster a guilty grin because I didn’t want to think about the jealousy that consumed me every time I thought about Misha and Darius together.

Even if they haven’t been together in almost twenty years.

But I did feel guily, and embarrassed at having been caught. It was something I needed to work on, and I knew that. This whole jealousy thing.

Misha hated it. He felt like it meant I didn’t trust him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I just hated the thought of him wanting to kiss or be with someone else, even if it was just a joke and not real.

More than once it caused an issue at a convention. Most of our former cast mates knew about our relationship, and were understanding that there were boundaries. But I still felt like an asshole sometimes when I let it consume me.

But Darius was different. He knew Misha - not to mention he knew Misha. He was the first person he’d been with, ever. So of course the fact they were still close was going to stir up some unwanted emotions in me, despite the fact that I had never been prone to jealousy before I had me Misha.

But his relationship with Darius wasn’t something I could compete with.

Not that it was a competition.

With a sigh, I grabbed Danni and drew her close.

As I buried my face in her neck and inhales the sweet scent of freshly cut flowers, I felt myself finally begin to relax.

A few hours later, as I was getting ready to give Zepp a bath, I felt the familiar warmth of Danneel’s hand on the back of my neck. I leaned back into her touch and moved my head to kiss her palm as I flashed her a smile.

“Hey, baby. I thought you were still finishing up with Arrow? Is she almost ready for bathtime?”

“Almost. But that’s not why I’m in here.”

The wicked grin she was giving me churned my insides. “Oh, yeah?” I asked as I wiggled my brow at her.

She let out a giggle and held my phone out to me.

“Mama! Mama! Watch.” Zepp pulled Danni’s attention away from me for a moment and she gave him a soft smile.

“Hold on a second, baby. I’m going to take over for Daddy, so you can show Mama whateer you want, in just a minute, okay?”

I let out a sigh, as I love watching the way Danni is with the kids. It makes me melt every time I remember they’re mine, and that I’m lucky enough to be theirs.

But then I realize what she said and give her a questioning look.

“Why are you doing bath time tonight? It’s my turn.” I love having these little moments with the kids, things I missed a lot of while I had been filming Supernatural.

Not that I would trade any of that for anything.

But I was lucky enough to be able to have both. To have it all.

Though I could admit I liked living this quiet life in the mountains with just the wife, boyfriend, and our kids all trying to bring the house down around us.

I knew I wasn’t SuperDad, like Dee was SuperMom, but I wasn’t that bad that she’d need to come in and take over bathing the kids from me.

But she just gave me a wink as she motioned again for me to take my phone from her.

Confused, I grabbed the towel and dried off my hands before taking the phone from her.

“Why don’t you go into the bedroom and see what I have pulled up, while I take over here, cowboy?”

My heart skipped a beat as I nodded and leaned in to give Zepplin a kiss before I placed a quick kiss on Dee’s cheek and made a beeline for the bedroom.

When I had the door closed, I leaned against it for a moment and closed my eyes. I had no idea what to expect, but the anticipation was killing me.

And I didn’t want to lose that high, so I clutched it tight against my chest for a moment. But I knew I had precious little time to myself before one of the girls realized I was set free from daddy duty, and set out to find me.

Unsure of what I was going to find when I opened my phone, I reached back and slid the lock on the door into place. She hadn’t given me any warnings that it wasn’t child-friendly, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

I opened my eyes and walked over to the bed and sat down.

As I let out a breath, I steeled myself as I brought the phone up and swiped up to allow it open.

There was a video on my screen, waiting for me to press play.

When i did, music began to play and I could see a woman kneading some dough. I sat there for a few moments, wondering what it was I was watching, or why Danni felt like I needed to see it at that moment.

But within a few seconds, I saw the camera move up and reveal Liz, Misha’s sister. I knew she could sing and had heard her, Misha, and their dad sing on more than one occasion, but I had been caught so off guard, I hadn’t been able to place her voice at first.

Then another voice hit my ears and tears immediately stung my eyes.

It was a voice I would know anywhere.

There was my Mish, leaning against the kitchen counter with his sister, singing to the dough they had been making, like a bunch of goofs.

My heart stuttered and I felt butterflies in my stomach as I watched him belt out the song. It made me miss him even more, and wish the weekend would hurry up and come already so I could get back to Los Angeles and see him, Vicki, and the kids.

As he squeaked out a high note, I let out a strangled laugh and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I played the video again, and saw the beginnings, where Dee had fast forwarded so I didn’t know what I was watching, and let out a snort at how only they would spend all day making something, even after several failed attempts when he could have just gone to the bakery a couple of miles away and gotten his pastries within a half hour.

But that was why I loved him.

He liked making things with his own hands.

If he didn’t have some part in building or shaping something, it didn’t feel as real to him. It was why he built his own house, and even most of the furniture - although, throughout the years, Vicki had managed to replace about a third of it.

But even me. Misha shaped who I had become. He built up my confidence and chipped away at the self-doubt I had. Made me believe in who I was and that I was worthy of everything I had, of everything I wanted.

Mish was the one who made me believe I deserved it.

I looked up as I heard the lock click, and smiled as Danni walked through the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I whispered.

“Hi.” She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.

When she pulled back, she reached out and wiped the tears that stained my cheeks.

A sob threatened to break free from my chest, but I held it tight. I didn’t want her to see how much I was hurting. To see how much I missed Misha.

But she never missed a thing.

“Call him,” she whispered as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

I shook my head. “Naw. It can wait.” I put my head down, but she hooked her finger under my chin and brought my face back up and stared into my eyes.

I swore that woman could see my soul, and it made me shiver.

“I know it can. But you don’t have to suffer for me, Jensen. Call your man, and tell him you love him. That you miss him. There’s no reason to deny yourself that.”

She cast me a knowing smile as she got up to leave the room again.

I gave her a grin as I thought about the sound of Misha singing in that video, and the butterflies returned as I picked my phone back up to dial his number.

*******

Taglist: @dolphindiluna @astral-from-the-pit-of-despair @kristina710

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complicatedandstained · 4 years ago

Text

Rules of Engagement: Fake It ‘Til You Make It

The road is still rough along the side streets of Radiant Garden, the concrete pathways lined with cracks and crevices deep-set as Yen Sid’s frown lines and rough with rubble and particularly stubborn weeds that spring up against all odds—dandelions, mostly. The Restoration Committee has higher priorities. So, Roxas has become something of an expert at curving his skateboard around the worst of it, coaxing his wheels out of divots and dips without stopping his progress entirely.

He’s cleared some of the alleyways around Axel’s forge of debris himself, and now glides from the main thoroughfare onto one such side street to avoid running into anyone else and making himself any later than he already is.

Although, he thinks, as he glances up to the suns, climbing higher toward midday, and readjusts the bags beneath his arm, at this rate another half hour won’t make a huge difference.

Roxas inhales a mouthful of charcoal and jumps his winged board over the most jagged pothole in the alley, his wheels rattling their objections as he sticks the landing and slows. The forge’s back door, which they all keep meaning to replace, is a hastily hammered together collection of boards, painted black with fire-retardant and sprayed with a jagged white 813 by whoever does that sort of thing.

Probably Demy, Roxas supposes, trying to mark the spot for his wildly erratic delivery route.

Like many of the recompleted Organization members who had been reunited with their own bodies, (or else given the Radiant Garden scientists quite a shock when they had awoken in the replicas’ chamber), Demy had chosen to take advantage of Leon’s offer to help repopulate and rehabilitate the world many of them had been born in. In doing so, the members had to prove themselves a benefit to society through hard work, education, and community service.

Jiminy Cricket offered them each regular therapy sessions, and they were required to pass a psychiatric evaluation before permanently moving to any other worlds. So far, rumor had it, only Isa had managed, but he had chosen to stay. They were each assigned “Sponsors of Light” to aid them in their progress.

Xigbar likened the entire situation to house arrest on more than one occasion, but the former Org members mainly kept their grumbling to themselves. There were certainly worse arrangements to be had than being allowed to carry out their new lives in exile on their former home world. They’d all died enough times to know that.

They were held accountable by both the Restoration Committee Leaders and the new Council of Keyblade Masters, who, with the assistance of keyblade armor, were able to make their rounds through the worlds faster than Sora’s Gummi Ship ever had and keep the peace. Roxas, Axel, and Xion had been asked to join them on their peace-keeping journeys, and, maybe, probably, eventually, they would. But, after being forced to exchange so much of their youth so far for fighting Heartless 24/7, they had decided to live as close to normal lives as they were able, for the time being, (and the Keyblade Masters had likely breathed a private sigh of relief, especially since Axel’s exact initial response had been ‘Fuck that’).

Roxas hops off his skateboard, pops his board up into his waiting hand, and sets it against the aged brick wall beside another rebellious pack of wispy white dandelions that he and Axel haven’t found it in their hearts to uproot.

Roxas doesn’t—hasn’t ever—knocked on the door to Axel’s forge, and he doesn’t today. Still, he can’t stop himself from thinking of it as Axel’s, even though Axel considers it theirs—even though Roxas has spent many long, sweaty days, helping Leon and his crew construct the thing and harnessing his fire magic to learn the basics of the trade at his boyfriend’s side.

At the end of the day, it’s Axel’s peace time passion project, something besides finishing up his education and keyblade training, something that’s entirely his own. So, at Roxas’ insistence, it’s Axel’s name on the sign out front, and the deed, and the contracts with the Restoration Committee.

And he’d had to fight for it.

Most of the former members of the Organization weren’t permitted to take up quite such dangerous lines of work. Isa, for example, had been in charge of coordinating gardening, landscaping, and agriculture with Laurium for several months before The Council of Keyblade Masters (Aqua, Terra, and Riku) permitted him to take up a management position at Leon’s side, allocating human resources for the Restoration Committee.

Similarly, Xemnas’ venture into penning New Radiant Garden’s first newspaper were heavily criticized, and his articles and e-newsletters regularly vetted for ‘Dark Propaganda,’ so that the first twenty editions were nothing more than tremendously, intrusively accurate gossip rags, and, when that didn’t fly, painstakingly, comically accurate accounts of the town’s most mundane events, including an in depth feature report on Leon’s favorite sandwich toppings, complete with quotes and multiple eye witness accounts.

It took half a year (and some nudging from Isa) before Xemnas was allowed to print anything remotely political or consequential, though once he began, he quickly proved himself just as capable of factual, unbiased journalism as he had been at penning a wickedly witty exposé on Xigbar’s brief but passionate on-and-off-again romantic trysts. (This was, of course, before Xigbar got himself tossed in the castle dungeon for allegedly attempting to portal his Sponsor of Light off a cliff. Although his sentence is up for appeal, last Roxas heard, because Xigbar claims he thought ducks could fly.)

Axel’s fortunate that he didn’t have to spend a year proving himself (and has been told so—repeatedly.)

The town needed a forge, and Axel was uniquely qualified for the position. (And the Council had wanted him out of their hair. He had proved quite persistent.) So, Axel had gotten what he wanted. Seventeen petition speeches later.

Isa warned them it was a lot to take on in addition to classes, keeping up with their keyblade training, and community service, but Axel enjoyed using his fire for something constructive and Roxas saw the peace it brought him, so they made it work.

“Yo, Axel! ‘M back!” Roxas calls, pushing his way inside with the ridge of his hip and scuffing his sneakers against the mat to remove the excess construction dirt. “I know I said I was gonna be, like, ten minutes tops, but, I mighta gotten distracted…”

“In here, Roxas…” Axel answers from inside the shop, above the clang of metal on metal and hiss of sparks. “Come in here where I can see you.”

Roxas passes through the back hallways, neatly lined with the stray supplies and freshly forged weapons and tools, in styles and cuts inspired by a variety of worlds, and enters the central workshop. Large windows allow breaths of fresh air and cast white light that’s hard to look at and doesn’t do as good a job at illuminating the large open space as the orange and yellow blazes of the large central fire burning at the heart of the forge beneath its stone chimney.

Everything is cast in flickering shades of flame and shadow: the mounted anvil, racks of tools, barrels of water and sand, carts bearing hunks of metal needing repurposed and the neatly arranged shelves toward the entrance, mounting wares to be sold. Even Axel in his tight, light fabric britches, tunic, and heavy leather apron is cast in gold, white, and crimson as he works, stretching gleaming white molten metal between his bare fingertips with the ease of a sculptor shaping clay.

“Well, hey, sexy.” Axel grins, head cocking to get a better view of Roxas, as carelessly attractive as ever, his hair windswept and his cheeks and ears slightly flushed from his skateboarding, or maybe just the rising temperature of the shop.

Roxas’ smile broadens in spite of himself. “Hey…”

“That errand took seven hundred times longer than anticipated.” Axel shapes the hot metal between his fingers, and it looks sticky and elastic, like dough. He flicks his wrist, causing flames to engulf all of it once more, and begins to swirl it into an elaborate spiral before balling it up again.

“Sorry, Axel.” Roxas winces, chagrinned. “First, I had to wait for Leon to get out of a meeting, so I could give him the supplies and explain what was what. Then we delivered them, and then he wanted me to lend him a hand with a quick project, only it wasn’t actually a quick project, in reality.

“Then I was on my way back here, swear to the gods, but I stopped into Aerith’s house for just a minute to say hello to Xion, and she wanted me to taste-test her cupcakes, and she was so excited, I couldn’t say no, and then, on my way out, I ran into Xemnas, and you know how much Xemnas likes to talk, and I just kinda lost track of time….” Roxas scuffs his foot sheepishly, the arm that’s not laden with bags stretching behind his head, ringed fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Axel’s he’s picked up for himself. “Again.”

Axel chuckles, a sultry purr that Roxas only ever hears him use when there’s no one else around, deeper and less controlled than his usual mocking, lilting laugh. “It’s okay, Roxas, I don’t need the whole mission report. I wasn’t really expecting anything less after the last five times.” He turns toward the chimney so the piece he’s working on won’t drip molten steel to the floor, and flicks a hand carelessly over his shoulder, spraying sparks, as he teases, “I know you don’t know how to say no to people.”

In actuality, Axel knows no force in the universe could make the powerful keyblade wielder do anything he didn’t want to do—not any more. But, the guy is far too helpful for his own good.

“Well,” one of Roxas’ brows rises, and his smile tilts, as he draws closer and deadpans, “I was raised by a cult.”

Axel snorts, catching Roxas’ eye before turning toward the anvil, shifting the shape of the steel in his hand into something more distinctly sword-shaped, as he steps and then setting it down, dismissing the fire engulfing his hands. “Is that why I’m doing all these orders for Leon?” Axel hefts a large hammer from the ground and props it against his shoulder, before turning to glance at Roxas again. “And here I thought I was just a good guy.”

Axel brings the hammer down on the sword with a harsh clang that sends up sparks that remind Roxas of the fireflies the pair of them chased the time they tried camping on the edge of town.

“You are a good guy,” Roxas assures him firmly, stepping up to the other side of the anvil to watch Axel’s progress and to see his face, glowing golden bronze in the light. A black smudge of ash on one of his cheeks reminds Roxas of the tattoos he used to wear. Roxas feels an unexpected pang, something to the left of nostalgia.

Axel brings the hammer down hard again with a grunt and then wastes a couple precious seconds to grin back. “I love it when you lie to me.”

“Axel…” Roxas’ tone grows exasperated, his smile thinner, more wry. He hopes Axel doesn’t mean that, but admires his blatant refusal to stay in line with whatever overstepping behaviors the powers that be demand of him in the name of what’s “right.”

“Roxas…” Axel mimics his tone, and then huffs and keeps swinging. It’s a conversation they’ve had a hundred times before in one form of another.

Another few blows pass in silence broken only by the song of metal and hiss of smoke and embers, and then Axel lifts the sword-to-be by the hilt, reshaping the metal with the heat of his palm as he does, smoothing out the jutting upper ridges of the hand guards under his thumb while inspecting his handiwork.

Roxas follows his movements in quiet admiration. Axel’s swift motions have a practiced ease and fluidity not unlike the way he fights, slicing through Heartless with his chakram…

Axel frowns a bit at a flaw Roxas’ eyes can’t detect, and jerking his head to indicate Roxas step back, dunks the sword into a barrel of cold water and then raises it, steaming and silver, into the air with a single sizzling swipe.

Roxas hums in admiration as Axel sets the weapon down to cool atop the anvil with a mild sigh, the steam around his hands evaporating quickly to reveal his face, tired but unflushed. “I’ll fix it later. Think it’s time for a breather.”

Roxas nods, and Axel sets his tools to rights and steps up to join him. Without discussion, they seat themselves on a wrought iron bench below one of the wide, open bell-shaped windows at the front of the shop. From there they can feel the breeze breathe against their flushed faces and listen to the birds calling out to each other in the park a few blocks down.

Once they’ve settled themselves, their thighs pressed against each other, ankles linking, Roxas licks his thumb and reaches out to rub at the smudge of ash on Axel’s cheek. “You are doing a good job,” Roxas reiterates. “You know that, right? Like, fucking…” his words fade off, vulnerable and fragile in their quietness, “incredible.”

“Roxas…” Axel catches Roxas’ hand in his and closes his eyes above the gentle brush of Roxas’ calloused thumb. With his hand wrapped in Axel’s, Roxas can feel the racing of Axel’s pulse and the sticky heat and ash coating his skin. Axel inhales deeply, trying to relax and smiles, lazy, superficial. “Roxas, Roxas, Roxas… You’re the good guy. I’m just along for the ride.”

Axel lowers their hands into his lap, though Roxas hasn’t quite fixed the smudge on his cheek so much as streaked it into the teardrop shape it had reminded him of in the first place. Axel wraps both of his hands around Roxas’ and pats it in a way that feels both condescending and sweet.

Roxas laughs, a short skeptical bark. “You’re the one always bragging about being made a Guardian of Light.”

Axel exhales through his nose, somewhere between amused and frustrated. Roxas feels his pulse start to simmer down.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t there.” Axel half smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, though they seem to glow, Heartless-like, in the dark space. He jabs Roxas in the arm with his elbow to lighten the gravity of the accusation. “The standards were fairly low.”

Roxas huffs and is about to elbow him back, when Axel leans in and rests his cheek in Roxas’ hair, a gesture which makes Roxas’ insides so gooey he can’t think of a response right away, except to curl his hand tighter into Axel’s.

“I was selfish. I just wanted to get you back,” Axel continues. “You, and Isa, and the others… That’s all I thought of while I was training. You, especially. I mean, they’d told me you were as good as…”

The feel of Axel’s entire body shivering makes Roxas’ spine go rigid, especially in the pervasive heat of the smoky room with its still merrily burning hearth.

“But I didn’t, couldn’t, believe them,” his voice cracks, fingers tracing the bones of Roxas’. “Not for a second. I mean,” his voice starts to get shallow, so he pushes for playful and misses the mark, “what kind of gods would bring back me and not you, right?” His laughter reminds Roxas of glass breaking.

“Hey,” Roxas’ words take on an edge, flat and blunt, “don’t. Don’t do that. We saved the fucking worlds, you and me,” he reminds him. He’s had to remind himself on more than one occasion since, when the other Keyblade wielders had lost patience with him, and when he had lost patience with himself.

Axel shakes his head slightly, further mussing Roxas’ soft hair, still warm from the noon rays of the Radiant Garden suns. “Honestly, after I saved you, the rest of the worlds didn’t matter so much.”

Roxas wishes he could meet Axel’s eyes, but doesn’t want to jolt him and interrupt the soft, warm, exhales ruffling his hair. “But you did it anyway,” Roxas insists, raising their folded hands until he can press his lips against Axel’s knuckles.

“Well, yeah,” Axel scoffs at himself, his bravado and hypocrisy and desperation, “but…” He trails off, distracted as Roxas’ lips dampen his skin, and then Roxas lowers their hands again, as if Roxas has finally started to forget such a casually intimate gesture could have gotten them killed once upon a time.

“Why?” Roxas coaxes.

Axel scoffs again, thinking of everything that had been riding on those moments in the Keyblade Graveyard. He remembers the blinding white glow of Kingdom Hearts overhead burning his eyes even when he shut them—the electric pull of its gravity, threatening to encompass every place he had ever known and every place he and Roxas could have, like the Darkness that had swallowed his childhood home whole, alive, and squirming.

“Whaddya mean, why?” Axel sputters, voice growing louder with indignance. “There wasn’t a why.” He laughs at the absurdity of it, shaking his head again, sounding more than a little manic. “I only did it ‘cause I was there and it was the right thing, the only thing to… Oh.”

Axel lifts his head from Roxas’ hair, and Roxas twists his neck to meet widened green eyes.

“Oh,” Axel repeats more softly, as Roxas’ lips curl into a satisfied grin.

“The right thing to do. Huh.” Axel reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Faked it ‘til I made it, I guess.”

Roxas rolls his eyes, but his tight-lipped grin splits open into a real smile. “Idiot.” He reaches up to cup Axel’s cheek in his palm. “I am so fucking hopelessly in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Axel mumbles and bites his lip, eyes darting to the side in embarrassment, and then back to Roxas’ because he can’t help himself. “I know. Sucks to be you.”

The pair lean in for a kiss, but Roxas falters and pulls back, arm caught on the three bags weighing it down.

“Oh!” His eyes widen, glancing down and then back up. “I forgot. I brought you something to apologize for being gone so long.”

Axel’s eyes narrow, lips pursing skeptically, his fingertips tracing Roxas’ jaw. “Is it a kiss?”

Roxas shrugs the handles of a paper bag from his forearm and lifts the still warm parcel onto his lap. “Ta-da.”

“Ah, Roxas.” Axel’s nose crinkles, as he leans back, and his free hand reaches to unfold the paper bag. “You didn’t need to go to any trouble...”

“It’s freshly baked, flaky, crescent-wrapped jalapeño poppers from Lar—Elrena’s tavern.”

Axel peers into the bag to see the savory pastries and inhales a whiff of the buttery, spicy morsels, which sets his mouth watering.

“You brought me pub food? See? I knew you cared,” Axel teases, his thumb stretching to the edge of Roxas’ thin smile, and giving it a tug up that makes Roxas cackle and glare, his golden brows dipping down below the bangs he gets when his hair starts to fall flat. Axel’s hand curls around the bag, folding it closed again with a crinkling sound. “Apology accepted. But I also want...” His free hand rises to catch the neck of Roxas’ tee and draw him closer, until his nose near brushes Roxas’ again.

Roxas hums, their lips a breath apart. He can’t hold up the glare, smiles again, a softer thing, his heart beating a slow anthem against Axel’s palm on his chest. “Guess I can do that.” He tilts his head. His pale, unwavering blue eyes burn when they’re so close, like matchsticks held to Axel’s bare skin, but he doesn’t mind. “Forgive me?” Roxas asks on a breath.

“Nothing to forgive,” Axel dismisses, and then their lips slip together. All tension and fear and stress and insecurity evaporates as their hearts beat against each other. Roxas tastes like frosting and smells like spring, wind and petals, and when Axel’s tongue wraps his, it burns like salt and smoke. Axel lifts Roxas into his lap, their mouths moving together and their hands snagging at fabric, tugging each other closer, harder, holding tight, muscle sliding against muscle. Their desperation makes it as impossibly clear as ever that they haven’t forgotten for a moment what separation tastes like, the way it rent hollow, echoing chambers in their chests. But pressed together, kissing, they feel like they are home.

#kingdom hearts #akuroku #axel #roxas #xigbar #demyx #post kh3 #xion #isa #xemnas #rules of engagement #radiant garden gazette #my writing

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

Text

A Hero Among Us-Chapter One

On AO3

Chapter One

Claire pushed herself up from the mattress and wiped her nose. The skin was tender and burning from days on end of crying since her husband died. He was buried one week ago and her life had become intolerable, more so every day. The coalition of wine growers was circling around her like vultures waiting to pick her apart. They would buy her property at ten cents on the dollar or burn her out, and they did not care which.

Claire paced in front of the windows of her parlor looking at grapevines as far as the eye could see in every direction. This was Frank’s dream, not hers, and she knew little about viniculture and nothing about running a farm. He had died too quickly to tell her much, a feeling that left her boiling with resentment. “You hateful man, refusing to prepare for your death was a sure way to make me fail.”

Claire was raised in the upper class of London society and enjoyed a refined lifestyle and social status granted by her family’s wealth. When she married Frank Randall, the son of a prominent family, he brought her to America and sunk eighty percent of her dowry on this piece of land in St. Helena California. The remainder was used to build a fine house, vines, equipment for wine production and labor for the first planting. The law allows a widow’s dowry equal to one-third the original but it was all tied up in the dirt she now lived on.

She walked outside to clear her head and ambled down the rows of vines, inspecting the large leaves and berry clusters. She had no idea when the harvest should take place or how she would find anyone to help her. On numerous occasions, she rode into their tiny town and tried to hire the immigrants who were looking for work but they refused her. She scanned the three hundred acres of vines and felt utterly defeated.

Claire walked into the enormous kitchen where misses Crook stood kneading dough for bread. The opulence of this room and others made her choke with resentment. Everything Frank did was grandiose, a symbol of his position and wealth. Up to his death, he had not spent a nickel of his own money and knowing he was dying he had not made provisions for her support. Claire felt the bile rising in her stomach and tried to clear her head.

“Misses Crook, I am riding into town to buy a chicken, hopefully, two. We need eggs and the chicken we have must be laying in the vineyard because I cannot find a single egg.”

Two chickens were in a sack tied to Claire's saddle as she made her way home an hour later. She was lost in her thoughts allowing a group of men on horseback to surround her. She recognized them as landowners in the area who wanted to force her off her land. They were getting pushier with their demands and Claire bit her lip and remained quiet hoping they would leave. One of the men pulled the sac from her saddle and shook it, allowing the chickens to escape into the fields. The men laughed and raced away from her, one of them fired at the dirt in front of her horse making it rear in fright. Claire was unseated and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of her. The horse galloped away.

Claire tried to pull air into her lungs and her restrictive corset made that impossible. She felt herself dying and panicked trying to reach the laces at the back. Just before she blacked out she felt strong hands pull her jacket back and an arm reach in to pull the upper laces. This continued until she could take a complete breath.

“There ye go lass, breathe deep and don’t try to get up yet. Yer safe for now. How far is yer home?”

“Not far.”

“Well, I ken that’s where yer horse is about now. Can ye get up yet?”

There was no ladylike way to pull this off she realized and accepted his hand to pull her up. She stood still until the dizziness was tolerable and then let go of his hand.

“Thank you, sir, you saved my life. I am very grateful. Have you seen two chickens running around? Those men let mine go and they are desperately needed.”

“If I had I would have eaten at least one, feathers and all, sorry to say. It’s been a few days for me mistress. Come, I will help ye home and then be on my way.”

Claire noticed the sun sinking into dusk and worried for her safety. She promised him some food and felt huge relief for the escort.

“I am Claire Randell, my vineyard is up ahead. And you are…”

“I am nobody named James Fraser. Pleased to meet ye, mistress.”

He explained how he came to America with the gold rush, funded by several tenants on his estate. He had worked tirelessly, however, he never found any gold before the money was gone. The only work was in the vineyards so he started walking.

“You poor man, I’m surprised you can even stand. Here I can walk faster, let’s hurry.”

Ladies in London don’t walk with purpose, they stroll, to let the world know they needn’t rush after anything. She fell into that pace quite naturally and now felt ashamed to force this huge man to take tiny steps.

“Come in James, let’s get you fed.”

Jamie looked at the huge house and started walking backward, looking in all directions.

“Thank ye, mistress, I will wait out here. Would ye like me to catch yer horse for ye? Is that him, grey dapple munching on some hardy vines?”

“Jesus Christ, yes, please catch her before she mows down an entire row!”

Jamie rushed into the barn and grabbed a scoop of grain to lure the beast away from the vines. He approached her speaking Gaelic just above a whisper as he held the scoop full of grain out to her. She startled at first, still scared from her gallop home but caught the scent of grain and changed her mind. Jamie kept talking to her stroking her neck and letting her nibble at the grain. She walked behind him to the barn and entered her stall gratefully. Her reward was the remainder of the scoop. Jamie looked around the impressive barn with four stalls for horses, hayloft above and storage space, a lot of it. Once he pulled the tack off the horse he returned to stand in front of the house.

Claire opened the door wide so the man could see misses Crook who ordered him to the table where his supper was getting cold. Jamie flew through the door not wanting to provoke this commanding woman. When he saw his meal he almost cried, there was so much there to eat!

Claire and misses Crook were not a minute behind him bringing their own meals to the table. Claire nearly dropped hers when she saw empty plates in from of the man. She looked under the table and on his lap and finally asked where his food went.

“Apologies mistress, I ate it.”

“Oh, let’s get you a little more then.”

She picked up his plate and returned a minute later with the plate piled high with dried beef, vegetables, potatoes, and bread. This plate would have fed her for an entire week but she wanted to demonstrate there was plenty of food here. While Jamie was catching Brimstone Claire ran into the kitchen and ordered misses Crook to make more food and quickly. She desperately wanted to hire this man to help her save the vineyard however she had little money to pay him. Until she sold the first harvest she would prove she could feed him.

“Do you mind if we join you, sir?”

Jamie shot up from his seat and bowed slightly saying it would be his honor. He looked around at the joining rooms, all large, sumptuously decorated and wondered where the lady’s husband was. He fancied the lady but kept his eyes down on his plate. She was speaking to him like it was a Sunday social which confused him. He decided misses Crook was her mother who referred to her daughter as, mistress. That was very odd. Why else would she be dining at the same table? Whenever possible he would look around him for the husband.

“Mister Fraser, may I speak to you about a proposition I have?”

“Of course, mistress.” Responding to her allowed him to look at her and he felt the air evacuate from his lungs requiring a spontaneous deep breath to restore him. He blushed and lowered his gaze.

“I would like to hire you, mister Fraser, to help me run the vineyard if you know anything about this type of farming. I have very little money but I will keep you fed and give you a cottage to live in that is safe and warm. I will also need help hiring workers when it’s time to harvest the grapes. Can you tell me what you know about vineyard management mister Fraser?”

“It isna time to pull the fruit yet, another three months for white and four months for the reds. You watch the sugars when the time is near, every day, early, at sunup. When the sugars rise you harvest the grapes as fast as possible. Extract the juice, add yeast, and put the juice in barrels to age for a few years. Or you take the fruit to the auction and sell it for the highest price possible.

Claire was stunned. In three minutes this man had summarized the answer to all her questions. The questions Frank refused to answer, to give her a fighting chance. Her eyes were wide staring at the strange man. When she could find her tongue again she spit out sentences without pre-thought and nearly gave him her complete life history. She was in a sense, begging for his help. After five minutes she closed her mouth, blushing fiercely at her lack of manners and feeling dread he would refuse her. She looked down at her lap.

“May I ask ye, where is yer husband?”

“Dead. Sorry, didn’t mean to skirt that issue.”

Jamie was too quiet for too long giving Claire the impression he would be leaving this very night. Try as she might to hold her tears at bay they spilled freely from her eyes and dropped into her lap. She held her linen napkin to her face in embarrassment and Jamie felt his heart melt at her sadness. She was so young, he realized, with a monumental task ahead she knew nothing about. Now that he knew she was a widow it clicked in his head that she is the landowner folks were talking about at nearly every post he passed. There was a general warning to stay away from her or face consequences. Jesus lass, yer in a hopeless mess and I wonder if ye even know it.

“Please mistress, dinna cry, I will help ye.”

Claire dropped her napkin and jerked her head toward him with wide red eyes. She smiled, and it lit up her entire face, the dining room, and the whole world that Jamie lived in. When he realized he was staring at her he dropped his gaze quickly.

“Come with me. Let us find you a suitable cabin to live in while you are here. There is one that is bigger than the others for the manager. That is you. Whatever you need for your home I will provide to the best of my ability. You have made all the difference in my life mister Fraser and I am so grateful. When we speak again, please be ready to discuss your compensation and the successful continuance of this vineyard. Do we sell the grapes or make wine, things like that.”

They were halfway to the cabins and she stopped abruptly and turned around. Her smile was radiant, her chest was heaving with excitement or exercise and her eyes latched onto his making his heart pound in his chest. “It has been a very long time, but I feel hopeful again. It is glorious!” She jumped up like a child playing and strode on toward the cabins.

“This is the biggest cabin and closest to the water pump. There are two buckets in each cabin and a small stack of towels. There is a small stack of firewood in the back and six enormous trunks that you are welcome to cut up. I believe the ax is sticking out of one of them.”

Jamie watched her in fascination. In their brief association, he had seen her get thrown from her horse, nearly pass out from her corset, cry with frustration at her horrible circumstances, and then brighten with relief. Through it all her impeccable manners and elegant carriage never wavered. He hated her, in general, for being British, for bowing to the monarchy that crushed his homeland. He would keep his distance and work hard for her. When the grapes were sold he would return to his home in Scotland.

When she bid him goodnight she hummed making her way back to the house. The sound made him feel happy. He closed the door to his cabin and put his back to it surveying the space that would be all his until the fall. It had been so long since he slept in a bed, had a fireplace for warmth, a door to lock, and fresh water right outside. He took deep breaths to lower his heart rate.

Jamie sat on his bed with a great sigh. The weeks of walking with little food or water had taken their toll, he was exhausted and the food was like a sedative in his stomach. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Muscles cramping, bladder painfully full, feet sweating from leather boots. Jamie rolled onto his back, momentarily confused about where he was. He remembered the night before and stumbled in the dark to the door. He walked quickly toward the back to relieve himself taking great gulps of cool crisp air. The sun’s rays were just breaking across the horizon and he watched as they raced across the land and eventually touched the grapes making them glow inside. He turned in a circle to survey the property and it was amazing. Aside from the level acreage, there were steep hills that were terraced with lines of vines. Perfect for the deep reds this region was known for.

Jamie owed his limited knowledge to the owner of the first Vineyard he worked for. The man took him under his wing when he saw what a hard worker he was. He taught him so much in the three months he was there. Jamie had enormous respect and gratitude for the man and felt his face turn hard and angry at the way it ended. He was run off the property when the wife was caught sneaking into Jamie’s hut. He had no idea she was there until he was yanked out of bed and run off the property in his bare feet. His boots and clothes were thrown at him like he was a common thief or the lowest human that lived. He started walking, shaking from the indignity, hurt pride, and sorrow for what the man thought now. Two weeks later he watched Claire get thrown from her horse. That was yesterday.

Jamie pumped water to wash his face and parts of his body he would dare. He felt better after that and walked the rows of vines inspecting for bugs and fungus. The plants looked remarkable. The Sassenach will have a very good harvest if they could just watch the sugars. The whole growing season came down to someone watching the Brix number which equates to the amount of sugar in the grape. Each type of grape was harvested at a different Brix rating. He had confidence the former husband had purchased a hydrometer. He would trouble misses Randell today for some paper to write all these facts down before he forgets.

Jamie was high in hills studying the plants when misses Crook came out with his breakfast. When she couldn’t get his attention she ran back for the bell. Jamie came down the slope at record speed making misses Crook put her hand to her mouth. The man must be part billy goat, she thought watching him.

“Here’s ye breakfast mister Fraser.”

“Yer Scottish misses Crook." How could he miss the burr his ears longed to hear? " How did you come to raise an English daughter?”

Jamie was so shocked at first he didn’t realize he watched the woman through slit eyes. He was very suspicious of this turn of events and thought to be on his guard.

“My daughter? Who might that be laddie?”

“Misses Randell.”

“No lad, I have managed the house of mister Randall for many years, and now I serve misses Randall in the same capacity.”

“How do you take yer meals with the mistress then?”

Misses Crook laughed and told him it was hard getting used to her unorthodox ways after her husband died. She would not be eating without misses Crook so she would either sit and eat or watch her wither away.

“They are British woman, how can ye serve them without poison?”

“Well, I ken it wasna mister and misses Randell that raised arms against the Scottish people or oppressed the traditions that were lost. A babe canna choose which country to be born in and ye’d do well to ken such.”

With that, she gave him a scalding look and walked away taking great strides to put distance between them. Jamie started out loving the sound of her burr and now he was just confused. Stay on task he decided, leave these wicked Brits to their own lives as they will perish in the fires of hell.

He inhaled his porridge and jumped back up the hill to continue his review of the plants. By lunchtime, he was done and beyond impressed with the hardiness and overall condition of the plants. He would have to ask the mistress where the vines were purchased.

For the rest of the day, Jamie went through each outbuilding to find what Randell had purchased for his wine business. There was twice the equipment he anticipated and wondered how shocked Randell was to be dying halfway through his first growing season. He was certain he suffered from that knowledge, why else would he not prepare his wife to take over in his absence. Jealousy, because she would live while he decayed in the ground. Wicked man Randell, glad yer dead. If Jamie had such a thought about anyone else, non-British, he would cross himself and asked forgiveness on the spot. Brits were not human to him and had no rights to decency or moral behavior. Like his father before him Jamie hated Brits.

The last building was locked so Jamie went to the house and knocked on the door. Claire pulled the big door open, walked outside, took his arm, and walked him back in. She led him to the dining room and told him to sit as lunch was being served. Jamie watched her help misses Crook bring plates of food to the table while she talked about her weird day.

“And then I turned around and there they were, looking at me like, well, where do we sleep? It was so odd but I am very happy we didn’t lose those birds and they are already fully feathered so just a few more months until we get eggs. Thank goodness.”

“Mister Fraser, why are you not eating. Are you ill?”

“Mistress?”

“You must eat so you can work hard and not fall over. C’mon, you cannot get up until all this food is gone.”

Jamie filled his plate while his mouth watered and his stomach growled. He was deliriously happy when there were plates of food in front of him, especially with the directive to clear them or be stuck there. He was very good at following orders, Claire and misses Crook watched him eat with widening eyes.

Jamie sat back with a happy contented look on his face that made Claire giggle. He smiled back at her despite his resolve not to. In fact, he would not extend any kindness to her at all now that he knew how badly she needed him. He shook his head at such ridiculous ideas. He could never be anything but nice and accommodating to her. She was a very special person. Fragile and vulnerable and…

“Mister Fraser!”

“Misses Crook?”

“Get about yer business!”

Jamie was looking around at the cleared table and absence of Claire. He must have been daydreaming and lost track. He was allowed to eat in the big house so he better be more conscious of his behavior while here.

“I came to the house for the key to the large outbuilding on the property. I am taking an inventory of equipment. Would you please ask misses Randell for it?”

Claire appeared a few minutes later and finished lacing up her boots before standing and announcing she was ready to go. Jamie walked toward her with a questioning look.

“Do ye plan to go with me, mistress?”

“I can’t wait to stretch my legs and have an adventure. Do you not want my company, sir?”

Jamie didn’t know how to respond to that so he motioned for her to go first and followed dutifully to the outbuilding. Claire opened the door and Jamie nearly fell over.

“By Christ, I had not expected so many barrels, and they’re new, can ye small the oak? What would make him purchase so much equipment if you dinna mind my askin.”

“He wanted my entire dowry sunk into this place so he kept spending until the money was gone I assume. Every acre, vine, outbuilding, house, barn, and all that is in them was purchased with my dowry.”

Jamie could not imagine how much money that would be or why her family would have to offer such for someone to marry her. She was so beautiful and cultured it was unfathomable to him. He looked at the neatly stacked rows of barrels and felt something strange in his stomach. It felt like excitement. What the hell was he excited about? He would help her put up a small portion of the harvest and set it to aging in one or two of the barrels, but for him to get back to Scotland the majority of the grapes would have to be sold.

He felt strange when Claire was nearby and decided solitude was best. He would speak to misses Crook about taking his meals outside, away from the prettiest eyes he had ever seen and away from his need to make her smile.

Jamie looked through piles of equipment and pulled out a hydrometer followed by a genuine smile.

“We have everything we need, well almost. Misses Randell, I need to tell ye somethin. Word has spread around these parts that no one is to work for you. Anyone who does will pay consequences.”

Jamie watched Claire’s face fall into sadness and he ached for her. He thought of only one way to ensure they had enough hands for the harvest but they had to act fast. Some of the men would be walkin.

“I don’t know how much ye know about Scots mistress but we dinna sit well with intimidation. If ye tell a Scot not to sit on that rock or pay consequences the first thing he’ll do is go sit on that rock. Ye ken? Ye need Scots to work the harvest and they’re aplenty in San Francisco but ye have to act fast. Can ye write to the paper there and place an add for Scottish immigrants who want to work? No tellin how long it will take them to get up here and ye may have to feed a number of men long before the harvest but I dinna think ye can hire workers that have been bullied by the coalition.”

Claire was pacing with hands on her hips. She was deep in thought giving Jamie some precious moments to look at her.

“These men cannot be intimidated you say?”

“Aye.”

“I trust you mister Fraser, implicitly. I will go write that letter and pray they come.”

She handed him the key to the outbuilding and turned in a swirl of skirts heading for the house. He had that feeling in his stomach again and grunted in disgust before returning to the plants to start pulling leaves.

By mid-afternoon, Jamie was lost in his thoughts pulling leaves from around the berry clusters to increase the sun that hit them. Large crowded clusters were thinned by dragging his hand down knocking the grapes off. It was California growers who first started thinning the clusters to push more robust flavors into those that matured. When he heard Claire’s voice he almost jumped out of his skin.

“I’m sorry mister Fraser,” she said giggling.

“It doesna sound like it mistress,�� he said smiling at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Ye see how big this leaf is? If there are too many around the cluster the sun canna get to the berries and the sugar will suffer. Ye need to leave the very top leaves to protect the cluster from the mid-day sun, but the sides should be free of shade for morning and afternoon sun, see?”

“Why are you knocking grapes to the ground?”

“That is to thin the clusters for the robust flavor this region is known for.”

“I am so grateful to you mister Fraser for teaching me!”

She put her hand on his arm and seemed unaware she was doing so. Jamie didn’t move a muscle and hoped for a few more seconds of contact before she let go. She walked away smiling and he wished she never had to leave him.

“Like this?”

Jamie turned around to see Claire on her second vine. She indicated her handy work for him to check and he smiled at her.

“That’s perfect. Look at yer hands mistress, maybe rub your fingers across yer cheek. They are soft are they nae?” He watched her nod her head. “If ye keep doing that yer fingers will feel like this.”

Jamie rubbed his rough fingers across her cheek making her blush fiercely. She turned her back to him and continued working on the leaves.

“I doubt my fingers could ever feel so rough mister Fraser so I intend to continue this work for ten more plants.”

Jamie was in his head after touching Claire. Canna you see what ye do to me lass, he thought. Ye get my head thinkin impossible things, my guts shake with anticipation of somethin that will never be, and when ye touch my arm I canna move, in fact, I can barely breathe. So please go away. Just when he thought the situation could not get any worse, it did. She started humming.

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writinginstardust · 5 years ago

Text

Tradition

Pairing: Tyler Jones x reader

Prompt: “Is that Mistletoe?”

Warnings: Nada, they don’t even swear 😲

A/N: Editing this was weird because I wrote it like a month ago and totally forgot the whole thing. Thanks to @writingbychelle for requesting this prompt. It’s like really cute so enjoy!

Word Count: 1799

“Okay,” Scarlett started as she flopped down on the couch next to Finian and Zila. “Tell me I’m not the only one who is sick to death of those two pining idiots.”

“Trust me, it’s not just you,” Cat replied with a sigh as she shifted in her armchair to face the others. Zila and Fin both murmured agreements.

Usually the cutesy awkwardness between Tyler and (Y/N) and their pining was bearable but for the past week it had been absolute hell. For one reason or another, no one had family plans for the holidays and thanks to a brilliant suggestion from Scarlett - that she was now starting to regret - everyone was spending Christmas at the apartment she, Tyler, and Cat shared. And since most of them lived all over the place, they were staying here. With the exception of Auri who lived close by and was giving Kal a home for the month. It had seemed like a great idea until it became apparent that Tyler and (Y/N)’s level of pining would go through the roof if they spent constant time together. It had been a week out of a 3 week stay and everyone had finally had enough.

“We need to do something,” Scarlett decided.

“Finally.” The relieved sigh came from Fin. “I’ve been sick of them since day one.”

“Didn’t (Y/N) arrive after most of us were already asleep?”

“Yes. I got up to use the toilet though and unfortunately had to bear witness to the sickening heart eyes Tyler was giving her before they went to sleep.”

“Yikes,” Cat agreed, having seen something similar herself on several occasions. They were somehow even worse when tired. “What finally did it for you?” She asked Scarlett.

“They just ran into each other while (Y/N) was coming out of the bathroom and he was going in.” Everyone gave her a quizzical look. That didn’t seem particularly dramatic. “She was only in a towel.”

“Oh.” They got it now. “I am so sorry.” Fin patted her on the shoulder in a feeble attempt at comfort.

“So what do you want to do about it?” Cat asked.

“Okay,” Scarlett sat forward with a new purpose in her movements. She’d thought about this. “So the way I see it, they get together, the awkwardness stops. Right?” Three nods. “They’re only awkward because it’s awkward to have a crush on your best friend and they somehow have no idea the feeling is mutual. We just have to make it obvious to them. And what’s the best way of telling if someone likes you?”

“Asking them,” Zila helpfully supplied.

“Well yes…”

“Almost dying and seeing what kind of reaction you get?” Cat tried, only half joking.

“What? No!”

“Get them drunk and flirt until they either kiss or punch you?” Was Fin’s suggestion

“Is that seriously your go-to, Fin?” He shrugged, grinning.

“It has about a 50% success rate.”

“That seems unlikely,” Zila frowned at him. “I’ve seen you get punched far more than I’ve seen someone kiss you.”

“Ouch.”

“Okay we’re getting really off-topic here. Fin was closest anyway. I was talking about kissing someone. You can tell a lot from a kiss. If someone isn’t into it, it’s not hard to tell.”

“So the plan is to get them to kiss?” Cat asked. “And how exactly are we meant to do that?”

“Catherine,” Scarlett received a murderous glare for that, “my dear, have you forgotten what time of year it is?”

“...It’s Christmas...oh. Mistletoe.”

“Bingo!”

“Okay. How do we do this?”

It had been a weird day to say the least. I’d been called to help with various innocuous tasks all over the apartment all day and now received a text from Tyler saying he’d been locked out and asking if I’d let him in. How? The apartment door was never locked if people were in.

I finished putting the cookies Scarlett and I had been making in the oven and wiped my hands. The rest of me was still a mess, flour and cookie dough on my face, up my arms, in my hair and on my clothes despite my best efforts to avoid such a fate for them with an apron and hair tie that apparently refused to do its job. Hopefully I wouldn’t cover the carpet in flour as I wandered through the living room.

“How…?” I asked as I opened the door to Tyler’s exasperated face.

“I have no idea.” He paused, looking me over. “Did you blow up a cake factory while I was gone?” I blushed and resisted the urge to nervously brush some of the flour from myself. Don’t ruin the carpet, I reminded myself.

“Uh, Scarlett dropped the flour and Fin…”

“Say no more.” Tyler said with a slightly shy grin. I wasn’t really sure why we were still standing in the doorway but neither of us made any move to go inside. It was a little awkward. Like most of my interactions with Tyler had been for months now. I looked around at anything that wasn’t his gorgeous face and my eyes landed on something green and plantlike hanging above the door frame. I frowned up at it.

“Is that mistletoe?” Tyler followed my gaze and I felt him still in front of me, balancing out the nervous shifting I’d begun.

“Uh, yeah...I think it is…” He trailed off and his eyes slid back down to me. God, as if things weren’t awkward enough between us as it was. We just had to get caught under mistletoe like we were in some cheesy romcom. That’s not to say part of me wasn’t jumping for joy at this situation. It would be the perfect excuse to kiss him, to finally get to find out if his lips were as soft as they were in my dreams. But even through that thought, I knew it could be a terrible idea and just make things even more uncomfortable between us. There was no one around though so we had an out.

“We, uh, we don’t have to…”

“I mean, it is tradition. But if you don’t want to…” Before I could even think about what to say to that, to the fact that he’d at least be okay with it, Scarlett’s voice interrupted.

“Hey guys. ...Is that mistletoe?” She was acting surprised but it wasn’t fooling me and she’d noticed it far too quickly to not have known it was there somehow. “Well, looks like you have to kiss now.” She perched on the arm of the sofa and it was obvious she wasn’t going to let us get out of it. I turned back to Tyler, nervously tucking some loose, flour-covered strands of hair behind my ears.

“Uh, so…” This was far more scary than it had any right to be. Tyler smiled softly though and it went some way to putting me at ease.

“Relax.” Easy for him to say. His hand came to rest on my cheek and tilt my head up and I just about melted. I don’t know how I didn’t when his lips touched mine. They were even softer than I’d dreamed.

The kiss was gentle and loving and so so perfect. And it was real. I wanted it to last forever. He stepped a bit closer to me and slid his other hand to my waist where it felt like it belonged. My own hands somehow ended up tracing his jaw and I was probably getting flour all over him but I didn’t care. He didn’t seem to either.

Dimly I was aware that it was going on much longer than tradition dictated but I wasn’t going to be the one to stop it. I didn’t think Tyler would either because tradition certainly didn’t require the truly amazing things he was doing with his tongue that were making my knees weak.

“Well, I guess my work here is done.” Scarlett’s voice brought me back to reality, though I didn’t really register what she said. I pulled away from Tyler as slowly as was socially acceptable and turned to Scarlett who was no longer alone it seemed. A moment later her words finally computed and they seemed to hit Tyler at the same time. I frowned.

“Wait, what?” Scarlett, Cat, Fin, and Zila exchanged glances before shrugging and motioning for Scarlett to explain.

“We might have put mistletoe up all over the apartment to get you two to kiss.”

“You did what?” Tyler looked absolutely shocked but everything started to make sense.

“So that’s why you kept asking me to come do stuff and I kept running into Tyler on the way?” They all nodded.

“Wait. Did you lock me out of the apartment? For this.” Again they nodded. “Was that really necessary?” Cat and Fin scoffed while Scarlett fixed her brother with a hard look.

“Yes. It absolutely was. You two were unbearable so we did something about it.”

“And you somehow kept ruining our attempts all day so we had to take more drastic measures,” Cat added.

“If it helps,” Scarlett said, softening a little. “It was at least partly done out of love. You’re both so obviously in love so we thought we’d help make it happen.”

“It was 90% because we were all going mad though.” Fin had to go and ruin it and received an elbow in the ribs from Scarlett for his comment.

“Uh, thanks...I guess?” I wasn’t entirely sure what to say and was starting to feel incredibly awkward again, now all too aware that Tyler’s hand was still resting on my waist.

“We should leave them alone now,” Zila said, matter of fact as always, before turning on her heal and walking to the kitchen. The others followed quickly, Fin throwing a parting wink our way and Scarlett giving us a thumbs up. I felt my cheeks heating embarrassingly.

Tyler cleared his throat quietly and I turned back to him, trying not to look as embarrassed and unsure as I felt. I managed to meet his eyes for all of a second before I was distracted by a white smudge on his cheek. I couldn’t help giggling and the little bit of tension that had slipped between us disappeared just like that.

“What is it?” Tyler asked, furrowing his brow but still smiling.

“You’ve got flour on your face.” His smile stretched into a grin and he chuckled a little before his eyes flicked up.

“You know, we’re still under the mistletoe…” I smiled back at him and twined my arms around his shoulders.

“We are...and it is tradition…” I didn’t finish my sentence as Tyler’s mouth covered my own again. Why not after all? It was Christmas and tradition is tradition.

Tag Lists: (send an ask if you want to be added!)

Everything: @wonderfilledness @writingbychelle @ad-astraaaa @moderngenius94

Aurora Cycle: @aurising

#aurora rising #aurora cycle #tyler jones #tyler jones x reader #tyler jones x you #tyler jones imagine #tyler jones fanfic #aurora cycle imagine #aurora cycle fanfic #reader insert

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paladin-andric · 6 years ago

Text

Story Request: Southern Secrets

Requested by @sheralynnramsey! The request was just for any Senci story. This takes place before the events of Blackheart, when Senci lived in the village of Lannis with his mentor, spending his days playing in the fields and meeting with the other villagers..

“Come on, come on!”

Senci’s pleas urged the man following to sigh and pick up his pace, calling out to the youth.

“Yes, yes, I’m here!” Andric answered, beginning to jog as Senci gleefully ran ahead to their destination.

The kobold reached the door and began knocking quickly, nearly hopping up and down as he eagerly awaited the answer he was looking for.

As the door swung open, he couldn’t help but jump as his excitement hit its peak.

“Miss Victoria!” Senci cried.

The aged woman gave him a warm smile and a nod. “Ahh, just who I was looking for! Please, come on in.”

As the kobold slipped past her she turned to see Andric reach her, his coat flapping in the wind.

“Evening, madam,” he said with a polite bow.

“Good evening. How’s the day treating you, Andric?”

He shrugged. “Boy’s a handful, but aren’t they all at this age?”

Victoria chuckled. “Ah, that’s true! Senci, though...his energy is all the trouble you’ve got on your hands! You should count yourself lucky.”

The man nodded, looking to the side guiltily. “You’re right...he’s a good kid.”

“Course he is...he has quite the role model, doesn’t he?”

“Ah, go on. What’s the big occasion, by the way?”

Victoria grinned. “You’ll see. Come on in.”

The bearded man carefully shut the door behind him and took off his coat, placing it on the rack by the door.

The duo walked to the living room, a cozy place with several stuffed seats and a low table in the middle of the room. Senci was already sitting down in one of the chairs, looking curiously at the two as they came into view.

“Miss Victoria, why is today so special? We always come over on Sunday!”

“Because we’re doing something different today,” the woman said knowingly, a sly grin still on her face.

“No tea and cookies?” Senci asked with a hint of disappointment.

Victoria shot him a wink. “You’ll like this even more. You want to learn how to cook something special?”

There was a glint in Senci’s eyes as his disappointment turned into burning curiosity. “Special?”

“Very.”

The young kobold excitedly hopped out of the chair, face lighting up as he joyfully probed his friend. “What is it?! What’s so special?!”

“You remember where I’m from, Senci?”

The lizard scratched his head. “Umm...south?”

Victoria crossed her arms and nodded. “Not bad. I’m from the coast! They call us Sunliners. There’s a family recipe my aunt taught me while I lived down there, and I think it’s something you’d really love…”

…

“Now, you’re going to want to stretch out the dough,” Victoria explained, “Like so.”

The woman was spinning and stretching a flattened bit of uncooked dough in her hands. Senci watched intently, head peeking over the counter.

She came to a stop and lowered the dough down to him. “Now you try.”

Senci accepted the offer, taking the dough and trying to stretch and spin it just like Victoria had-

The kobold immediately recoiled and froze as he tore the flattened dough to shreds, the whole thing falling apart into bits. It took him a moment to register what had just happened before realizing his claws ripped through the soft dough like paper.

“A-ahh...Miss Victoria…”

The woman quickly snatched the ruined dough up and put it back on the table, reforming and reflattening it out.

“Tsk...perhaps I should have foreseen this. I mean, your hands...”

Senci felt a burning sense of shame as he stared at the floor. “Ah…”

Victoria tapped her foot for a moment before coming to a swift realization. “Hey! You can still do this, Senci!”

His pouting frown only confirmed his reluctance. “B-but I-”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, try again and this time...ball up your hands into fists.”

Senci did as he was instructed, balling his hands like he was about to throw a punch. As his claws folding underneath his fingers, Victoria placed the dough back over his hands.

“There. Have another go!”

He stretched it, and spun it, and...it actually got thinner. No tears, no mess...everything was working out just fine!”

“There you go! See? Never give up just because you failed the first time. Work out a solution, and everything will fall into place. Keep going!”

Senci giggled as he tossed and spun the dough, thinning it into a wide and lengthy base for the rest of the ingredients.

…

“...okay, now scoop it out and put it on top.”

Victoria had smashed up some tomatoes into a fine paste. Senci had seen it done a few times before...but never like this!

“Are we...making some kind of giant bread treat?” the kobold probed, sounding confused. Victoria only laughed in response.

“You’ll see. Go on.”

Senci used the large wooden spoon to scoop out some of the sauce and dumped it onto the dough. He looked up at Victoria, searching for guidance.

“More. Keep going.”

He scooped more out. Then more. And more. Finally, the woman signaled for him to stop.

“Very good. Now spread it out evenly. Smooth it out with the spoon.”

He did just that, trying to spread the sauce as evenly as he could, going for little while until Victoria called out again.

“Very good! We’re nearly done, but before we continue...you’ve got sauce on your face.”

Senci blinked in surprise, staring up at the grinning woman. He crossed his eyes, and sure enough...there was a splotch of tomato sauce on his snout.

“...oh.”

As if on queue both of them broke into roaring laughter, Senci grabbing a rag and wiping his face with it.

…

“Now just put a bunch of it on.”

Victoria had brought cheese this time. It was cut up into fine slices, in such a way that Senci hadn’t seen cheese presented.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he commented, curiously peering at the cut up cheese.

“It’ll make sense very soon. Go on!”

Senci nodded, grabbing slices and beginning to lay them over the sauce-covered dough.

“Evenly, just like the sauce! Make sure it’s all spread out.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Soon enough, the cheese covered the sauce, everything seeming just about done. There was a bit of exposed dough around the edges, but Victoria assured Senci that it was supposed to be like that.

“Alright. One last thing…” Victoria grabbed a pinch of...something, and handed it to Senci.

It looked like some sort of plants, dried and grounded.

“Sprinkle it over the cheese.”

Senci carefully did so, trying to spread it evenly, just as he had done with everything else. Soon enough, it was done, and Victoria grabbed what looked like a shove with a tiny handle and carried it away, their creation placed on top of it.

“W-wait! It’s not finished!” Senci cried.

Victoria gave the kobold a funny look. “Well...yes. That’s why I’m taking it to the oven.”

Senci felt the weight of the statement hit him. Obviously!

“O-oh, right, of course…”

He hurried after her, on her heels as she came to the oven and slid the thing inside. He stared in wonder as he watched the cheese sizzle.

“How long it’s gonna take? How long’s it gonna take?” he asked excitedly. He still had no idea what they were making, but he couldn’t wait to find out.

The woman laughed. “Give it a few minutes. Why don’t you sit at the table with Andric? I’ll bring it out once it’s done.”

“Okay!”

As Senci turned and scampered off, Victoria called out to him one last time.

“Oh, and Senci!”

His head poked back around the doorframe. “Yes?”

“You did great today. Thank you for the help.”

He looked away bashfully. “Oh, it’s nothing, Miss Victoria! I like helping you.”

With a nod, she turned back, and Senci left for the dining room.

…

“It was great!” Senci exclaimed, fidgeting in his seat with a big grin on his face. He was sat at a small table, Andric sitting to his left. “I flattened the dough, and poured the sauce, and...it was fun!”

“Oh?” Andric leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists, “And what was it you helped her make?”

“I…” Senci’s grin faded into a look of confusion, “...don’t know.” His grin quickly returned. “But it was fun!”

“I bed it was…”

“Alright, everyone!” Victoria called out, “Time to eat!”

The woman entered the room, holding a large pan in her hands, and on that pan…

It was what Senci had made.

The dough had baked into a hard crust, the cheese all melted on top of the bread. The golden cheese on top of the browned bread...it was something to behold.

“Wooooooow…” Senci muttered, eyes wide.

“Looks great, right?” she said with a cocky smile.

“Indeed it does,” Andric agreed, “Senci, you really helped with that?”

“He did, and he did a great job.”

Victoria placed the pan down on the table, presenting the strange food to the others.

“Miss Victoria...what is it?” Senci gave the woman a mystified look.

“This is what my aunt used to make me when I lived down by the coast. It’s a bit of a local staple. It’s...pizza. Give it a try.”

Senci quickly grabbed at the pizza, noticing Victoria had cut it up into slices. Grabbing one of the slices, Senci brought it to his mouth and took a bite…

Chewing it, he suddenly remembered that yes, there had been sauce underneath the cheese. The tangy bit of sauce, combined with the hard bread, melty cheese and zesty seasoning…

“Well...what do you think?”

“Mmm...remarkable!” Andric said with a nod, “Haven’t had something this good in quite a while.”

“Thank you...Senci? What do you think?”

The kobold took another bite. Then another, chewing noisily.

“I think he likes it!” Victoria said, both her and Andric laughing as they watched Senci stuff his face.

The three of them sat around the table, swapping small talk and laughs as they dug into the pizza. It wasn’t what Andric and Senci were used to, but it was certainly a welcome change.

“Mmm, so, Senci...where’s your little friend? That dragon hasn’t visited in a while…”

“Oh, Lorenzo? He’s busy! The villagers have been building stuff and his family’s busy helping. He said he wanted to say hi, but he couldn’t…”

“I understand. Work before play. Tell him he’s welcome anytime.”

Senci paused. “...hey, Miss Victoria?”

She turned to him expectantly. “Yes?”

“Thank you. I had a wonderful time.”

The woman smiled and nodded. “Anytime, dear.”

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadhorner, @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @reya-writes, @candy687

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lost-in-hyrule-field · 7 years ago

Text

Awakening (Part One)

Originally Posted on Opal Writes

So ages ago, an anon asked for a Zelink first time fic, and this has actually been in the works since before then (sorry I worked at a camp in the middle of nowhere with no wifi all summer and then had strep throat for almost a month). But as promised, Part One of Three

This one’s SFW, part three will not be.

For context, this takes place between the memories ‘Father and Daughter’ and ‘Slumbering Power’. If you want to, you can watch those here.

Summary: The day before she is set to leave for the Spring of Power, Princess Zelda finds herself spirited out of the castle by her Knight.

Zelda hunched over her desk, shoulders slumping as her pen moved spastically across the page of her diary, one moment quick and angry, each period splattered and imperfect as she jabbed furiously into the page, the next slow and hesitant as though the ink itself refused to form words.

A soft, almost hesitant knock sounded, and Zelda sighed softly as she sat up strait, returning the quill to its ink stand, and moved her diary, still open so as not to smudge any wet ink, into a drawer away from any prying eyes before calling out, “Enter,” not bothering to mask the exasperation in her voice. As she heard the door open, she turned to face whoever it was, hoping that her expression would send them away as quickly as possible, but her face relaxed when she realised it was Link standing in the doorway.

“I barely recognised you without your tunic,” she gave him a tired smile. “What are you wearing?”

He ran a hand through his hair, which he’d taken out of its usual ponytail. “I’ll explain that in a minute. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, after everything this afternoon.”

“I’ve been better, but it’s not as though father didn’t say anything untrue or uncalled for.”

For a moment, Link made a face as though he wanted to disagree, but thought better of it. “I know we need to leave for the Spring of Power early tomorrow, but I thought it would be nice to do something to help get your mind off… everything.”

“I’m assuming this is why you’re dressed like a farm boy?”

Link glanced down at himself and nodded.

“And what exactly does this something entail?”

He gave her a grin, something that had grown less rare in recent months but was always surprisingly disarming. “That’s a surprise. Just, trust me?” He said the last sentence as though it were a question, as though he hadn’t already given her all the reasons in the world to trust him.

“With my life,” she responded with a genuine, though still not happy, smile.

His own smile widened, and he slid a bag from his shoulder and handed it to her. “Get changed into this. I��ll be waiting in the hall.”

He quickly turned and left, and when she opened the satchel he’d handed her, he realised why he’d run away so quickly. She bit her lip as she pulled out a skirt and shirt made of coarse linen, a rough wool jacket- both decorated with crude embroidery in faded oranges and browns- followed by a shapeless knit hat and worn leather shoes.

“What in Hylia’s name does he have planned?” Zelda murmured to herself on a short sigh.

She changed quickly, skin itching against fabric more coarse than any she’d ever worn before. Feeling exasperated, she walked out into the corridor, the ugly hat hanging limply from her hand. Link stood up from where he’d been sitting against the wall and smiled at her.

“How do I look?” she asked with a quick twirl.

“Unrecognisable,” was the response.

“Well, I feel ridiculous. And I absolutely refuse to wear this awful thing,” she muttered sharply, brandishing the hat in front of Link’s face. “Whatever this is you have planned had better be worth it.”

He snatched the hat from her and shoved it into on of his trouser pockets. “I hope it will be. Now please be quiet. We need to get down to the kitchen without anyone noticing us and we only have another minute or two before the patrol comes down this way.

She nodded and followed him on feet as silent as she could manage.

Fortunately, the east wing of the castle was primarily bedrooms, and so was nearly empty at this time of day, so only their footfalls echoed through the wide, clean halls. Despite spending little time in the kitchens, Zelda at least knew where they were, though why he was even taking her to the kitchen dressed like some peasant she could not begin to fathom. However, instead of following the rout she knew to be the shortest, Link pulled aside a heavy tapestry, which concealed the low, arched entrance to a small, musty corridor. Link gestured down it with his head. “After you, princess.”

He led her along a meandering path, through hallways that grew smaller and more winding while the familiar, lush tapestries were replaced with dusty, threadbare wallhangings, which eventually faded into cool, naked stone. Zelda had thought herself acquainted with the whole of the castle, but found herself totally unsure of where they were. Link seemed to know where they were going, at the very least, and had clearly chosen a path where they would meet as few people as possible.

Once on this seemingly endless trek, they heard voices bouncing towards them from deeper in the belly of the castle, and, wordlessly, grabbed her wrist and whirled her into a shadowy alcove, his free hand coming up with lightning speed to cradle the back of her head before it smacked into the stone of the wall. He hid himself in the shadows beside her and raised a finger to his own lips.

The voices billowed and distorted through narrow passageway, mingling with heavy footfalls and the clank of armour, only becoming intelligible when the speakers were barely feet away from them.

“…and I swear, they were the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“Were they really?” a second voice cut in with equal parts sarcasm and disinterest.

“Well, yeah,” the first responded, evidently overestimating of his companion’s level of engagement with the story. “She’s a great fairy. Of course her breasts are amazing.”

Somewhat surprised and feeling more scandalised than she should, Zelda looked up at Link through the hazy darkness and saw him roll his eyes.

“Someone you know?” she asked in a whisper, once the voices had faded.

He wiggled the fingers still trapped behind her head, and she moved “He’s told me that story three times, and it only gets less believable.”

“Less believable than seducing a Great Fairy?”

“You didn’t even hear the part about the Lynels.”

Zelda widened her eyes in mock fascination. “Did he seduce them too?”

Link looked at her, his eyes serious, and in a low voice answered, “That would have made more sense.”

She laughed and he clapped a hand over her mouth. “We’re almost there.”

Soon the cramped hallway grew uncomfortably warm and she could hear a loud hum of indistinguishable voices and clanging utensils. Link glanced back at her over his shoulder. “I think we’re probably in the clear now.”

“I hope you weren't just planning on taking me to the kitchens. If you were you could have taken me a much shorter rout. And let me wear my own clothes.”

His eyes lit up as a crooked grin slunk onto his face. “Nope. I’m sneaking you out through the kitchens.”

She stopped suddenly. “Out? As in out of the castle? Link we can’t! We leave for the Spring of Power tomorrow. My father would kill you if he found out. My father might kill me if he found out…”

Link had stopped and turned to face her, and he reached out, grasping her shoulders. “Zelda.” He so rarely said her name that the surprise of it quieted her. “Trust me.” This time those words held not a hint of questioning, just a soft command that she knew she was powerless to disobey.

She bit her lip and nodded, and then, to her surprise, his arms snaked around her back and pulled her against him in a gentle hug.

It was over in a moment, and he was back off down the corridor, one of his hands tugging lightly at her wrist until she followed.

Startled, she stumbled for a moment before regaining her stride, feeling the blush on her cheeks deepen when he didn’t drop her wrist, but kept it clasped gently in his hand.

…………………

Zelda had seen the kitchens before, but on the rare occasion she had followed her father on his inspections of the castle workings, they had been immaculate, the head chef and his assistants largely unoccupied and ready to be asked anything by their employers.

But now, the place was a flurry of activity, the cramped space sweltering from the large fires roaring in several different ovens; people pushed too and fro, arms full of ingredients or laden with platters or knives or oversized dishes, shouting over the clatter of pots; a haze of smoke and flour hung in the air while the smells of meat, and blood, and spices competed for attention. Overwhelmed, Zelda wormed her wrist away from Link’s grasp and clutched at his hand, an anchor to the comforting familiarity of him. He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

No one really seemed to notice them amidst the bustle, unless they got in someone’s way. But with a “sorry” from Link and a tug on her hand to pull her aside, they would brush past with hardly a sideways look at her.

A portly, red faced man who Zelda recognised as the head chef looked up at them over a mound of dough, and Link waved. The man smiled for a moment by way of response and then went back to kneading.

“Do you know him well?” Zelda asked, almost shouting over the din.

Link glanced back at her, looking slightly chagrinned. “I spend more time down here than I should,” was his response.

A wide, arched doorway led out of the kitchen down a steep flight of steps. As they climbed further down the stones grew cool and damp, and the air fresher as the smell of spices faded.

“You’re taking me to the docks? Surely it would be faster just to go out the front gate.”

He nodded. “It would be faster, yes, but it wouldn’t count as sneaking you out.”

She laughed, the sound bouncing and multiplying in the small space. “I suppose you’re right.”

The docks were another area or the castle which Zelda barely knew, but as the twisting staircase opened up into a low, sloped cavern which trapped and magnified the whooshing of the water into a persistent roar, she decided she felt no need to be better acquainted with it.

Fingers still entwined with his, Zelda allowed herself to be led down to the water and helped onto a small raft already laden with crates.

Link gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and with a reassuring, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and waded off somewhere deeper into the cave.

Zelda sat back against an empty crate, watching shadows cast by a low flame sputtering in a brazier dance across the uneven ceiling.

True to his word, Link soon returned, a lanky, pockmarked man following in his wake.

Together, they pushed the raft away from the shore and splashed up onto the raft. Link sank down against the crates next to her and the second man used a long paddle to propel them further towards the mouth of the cave.

“She a friend of yours?” he asked Link, looking at her from the sides of his eyes.

Fluidly, Link draped an arm across her shoulders. “You could say that,” he responded with a casual tip of the head and a crooked grin.

The man gave a short snort that was almost a laugh, and glanced at her in a predatory sort of way that made Zelda shrink back against Link’s arm.

They didn’t speak again until the raft had crunched against the gravel on the shore of the moat and Link had helped her back onto solid ground, something for which Zelda was grateful. And when he did speak, it was a simple, “See you next time,” clearly aimed at Link rather than at her.

Link nodded. “Thank you for the ride.”

The man gave another snort, muttered “It was no problem,” and, without looking back at them, set off towards a burly man standing by a wagon loaded with more crates.

Link turned slightly and gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Benton would be working the docks today. He’s kind of a creep.”

Zelda waved a hand in dismissal. “No, it’s quite alright. But I am dying to know what you have planned now that you’ve gotten me out of the castle.”

His smile widened. “I have Galen tethered just over there,” he said with a wave of his hand somewhere to the left, and she could see his sturdy bay tied loosely to a tree. “Once we get him, we’re going to go off to Castle Town. I thought that seeing how the other half lives might be a good distraction from, well, everything right now.”

She laughed when he took her hand again and started walking in the direction of his horse. “So that’s why you have me dressed like this. Where did you get these clothes anyway.”

“I stole them from my sister-in-law’s sister the last time she came to visit. She lives up in Tabantha, and I figured they might come in handy some day, and she hasn't written about them yet.”

Zelda laughed and tugged at the skirt’s waistband; Link’s sister-in-law’s sister seemed to have a slightly larger waist than she did. “If my father knew you had such a criminal streak he would never have let you enlist, let alone become my personal guard.”

With a roguish grin, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his side. “My criminal streak?” he said with mock indignation. “If he knew half of what you got up to he’d never let you out of his sight.”

“I’m not a child. Even if he didn’t let me, I’d find a way out anyway.”

She snorted to emphasise her point, and Galen snorted in response, making Zelda jump.

Link chuckled, patting the horse’s shoulder. “Do you want a hand up?”

She nodded, and grinned as he wrapped his hands around her waist, hoisting her up onto the horse’s back. She perched there in an awkward semblance of side saddle, and Link made a face.

“Sorry it’s not a riding skirt. I didn’t think about that.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Zelda chirped as he moved to untie the horse. “I’m so used to wearing trousers that I hadn’t thought of it.”

Link nodded. “Women in trousers is still unusual enough of a sight to catch a few eyes, and then we’d run a greater risk of someone recognising you,” he said as he passed her the reigns.

“You know, I’ve never ridden bare back before,” she said, hands tight against the thin leather straps.

He swung up behind her with a practiced ease, wrapping his arms around her and wresting the reigns from her hands. He clucked, and Galen began to walk, jostling her back against him. “Well, I’ve never kidnapped a princess from her castle before.”

With a light kick to the horses side, he urged Galen to a trot, and Zelda, still perched side saddle, began to slip. She clutched at Link’s knee, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her, pulling her back against his lap; she felt herself blush.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I guess I didn’t think this through all the way. I’ve ridden Galen with two people before, but we could both sit astride.”

“Oh, it’s alright. It’s not far to Castle Town from here.”

……………….

The wide cobbled streets of Castle Town bustled with activity. Brightly coloured cloth and paper decorations hung everywhere, stretched from building to building across the thoroughfare, and street vendors loudly hawked their wares.

Zelda stayed close in by Link’s side, unused to being so crowded. “I don’t remember Castle Town being quite this busy the last time I was here,” she almost shouted at Link.

“People tend to stop and make way for the Princess,” he responded, leaning close to her ear so she could hear without having to shout. “Though it’s not usually quite like this,” he added after a pause. “The harvest moon festival is in a few days, so people have come from all over Hyrule for the celebration. That’s also why all these decorations are up.”

“I’d forgotten there was a festival. What’s it like?”

Link shrugged. “I’ve never been able to go. But from what I’ve heard, it’s mostly dancing and people getting drunk and yelling. I’m surprised you’ve never been woken up by it. They usually make enough noise to rouse the dead. Though I think the idea is to rouse the Spirit of Power.”

“Since I was a child, I’ve spent the harvest moon at the Power’s Sacred Spring. Though ultimately, I suppose we’re all trying to do the same thing.”

She gave him a weak smile when he glanced over at her. “Don’t think about it. Tomorrow, or the Spring or anything. This is supposed to be a distraction.”

The narrow side street they were on opened suddenly into the central square. Her eyes went to the fountain in it’s centre. An old man in worn clothes leaned down to drink from it, a young woman with trailing silk sleeves caught her reflection in it before hurrying past, a pair of children were splashing each other with the clear water, and looming over it all stood the symbol of Hyrule, the triforce.

Without really thinking, she gnawed her lip. This symbol- a constant reminder of her own failures- seemed inescapable.

Noticing her gaze, Link pulled her into the shadowed colonnade wrapped around edge of the square, her back to the fountain. She turned her head to glance back, but he caught her face in his hand before she could, gently pulled her gaze back to him.

“None of that matters. Not today. Not ever, if you don’t want it to, but especially not today.” His face was earnest, burning with a quiet intensity.

She gnawed her lip again, noticed him watching her mouth. “If only that were true,” she murmured wistfully.

“We can go somewhere else if you want to.”

“No, I’ll be alright,” she responded.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek and she leaned into his palm.

Surprising herself, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him close. His hand moved to cradle the back of her head against his shoulder, while the other went to her waist, pulling her flush against him.

“I meant what I said,” he almost whispered against her hair, “it doesn’t matter if you don’t want it to.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, until a passing stranger gave a scandalised humph. Pulling back from her, but with his arm still around her waist, he tugged her over to the fountain, dodging a small, white dog on the way, and gently pushed her down to sit on the fountain’s edge.

“Wait here, okay,” he said quickly, smiling. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, still flushed from the feeling of his body pressed up against hers and from the embarrassment of being noticed by a stranger.

Her eyes followed him until he disappeared into the crowd, before turning and dipping her fingers into the cool water of the fountain, watching as her reflection puckered and distorted. With a sigh, she turned back to watch the people who sauntered past her.

A young couple strolled by, arm in arm and clearly oblivious to the world around them. A child with dirt stained knees tore past her, stopping and turning back when a pregnant woman with mousy hair called him, a look of exhaustion on her face. The dog trotted merrily over to a corpulent woman in silks, following her into a house on the square’s edge.

She basked in the anonymity, the ability to watch without being noticed. She had been to Castle Town before, of course, but never without a proper escort and clothes which marked her status. But now she was just a girl, unworthy of any particular notice, and could watch people as they were, not as they acted for their princess.

She was too lost in observation to notice the man come up beside her until he made himself know with, “Hello, lovely. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

Surprised, Zelda turned to see a young man, dark haired and handsome in a lean, hungry way. Trying to remember where Link’s sister-in-law was from, she stared, wide-eyed, at him for a moment before responding, “I’m from the Tabantha frontier.”

He stood above her, leaning down. “What brings you all the way to castle town then, little flower?”

Zelda had to confess herself at somewhat of a loss as to how to respond. His intentions were both apparent and unwanted. Her first instinct was to order him away with an imperious toss of her hair, but dressed as she was, she doubted she could muster much authority. Stutteringly, she responded, “I’m visiting family. My, err, husband's family.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “Husband, eh? I wonder where he is? If I had a woman like you, I don’t think I’d ever let you out of my sight.” He reached out and caught a piece of her hair between his fingers. She jerked back, tugging her hair free. “Oh, well…” silently, Zelda prayed Link would come back. If ever there was a time for the gods to hear her, it was now. “He’s just gone to… he’ll be back soon, I’m sure…”

And then, there he was, her sandy haired saviour. Frantically, she met his eyes and he began elbowing his way through the crowd.

“Here he is, now,” she said, grinning broadly as he sat down next to her.

“Take this,” Link said, passing her something warm and wrapped in a leaf and tied in twine. He wrapped his now free hand around her waist and pulled her close. An easy smile on his face, Link looked up at the man. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked brightly.

His mouth twitched before answering, “I was just heading on my way,” and walking away back into the crowd.

“Thank you,” Zelda breathed out, letting her head fall against his shoulder.

“It’s my job.” he said simply. “Are you okay?” She nodded. “What is this?” she asked, holding up the parcel he had given her.

“Unwrap it and you’ll see.” he responded cryptically.

She complied, untying the twine and unwrapping the leaf to reveal a ball of rice, moulded into a vague triangle.

Link had unwrapped his own, and was looking at her expectantly. “It’s food. Eat it.”

“Somehow I should have known there’d be food involved,” She grinned over at him before leaning down and taking a bite.

The mild flavour of the warm rice was cut through with succulent meat, tender, slightly sweet.

She looked up at Link, her eyes bright. “This is delicious.”

He swallowed quickly; his was already half gone. “You think? It’s just a rice ball with meat.”

She nodded vigorously, and grinned.

“My mother’s are better. I’ll make them for you sometime when we’re traveling. It’s really easy, though my mother’s recipe uses mushrooms.”

She grimaced. “Oh no, I hate mushrooms.”

“No, you just think you hate them because Gotter doesn’t know how to cook them.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Is that so, now?”

He nodded confidently, next bite of food already in his mouth.

……………..

She gently fingered the necklace that hung by her chest. She knew that the gem was glass and the setting cheap, but Link had bought her when it caught her eye.

Lying on her back in Hyrule field in borrowed clothes with him at her side, she felt more at ease than she had in months.

She turned her head to see his profile barely illuminated by the waxing moon. “Thank you for today. It was wonderful,” she whispered, almost like a sigh.

He hummed an acknowledgement without turning his face from the sky.

She looked back up, hunting for the constellations he always found with ease amid the countless pinpricks of light above them, falling back into a comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

“For what?” she asked, turning her head to look at him.

“For not saying anything to your father this morning. I…”

“Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your place.”

He turned to stare back at her, earnest eyes wide. “But it was my place. Zelda, I’m your appointed knight; it’s my duty to defend you, even from you father.”

She sat up, turning to face him. She chewed on her lip, looking for words. She could see his eyes gleaming in the dark, watched them flicker from her eyes to her lips, and then back again, almost too quick to notice.

She braced an arm next to his shoulder and leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain over them.

It was barely a kiss. Her lips met his for the barest of moments before she pushed herself back, face already flaming and an apology forming in her throat. But before she could speak, he sat up, grabbing her face in his hands, and pulled her back to him.

His kiss was forceful, almost frenzied, his rough fingertips burning against her skin.

For a moment, she was too shocked to react, but then she was kissing him back, her movements clumsy and unpracticed.

Soon her lungs were burning and she forced herself back, panting, her lips swollen and her face flaming.

He lay back down with a heavy sigh, not meeting her eyes, with a look on his face that she couldn’t quite name.

“Did I do something wrong,” Zelda asked tentatively, suddenly insecure about her lack of experience.

“No, not at all,” he insisted fervently, finally looking at her. “It’s just…” he continued after a brief pause, “I shouldn't have done that.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you regret it?”

“Yes and no.” At the look of hurt that flashed across her face he elaborated haltingly, but with an uncharacteristic eloquence. “I don’t regret that it happened, but you deserve someone much better than I am, and it wasn't fair of me to ask something of you that you can't give.”

With an almost imperceptible sigh, she lay back down next to him, taking his hand and entwining his fingers with hers. “Don’t regret anything. Whatever I give you, I give because I want to.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming in the starlight, and she felt her own eyes flutter closed as he once again closed the distance between them. This time his kiss was soft and deliberate, and seemed to her to stretch into eternity.

Far too soon, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and running a thumb along her cheekbone.

“You know, I envy you,” she breathed against his lips.

He pulled back enough to look in her eyes, his face confused. “Why?”

“Everything has just come so easily to you. You just don’t know what it’s like. What it’s like to feel the weight of all this expectation pressing in on you constantly.”

He looked at her with a depth in his eyes that scared her. “You’re not the only one with an inescapable destiny, princess.”

“Link, that's not…”

He stood up before she could finish, holding a hand out to her. “We should get back to the castle. It’s late.”

They spent the ride to the castle in a thorny silence. His arms around her were stiff, his posture rigid. She wanted to say something, but without knowing exactly what had gone wrong, she had no idea how to make it right again.

He hadn't been like this, even when, in her resentment of his success, she had tried with all her might to force him away from her.

His rejection stung, and was compounded by the sense of shame growing as she realised just how deeply her rejection of him must have hurt.

They reentered the castle through the front gates. At this hour, no one was afoot to recognise them but the solitary gate keeper, a friend of Link’s.

He said goodbye to her in the first courtyard they came to. “I trust you can find your way from here,” he bowed stiffly. “Goodnight princess.” And then he was gone, leading Galen in the direction of the stables.

Keep reading Part Two Here

#Zelink #Zelink fanfiction #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #botw fanfiction #fanfiction #botw #I'm embarrassed by my own writing

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bay217 · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter 1

Long, long ago, the four great lands fought the most brutal war this world has ever seen. Fueled by an imperialistic lust for power, Fire Lord Sozin attacked the other nations, the earth kingdom, the air nomads, and the water tribes. The war brought about many terrible tragedies, and many brave acts of heroism. Finally, when all hope seemed lost, the Hundred Year War was ended by Avatar Aang and Fire Lord Zuko, and a great era of peace was ushered in. People of all nations and all walks of life were united under the Republic of Nations and the leadership of Republic City. If this peace had lasted, then I would not be telling you this story. As it is, there is indeed a story to be told.** **

During the Hundred Year War, our world experienced a devastating extinction event. Countless plant and animal species were lost to the fires of conquest and conflict. What began as an initiative to resurrect the species of the old world granted us technology beyond what we had ever thought possible. Through the work of several talented geneticists and the grace of serendipity, the world was again filled with all the beautiful variety of life it had once sustained. Diseases were eradicated and no man went hungry. For the first time in history, the building blocks of life itself were in our hands. But that which had created such prosperity would soon show its potential for destruction. From the very creches that had given rise to Koalaotters and Pygmy pumas sprung the first of the Great Plagues. The plagues ravaged the world, destroying crops, causing the restored fauna to die of starvation, and leaving entire regions reduced to vast swirling deserts of dust and decay. Entire ecosystems came crashing down. Widespread famine and illness has killed countless. Were it not for a handful of sanctuaries, mankind as we know it may have been lost. The world is hurting. The world needs an Avatar…

[The Earth Kingdom City of Omashu]

“Last week it was four copper pieces!” Ong growled across the wooden booth. He grasped a sack of rice in his hand and glared at the man sitting behind the counter. Around them Kyu-Bak, Omashu’s enormous indoor marketplace, buzzed with activity.

“No four. Six today. Laws strong today.” the old man crossed his leathery, tanded arms over his chest stubbornly. He had the body of a beggar but the eyes of a businessman.

On any other day Ong would have tried to get the price down to at least 5 or else search out a better price at another vendor, but today he was already running late. He made a slightly disgruntled sound and forked over the money, taking the rice and winding his way back through the press of bodies.

He exited through one of the four massive doors to Kyu-Bak, his copper hair whipped by the powerful industrial fans groaning against the thick air of the city. Stepping out into the swelter was like walking into a wall of heat.

Out in the sloping, winding streets near the outer walls, high-speed transports built on the rails crisscrossing the city zipped overhead. The idea for the system was supposedly originated by the city’s king and a famous avatar in times long past.

Ong made his way through the communities adjacent to the great outer walls. Houses and less dignified shelters were built from mud-brick, sheet metal and wood against the wall itself, growing and overflowing as though the sector was a living thing itself. It was a place for the poor, adjoining the industrial district of Omashu. Walking through the streets Ong could almost smell the poverty. This was a scent, Ong thought, even sadder and more proximal than the stench of the emissions coming from the city’s industry. As if on cue, a fat-bellied exhaust pipe running from the heart of the city belched a cloud of smoke beside him.

“Ong!” his name echoed across a street clogged with trash and running children. He swiveled his head to see Nepa hurrying through an alleyway toward him. “Hey brudda, howzit eh?”

The man fell into step with Ong and they walked along the uneven path leading to Ong’s region of the vast slum. All the while Nepa whistled, his cheeks rosy and a smile on his face despite the grime besmearing his complexion and the poverty evident in his skinny limbs.

“Well then, what have you to say?” Ong asked impatiently. “Or did you simply wish to provide me a soundtrack for my walk home?” he teased.

Nepa chortled but shook his head, his face quickly falling into solemnity. “There are stirrings again. About clean water. Zone 3” he muttered. The slums on the outskirts of Omashu were informally divided into 5 zones, each representing a chunk of city perimeter that was often home to the lower class. “It has been so hot lately…” he added.

Ong nodded. “Is there immediate danger?” he asked. “What did Ravinder say?”

Nepa shook his head. “I don’t think it will become very violent yet, but the health concerns are mounting.”

“I will bring it to the attention of the council. In the meantime, ask the other zones to divert a small fraction of their water to Zone 3. Four is in Three’s debt since they recently absorbed some of Four’s population growth.” said Ong. “Thank you Nepa.”

The jolly older man nodded and started along the path to his own house. Ong looked after him, then called out “Hey! Nepa, your family will come tonight?”

Nepa grinned, looking over his shoulder “Half of the population of the slums is coming, man” he muttered “of course I’m gunna be there. The poor rarely have cause to drink. When there’s something to be joyful for, how can we miss such a chance, eh?”

Ong gave an exasperated expression, ever serious, even with regard to his children’s birthday celebration.

“Come now, this is an occasion most joyous. 10 years! Considering that there’s two of them, it may as well have been 20” he said as he headed away toward his own avenue of the slums.

For families in the poverty-ridden Zones, a child’s 10th birthday was often the only time they celebrated on account of something as trivial as the anniversary of one’s birth. In such disease and hunger-ridden times as these, more than half of all children died before they reached the age of 10, whether from sickness, malnutrition, or as a casualty of war or crime. However, it was widely accepted in the Zones that once a child reached the age of 10, they were much more likely to survive into adulthood.

Ong completed his trek home undisturbed. His was a mud-brick abode set on a small hill of earth, a couple hundred feet away from the rest of the slums and in slightly better condition. This was the only thing that distinguished him as a councilman. Elsewise, the sole representative of the Zones to the city council lived unremarkably, just as his constituency.

The house was abuzz with activity. Various women of the community were hurrying about, baskets of dark brown breads in their hands or mismatched tablecloths piled in their arms to just below eye-level. Meanwhile children ran about, some helping to carry things and others just getting in the way underfoot. A few men from the slums who were close to Ong were busy smoking meats over a fire in the back, a rare treat.

In the middle of all of the commotion stood Leah, Ong’s wife and the lady of the house. She was confidently directing workflow despite the chaotic nature of such a ceremony.

Usually a child’s 10th birthday was a pretty ritualized occasion, a large family gathering. However, considering Ong’s position in the community, this celebration was an even bigger deal, with more than two hundred people expected and several times that number of wellwishers to stop by in the coming week. However, it was not just daddy’s career which drew such fuss over this particular celebration. Rather, this was the birthday of two very special children…twins.

In the city of Omashu, there was much superstition and honor surrounding twins. For reasons undetermined (although most definitely relating to the rampant pollution) the birth of twins was much more rare than it had been in times past. Couple this with high child mortality rate, and rarely did a set of twins live to their tenth birthday.

On his way through the bustle toward his wife, Ong felt a hand grip his arm. “Onnnng darling.” a raspy old voice called him. “Hello Aunt Mimsy” he said.

“Such diamonds, such jewels!” the short, sturdy woman crooned. “Born in the honor of Omashu’s namesake. I never thought I’d live to see twins grow this old ever again. This is a joyous day indeed!” she twirled off without waiting for a response.

Twins, and especially a boy and girl, were believed to represent reincarnations of Oma and Shu, after whom the city was named and who were so close in their lives that they were said to be reborn together, at the same instant so that their spirits would never again have to be apart. Because of this, Ong’s two children had always meant something important to the community.

Seeing Ong, Leah beckoned him with a smile. “There you are, my breadwinner.” she said. As he grew closer her smile dropped and she squinted at him. “You’re late” she scolded.

“And you let Aunt Mims get to the rice wine,” he countered.

Leah’s coy smile returned as she kissed her husband. “And you’re late. Your children are in the house, but be careful, your mother is in there too and she’s barricaded the door”

Ong nodded knowingly and brought the bag of rice he’d been sent out to acquire into the kitchen. The room was small and filled way past capacity with women fixing dishes, rolling dough, and boiling water. It was a delicious smelling sauna packed with people and Ong breathed a breath of relief once he’d made his way through.

Making his way through the cooler part of the house, he went down a hallway only to be met almost immediately by his mother, a small woman with fierce eyes whose smile was hardly diminished by her missing teeth. She was a formidable woman, as Ong had learned through growing up under her watchful eye.

“Now mother, I know what you’re going to say but they’re my children and I think I have a right to wish them a happy birthday before they’re on display for our neighbors!” he came out strong. You really had to catch her off guard, he’d noticed, otherwise she was stubborn as a mule-turtle (although he’d never quite understood that saying).

Ong’s mother patiently waited out his indignation with one eyebrow raised. “Relax,” she said gently “They’re ready.”

“Oh,” Ong smiled sheepishly and edged past her toward the twins’ bedroom.

“I don’t know who you think you were talking to with that attitude Ong, certainly not the woman who gave birth to you and raised you!” she called after him.

Inside their small room, Myr and Hiko stood before him, smiling up at their father. The twins were dressed in their finest clothing.

For Myr, these were a shimmery kimono-like robe that had been handed down through the family and silk-slippers. Hiko was dressed in a black hakama, and a navy blue top which bared the top of his chest. The most remarkable thing about the children though, was what his mother had done.

Myr’s arms were bare, but extremely intricate designs adorned her tan forearms and halfway up her biceps. Her eyes were daubed with a gentle reduction of a black-juiced berry to make her eyes appear more sly and wise. Her cheeks, just losing their baby fat, were delicately powdered.

Hiko’s face and all of his visible skin was adorned with thin white lines of heiza, an herbal mixture that smelled a bit musky. The designs, though markedly different from his sister’s, were equally as complex. They gave his skin the appearance of having been chiseled and angled, as though cut from the earth itself.

Ong smiled back down at his children. He was at once filled with happiness at their vitality and the promise in their eyes and melancholy that they had been born into such a troubled world.

“Daddy the kimono itches my belly” Myr said, expertly (although inadvertently) diffusing the moment.

Ong laughed at her and ruffled her hair, which elicited a tongue click from his mother in the doorway. “You look pretty though” he assured her.

Myr turned and examined herself in the small, smudged mirror that rested against the wall in the twins’ shared room. She moved from side to side and looked over her back too. “Well, that’s true.” she said, smiling a toothy grin. “I look like a princess”

Hiko flexed his essentially nonexistent muscles. “I look like a man!” he growled. “An earthbending fighter!” he exclaimed, leaping into an exaggerated fighting pose.

“Yeah right!” Myr said, rolling her eyes as Ong shot Hiko a scolding glance.

“You’re not an earthbender Hiko.” he said quickly. “Well, everyone will be here in a few hours so try not to smudge your heiza or dirty your clothes. You can be the official tasters for whatever they are making in that kitchen” he said, trying to give them an incentive to stay inside. It expected that at least most of the guests see them first when they made their appearance later that night.

“Oh, and happy birthday” he said, remembering on his way out. He knelt and gave them both hugs. “I love you”

When he stepped back outside the grounds had become doubly as busy, something Ong hadn’t thought possible. A few makeshift tents had been erected on the grounds and lanterns hung from each of their supporting poles. The sun had begun its descent and everywhere people buzzed with the excitement of celebration. It was going quite the party.

Nepa was right, the people of the slums rarely had reason to come together and celebrate. This wasn’t just a birthday party, but a celebration that somewhere, in the midst of a broken world, there could still be hope.

#legend of korra #atla #avatar the last airbender #lok #fanfiction #writing

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totalfanfreak · 8 years ago

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One of Three - Chapter 5

One of Three

Chapter 5 – Perchance to Dream

It was snowing, and Sera’s breath caught had as she watched from high in her apartment as it started to gather on the ground. Being from Florida, it did get cold in the winter, on a few occasions it had flurried, and she would open her mouth to catch the icy bits on her tongue. But this was something else entirely, the world was turning white outside, and it was going to continue for the next few days. The city was used to this, already salting roads and sidewalks, the news telling people to be prepared to shovel they’re drive and keep their vehicles out of the open unless they wanted to dig for it.

The schools have even bound ahead and canceled classes for Monday, anticipating lack of attendance for hindrance and, well, it was the first snow of the season. Sera was excited to play in it herself. She had always wanted to build a snow man, maybe make a snow angel, coming back in half frozen to drink hot cocoa. Better yet, hot cocoa mixed with coffee. She knew the weather was going to affect her though, the billowy winds shocking her as soon as she opened the outside doors proving that.

Going back to the living room, she thought the storm was a good metaphor to the last several weeks, a whirlwind. It felt her feel good that her life had taken such a turn. Sure she was still cautious and didn’t talk to many people. But she went out more with the people she did. She had went out to eat a few more times with Janine, even going out with her and Claudette, though the plans for that night had been orchestrated by Claudette and the three had ended up at a veteran’s hall playing bingo and sipping punch. But it had been fun, especially seeing the other girls flip out over winning a hula hoop and a pair of sunglasses. Among all that, things had been quiet, the killings taking a drop on the news. Not having to hear about another body washed up somewhere was a blessing she was grateful for.

Then there were the boys, who were much more persistent on getting her out of the apartment. They’d do everything from odds and ends like accompanying her to the market or taking a walk with her and Shep through the park. Sometimes they’d even surprise her by taking her to the movies or sitting on the edge of the wharf where the fishermen would pull in and dock. But usually they would come over and enjoy a meal with her, and just talk; all these things they would arrive unexpectedly, but she found herself liking that as well, the spontaneity. A few times dragging her out to go to the bar they frequented, a little Irish pub called McGinty’s. It was run by a sweet older man called Doc reminding her of the dwarf in Snow White with his glasses, figuring out immediately that he had a form of Tourette’s, she had slapped the boys when they had started messing with him about it.

“I stopped givin’ a –“

“Fuck!”

“When I saw ye layin’ on yer –“

“Ass!”

They thought it was hilarious and she gave a half crank blow to their heads leaving them stunned, while Doc had started cackling.

“It’s all right, lass, they do this ta me all de time. It’s all in fun, but I didn’t mind seein’ that.”

She had then been introduced to her first Guinness and their friend Rocco, the man who had helped find her.

“It’s not all that hard sweetheart, browse through some phone books and make a few calls, not as much work as these two make it seem. They’re both just too dimwitted and lazy to think of doing that on their own.”

The result of that had been handfuls of ice tossed and a headlock to the floor. It was nice, the beer and the events warming her from the inside, she enjoyed the carefree attitude around her. She knew the boys would be visiting her today; usually they would call her if they were a bit too drained from work just to check in with her. But when they didn’t they would pop up at her door. She believed they did that in the beginning so she couldn’t leave, or pretend she wasn’t there. Which she could anyway, but now it had become a system and she was fine with it. Clicking on another pot of coffee, she decided to make some supper for when Connor and Murphy did decide to show up.

She had already known that they had many childlike quirks, but taking them to the market with her that day, it was worse than having a team of screaming three year olds with her. They would find something like a pack of a certain pastry or cookie they would want, both having chosen a different flavor would bicker over which one to get. Sera had pointed out that they were old enough to get both of them if they wanted and it would appease them, until the next display of interest would come up and it would start all over. She could also tell they had a void of home cooked meals, greasy take out being their main food of choice. And when she went through the produce section, she would ask what they would like, holding up different greens they would turn their noses at.

But like three year olds, it wasn’t hard to trick them into eating them, she would cover it with a sauce or cheese and though if they found some spinach not chopped up enough they nibble the edge before sticking the whole thing in their mouths. She smiled, it was adorable in a way. Looking through her fridge, with some of the leftovers she had she came up with making a decent pizza for them both. They’d, of course, would want more meat on theirs, so she measured out enough to make two. Artichoke hearts, olives, chicken, beef, arugula, peppers – she had plenty to top off with putting in the dough to cook for a little while she simmered some tomatoes on the stove, chopping everything else up as she waited.

She was far from being any type of gourmet, but she had spent enough time in the kitchen when one of her parents was cooking, as well as two grandmothers that bled chicken broth so she knew a good amount of how to get by. She pulled the crusts out, layering them with the chunky sauce, piling on the various toppings, making sure one had more cheese and meat than the other. The smell of sauce and carbs had filled up the room, making her forget her coffee when a huge yawn raked through her.

Pouring a mug she put her face into it to breathe the aroma in. She hadn’t slept in about two days now. And with the grogginess from the gray clouds outside and the lack of sleep left her in a fatigued stupor. It was the nightmares, sometimes they would ebb off, letting her have nights of blank slumber, but for many nights now all that was put in her mind was Selene’s horror filled eyes as blood ran down her throat, going back to her mom tied to a table, her slender body exposed an slashed to pieces, the last going to her dad, hands bound behind his back and strung high by his neck in the trees.

No, she didn’t want to relive any of that any more than she had to, so giving up one of her favorite pastimes, she did her best to stay awake. Her knuckles brushed her cheeks, an unconscious act, something her father did as he told her goodnight. Sapph put so much blame on him, and in the beginning so had she. But, with time, the anger slowly dissolved trying to see from his perspective that her dad tried to do right at the end.

He had been a judge, a very prominent bench trial judge. Most people, who stood before him, were of various high crime organizations, more or less mobsters. She sucked on her teeth then, hearing some of his cases that he would go over during dinner would make Sera want to laugh, some of the terminology of it making her think of the 1920’s mafia.

“So did they swim with the fishes, daddy?”

But they were real, very real, and what her dad never mentioned during all those evening meals was the various chords of business that had been struck. For a price, a lot of evil would be allowed out of his court with merely a slap to the wrist. Until one day it her dad decided to stop, making a loop and sending the crime boss to prison. Maybe the man wouldn’t meet her father’s price, though Sera would like to think the deeds he committed were heinous enough that her father couldn’t turn a blind eye to it. Either way the man’s family wasn’t pleased with the outcome, thus sealing her and her family’s fate. A watered down version of it anyways. Sera had seen hell during the last year and a half and did not want to feel those licks of flame again. Setting the timer for the pizzas, she curled on the couch with Shep, gathering a book and a glass of wine the boys had given to her, claiming it was much too girly for them. Their loss, she liked it, the alcohol not overtaking the fruity taste.

Letting herself take a few sips she tried to let herself get into the world of five sisters constrained in isolation and the events that would lead them to want to take their own lives. As the youngest jumped out the window, Sera had dropped the book as she fell asleep.

“…Include us with them forever, and let us not be ashamed for we put our trust in You.”

Seven year old Selene whimpered faintly. “So does that mean if we do what’s right we’ll burn at the stake too?”

Sera could see her mother shaking her head at their father. “I don’t know why you tell the girls these things, they’re not Sapphire they can’t handle hearing that. It could scare them, give them nightmares.”

Sera blew her lips together in annoyance. “I’m not scared; don’t see the point is all.”

Her dad squared his shoulders then, flabbergasted. “The point? It’s your heritage young lady, that’s the point!”

“You keep saying to value our beliefs. But that one girl you talked about – Duque, she showed her beliefs, converted people, spread all that stuff about the Messiah coming, but she lied, He never did and she burned for it. So what was the point?”

Her father’s posture softened, pulling her on his lap. “The point, honeybee, is that despite all the horrible things going on around you, you have something to give you hope. No the Messiah didn’t come during her time, probably won’t come in ours but He will. And that’s something to hang onto.”

Sera still didn’t understand. “So are we going to burn or not?”

Her mother laughed. “Next time honey, why not stick to the Book of Esther for hope instead of going through religious martyrs.”

Selene clenched the side of her mouth, standing up. “Something’s burning, momma.”

Sera could smell it too, the scent of wood burning strong from the windows. Pulling the curtain back she fell down at seeing the flames engulfing them from the outside. She could then hear a loud banging from the door, but with the flames it was impossible anyone could be out there. There was no way she’d open it anyway, knowing the flames would eat up the house in an instant, then she heard barking.

“Shep?”

But Shep wasn’t with her then. But the barking got louder.

“Shep!”

Wrenching up, she saw Shep beside her, his paw clawing on her chest to wake her. She could still smell the smoke, the apartment itself hazing in gray fog.

“I slept through the timer!”

Then came the knocking. God, someone probably thought she set the place on fire.

“Just a second!”

Running up to the oven, she shut it off, opening the oven door and buried in a plume of black. She coughed on the charred taste, seeing the remnants of the pizza on the trays.

“Open up the door, lass!”

She sighed, it was the boys, and the house was encased in a haze.

“Let me open the windows first!”

She wished she had a balcony now; the larger doors would help the place air out more quickly.

Running her fingers through her hair, she knew she was a mess, but they saw her like that more often than she would like. Opening the door, the two strode in past her.

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “I was trying out smoke signals, didn’t work out too well.”

They looked at her aghast.

“I was trying to make us something to eat, but I fell asleep.”

“Christ sake, love, there was smoke coming from under the door, and ye wouldn’t answer…”

She went to the little closet that doubled for linens and storage, she reached under the shelves for a box fan, only to be pushed aside as Murphy got it loose from the surrounding junk.

“Connor was about to kick the door in, was scared for ye.”

Connor scoffed from the kitchen and Sera saw him dumping the burnt food in the garbage.

“Wasn’t scared, worried, yeah, not scared though.”

“You were fuckin’ scared, so was I –“

The heat in Murphy’s words was going to lead to a fight, so she tried to deflect them. “I’m sorry guys, I need to replace the damn fire alarm, and I really shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that.”

Murphy plugged the fan in before turning back to her, his face not holding its usual playfulness but serious, maybe a first for him.

“You haven’t been sleeping have ye, aingeal? I can see it in yer eyes, exhausted as hell aren’tcha?”

“I’m fine, I haven’t been sleeping as much as I should, but it’ll be okay. I’ll catch up when the holidays roll around.”

Connor came back to the living room, falling back on her couch. “Yur a shit liar, love, better stay away from poker.”

“I will, especially since I hear the Irish love to cheat at it.”

He sat up then, pointer finger wagging in mock anger. “The Irish don’t cheat at nothing, girl. Got luck on our side, don’t need to.”

“If you say so, MacManus.”

“I do, I also say you should get some rest, Murph’s right ye look like ye barely survived a plane crash.”

“Well, thank you boys, I didn’t have time to put on an evening gown and get dolled up for you.”

Murphy laughed, shedding his pea coat before picking her up and tossing her on his shoulder.

“Now don’t be like that, want honesty don’tcha, besides Conn and me look like shit all the time.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, now put me down.”

“No, love, gonna take ye a good rest.”

“Absolutely not, I got to scrounge something out for us to eat and make sure you two behave. I’m sure it’d look like closing time at McGinty’s if I left you two alone.”

Connor sat up and waved the cordless in her face, which was a little disorienting being upside down. “I know how ta use a phone, I’ll get us some food.”

She groaned, letting her head fall, which ended in the curve of Murphy’s back. “You’ll only get something artery clogging.”

“I’ll get veggies on the thing, don’t worry bout it.”

Murphy hitched her up, adjusting her weight. “Aye, let Connor worry about the food, I haven’t gotten ta see yer room yet. Could use a nap myself, that way ye have no need to think we’ll fight, and Connor will have ta pay fer the food.”

“Oh, no, there’s money in bag Connor!”

Opening the door, Murphy dropped her on the bed. “He aint gonna listen to that, told ye we’re gentlemen. Ladies aren’t meant ta pay. Now get comfortable.”

“I feel like I’m signing a death warrant with that line.”

He smirked. “I ain’t tryin’ nothing, not today. Like I said I wouldn’t mind catchin’ me some sleep as well. Been working double shifts the last three night and I can feel it.”

Sera grinned at him, watching him light a cigarette before tugging on his boots.

“Maybe you’re getting old, Murphy.”

“Aye, but that only means yer right behind me on that.”

“Hey! That’s not something a gentleman would say.”

“Sorry, love, perhaps I’m just selective in the acts of it.”

Standing up he kicked off the untied boots, tugging on his belt to throw on her dresser. Looking at his dingy shirt and jeans she realized they dressed alike. She wanted to laugh at the discovery, but they did. Boots, jeans, belt, both wore t-shirts though one would always wear a lighter color unless it was black, and their pea coats. Unbelievable.

“What’s that look on yer face, girl?”

“I just think it’s cute how alike you two are, you are but you’re not. If that makes sense…you’re both dressed alike…”

Murphy seemed to withdraw a little on that. It was something else she had come to notice in their differentiations, neither got serious too often, usually they were both teasing and playful, but on some accounts Murphy was much more shy, his brother’s exuberance pulling him from his shell.

“Is that bad?”

“Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that, Murphy, actually I was thinking how cute it was. I like how you’re both so comfortable with each other. It’s like water, you both move to the current together.”

His smile returned, along with a small bit of red in his face as he lay back on the bed. “Oh, this here is comfortable, aingeal. Might not be sitting in your livin’ room any longer.”

She chuckled, getting up to go to the bathroom to change into some sleep pants. Coming back she saw Shep had gotten on the bed, laying between Murphy’s legs as he got his head scratched.

“Did you and yer sister ever dress alike?”

Her bottom lip jutted out in thought. “When we were babies, all the time, our mom dressed all three of us alike. But then, she was like – oh, they need to be individuals. So she started dressing us different. As we grew older, I was much more into what was comfortable, Selene not so much. She always wore a dress, always, and where I would be ready in ten minutes she’d take two hours to settle on which shoes to go with which purse.”

Lying beside him she looked over to see a small twinkle with his smile. “Ye like ta talk about her, don’tcha?”

“Yeah, I do. Keeps her here with me.”

He nodded, understanding, before putting his arm around her and pulling her to him. “So why can’t ye sleep, love?”

In a slow movement, she let her head lay on his chest, his heartbeat thudding in a comforting rhythm, she let herself take it in, his warmth, the way his breath tickled the top of her head, the languid way his arm was slung around her, but held on enough to be snug. Oh, she knew she’d fall asleep like this.

“Been having nightmares.”

“About yer sister?”

“About all of them.”

Sera didn’t have to look up to know he was confused. She sighed, sadness flooding in her as she let her face nuzzle into his chest. “They’re all gone Murphy, it’s only me and my brother left, and he’s gone too. He doesn’t even want to be around me.”

He was quiet a moment, his hand coming up to rub her back, his face burying itself in her hair.

“I’m so sorry, love, neither of us knew –“

“I – I didn’t really want you to. I didn’t want you to feel bad for me. But since you two are crazy enough to hang around you may as well know.”

He had questions, she knew, hell she would too. But he held it in, giving her the luxury to relax again.

“Did the big bad Murphy ever have nightmares?”

He still held her close, thumb stroking her shoulder. “Aye, used to have the same one when I was a kid.”

“You don’t have to but –“

She tried to look at him, feeling him shrug as his heart fluttered against her cheek. “Eh, wasn’t that big of a deal. Used to dream of being outside the cathedral back home, it’s one of those gothic churches ye see ‘em all over here as well. A lot of them have those damned gargoyles up there, peering at ye, judging ye. Ma used to say if we didn’t live by the grace of God they’d be the things to drag us to hell. Well, there the thing was staring down at me, ye could hear the stones cracking under its weight when it moved, when it swooped down I’d duck on the ground could smell fire coming from it that’s how close it got but it didn’t go fer me. Went fer Connor, took him away to punish me.”

Murphy used his free hand to wipe at his face remembering his childhood nightmare upsetting him. Sera patted his chest, leaning up and kissing him on his mole, his designated spot, and he smiled at her.

“I’m sorry you for that, having your subconscious think that…but it’d never happen to either of you. You’re both too good for that.”

“That so, aingeal?”

“Let’s see – you’re both devout in your faith, kind to others, respect your mother, live modestly and charitably. If that’s not a key to the gates, don’t know what could be.”

His smile grew, taking her hand and bringing it palm up to kiss.

“What’s all this now, I get us food and you two go behind my back and get lovey dovey.”

“Aww, shove it, Conn, the lass and I were having a discussion.”

“Oh, and what about then?”

Rolling over to face Connor, she saw him parroting Murphy from before, stripping his belt and shoes as he came to the bed. She smirked at him.

“Different things, how long do we have before the food gets here?”

“Due to the snow, they said it could be over an hour.”

“How about we nap then, when the food gets here if you’re really curious about our discussion we’ll talk about it with food.”

Connor flopped on the bed on the other side of her. “Sounds like a plan to me, love. This bed is fuckin’ comfy.”

She giggled one more time, she looked back and saw Connor snuggled down in the pillows, armed draped around his head. Before leaning back to Murphy, who’s eyes were already closed, his breathing starting to even out. Maybe with the two of them surrounding her they could protect from her dreams.

She was woken again by barking and knocking, the dreamy stupor. She was so warm though, that was when she woke fully, two bodies up against her, though she calmed remembering who. Both Murphy and Connor’s faces were pushed in her hair, though Connor’s was pushed against her scalp, their hands were situated in a way not to touch each other only her, zigzagging a path along her waist. With one pushed into her front and the other into her back, she was in a nice cocoon, it would be easy to go to sleep again. But the knocking was there, and Shep’s barks were getting restless. Relenting to getting up, she ease her way out of their embrace, the action near to effortless due to countless slumber parties and nights ended up sharing a bed with Selene.

Going to the door, she apologized to the poor delivery boy giving him a larger tip than necessary to make up for his time. The pizza did smell good, and she wondered if she should wake the boys while it was still fresh. Taking down some plates she got the table ready, turning to go to her room she found she’d only have to wake one. Connor emerging while running his hand through his messy dark blonde hair.

He gave a loud yawn. “Food finally here, love?”

“Yep, just set the table about to wake you.”

His smile was gentle. “Used yer money too didn’t ye?”

“I did, it’s the 90’s Mr. MacManus.”

“Well, aware there, aingeal, ain’t no rule that says I can’t take care of ye every now and then.”

She focused on the table, blushing. “You two take care of me more than you know. It won’t hurt to let me care for you.”

She jumped feeling a hand on her hip. “Ye do take care of us lass, ye give us something to look forward ta every day. That’s something we don’t take for granted.”

Her eyes grew when Connor’s hand rested on her face. She couldn’t identify the look in his eyes, the closest thing she could get to was affectionate.

“I look forward to you both too.”

She gulped as she was pulled closer. “Ye have no idea how glad I am ta hear that, grá aingeal. Cause me and Murph both hope to stick around fer as long as you’ll have us.”

“That could be a long time, you both may be sick of me by then.”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, his face drawing closer to hers. “Don’t be coutin’ on that.”

She closed her eyes, waiting to see what he’d do when a voice stopped him.

“Where the fuck did everyone go?”

#the boondock saints #boondock saints #connor macmanus #connor murphy #murphy macmanus #my oc #chapter 5

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