#but perhaps it's a small price to pay for like. not feeling miserable while doing lineart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justapoet · 4 years ago

Text

we'll be putting this fire out

"No, TK," he said, looking down and avoiding the other man's gaze. "I don't want a house. I want a home," concluded, and TK seemed to be pretty confused for a little while, his face squirmed with lack of understanding. Carlos sighed.

"A home?" TK asked, then, and Carlos shrugged. "Babe, but you gotta find a place where you can make a home out of, isn't it? I mean, I don't think there's anything anywhere that instantly feels like home―"

"You do."

Or,

After their house burned down, Carlos overthinks about how the fire can die out ― and maybe not just only literally. He overthinks, TK loves ice cream, and they are definitely not buying a duvet with stripes.

13.2k

Second part of this fic. Read on Ao3

"Are you even listening?" Carlos heard TK asking beside him and turned his head numbly in his direction. The paramedic had his arms crossed over his chest and his hip pressed against a kitchen island, his green eyes squinched in Carlos' direction and a shadow of worry over his beautiful face. "Haven't you liked any?"

Carlos looked down at the floor, and TK waited for whatever he was going to say.

He'd been out of the hospital for two days, now, and spent the three previous days stuck in a bed with oxygen masks and too many machines around himself. TK had been by his side, either laughing when the nurses announced one more exam that made Carlos pout or rocking his sore body to sleep, his head against the paramedic's shoulder. Weirdly, it would always, somehow, make breathing easier while his lungs were recovering.

They both stayed at the Airbnb, and Carlos would have o admit he barely looked around the place in an attempt not to miss his house so much ― it was comfortable, indeed; it had a good location, for sure, but Carlos only wanted to be quiet and cuddle up with TK until his boyfriend brought the oxygen mask over his face regularly.

It was something new to let himself be taken care of ― and it was a little eerie but not entirely regretful. TK seemed to love it, showing affection through little things and smiling at him even when he needs some help to get to the shower ― there were two types of smiles in that situation. Carlos knew how much TK loved to show his love through the simplest things ― he didn't even realize he was doing it, though ― and he definitely wouldn't be one to complain about it.

The night before, when they were lying on the bed and Carlos had his head against TK's chest, the oxygen mask around his face, and the paramedic's fingers playing with his still dumped curls, his boyfriend announced he had scheduled with a realtor so they could see some houses.

Carlos knew why TK had done that ― the new yorker knew him well enough to notice that he'd been a little off their surroundings the past days and wanted to make something to fix it. Although Carlos was a bit reluctant with the idea at first, it wouldn't kill him to give it a shot ― maybe they could find somewhere nice, and the cop wouldn't ghost around the furniture anymore.

Now, he was only ghosting through houses.

They had already been to three ― or four. Maybe five? ― houses so far, and Carlos honestly didn't pay much attention to any of them. The first one made TK himself flinch since the living room had each wall a different color ― and who, the hell, could ever think that light green and purple would fit together? ― and its space was way too small to fit all that furniture.

The second one was better, but they both had had a wicked impression of the neighborhood, and the chills down both their spines were reason enough for them to tell the woman with them ― Mrs. Brown ― they worked way too far from the place for it to be an option.

They didn't, but she didn't have to know.

The third was a little better, but something didn't click right. TK had liked it, and Carlos felt sorry not to have the half enthusiasm his boyfriend showed while discovering the rooms in the house. TK seemed to notice but didn't say a thing and suggested they see at least one more option, and that's where they were standing.

It was a great place, but not gigantic; it was good, indeed. The frontage was quite simple, a large wooden door contrasting to the grey walls and a wide window. There was a second floor, although Carlos didn't pay much attention while getting into the house.

The living room was roomy, and this one didn't have furniture included with the sale ― something Carlos was pretty thankful for since it felt weird to use something that someone else did. It had a beautiful chandelier to which TK stared for more than a few minutes, and Carlos couldn't stop his heart from racing with the delightful view of his enchanted boyfriend. Mrs. Brown found it funny, too, and couldn't help but smile.

Around the living room, too, there were those enormous windows to replace two of the walls, and it gave them a clear view of the yard and the pool ― and TK looked like a child to see the pool through the window. The other rooms ― the main one with a balcony and two guest rooms ― were also large and roomy, and the house seemed, indeed, to be a great place to live.

It wasn't too far from the police station nor the firehouse, and its price was surprisingly good ― a little bit more costly than his old house was, but it was a fair price.

The thing was that it didn't seem right, didn't feel right to be there, standing in that incredibly equipped kitchen and wondering if it was worth it to buy that beautiful house. It was making all his gears turn inside his head, and he knew it would be just a while until TK asked about it.

Now, he didn't quite know what to say.

"Carlos?" his boyfriend called again, one of his hands going to squeeze the man's arm. "Are you okay, babe? Didn't you like the house?"

And that was the thing because he did like the house and could easily picture a future in there, with dogs, maybe kids, and with TK right there, standing in the kitchen while grumbling about how ridiculous it was that he couldn't even touch the oven. He could see them both in the living room after a long shift, quietly admiring each other's presence, and he could see a lot of Saturdays spent on that yard.

But he wasn't alone in none of those thoughts, and it seemed wrong to be alone in that place, too.

"I did, TK, I just―" he said, then, when the wrinkle between the paramedic's eyebrows grew deeper with Carlos' silence. "I don't want a house," he said, only, and TK frowned.

"Oh," he said, now sounding like those times you feel like an idiot. "W― well, we can ask Mrs. Brown about apartments, and―" he tried, and Carlos shook his head.

"You do," Carlos cut him off, and TK's voice died in his throat. Carlos blushed, even avoiding the pair of green eyes, and sighed again. "You feel like home to me, and it feels wrong― I mean, I don't know―" he tried, but the words got lost somewhere in his mind and tongue.

TK's face, which was contorted in confusion, melted in a sweet smile. He tried not to tear up, failing miserably and softened his voice before speaking up again.

"Are you tripping over a way to ask me to move in with you? Again?" he asked, the grin on his face showing just how much the possibility was welcome to his heart.

The thing was that the fire in the house they were sharing brought something other than smoke to settle in the bottom of his stomach, and Carlos couldn't quite explain why he was feeling so insecure about everything ― and everyone around him, too. The feeling wasn't about being near death, since he had already been down that road before, but maybe how far from a reason to live he had been for a while, and how Carlos could've lost the someone who makes his heartbeat off-beat and so rhythmically.

Also, everything had been a rollercoaster since he had woken up after the fire. People were coming in and going out of the room non-stop; his lungs were way too heavy inside his chest, and a restless TK by his side all the time. Carlos couldn't help but appreciate the caring and the love he was receiving during those days ― it was something new, and definitely great to have more than his parents caring about him in that situation ― but it was also settling a heavy feeling of restlessness in his chest, and breathing was already hard enough.

He was used to be left after something like that happened, for he had gone down the same tale at least twice. It happens that people think twice before being all in and giving all of them when you're a first responder, and most of them can't really bear the fact they might not make it to the next hour every time they're on shift.

The first time it happened, he thought he really loved the guy ― and after he left after Carlos got shot, he wasn't so sure about it anymore. Maybe he did love Harvey and denied it until being left didn't hurt too much; perhaps he didn't and just projected something he wanted to feel.

Harvey, at least, talked to him about it, unlike Richard, who just left after a concussion Carlos got from trying to apart a fight in a bar. It really wrecked him and left the cop wondering where he had gone wrong, and it took a while until Michelle convinced him it was never on him.

And, after all, Carlos knew it was ridiculous for him to think that TK would leave him after he got trapped in a fire ― precisely the man who had gotten shot, kidnapped, and pistol-whipped ― but it was a feeling he couldn't shake. The feeling that TK would maybe want to live with his father again because it was way more comfortable than searching for everything they needed all over again, and the feeling that TK might want to take a step back, take things slower.

And somehow, TK seemed to understand where all the insecurity ― and the question ― had come from and only smiled at Carlos with that kind, loving look on his face. It made Carlos' breath get stuck in his throat, although a grin couldn't help but be stretched on his lips before he nodded.

"I think I am," Carlos answered, voice still low and his eyes still glued to the floor. TK's smile was big enough to make his cheeks hurt, and the tears in his eyes showed just how much of an emotional, confused mess he was by the moment he sandwiched Carlos' face between his hands, lifting it up so he could stare in those shiny brown eyes.

When he saw the look on the paramedic's face, Carlos' lips also melt to a smile just as big and just as gorgeous as TK's. It faltered for a second, though, and TK knew how much Carlos sometimes needed reassurance of what was going on ― he was quite an expert on misinterpreting crossed signs, and they've already talked about how much none of them wanted to mess it up.

"Then I think I'm saying yes," TK said, more breathlessly than anything, and Carlos' smile grew even nobler ― and a smile that beautiful should be seriously forbidden for everyone's heart's sake. "I'll always say yes, babe," he said, and Carlos felt his heart pound heavily against his ribs.

TK leaned forward to capture Carlos' lips in his, and the other man happily sighed to the loving touch, his arms wrapping TK's waist and bringing his body closer. They kissed for just a while since Carlos' lungs were still struggling a bit to work as they should, and he got breathless a little more quickly, and they pressed their foreheads together when pulled apart.

"You know I love how you always manage to steal my breath," Carlos said, still panting. "But I really need the air, lately," he joked, and TK couldn't help but laugh.

"I could always do a mouth-to-mouth," TK answered playfully, and Carlos laughed too. "Although it wouldn't be smart to have to do it on a house that we don't own," mentioned him, and Carlos agreed, his thumb making circling patterns over TK's waist.

"And which house do you want to be yours?" Carlos asked, then, even if he already knew the answer. TK smiled sweetly, popping a kiss on the tip of his boyfriend's nose.

"Ours," TK said, then, and Carlos could only stare at him with the heart-eyes everyone could see when he was looking at the man in his arms. "And I really like this one, babe."

"I could tell," Carlos chuckled, and TK blushed a bit before slapping Carlos' arm softly. "I really like this one, too. Although I don't really care about it at all."

"Liar," TK said. "I know how much you love interior design. You would always be proud when someone complimented the house, Carlos," concluded him, and Carlos shrugged.

Read the rest on Ao3

#tarlos fic #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #carlos reyes x tk strand #carlos x tk #tk x carlos #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #my fic #my writing

27 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years ago

Text

Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism

https://ift.tt/3kOEMpF

This Squid Game article contains MAJOR spoilers.

From the very first game of ddakji out in the real world with Train to Busan actor Gong Yoo, Squid Game poses the question: how far would you go for money? How much of your body, your life, would you trade to keep the wolves at bay and to get to live the life you’ve always dreamed? Once you start, could you stop, even if you wanted to? And in the end, would it even be worth it? While Squid Game depicts an attempt to answer these questions taken to the extreme, they are the same essential questions posed to everyone living under capitalism: What kind of job, what terrible hours, what back-breaking labor, what level of abuse, what work/life imbalance will we tolerate in exchange for what we need or want to live? Unlike many examples of this genre, Squid Game is set in our contemporary reality, which makes its scathing critique of capitalism less of a metaphor for the world we live in and more of a literal depiction of life under capitalism.

Squid Game’s Workers

At the most basic level, the entire competition within Squid Game would not exist without extreme financial distress creating a ready pool of players. It’s no coincidence that Gi-hun’s hard times started when he lost his job, followed by violence against the workers who went on strike. Strike-breakers and physical violence against striking workers may feel like an antiquated idea to an American audience. South Korea, however, has something of an anti-labor reputation, with only 10% of its workers in unions and laws limiting unions to negotiating pay, among other restrictions. In the US, the anti-labor fight is alive and well, though transformed, where it takes the shape of the deceptively named “Right to Work” laws, which benefit corporations and make it harder for unions to operate.

As noted in our review, (most of) the players choose to leave and then willingly return to the arena, which separates Squid Game from other entries in the genre like the Hunger Games series and Escape Room. This element of volition contributes to the series’ primary critical goal. As Mi-nyeo and others brought up early on, they’re getting killed in the real world too, but at least inside they might actually get something for their troubles.

As an anti-capitalist parable, the only ways to fight back or upend the game in some small way are through acts of solidarity or by turning down the allure of the cash. The final clause in the game’s consent form states that the game can end if a majority of players agree to do so. After the brutal Red Light, Green Light massacre in the first, they do exactly that. The election might as well be a union vote. It’s shocking that the contract for the game included an escape clause at all, but it seems the host and his ilk enjoy at least allowing the illusion of free will if nothing else. The players who didn’t return after the first vote to leave the game, though unseen in this narrative, are perhaps the wisest of all.

Squid Game’s Most Heartbreaking Hour is Also Its Best

By Kayti Burt

Squid Game Ending Explained

By Kayti Burt

During tug of war, Gi-hun’s team surprises everyone by winning. Their teamwork, unity of purpose, and superior strategy help them defeat a stronger adversary, which is a basic principle of labor organizing, albeit usually not at the expense of the lives of other workers. Player 1 (Il-nam) and Player 240 (Ji-yeong) each find their own way to beat the game by essentially backing out of the competition during marbles. In exchange for friendship and choosing the circumstances of their own deaths, Ji-yeong and Il-nam each make their own, ethically sound choice under this miserable system. Il-nam gets an asterisk since he was never going to die, but he still found a choice beyond merely “kill” or “be killed” by teaching his Gganbu one “last” lesson and helping him continue on in the game.

In the end, Gi-hun confounds the VIPs and the Front Man by coming to the precipice of victory and simply walking away. Under capitalism, this group of incredibly rich men simply could not understand how someone could come so close to claiming their prize, and choose not to. But for Gi-hun, human life always had greater value. Gi-hun followed (Player 67) Sae-byeok’s advice and stayed true to himself, refusing to actively take anyone’s life, especially not the life of his friend.

Squid Game’s Ruling Class

Since the competition only exists because of the worst aspects of capitalism, it’s not surprising that in the end, it is itself a capitalist endeavor. Ultra-wealthy VIPs, who mostly seem to be white, Western men, spectate for a price and bet on the game. In their luxury accommodations, they lounge on silent human “furniture” and mistreat service staff. In one notable example, a VIP threatens to kill a server (who the audience knows to be undercover cop Hwang Jun-ho) if he doesn’t remove his mask, even though the VIP knows it would cost the server his life.

Perhaps most enraging of all is what Player 1, who turns out to actually be the Host, has to say to Gi-hun a year after the game ends. It all circles back to the game’s existential connection to economics; on the one hand, there is the unshakeable link to a population in which a significant portion of people suffer from dire financial woes. On the other hand, there is the Host and his cronies, the ultra-rich who are so bored from their megarich lives that they decided to bet on deadly human bloodsport for fun just so they could feel something again, as though they were betting on horses.

In spite of the enormous gulf between the two, the Host attempts to draw comparisons between the ultra-wealthy and the extreme poor, saying both are miserable. His little joke denies the reality of hunger, early death, trauma, and many other ways that being poor is actively harmful, both physically and mentally. It’s the kind of slow death that makes risking a quick one in the arena seem reasonable. He and his buddies were just kind of bored. Moreover, the Host denies the role of economic coercion in players taking part in the game, insisting that everyone was there of their own free will. But what free will can there be for people who owe millions, with families at home to care for and creditors at their back, when someone comes along and offers a solution, even a dangerous one? Anyone who has taken a dodgy job offer to get away from a worse one, or because they’re unemployed and the rent and college loans are due, knows that there is a limit to how truly free our choices can be when we need money, especially if there’s little to no safety net.

Why Are Squid Game’s English-Language Actors So Bad?

By Kayti Burt

Best Squid Game Doll Sightings

By Kayti Burt

Throughout the series, it is clear that someone had to be funding Squid Game at a high level. Unlike science fiction or fantasy takes, the show is grounded in our current reality, so the large-scale, high-tech obstacles and the island locale must have cost a pretty penny. Of course for any who see it as unrealistic, consider the example of Jeffrey Epstein, a man who bought an island from the US government and ran a sexual abuse and human trafficking ring not entirely disimilar (though far more pedestrian in its purpose) from this one.

The Host is able to pay for everything because he works in – you guessed it – banking. It’s a profession where he gained wealth by moving capital around. Given the Korean debt crisis – South Korea has the highest household debt in the world, both in size and growth – his profession makes him a worthy villain, in the same way the Lehman Brothers were after the 2008 crash. The bank executive calls in Gi-hun to offer him investment products and services, because of course someone with 45 billion won can accrue significantly more money passively, and who wouldn’t want that? Gi-hun’s decision to walk away is a callback to his earlier attempt to walk away from Squid Game when millions of dollars was within his grasp.

Throughout the series, the people running the game actively pit the players against one another in much the same way capitalism pits workers against one another. Whether they’re giving the players less food to encourage a fight overnight, the daily influx of cash every time another player dies, or giving them knives for the evening, the mysterious people pulling the strings want the players to fight each other like crabs in a barrel so they can’t work together to figure out what’s going on or take on the guys in red jumpsuits. Though there are notable examples of the players working together to succeed, it is always within the rules of the system. It is never treated as a viable or likely option for the players to team up and take the blood money literally hanging over their heads or to prevent death, merely to redirect it or choose how they will die. No, to win that, they must play the Squid Game’s rules.

In our society, this kind of worker-vs-worker rhetoric takes the form of employers telling workers their workload is harder or they can’t go on vacation or get a raise because of fellow employees who leave or go on maternity leave.. In reality, these are all normal aspects of managing a business that employers should plan for, and their failure to do so is not the fault of their workers. Much like in Squid Game, it benefits managers and owners if workers are too busy being mad at each other to have time or energy to fight the system and those who make unjust rules in the first place.

Squid Game’s Managers

The Front Man insists the game is fair, gruesomely hanging the dead bodies of those involved in the organ harvesting scheme because they traded medical knowledge for advanced intel on the game. However, like capitalism, there are many ways that the system is clearly rigged, no matter what the people at the top insist. There’s the obvious corruption in the organ harvesting ring, but even at its “purest” form, the game is not equitable. Sometimes the managers and soldiers in red jumpsuits stand by when unfair things happen, like Deok-su and his cronies stealing food. At other times, the people in charge intervene in player squabbles, like enforcing nonviolence during marbles and elections but encouraging violence at other times. They especially set things up to their own advantage, such as cutting the lights so the players couldn’t see the glass in the penultimate game, or the way they set up the election. Everyone knew how everyone else voted, they shared the total amount of money immediately beforehand, in an attempt to sway votes, calling to mind Amazon’s scare tactics before the recent unionization vote.

Culture

Squid Game Competitions, As Played By BTS

By Kayti Burt

Movies

Squid Game: Best Deadly Competition TV Shows & Movies to Watch Next

By Kayti Burt and 3 others

Ultimately, much like any manager/employer, the Front Man’s insistence on fairness has nothing to do with the actual value of equality, but rather the capitalist need to ensure betters are happy with the stakes and their chance at a favorable outcome.

Even the workers, soldiers and managers in red jumpsuits, who seem to be in charge, are ultimately only in power (and alive) so long as they serve the needs of the system. Like so many low-level managers, many wield their tiny amount of power ruthlessly, shooting players with impunity or running their organ harvesting side gig. It soon becomes clear that they’re as expendable as players, if not moreso, and the Front Man shoots them without hesitating. A player asks (and it’s too bad we never learned) what “they” did to the people in red jumpsuits to get them to run this game, but it’s not too hard to guess. They seem to be very young men, who likely needed money and wouldn’t be missed if they never returned.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The biggest trick capitalism ever pulled was convincing workers it’s a zero-sum game, that anything we want but don’t have is the fault of someone else who “took it” from us. Within the game, that means every player was a living obstacle to the money, and that Gi-hun should kill his childhood friend to succeed and celebrate when he’s done. But as we see after he “wins,” even without taking Sang-woo’s life himself, the money isn’t worth it. The greater success would have been both men walking out of the arena alive.

The post Squid Game’s Scathing Critique of Capitalism appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3CUfVXz

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

8 notes · View notes

ladynestaarcheron · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible String - Chapter One

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

back on my bullshit, y’all! got a new multi-chap. here’s a summary:

There's no love lost between Nesta Archeron and the Cauldron. It stole life from her, so she stole Death from it. But not long after the war, Nesta realizes it gave her something, too: a mate.

Nesta knows any gift the Cauldron gives her is only for the worst, and it doesn't take very much to see how, so she does her best to keep it to herself. When someone's truth magic reveals her secret, and a number of relationships pay the price, Nesta knows what she has to do: destroy the mating bond.

On her journey to new lands, Nesta learns her own soul and discovers how her fate is decided, and whether love works into that equation at all.

and without further ado here’s chapter one!

---

It is, like most things, not Nesta's fault when her mating secret gets out.

People mock her for that, she knows. Roll their eyes. She knows they think her childish, that she's not taking responsibility for her actions. But she rarely acts at all; perfectly content to sit quietly on an armchair by herself, reading a book. It's the whole rest of the world that seems determined to keep her from peace.

When she feels it dawn upon her, like a sort of snap in her soul, she innately knows something is wrong. It's not something she wants. Not that it's something she wants but doesn't think she deserves, not something she wants but not right now, just something she does not want.

First of all, the idea sickens her. Especially when she looks at Feyre. Her soul tied to another, whether she likes it or not. It's not equal, despite what her sister thinks. It can't be equal, not when there's centuries'-perhaps millenia's-worth of bloody history, of male violence and aggression. Playing into that makes her want to vomit.

Second, this is not her choice, as Feyre now loves to say. This is that thing's choice-the Cauldron. And obviously, something that hated Nesta as much as the Cauldron did doesn't want anything good for her. So it has to be the wrong choice.

And she knows it with every pulse of blood, every link of bone. He is wrong for her. It's to punish her; that's why the Cauldron did it. It looked and saw what would hurt her the most, hurt her loved ones the most. And forced him upon her.

Well. She's not going to have any hand in it. And she's kept that up for months, with not so much as a word to anyone, and avoiding him at all costs, so there's no chance of him confronting her about it, in case he suddenly changes his mind.

But Elain's got some ridiculous dinner planned, and she can't afford to risk hurting her anymore than she already has, so she goes. And he's there-they're all there.

Nesta sits by Elain, with their backs to the open window. Cassian is on the other end of the table, but he is pointedly looking anywhere but her. Especially at Mor, right next to him.

Fine. That's just fine. She doesn't care.

"This is delicious, Elain," Rhys says to her, and she beams at him, taking the dish and passing it to Azriel on her other side.

They compliment her in turn, more gentle than Nesta normally sees them. Even Amren. She knows Feyre, switching between gazing lovingly at Elain and surveying all of them from the head of the table with narrowed eyes, has something to do with it. While Nesta thinks she herself can never be too vigilant with Elain's feelings in her-er-fragile state, she's not sure she trusts Feyre to handle the situation properly.

As she tilts her head back to drink from the glass of wine she's poured herself, the gust of wind that blows in through the back window teases a strand out of her braid, and she knows she's right not to. Because Feyre stiffens, looks at her, and says, "What's that in your hair?"

Everyone turns to Nesta, and it's all she can do to keep her face from burning. "It's called a coronet," she says through gritted teeth, knowing full well that's not what Feyre means.

"No. That smell."

"Vanilla scented soap," she says coldly.

Feyre's mouth parts open a little. "Are you...mated?"

"Of course not," she snaps.

Nesta keeps her eyes determinedly away from them all-from their wide eyes, white faces. What right do they have, anyway?

Another slight breeze strengthens Nesta's scent in the room-and they can smell it on her. Smell him. And this ridiculous...this unwanted...bond.

"It's Az." Cassian's voice is flat, hollow, seems to echo in the otherwise silent room as they all register what he said.

Nesta doesn't entertain their silence. "Of course it is not," she says forcefully.

Morrigan lets out a small gasp. "It is," she says, voice catching.

Nesta swears inwardly. Her stupid truth magic. She had forgotten.

There's nowhere to look now. Not at either of her sister's faces-one desperately trying to catch her eye, one staring at her lap, unmoving; not at Rhysand and Amren looking at each other; not at Morrigan, whose eyes are flickering between her and Azriel; not Azriel himself, for she has never wanted anything to do with him and she will not start now; and most of all, not at Cassian.

In a most unbecoming display, Nesta, hands curled against the table, shoves herself backwards-Feyre flinches at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor-launches herself up, and, seething, sweeps violently out of the room.

She can barely see, for all the anger burning her vision. Can't hear, either, for the roar in her ears, but she knows her sister well enough not to be taken by surprise when she leaps out in front of her.

"Nesta!" Feyre cries. "I'm so sorry-I had no idea-I'm sorry, I-"

"When are you going to learn," she hisses, "not to intervene in matters that do not concern you?"

Feyre's eyes shine silver-this she did not expect. "I'm sorry-I thought-I thought-"

"I know what you thought."

"I'm sorry," she repeats miserably.

Nesta doesn't reply. What is she supposed to say to Elain now? She probably won't show any anger; just retreat even further into herself. Wonderful.

"And Elain..." Feyre says. "Oh, this is all my fault, Nesta!"

"I know that," she snaps.

"I just thought..."

"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses." Her voice is a particular sort of harsh she never uses with her sister.

But Feyre, to her credit, does not flinch. She only closes her mouth, nods once, and says, quiet, sorrowful, "You're right."

This irritates Nesta even more. She knows she's right. She doesn't need to be told. "Go home. Do not talk to Elain," she says.

"Are you going to talk to her?"

"I need to think. Go home."

"What about-?"

"Do as I say." Nesta marches past her and makes her way to her apartment. The walk normally takes longer; she's there within a quarter hour.

She rips her scarf off and throws it down. It doesn't crash, obviously, just falls limply on the floor. Not satisfying. Does little to assuage her anger at...everything.

Such rage she feels. At Feyre for ruining the façade she had built. At circumstance. At Azriel, for existing, for allowing a blossoming something to occur between him and Elain when he knew, he knew they had this stupid bond and obviously that could only ever end in one way: her sister's heartbreak.

And at Cassian. Whenever she leaves her apartment, she can feel his presence somewhere above her, tracking her. He'll find some way to corner her whenever she drags herself to Feyre's house, to irritate her or try to provoke her. How she'd hiss at him and hurl insults to get him to leave her alone. And now what is it that has stopped his incessant obsession of finding her wherever she hides? This thing that she didn't even choose. It's honestly disrespectful, above all. Irking her was his favorite pastime until now, only because she's been marked by some ancient thing.

Then she feels more anger at Azriel, because a part of her isn't angry, it's sorrowful and pitying, and then she realizes-that isn't her. That feeling inside of her own body-it isn't hers! It's his!

And it's...close.

Nesta whips around and rips open her door, some tiny bit of her hoping she is wrong about who it is.

She isn't.

"I came to see how you're doing," he says, in that low, cold voice of his. Cold enough to make her shiver. For all the wrong reasons. Perhaps it takes time to get used to, but they've barely ever spoken.

"I'm fine," she says shortly. Then, "You should not have come."

"We need to talk."

"We do not."

He doesn't offer a retort, only stares at her. If she couldn't feel his ever-present sadness, she wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"I would like to talk, please," he says finally.

Nesta locks her jaw but steps aside to let him pass. He sits down on one of her couches, wings drawn tight against his back-she does not have any of their big armchairs to accommodate them. She takes her seat across from him.

She has not been alone with him very often, but every time, she is struck anew by how it feels when they are together. It feels...like nothing at all. No, worse than nothing. Because this is a mistake. Some magnet inside of her is pulling them together...but she doesn't want it.

"I'm sorry this happened," he says. "I should have taken better precautions. I know we agreed...to keep this between us."

The one time they had spoken, he means. When they both felt the bond snap into place. She had not known what it was, how it worked. He had explained it all to her. Naturally, she had been horrified.

"So now...we're...we're just... we have to..."

"No," he had said firmly. "We don't have to do anything. The mating bond...it's always going to be there. A part of you-us. But we can just ignore it."

"We can ignore it?" Nesta asks, thinking of when she had watched her sister and her own mate, before they had gotten together. Even then Nesta had thought their connection remarkable, how they moved in sync with each other.

She'd been horrified, even without knowing any magic was involved.

"We can," he said. Hesitated. "It's...it might be...there'll always be a pull. But we don't...care for each other like that. So it shouldn't really affect you too much."

"And you?" she'd asked.

"It won't affect me either," he said forcefully.

But he had been wrong. It has affected her-and now it's ruined her.

"What other precautions would you have taken?" she asks. "Was there something we weren't doing?" For she knows they did everything they could. They kept apart, never even spoke about each other to anyone. Everything taken care of...but her meddling baby sister.

He doesn't answer, but she can feel him begrudgingly accept her words. How she loathes this-this invasive, parasitic feeling. It's not as miserable as it might be, of course, neither of them are Daemati, so they aren't constantly bombarded with each other's thoughts like Feyre and Rhysand, but his presence in her mind...his emotions...like she never has a minute to herself anymore.

And he's so cold. Every part of him is so cold. Even when he's happy-when he's listening to Elain chatter about her garden or training with Cassian or doing whatever the hell with Morrigan, whatever she does in her spare time-even then it's a detached, guarded sort of feeling.

"I wanted to tell you I understand you're upset, but there's no reason why things have to change."

Nesta looks at him sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"We are still in agreement regarding our own relationship," he says evenly, "and I know...well, this doesn't have to affect any other relationships we may have."

"Did you come here for reassurance from me? Because you're not going to get any," she says, blunt.

"I believe I was reassuring you."

"You forget," Nesta says, a grim set to her face, "I know when you're lying."

He gives her a rueful smile. "So you do."

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Nesta says, "Look, Elain just needs some space. She's private. But I'll talk to her tomorrow and explain."

He doesn't answer. Why he bothers pretending like he doesn't fancy her sister around her, she doesn't quite understand.

It's not that Nesta wants him to have a relationship with Elain. It's just that she needs Elain to know that there is nothing going on between the two of them and there never has been and there never will be. She tells him as much.

"You are at perfect liberty to tell your sister anything you desire, of course," he says, but she can feel his relief.

"All right," she says, standing up. "That's settled. It'll be fine. But they'll all see we've been this way for months and nothing has happened so nothing needs to change."

"Right."

"Your coming here to speak to me is an outlier," she says. "You should tell them that."

"Would you like me to tell someone?"

Nesta clenches her fists. His tone is careful, measured, but it doesn't matter, because she knows what he's asking.

And her answer is no. Not even a little bit.

"Tell Feyre," she says, "so she doesn't get any more prying ideas."

He nods his head once. He doesn't like how she speaks of Feyre, she knows, but he doesn't say anything, which she appreciates.

Besides, she realizes, pleasantly surprised, he's not too happy with her either.

---

Nesta lets herself into Feyre's riverfront home after a trek through the gardens reveals Elain is inside. Mercifully, she makes it to her room without bumping into anyone.

Perhaps it's less mercy and more everyone is avoiding her, but no matter. She doesn't care. In fact, she prefers it this way.

"Elain?" she calls, knocking softly on her door. She opens it slowly and peeks her head in.

Her sister is lying on her bed, still in her nightthings. She stirs as Nesta sits down next to her.

"Nesta," she says sleepily.

"You're still in bed?" Perhaps her optimism from last night's conversation with Azriel is misplaced.

"No, no, I was just taking a nap."

She's...lying. Elain is lying to her.

And she's in bed at one o' clock in the afternoon.

"Oh," Nesta says. "Well. I just came to talk to you..."

"There's nothing to say," Elain says.

Nesta bites the inside of her cheek. "Yes there is. I need to tell you that Azriel and I are not in a relationship."

"Oh, Nesta-"

"And we don't ever want to be in one."

"It's none of my business, of course-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Nesta says, slightly bewildered. Elain had very much considered Nesta's two or three suitors entirely her business when they were silly human girls; why should this be any different? "But it's not real, anyway. It's a mistake."

Elain goes very still. "It's not," she says quietly.

"Of course it is."

"It is not."

Right. Because the Cauldron loved Elain. So Elain...what, worships that vile thing like everyone else here?

"I think I'm going to shower," Elain says, voice falsely bright. "Are you going to spend the day here?"

Nesta starts at the sudden dismissal. "I...no."

"Oh," Elain says, enough disappointment in her tone that anyone who doesn't know her as well as Nesta does would believe it. "Well, I'll see you soon. And please don't worry, Nesta, dear. Everything's quite all right."

With that, she hurries into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

So perhaps, Nesta muses to herself on her walk home, she was wrong about how much time she should give Elain. Perhaps tomorrow she'll be more willing to talk.

Except she isn't.

And not the next day, either, and not the whole week after.

And Cassian's not springing up around the city anymore.

It's only Feyre who talks to her, too much guilt and uncertainty in her darting eyes telling her far more than her words do when Nesta asks her would-be-casually why her Inner Circle no longer stalks various of her favorite haunts and why does she think Elain has once again taken ill and is missing their lunch.

Well. Feyre might stutter through a non-answer, but Nesta knows exactly what the matter is. And she might not know how to solve it herself, but she knows who does.

So three weeks after her secret is let out, Nesta books passage to the Spring Court.

---

Chapter Two

#nesta archeron #nessian #azriel #acotar #so glad to finally be sharing this!#i think of this chapter as more of a prologue really #anyway it'll be short! only four chapters or so

60 notes · View notes

crashingmeteorz · 4 years ago

Text

you’d better look out below

an au where tarrlok leaves the north pole with noatak.

title from arcade fire’s “wake up”. word count: 8k. read on ao3.

trigger warnings for: self-harm, child abuse (implied), violence

Tarrlok has asked about their mom four times already, and Noatak can tell by the way he stares off into the northern sky, he’s working up to a fifth.

“She’ll be fine,” snaps Noatak. Tarrlok’s eyes go wide as saucers, and Noatak pretends he can’t see the tears forming there.

“I didn’t say anything-“

“You were thinking it,” Noatak grunts, and the conversation stops abruptly. Tarrlok goes back to gazing out their boat.

It’s slow going, getting out of the north. They’ve been sailing for three days straight, and they can survive on the fish they catch and the salt water they purify, but that doesn’t stop them from going stir-crazy. Noatak would just bend them across the sea, but the noise attaracts the attention of tiger-sharks, and Tarrlok begged him to just rely on the waves and their oars. Noatak wonders darkly if this would have been easier on his own.

Tarrlok is company, at least, but he spends most of the journey worrying over their mother, or asking if they’re close to land. He’s hopeless at bending, compared to Noatak, and he eats a lot for such a scrawny kid. Lately, Noatak’s been fantasizing about pushing him overboard. It wouldn’t be fatal or anything, he’s a waterbender after all, it just might shut him up for longer than 10 minutes.

But Noatak lets the fantasy in, sits with it for a while, and then lets it out. He won’t be like their father anymore.

“She wouldn’t want us to be miserable, Tarrlok,” Noatak says as gently as he can. He doesn’t understand his brother’s concern for her - she never questioned their father’s influence, never wondered why her sons were always so miserable to train with him. But Tarrlok was always the softer one, he wouldn’t hurt a dragonfly even if it bit him on the nose.

“I just don’t want him to take it out on her,” Tarrlok says sadly. It’s certainly a possibility, without his sons to bully anymore. But Noatak’s doubtful.

“He won’t,” says Noatak confidently. “He has nothing to fight for anymore. He’ll just turn into the bitter old man he was always meant to be.”

For the first time all day, Tarrlok seems to relax. He takes off his glove and trails his fingers in the water absently, watching his wobbly reflection stare back at him from the sea. Noatak hunches over, shifting further down into his seat. Tarrlok still enjoys the little things, the feel of the water on his skin, the way the breeze ruffles his coat, the vision of white surrounding them. By the time he was Tarrlok’s age, most of that had been tainted.

It’s confusing, to feel both affection and envy for this quality his brother has. He wants to protect Tarrlok, he wants to be like Tarrlok, he wants Tarrlok out of his life. Noatak doesn’t know how much of his anger is his father, and how much is just him.

“Can we go to Kyoshi Island? I want to see the elephant koi,” says Tarrlok, oblivious as always.

“We’re going to the first port we see and moving inland,” is Noatak’s terse reply. Tarrlok nods sagely, seemingly satisfied. Then-

“So is the first port Kyoshi Island or...?”

“No, Tarrlok,” Noatak says through gritted teeth, “we are not going to Kyoshi Island.”

“Oh, okay,” says Tarrlok, disappointment written all over his face. Noatak can’t find the energy to care. “It’s just-“

“Enough,” says Noatak tersely. Tarrlok clamps his mouth shut. Noatak hates how ugly he sounds, how Tarrlok recoils. It’s a familiar sight, and it’s not one Noatak enjoys.

“I’m sorry,” Noatak says, trying not to sound as irritated as he feels. “I’m just sick of this boat. Things will be better when we reach dry land.”

“How are we gonna pay for stuff?” Noatak asks, immediately forgiving.

“We’ll sell the boat and go from there. If we need to live off the land for a while we can.”

Tarrlok looks backwards, in the direction of what used to be their home.

“I’m glad we left,” Tarrlok says honestly, and Noatak feels a sudden burst of joy. It’s the first time he’s expressed any relief about leaving. “But I think I’ll miss home.”

“One day, you’ll forget all about that place. Besides,” Noatak says, reaching over to clap his brother on the shoulder, “we’re together, Tarrlok. We’ll make a new home.”

It’s mid-afternoon on the fourth day when they spot land. Tarrlok had finally grown irritable as well, and they were liable to strangle each other when he excitedly pointed out the rocky shore.

They sail for another hour before finding a small fishing village where they can dock. Tarrlok had begged for them to just stop near the rocks and bend the water to bring them in safely, but Noatak had refused. They couldn’t risk damaging the boat, it was their only source of income at the moment.

The local fishermen eye the boat curiously. Being of watertribe origin, it’s sturdy and narrow, perfect for avoiding boulders among the rapids. Noatak informs them he won’t settle for less than 30 gold pieces. They laugh in his face.

“Gold pieces?” asks an elderly fisherman. “Boy, we use yuans here, or didn’t you know?”

“I’ll give you 30 yuans for it, how about that?” calls another to uproarious laughter. Noatak’s smart enough to figure out that’d be a robbery, so he grabs Tarrlok by the shoulder and stomps away.

“Where are we going?” asks Tarrlok, ducking his head to avoid the teasing sailors.

“Into the market. Well listen to the sales and try to figure out the going-rate of yuans,” Noatak explains, steering Tarrlok along the winding path.

“Couldn’t we just ask someone?” Tarrlok says in confusion.

“So they can scam us? I don’t think so.”

They spend almost an hour in the market. It takes them 20 minutes just to find items moderately close in value to their boat, and even that is a crapshoot. They end up listening to jewelers and one exotic pet salesman. Tarrlok beams at a sleeping jackalope.

“Isn’t he cold all the way up here?” Tarrlok asks the merchant.

“Oh, very,” says the man in a very sad, and very fake, voice. “Are you going somewhere warmer? Perhaps you could take him with you?”

“Noatak, can we?” Tarrlok asks excitedly. “You said we’re going somewhere warmer -“

“No,” Noatak says, eyeing the price on the jackalope’s cage - 50 yuans, almost a quarter of what he’s thinking of asking for their boat. “And he’s fine, Tarrlok. The desert freezes at night. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

The merchant gives Noatak a nasty look as he nods for Tarrlok to follow him back to the docks. Noatak doesn’t miss the way his brother hangs his head.

“Maybe we can find you a less expensive pet,” Noatak suggests.

“Sure,” Tarrlok says dejectedly. Okay. They might be able to splurge on the jackalope. Besides, it might keep Tarrlok’s attention off of him for a while.

When they get to where they tied the boat, there’s nothing there. Tarrlok isn’t really paying attention, and Noatak knows panicking won’t help, so he circles the docks. And then he does it again.

“You,” he says, shoving a finger at the old man from earlier. “What’d you do with our boat?”

“Tell you what,” says the old man as the sailors snicker, “give me 30 gold pieces, I’ll take you to it!” The fishermen’s laughter roars in his ears. Noatak grabs the front of the old man’s coat with both fists. The dock goes quiet.

“Tell me where my boat is,” Noatak seethes, “or I’ll turn you inside out.”

“Noatak!” shouts Tarrlok. Out of the corner of his eye, Noatak can see the advancing fishermen. He releases the old man, and the other men relax a little.

Then, almost inexplicably, the old man begins walking backwards, inching to the edge of the dock. His eyes bulge out of his skull. He opens his mouth, but no sounds come out. Everyone shouts in concern, yelling for him to stop.

“Noatak,” Tarrlok whispers, reaching out to hold his brother’s hand. When their fingers interlock, Noatak realizes his younger brother is shaking.

The old man stops suddenly, just before the edge of the platform, and falls to his knees. The other sailors run to him, asking him questions, suggesting a heart attack. Noatak and Tarrlok melt away, forgotten.

They sprint back to the marketplace, and Noatak pointedly does not mention the tears streaming down Tarrlok’s face. They round a corner and Noatak skids to a stop. He grabs Tarrlok and they hide in an alleyway, beside the exotic pet hawker.

“Don’t,” Tarrlok whispers.

“You want the jackalope or not?” Noatak asks him, trying to keep anger out of his voice. Tarrlok looks to the greasy merchant, to the animal far too big for its cage. He nods.

Noatak tries to be quick, not out of mercy, but out of a desire not to arouse suspicion. The merchant chokes out a protest, but is unable to stop himself from picking up the keys and unlocking the jackalope’s cage. He pokes at the thing, once, twice, and then the animal is awake and bounding out into the sunlight.

Tarrlok waits until it is about to pass their alleyway and reaches out, cuddling it. At first the jackalope struggles, scratching Tarrlok’s cheek with its antlers, and then it relaxes, nosing at Tarrlok’s chest.

“He smells the sea prunes,” Tarrlok says laughing. Noatak watches as the merchant gets his bearings back and starts looking around frantically.

“He can eat them later, let’s go,” Noatak grunts, and the two of them sprint out of the market, the animal seller none the wiser.

Later, when they make camp in a cave along the forested path, the jackalope is resting in Tarrlok’s lap and Tarrlok’s stroking its ears thoughtfully.

“What’s on your mind?” Noatak asks him, all venom gone. Even with their earlier failures, Noatak’s just relieved to be on solid ground.

“We could’ve been caught today,” Tarrlok tells him. “They would’ve arrested us.”

“No one can bloodbend in daylight except for dad, and everyone assumes he died over 15 years ago,” Noatak tells him. “You heard them, they thought the old man had a heart attack.”

“What about the merchant?”

“No one saw that, Tarrlok,” Noatak says tiredly, flopping down by the fire.

“Still, if they talk, they might put it together, it could come back to us-“

“Tarrlok, we’re not getting caught,” Noatak says firmly. Tarrlok frowns and goes back to petting the jackalope.

“That’s not all,” he says after a little while. “I shouldn’t have let you bloodbend that merchant. It wasn’t right.”

“He’s a lowlife scam artist, just like those sailors and he deserved-“

“You’ve never been bloodbent before, Noatak. How could you know that they deserved it?”

Noatak doesn’t really know what to say to that. Guilt pools in his belly and slithers it’s way up to his chest, wrapping around his heart.

“We’re starting over, right?” Tarrlok asks him after what feels like forever.

“Right,” Noatak agrees.

“Then no more bloodbending.”

“Tarrlok-“

“No more bloodbending, Noatak,” Tarrlok says severely, staring hard at his brother. “Or I leave.”

Then leave, hisses a nasty voice in Noatak’s head, but it’s practically drowned out by the rushing panic. Tarrlok can’t leave - Noatak is doing this, all of this for Tarrlok. He doesn’t know what he’s doing out here if his brother isn’t with him.

“Fine,” he relents. “We’re good enough waterbenders without it, anyway.”

Tarrlok smiles at him, and the ocean of fear in Noatak’s ears dulls to a trickle. It’s not ideal, but then maybe it’s for the best. Bloodbending, more than anything else, was his father’s most precious lesson. If he and Tarrlok abandoned it now, Yakone’s teachings would die with them.

“We’re really sticking it to dad, huh?” Tarrlok says as though he’s read Noatak’s mind, unable to keep the glee out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Noatak agrees grinning, “we are.”

They spend the entire next day walking. They happen upon a traveling fruit vendor and offer some water tribe delicacies in exchange for fresh apples and moon peaches. They get sticky from the juices, and Tarrlok’s jackalope licks his face clean.

“You’ll have to name the thing,” Noatak tells him, trying and failing not to smile at the two of them. He can’t remember the last time Tarrlok looked so happy.

“I’m thinking Jack,” Tarrlok says, lying flat on his back and allowing the animal to sit on his chest and lap at his cheeks.

“You’re not serious?” Noatak asks him incredulously. “That is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, what’s your idea?” Tarrlok says, sitting suddenly. The jackalope squeaks indignantly, and then stretches up to resume its feast.

“What about Zhī?” he asks. Tarrlok laughs loudly.

“Perfect!” he says. “From now on, youre T - hey don’t lick inside my mouth you weirdo!”

They move on, traveling for almost a week. Noatak struggles to hunt without bloodbending, but together they manage to develop a system - Tarrlok frightens the animals in Noatak's direction, and then Noatak stuns them with a water whip. It's not fail-safe, but it gets them some meat, at least. One day they travel for almost 12 hours without food, only stopping to rest their feet, climbing winding hills until the sun is just beginning to set. At last they spot a large, walled-in structure sitting prettily at the bottom of a mountain. Tarrlok’s stomach growls.

“We’ll see if they’re willing to trade,” Noatak says, and they make their way to the front gates, only to find out the structure is an abbey. Both boys bow upon being welcomed in by the Mother Superior.

“Where are your parents?” asks one of the sisters, who offers them supper, much to the brothers’ relief.

“They passed away a month ago,” Noatak says quickly. It’s not a total lie - he and Tarrlok ran into the blizzard about a month ago, around the same time Noatak had decided his parents were dead to him. The nuns all make varying noises of distress, and Noatak arranges his face to look appropriately sad. Tarrlok just keeps chewing until his brother nudges him, and then he bows his head to hide his stuffed cheeks.

“There’s a large sanctuary south of here, but it’s quite the journey,” says the woman who fed them, Sister Meifen. “You two are welcome to stay here, until we can find you proper arrangements.”

“Thank you, but-“

“Is it okay if Zhī stays, too?” asks Tarrlok, picking up the jackalope and showing them all. The nuns titter at the animal, and reach out to pet the its fluffy ears.

Noatak isn’t sure how it happens, but before he knows it, he and Tarrlok have each been given a mat and linens for bed. They’re told the nuns wake early, so don’t expect to sleep in. Noatak doesn’t really know why it matters if they sleep in, because they’re not nuns, but he agrees anyway.

“Tarrlok, we can’t stay here,” Noatak whispers to his brother. “We’re not getting sent to any sanctuary.”

“Then what are we doing?” Tarrlok asks him.

“I don’t know, but I’ll be 18 soon, so I can be your guardian-“

“In four years!” hisses Tarrlok. Noatak shushes him.

“I look older than I am,” Noatak whispers. “We’ll get jobs somewhere, Omashu, maybe.”

“But that’s so far from here!” Tarrlok argues. Noatak rolls his eyes.

“How do you know that?” he asks his younger brother. “You don’t even know where Kyoshi Island is.” Tarrlok pouts.

“Sister Meifen said so,” Tarrlok says, sticking his tongue out. “What about Republic City? That’s just south of here-“

“We are not going there,” Noatak interrupts coldly. “Or did you forget where dad grew up?”

Tarrlok shuffles under his blanket. Zhī snorts a little and adjusts as Tarrlok moves.

“I didn’t think that would matter,” Tarrlok says in a small voice.

“Of course it matters,” Noatak says bitterly, even though he’s not exactly sure why. Then, with less heat, “We’ll find a place. A village or something."

Tarrlok doesn't say anything in response. Noatak waits him out

"But, in the meantime, we can stay here, okay?" Noatak says after a while, as a peace offering. "It's safe and they'll keep us fed. We'll just have to listen in, make sure they don't plan anything without telling us. I'll see if I can find some maps, maybe you can finally learn to read one, right Tarrlok? Tarrlok?"

Noatak nudges his brother lightly, but the younger boy only lets out a snore. Noatak sighs and settles into his mat. There are worse places to be in, and as mistrustful as he is, he doesn't really think a bunch of nuns will try to trick them.

He also thought their boat was safe in the fishing village. Suddenly, Noatak's wide awake. He scooches closer to Tarrlok. Their father never went into detail about his work in Republic City, but Noatak recalls a few stories of children going missing. The superstitious blamed it on spirits. Their father blamed it on interested buyers.

"What does that mean?" a much younger Tarrlok had asked. Yakone only let out a dark laugh. If Noatak's certain of anything on this journey, he's certain he'll do anything to protect Tarrlok, and he doesn't care who he has to hurt to do it, nuns included.

Noatak doesn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows he's being shaken awake.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he barks, sitting straight up. Tarrlok is squatting in front of him with a sleepy smile and messy hair. At least someone slept well.

"Nothing," Tarrlok says happily. "But Mother Superior says we need to earn our keep, whatever that means."

"It means she's putting us to work," Noatak grumbles, motioning for Tarrlok to turn so he can fix his hair. He begins to affix the usual pair of ponytails, and then stops himself.

"Wanna try a different style?" Noatak asks.

"I don't know," says Tarrlok. "I always wear it this way."

"What about something more traditional, like the chief wears?" suggests Noatak. Tarrlok hesitates a moment too long, and Noatak begins to part his hair in disappointment.

"Sure," Tarrlok says suddenly. "Let's try it." Noatak grins. He combs Tarrlok's hair and gathers a section of it up in the center of his head, pulling it into a ponytail, making sure to include side pieces so that it stays out of the boy's face.

"You missed a piece," Tarrlok singsongs, picking up a chunk of hair by his right ear and waving it with his fingers.

"Not necessarily." Noatak makes a small braid out of the hanging piece, leaves the end free, and then affixes the beads they usually use on Noatak's two low-hanging ponytails. He ties the braid.

"Aren't these for warriors?" Tarrlok asks him hesitantly, taking the braid between his fingers.

"They signify battles won," Noatak says. He does not elaborate any further. "Leave it. It suits you."

He fixes his own hair, and then they're off to report to Sister Meifen.

The nun is delighted when they tell her they're waterbenders. She shows them the perfumes the nuns make here at the abbey, as well as the scented soaps and bath products. She asks them if they'd be willing to help her separate the vats of solution into smaller vials. She explains that they sell their products as a means of fundraising for the abbey, and that excess sales go to the less fortunate.

"Did you know," Sister Meifen says almost smugly, "that the great Chief Katara once stayed here? She, Councilman Sokka, and Avatar Aang used this abbey as a resting place during the avatar's preparation to fight the Firelord."

"How interesting," Noatak says evenly, exchanging an awkward look with Tarrlok. They'd certainly heard a lot about Chief Katara and the others, though none of it as reverential as Sister Meifen might think.

"Who knows?" says the nun, raising her eyesbrows playfully at them. "Maybe you two will prove just as talented as her."

Noatak doesn't really know how he manages not to roll his eyes. The effort almost gives him a headache.

It's easy work, more precision than anything else, which Tarrlok has always struggled with. After his third spill, he curses and balls his fist.

"Careful," mutters Noatak, effortlessly dividing the perfume up into 10 different vials. "I don't think they'd like your language."

"I don't get it," Tarrlok groans. His cheeks redden with frustration. "This is easy. Why can't I do it?"

"You haven't had to bend in a while. Take a break."

Tarrlok doesn't seem satisfied, squeezing his nails into his palms, straightening his hands out to stretch his fingers, and then repeating the process. Noatak glances over to his brother and realizes Tarrlok's palms are red and raw. He stops his work.

"Tarrlok," he says in what he hopes is a calming voice. It still comes out nastier than he'd like.

"What?" his brother snaps, fingers still curling in and out, in and out. Noatak reaches for his hand. Tarrlok freezes, and looks down in confusion.

"We'll work on your control another time," Noatak tells him, and it comes out too sharp. He loosens his grip on Tarrlok's hand significantly, speaks in almost a whisper. "Let's see if we can find a different job for you."

"What's the point?" Tarrlok asks, voice tight. "I'll just screw it up."

"Dad's not here, Tarrlok," Noatak tells him sternly, making sure not to let his hand squeeze. "Don't let him get to you from across the ocean."

Tarrlok nods, though he's clearly still upset. They find the sisters feeding Zhī bits of whatever it is they're preparing for lunch. Fortunately the jackalope has a sense of loyalty, and bounds over to Tarrlok the moment he spots him, leaping into the boy's arms. Tarrlok brightens considerably.

"Tarrlok hurt his wrist the other day," Noatak says easily. Tarrlok side-eyes him, and then lets his right wrist hang limp atop Zhī. "I can continue filling the vials, but it irritates his hand. Is there somewhere else he can help?"

Fortunately the nuns seem to see Tarrlok as a little darling, and are more than happy to give him a less intensive job.

"But for now," Sister Meifen tells them, "you've earned a break. It's lunchtime."

They stay at the abbey for one week, and then two. Tarrlok follows Sister Meifen around like a loyal dog, and Noatak successfully bites his tonuge. Tarrlok's obviously latching on to the first kind woman he meets, but he's happy, and he's not bringing up their mother as much, so Noatak leaves it.

The nuns aren't quite as fond of Noatak, which is no surprise. Boys stop being cute once they start to look like men, and Tarrlok has enough baby fat left to get his cheeks pinched by older women with no sense of personal boundaries. It probably doesn't help that Noatak watches Tarrlok like a hawk, often pausing his work when he hasn't heard Zhī’s surprisingly loud squeaks or the sound of Tarrlok's laughter. The latter is almost a shoddy indicator - he's not used to hearing it so often, but he's warming up to the sound.

In any event, Noatak gets his work done in record time each day, and when he finishes he offers to assist in other areas. It's not exactly a deep relationship, but the nuns are grateful for his willingness to work. They always give him extra helpings at meals. One evening he notices Tarrlok staring into his cleared plate, so he offers some of his own food. Tarrlok greedily accepts.

"Tarrlok, why didn't you just say you were still hungry?" Mother Superior gently scolds him. Tarrlok freezes like a deer in headlights.

"I, I'm sorry-"

"You should have offered him more food," Noatak says sharply. The table goes quiet.

"It's my fault, Mother Superior," Sister Meifen says. "I always give Tarrlok snacks during the day, but today we were so busy scent-testing we didn’t stop for anything. I should have told him he could ask for seconds."

The sister and Mother Superior exchange a look that Noatak doesn't understand, but they seem to come to some sort of agreement, and dinner resumes. Tarrlok blushes furiously, leaving the food untouched until Noatak nudges him.

"Eat," Noatak says. "Also, when were you going to share your snacks, huh?"

Tarrlok grins sheepishly, and finishes his dinner.

In the evenings before bed, they practice waterbending. Noatak recalls what his father would say, how he would react, and tries to do the opposite of that. He finds himself getting frustrated easily when Tarrlok messes up, but he keeps the anger from seeping out into his tone. He overcompensates when Tarrlok gets it right, complimenting him profusely. It feels fake, but Tarrlok's smile is genuine, so he keeps at it.

By their third week, Tarrlok joins him at the perfume. He's thinking too hard about it, hyping it up too much. He waltzes up to the ceramic pots like they're a pack of wolves ready to strike. When he first goes to divide up the liquid, he spills it all on the stones.

"Breathe," Noatak tells him in a calm voice, clamping down on the part of him that's laughing viciously. "It's just perfume, Tarrlok. You can do this in your sleep."

Tarrlok nods, too seriously, but does as Noatak says, takes a deep calming breath, and bends the perfume perfectly. Noatak smiles broadly, telling Tarrlok he did great, and it feels genuine this time.

They get through all of the vials without a single mess. It takes almost as long as when Noatak worked alone, due to Tarrlok's cautious approach, but when they finish Tarrlok's beaming with pride. Sister Meifen takes his face in her hands and congratulates him on his improvement.

"Noatak's a great teacher," he says happily. Sister Meifen nods almost gratefully at Noatak. He doesn't nod back. She's been acting like she's Tarrlok's mother, like Noatak’s some wayward stranger who took this precious kid under his wing. Everything about this place makes Noatak feel like he's a transient and Tarrlok's their newest resident.

He's antsy to leave.

The nuns get antsy as well, towards the end of their third week there. He'd noticed them cleaning with more vigor, returning from the market with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and, to Tarrlok's delight, sweets. They're all whispering to each other hurriedly, but when Noatak gets near, they quiet at once and go about their day. It's infuriating.

"You need to try and find out what's going on around here," Noatak mutters to Tarrlok while they're dividing up the perfumes. "Don't make it obvious, but see what you can find out from Sister Meifen."

"She said something about a party yesterday," Tarrlok says nonchalantly. "It's probably that."

Noatak freezes his motions and nearly drops the liquid. He sends the perfume shooting down so viciously into the vials that they shatter. Tarrlok stops what he's doing, surprised.

"It's a going-away party." Noatak feels his whole body shaking with anger. He can only think of one reason the nuns would keep this from him, wouldn’t just tell them they've found a suitable sanctuary.

They're going to separate Noatak from Tarrlok.

Well, they're going to try. They'll have to kill him first, and somehow he doesn't think these nuns have it in them.

"Noatak?" Tarrlok asks, but Noatak doesn't hear him. His ears are ringing too loud.

"Finish this...crap," Noatak spits out, stalking away to find Mother Superior. A thousand scenarios run through his head, each more violent than the last. Several of them involve bloodbending Sister Meifen off a cliff.

When he gets inside, he hears male voices, and it's all the confirmation he needs.

"It's truly an honor to host you-" Mother Superior is saying when Noatak rips open the curtain and reveals-

The Avatar. The literal Avatar. Avatar Aang is talking to Mother Superior. There's another man with him, much younger and with skin closer to Noatak's, but wearing the same air nomad robes and sharing the same surprised expression.

"Noatak!" Mother Superior starts in surprise, eyebrows drawn together sternly. She's too startled by his sudden appearance to say much else. Noatak shakes his head and gathers himself, remembering his resolve.

"Are you going to take me away?" he asks The Actual Real Life Avatar, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. Mother Superior looks scandalized. The Avatar just looks amused.

"I don't think so," Avatar Aang, THE Avatar Aang says slowly. "Did you want me to take you away?"

"No." Noatak lowers his finger slowly as realization hits him. The nuns are throwing a party. The Avatar is here. The Avatar doesn't know who he is.

"The party's for you," Noatak says, thinking out loud and feeling incredibly stupid.

"A party?" asks the legendary, bridge-between-the-worlds, bringer-of-peace Avatar, clapping his hands in delight.

"Well, yes, of a kind, but, Noatak!" says Mother Superior. "What in the world are you doing, bursting in here like this? And accosting Avatar Aang like that, it's the height of disrespect-"

"Please, Mother Superior," the very-much real Avatar says with what can only be described as a goofy grin on his face, "I barely respect myself. It seems like there may have been a miscommunication." He gestures to Noatak, and Noatak realizes he's being asked to speak.

"I thought you were throwing a going-away party," he tells Mother Superior with as much dignity as he can muster, "for me. I thought you were separating Tarrlok and I."

As an afterthought, he bows to the Avatar. Mother Superior walks over to Noatak, and he absolutely refuses to back away despite his screaming instincts. To his surprise, she cups his cheek in her hand.

"Dear boy," the Mother Superior says in the softest voice he's ever heard her use, "I would never separate you from your brother. Frankly, we'd keep you both all to ourselves, but it's not right to deprive children the opportunity for a loving family out of selfishness."

Noatak allows himself to lean into the older woman's warm touch, for just the barest of seconds. He uses it to ground himself. The nun's confession is overwhelming, to say the least.

Then he stands straight and bows deeply to her, far deeper and far longer than he did for the living-legend Avatar.

"I apologize, Mother Superior," Noatak says sincerely, gravely. "I misread the situation. I did not mean to embarass you." She smiles at him a moment longer, and then turns back to her usual severe self.

"Go get your brother and wash up. We have guests."

Noatak's too relieved to notice the curious look Avatar Aang gives him as he turns on his heel to go find Tarrlok.

"Do you think he's hear to arrest us?" Tarrlok asks for what feels like the millionth time as Noatak brushes his hair. The nuns have prepared a luncheon feast, and it seems all work activities for the day have been cancelled.

"No, Tarrlok," Noatak says tiredly. He doesn't have the strength for his usual annoyance. The day's earlier panic knocked him out. "He didn't even know who I was."

"What if he was just pretending?" Tarrlok presses.

"He's the Avatar," Noatak reminds him, placing the beads at the end of Tarrlok's braid - he's been wearing his hair this way since Noatak first suggested it. "He took dad's bending away. He doesn't need to pretend."

"I can't believe you talked to him," Tarrlok gushes, switching tones with lightning speed. Noatak doesn't know how he does it. "What was he like?"

Noatak had, smartly, in his opinion, left out a few key details of his encounter with the Avatar.

"Fine," Noatak says in a bored voice as he brushes his own hair. Tarrlok rolls his eyes, dissatisfied.

"Nice," Noatak adds. "Dopey."

"Dopey?" Tarrlok repeats. "He's the Avatar! How could he be dopey?"

"Ask him yourself," Noatak suggests, standing once his own ponytail's secure. Tarrlok follows suit and they head into the dining hall.

"I'm not asking the Avatar if he's dopey," Tarrlok mutters under his breath. Noatak grins.

They dine on fruits and nuts, and then they are served sweet buns and bean curry. There's no meat, presumably since the Avatar and his company are vegetarians, but it's very filling. Tarrlok can't get enough of it. They nuns have pushed away the tables and set up mats like the ones Noatak and Tarrlok have been sleeping on. It's the most casual Noatak's ever seen the abbey. He and Tarrlok find a pair of corner mats and keep to themselves.

"May we join you?" says a deep, friendly voice. Tarrlok's jaw drops, and so does the dumpling he was holding. Avatar Aang and the younger man he was with are standing above them. The Avatar is smiling broadly, the other man looks like he's trying to smile, but it's something akin to a grimace. Noatak very badly wants to say no, but after his earlier display, he owes it to the nuns to be polite.

"It would be our honor," he answers, bowing his head. Tarrlok swallows whatever was in his mouth and bows as well. The Avatar and his companion settle beside them.

"We were never properly introduced," he says kindly, looking between the brothers. "I'm Aang, and this is my son, Tenzin."

Tenzin bows his head.

"Noatak," he says, pointing to himself, "and Tarrlok."

"I wanted to say I'm terribly sorry about your parents," Avatar Aang says seriously, and Tarrlok freezes again. "When Mother Superior told me how recently you lost them, my heart broke for you."

Noatak doesn't think Tarrlok could sigh any louder. Fortunately, the Avatar seems to take it as a display of sadness.

"Thank you," Noatak says politely. "We'll be alright, as long as we have each other."

Avatar Aang smiles sadly at him.

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, and in spite of his misgivings, Noatak is inclined to believe him. Their father had always spoken of the Avatar's weakness, his bleeding heart. Noatak eventually took that to mean that Avatar Aang possessed compassion, which Yakone was sorely unfamilar with.

"I'm going to sound like everyone's grandpa," the Avatar continues, looking at an absolutely starstruck Tarrlok, "but when I was your age, my friends were all the family I had. I know how important it is to have someone you can rely on."

Noatak realizes with a start he's talking about Chief Katara and the other important people his father despised. For some reason Noatak still feels a pang of anger for Chief Katara, mixed in somewhere with his anger for Yakone. Misplaced loyalty, maybe? He's not sure.

"What brought you to the abbey?" Tarrlok asks curiously.

"I thought it would be nice to visit the sisters, their abbey’s on the way home from the Southern Air Temple. You see, it was time for Tenzin here to select an air bison," Aang says proudly, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Traditionally air nomads choose their bisons during childhood, but we needed to ensure the herd was healthy and happy before separating them. Tell them his name!"

Tenzin blushes furiously, which Noatak finds pretty funny considering he's a grown-man.

"Oogi," he says quietly, but the man's baritone reverberates whether he wants it to or not. Noatak can't help it. He barks out a laugh, and quickly attempts to cover it up with a cough.

"That's great!" Tarrlok says sincerely. He whistles, and his jackalope comes careening towards them. Noatak's not sure when he tought him that trick. Tarrlok holds the animal up proudly, and Noatak notes it's getting a little heavy in the middle. "This is Zhī!"

"Hello, Zhī," Aang beams, reaching out to the jackalope and offering it a carrot. Zhī sniffs at the vegetable, and then leaps a little too excitedly, landing on Aang's head. Noatak and Tarrlok gasp in horror. The Avatar and Tenzin laugh.

"I'm great with animals," Aang chuckles, extracting Zhī and setting him in his lap while the jackrabbit munches on the carrot. Tarrlok, for his part, is ecstatic about this turn of events and chats happily with Aang and Tenzin, trading animal stories. The Avatar mentions his lemur, Momo, who apparently resides on Air Temple Island for the most part. Tarrlok asks them if they've ever encountered another jackalope in their travels.

"They're usually found in the Ba Sing Se Desert," Tenzin muses. "This one's pretty far from home. Where did you happen to find him?"

Tarrlok glances at Noatak nervously.

"We met it in the fishing village north of here," Noatak says, smooth as anything, "there was an exotic animal merchant there, and he accidentally let some of the animals out. We would have brought him back, but Zhī didn't seem to be very well cared for."

Tenzin nods, smiling at little at him, apparently satisfied with the explanation. Aang squints a little, his calm expression never faltering. Noatak stares back at the Avatar with what he hopes is a neutral expression. He also hopes Tarrlok is smart enough to keep his head down.

"Well, I can't fault you," Aang says lightly. "I'm an animal-lover myself, after all. I hate the thought of them feeling uncomfortable. It's why we left the bisons a little south of here, Oogi isn't great with small spaces just yet."

"They're here?" Tarrlok asks in wonder. Aang smiles warmly at him.

"Would you like to meet them? After dessert, of course."

Tarrlok again looks to Noatak, who glares at his younger brother. Why would the Avatar offer them such a thing? He's certain Aang doesn't know they're Yakone's sons, but he doesn't know what the endgame is here. What reason would the Avatar have to introduce a pair of orphans to his precious air bisons?

"Sure," Noatak says after mulling it over. He'll just have to stay on his guard. If he and Tarrlok need to make a daring escape, well, it's about time they move along, anyway.

Tarrlok tears through his fruit tarts like a rabid platypus-bear, except sloppier. Aang and Tenzin leave to sit with the nuns, and Noatak hears them expressing gratitude for the traditional air nomad meals. Noatak had always beleived that the monks ate very little, refusing indulgences. But while Tenzin appears more reserved, Avatar Aang digs into his deserts almost as heartily as Tarrlok. He's nothing like Noatak would expect. He's just kind of...

Dopey.

"I can't believe we're eating with the Avatar," Tarrlok says through a moutful of macaroons. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper he says, "Imagine the look on dad's face."

Noatak silences him with a glare.

It's late afternoon when the Avatar and his son finally stop chatting with the nuns and suggest they go meet Appa and Oogi. Noatak fills his waterskin up, just in case. He's not idiotic enough to think he could win against the Avatar in a fight, but he's sure he could create enough of a diversion to buy them time to escape.

They follow the winding path to a wooded area, and Aang cups his hands around his mouth.

"Appa!" he calls in a singsong. "Appa! Oogi! Where are you?" In response, something among the trees lets out a loud groan. Aang, at nearly 60 years old, takes off at a run towards the bison.

"Dad!" Tenzin shouts, running after him. Noatak and Tarrlok glance at each other, and then they're following suit. They tear through the brush and leaves, Tarrlok giggling all the while, Zhī being jostled under the boy's arm. Noatak hears the groan again and turns a sharp corner, barely managing to grab Tarrlok by the elbow so that he doesn't go sprinting off in the wrong direction. At last they crash through a clearing, and are greeted by the sight of two grown-men cuddling up to a pair of enrmormous furry creatures.

"Wow," Tarrlok breathes, and Noatak can't help but feel the same sense of awe. The bisons are huge, bigger than they could have ever imagined. The biggest creatures up north are the yaks, and they don't hold a candle to Appa and Oogi. And the bisons are, for lack of a better term, adorable - fluffy and incredibly affectionate, if the way they respond to their masters' attention is any indication.

"Come meet them!" Aang calls, waving them over. Tarrlok doesn't hesitate, he runs over to Oogi, the closest one, and immediately begins petting the bison's face. Zhī struggles free of Tarrlok's hold and begins sniffing at Oogi's feet. Noatak is more cautious, approaching Appa slowly. He's never loved animals the way Tarrlok does, but he's more than happy to get a closer look at the unusual beast.

"He won't bite," Aang says gently after Noatak just stands in front of Appa for a few minutes, staring. Noatak still doesn't really care to pet the animal, but he can tell how highly the Avatar regards Appa, and he doesn't want to insult him. Steadying himself, Noatak reaches out to gingerly presse his hand to the bison's wet nose. Noatak holds his breath. Then, Appa leans into the touch, letting out a low snort.

Something both foreign and familiar washes over Noatak. It's not an emotion he can identify, but it feels warm.

He and Tarrlok spend the next few hours playing with the bison. Appa is far older than Oogi, evident by the slow way he moves and the gray around his eyes, but Noatak is more than happy to sit by the bison's belly and rest in his fur. Avatar Aang sits beside him. Oogi is excitable, jumping around the clearing with Tarrlok, and eventually Tenzin, once he loosens up. The airbenders tell them all about the bisons, how they can fly long distances without growing tired, how they can carry whole families on their backs, how they're inherently gentle creatures.

"Oogi came from the Northern Air Temple," Aang explains proudly. "An old friend of mine, Teo, he's been helping to repopulate them up there. He designed Oogi's saddle, actually."

They talk for hours, the sun going lower and lower, and Noatak grows tired, comfortable in the softness of Appa's fur. Even Tarrlok and Oogi tire eventually, flopping down among the leaves.

"It's getting late," Tenzin says, producing some snacks for Appa and Oogi as he speaks. "We should head back to the abbey for the evening." Aang nods, and, in the first display of airbending Noatak's seen yet, the Avatar breezes effortlessly into a standing position. He offers Noatak his hand. Noatak eyes him suspiciously, and then, letting exhaustion win, allows himself to be pulled up.

The journey back to the abbey feels far longer than the first time. When they arrive, Tarrlok is swept up into a loving hug by Sister Meifen, and she even reaches out to hug Noatak as well, although he doesn't reciprocate. Noatak doesn't know why she's being so affectionate, they were only gone for a few hours.

When he and Tarrlok find their sleeping quarters, they both fall asleep the moment they lay down.

In the morning they're roused by Mother Superior.

"Get dressed, you two," she says. "The Avatar would like to speak with you."

"Couldn't he speak with us after sunrise?" Tarrlok whines, rubbing at his eyes. Noatak puts himself together quickly, a ball of nerves. He's not sure why Aang has taken such an interest in them, but he was under the impression the Avatar would be leaving today. They already saw the bison, what else is there to do?

When Noatak and Tarrlok trudge over to Aang, Tarrlok's still half asleep. He's tied his coat around his waist and has Zhī sleeping in the hood. Both the Avatar and his son are meditating. Aang peeks an eye open as he hears their footsteps approach.

"Ah!" he says, motioning them over. They sit cross-legged in front of him, and Tarrlok practically sits on Zhī who squeaks and trudges into the boy's lap. "I'm sorry about the early wake-up call, but Tenzin and I are leaving soon, and I wanted to discuss something with you both. Well, you three."

"Is everything alright?" Noatak asks in as relaxed a voice as he can muster. Aang smiles warmly at him.

"Yes, Noatak, everything's fine. You aren't in trouble," Aang says. Noatak feels his heart slow down, lets his facial features relax.

"I told you last night I was devastated to hear about what happened to you," Aang explains. "Mother Superior told me how you're both talented waterbenders. I immediately felt like our meeting was more than luck - like we were all meant to be here in this place, at this time."

"I am fortunate enough to be married to the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, and, in my biased opinion, one of the greatest waterbenders the world has ever known. Although I'm sure I'm not alone in saying so," Aang adds, winking.

"What I'm trying to say is - if the two of you are looking for a more permanent home, I would be honored if you would return to the Southern Water Tribe with me."

Noatak's mouth flies open, but no words come out. Tarrlok's eyes are practically bursting out of his head. Zhī, oblivious, sighs sleepily.

"Like...to live with you?" is all Noatak can manage. Tenzin chuckles. Aang inclines his head.

"If you'd like," the Avatar says, voice light but sincere.

"But you're the Avatar," Tarrlok says in confusion. Aang laughs, throwing an arm around his son.

"I'm also a father to three incredible young people, if I do say so myself," he says merrily. He retracts his arm and looks seriously between Noatak and Tarrlok. "You're under no obligation to come with me. If it's not what you want, I completely understand."

"How do you know Chief Katara won't mind?" Noatak asks him suspiciously. Aang smiles, his eyes lighting up with adoration.

"If you knew my mother," Tenzin tells them, "you wouldn't even be asking that question. Helping people is her passion."

Every fiber of Noatak's body is screaming in protest, telling him to grab Tarrlok and run for the sea, to run far away from these men and their promises. But he's planted in place, rooted by disbelief and confusion, and, worst of all, hope. It seems too good to be true. But then, if it is true, there's no where safer for him and Tarrlok from their father than the other side of the world, among the people Yakone hates most.

"May I speak with my brother?" Noatak asks. Aang inclines his head again, and he and Tarrlok step out into a hallway, leaving Zhī in the airbenders’ care.

"I think we should go with them," Tarrlok says the moment they're out of earshot. Noatak grimaces.

"I think we should discuss it," Noatak says irritably. "We can't just go with them-"

"What, like we just left the North Pole?" Tarrlok hisses. "He's the Avatar, he won't hurt us."

Noatak bites his tongue, refusing to let spill all the angry words about how parents aren't supposed to hurt you, either. Now's not the time for that discussion.

"Tarrlok," he says, trying desperately to convey severity. Thankfully, Tarrlok closes his mouth and listens. "If we do this, that's it. We live in the South Pole from now on. We listen to Avatar Aang and Chief Katara. We're Noatak and Tarrlok, the tragic boys who lost their parents. We give up our freedom."

"I don't think we're giving up our freedom," Noatak says, looking back towards the room where they left Aang. "Aang - the Avatar, he seems like he loves freedom. I just think we'd be safe."

Noatak looks back towards the room as well. They could say no, grab Zhī, and head southeast, towards Ba Sing Se. They'd make it, he's sure, living off scraps, resting their heads somewhere new each month, doing odd jobs. They could survive like that for a few years, until Noatak found a decent job. But would they be happy?

Noatak can practically feel Appa's soft fur under his hands. He can hear Tarrlok's hysterical laughter as Oogi and Zhī licked him mercilessly.

"Okay," Noatak says to Aang, once they've reentered the room. "We'll go with you."

68 notes · View notes

guessmonsta · 4 years ago

Text

In The Woods Somewhere (Fae! Akaashi x Fem! Reader) (NSFW)

Hi cuties :’) Do I even need to apologize for being inactive at this point? Lmao. I’ll never return to my peak in 2016/2017, haha. Anyway, this was a request from my friend that I realized I never posted. Oops. I hope u like it I luv yall sm!!!!

______________________________________________________________

The first time she saw him it was May. Dewdrops danced on Silver Dollars and Lamb’s-ear, and Jasmine and Lily of the Valley were braided into her hair. She spent her days in May collecting flowers and herbs for her mother, ever since spring came, her mother had been bedridden, and worrying __ mad. She knew the herbs would help substantially, but she also knew the roses and carnations would heal a different side of her mother. On her way down to the carnation field just beyond the woods that swallowed her quaint little property, she saw him. She knew who he was, rather what he was before she had the opportunity to approach him. If she hadn’t the knowledge very little would have kept her from running to him. Her mother always warned her of his kind, they were dangerous, they would rip out your womb and starve you of food- but the way his gunmetal eyes stared into hers the moment he noticed her walk past him was enough to have her in his trance. He sat inside a faerie ring, several small birds clung to his sides, and a Barn Owl perched on his arm. If it weren’t for her mother on her mind, perhaps she would have been bolder- instead, she just broke a moment of eye contact and walked right past him, choosing to ignore his existence, and he ignored hers.

The second time she saw him, she wasn’t so timid. Spore prints were her intention that day, or at least that’s what she told her mother, and while toadstools grew at random in the clearing in her backyard, she couldn’t help but be attracted to the faerie ring in which she had seen him the first time.

Much to her disappointment, the face she had stumbled across weeks ago wasn’t present. It would’ve been easier for her to acknowledge him if he was already there, but she figured she would have to take measures into her own hands. With little to no forethought, she held her breath, closed her eyes, then stepped right into the vacant ring in the clearing.

Before she even had the opportunity to open her eyes, she felt her body being vaulted backwards. She shrieked, then groaned as her back hit the ground beneath her. Upon opening her eyes, she saw him, the Fae with the beautiful eyes staring down at her. She couldn’t help but smirk at the slightest- lore always said that the Fae folk would do anything to make you miserable, but it almost seemed like this one was looking out for her. Before she could say anything to him, he disappeared just as fast as he came. She picked herself back up, sighed, then returned back home.

Then she didn’t see him for a while. While she knew it was for the best, a part of her ached for a missed opportunity. There could’ve been so much adventure at hand if only she had acknowledged him, even if it meant giving up her womb. All she could do was fantasize about what could’ve been at night before she went to bed. It was all she ever did.

Until she woke up to a pile of feathers on her windowsill. They were kept still by a small pebble from her garden, but the array was beautiful. A Blue Jay, a Crow, a Cardinal, and a Goldfinch. Accepting gifts from the Fae was strictly prohibited, yet she grabbed the feathers, and sprinted towards the faerie ring in which she had paid her visits to one too many times.

She didn’t sit inside the ring, instead, just kneeling on the outside with the feathers cradled gently in her hands.

“Hello?” She called out. If anyone caught her, she would look terribly foolish talking to herself while holding a handful of feathers. “This gift is beautiful, but my mother would tell me I cannot accept it.”

She waited a moment, then heard the soft tap of footsteps on the grass behind her. Spinning around, she saw him, in all of his glory. He really was a beautiful thing, and that’s why she reckoned she thought of him so much. There was something about his aura, and those beautiful eyes, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw him.

“Hello.”

“Are you a fool?” He replied, towering over her as he stood across her.

“Maybe.” She replied. “Or maybe I just want to be your friend.”

“That would make you a fool.” Uncharacteristic for a faerie, he sat down next to her, and handed her another feather- a Great Horned Owl.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and she immediately watched his stoic expression switch to a frown.

“You weren’t supposed to say that.”

“I wasn’t aware that this was a test.” __ shrugged, twisting the Owl feather between her fingers. “So, what do I owe you?”

The Faerie looked at her, baffled, and cocked an eyebrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it, merely shaking his head in response.

“You wanting to involve yourself with the Fae takes the fun out of all of this, you do know that, correct?” He sighed, and __ merely giggled.

“Am I making your job difficult?”

“No, no, just interesting.”

“Well, you were the one who pushed me from the ring and brought me a gift. From my side, it feels like you’re the one who’s seeking me out.”

“Perhaps I’m looking for companionship.” __ felt her heart skip a beat as her eyes locked with his. Before she thought they were a light shade of bluish gray, but under the canopy of leaves, they looked a deep green. Maybe his eyes were magic, too.

“My name is __.” __ smiled, taking a feather and reaching it out to brush it gently against the bridge of his nose, causing him to jump back in confusion. “And yes, that is my real name. __ __. Use it at your will.”

“Are you that bored?” A slight chuckle passed the lips of the Fae as he shook his head. “Or are you that trusting?”

“Perhaps a little mix of both…” She trailed off, searching for the name of the Fae across from her. He blinked at her slowly, the mechanics of his mind working out whether or not he could trust her with his own name or not. She smiled softly as she watched his thought process, fiddling with the feather in her hands as she did.

“My name is Akaashi Keiji.” He smiled softly. “You may call me Keiji.”

“Keiji.” The name felt like honey butter against her lips and she smiled, bidding him farewell using his lovely name, Keiji, and skipping back to her house.

The friendship that blossomed between the two was unusual, yet __ had somehow managed to keep it a secret from her mother. It wasn’t difficult to sneak around, especially since her poor mother had been bedridden for quite some time. It had gotten to the point where it was worrying, her rendezvous with her companion cut short, and missed as the weeks progressed. Keiji still left small gifts on her windowsill, almost as a beacon for her to visit him, yet she felt overwhelming guilt at the thought of her leaving her poor mother alone in a terrible time. Between praying to every deity for her mother's safety, and attempts to nurse her mother back to health, she found it hard to think about anything else besides her mother, even if the word “Keiji” found itself tumbling off her lips at random times throughout the day.

Then, as his name fell from her lips once as she brewed her mother a chamomile tea, she realized her situation. Keiji, he was a Faerie, he could heal her mother. The adrenaline of this realization ran through her body like lightning, and as soon as she handed her mother her tea and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead, she left through the front door and sprinted through the woods.

Keiji must have felt her energy, because as soon as she stumbled towards the ring, he was already there. She looked like a decent mess, the hem of her skirt and her knees covered in grass stains from tripping over herself. Keiji looked at her in surprise and what he could only describe as his form of excitement.

“Oh, Keiji, Keiji.” She gasped, attempting to catch her breath. “Can you please help me?”

“You’re aware everything comes at a cost, correct?” He muttered, offering her a seat next to him on the grass. She sat down quickly, then grabbed his hands in hers, causing him to flinch at the slightest.

“Keiji, please, my mother…” __ still struggled to catch her breath, a mix between sprinting and her adrenaline. “My mother has been gravely ill for quite awhile and I’m afraid she isn’t going to make it much longer.”

“And you would like me to…”

“Please make her better. I will do absolutely anything in return.”

“Ah, health.” Keiji sighed deeply and cocked his head. “It isn’t impossible for me. When your mother wakes up tomorrow morning, she will be in perfect health. Memories of her illness will be faded and distant and she will be up and active just as she was before she was ill.”

“Are you serious?” __ responded, almost giddy, a smile cracking on her face.

“Yes. It’s very possible. However, you are aware that there is a heavy price to pay.”

“God, Keiji, I gave you my name when we first met, I don’t care about prices.”

“Well, this one might be different for you.” He blinked slowly, catching __’s gaze. “In return for your mothers health, your mortality belongs to me.”

“Woah.” __ inhaled sharply, then exhaled deeply. “So, does that mean that I have to die, you own me until I die or-”

“It means you’ll have to live in limbo between your realm and mine for the rest of my eternity.”

“Immortality doesn’t seem so bad.”

“You might eat your words.”

“Do I still get to see my mother?”

“Yes, until you gradually outlive her then-”

“Well I would’ve outlived her eventually.”

“You’re insatiable, woman.” Keiji sighed, rubbing his temples. “Is there seriously nothing wrong with giving away your precious human life to a Fae?”

“Not when it’s you, Keiji.”

__ watched his eyes roll into the back of his head, then watched his chest rise and fall heavily. Soft hands fell onto hers, and her eyes met his.

“You’re completely and utterly confident in your decision?” Keiji asked once more, almost insecure about their transaction.

“Yes, Keiji. My mother means everything to me.” __ nodded.

“Enough to give yourself away to me?”

“Well-” __ paused, giving his gentle hands a squeeze, “This is just a win win situation for me.”

She watched as Keiji’s frown twisted into a silhouette of a smile, and his hands crept up her arms, up to her shoulders, and he pushed her gently back against the soft grass beneath them.

“In all my years I’ve never met somebody quite as insane as you, my dear __ __.”

“And yet here we are. I’m the one you chose to give my mortality up to you.”

“Yes I did.”

Keiji leaned down and ever so gently kissed the tip of her nose, her cupid's bow, then her lips. __ all but eagerly kissed back, the softness of his lips something completely foreign to her. A shiver of excitement ran up her spine as she kissed him back, her hands running up his back to bury themselves in a mess of wavy black hair.

“You’re so enticing.” Keiji muttered against her lips. “I was waiting for this.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me to come crying over my mother to have me.” __ giggled. “You’ve had me all along.”

A guttural groan came from the back of Keiji’s through as he kissed her again, deeper and rougher than the first time.

“A human has never made me feel this way before.”

“And I take that as an honor.”

__ buried her nose in the crook of Keiji’s neck, kissing his collarbone then ever so gently nipping her teeth against his copper flesh. She felt him sigh against her cheek as she kissed his collarbone rougher, then trailing a mix of gentle and bruising kisses up the column of his neck.

“If I’m going to be yours forever…” __ cradled Keiji’s face in her hands as she kissed him on the lips once again, “You’re going to have to show me how worth it it’ll be.”

Keiji wasted no time in crashing his lips into hers, kissing her so gently, so feverishly it brought chills up her spine. Her arms snaked around his neck again, kissing him deeper, deeper, feeling every pulse in her body beat for him. Heaven knows she’s wanted this, it was even more enticing now that it was magically bound. She felt his cold hands run under the hem of her dress, and wordlessly she let him slip it off of her body and over her head- she wanted to be exposed for him. It was silly, foolish, throwing herself at a man like this, it was something completely foreign to her, yet lit a spark inside of her core the more she thought about it. The embarrassment and inevitable realization was sure to come later, but in the meantime, as Keiji began to place cold, gentle kisses below her navel, the only thing she could focus on was him. His fingers danced over the sculpt of her hip bones, and eventually, the softness of her inner thighs.

“Dare I ask for your consent?” He muttered, leaving __ giggling.

“After I sell my soul to you?”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to be respectful.” Keiji hummed, his hands running up her body again and leaving goosebumps in their wake. __ sat in silence, unaware of what his next move would be. Her heart was in her throat as Keiji got closer and closer in between her legs, and he could tell. When he reached the seam of her bloomers he chuckled deeply, and placed a deep, open mouth kiss against the fabric. She all but jumped, the feeling wasn’t foreign ate her own hand, but being caught engaging in these activities with the boys in her village was taboo, and she was far from being experienced. She wondered if Keiji wordlessly knew, or assumed she knew what she was doing. Nevertheless, Keiji gently slipped her bloomers off of shaking legs, and wasn’t late to rubbing at her slit.

“Oh!” She jumped, completely surprised. She hadn’t anticipated him finding her sweet spot so quick, let alone touching her at all. Keiji paused for a minute to unbutton his thin shirt, and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him. His skin was the most beautiful shade of tan, she noticed, her eyes running up and down his torso and noticing the veins that webbed around his sculpted arms. Next were his trousers, he was expressionless as he did this, and it would’ve been frightening if she hadn’t previously learned that he majored in stoicism. When his member popped out of his boxers, she let out a tiny exhale. It seemed perfect, pretty even, and definitely wasn’t lacking. She moved to throw her bra off of her, she found no shame now in being completely exposed to him. Their bond was eternal from here. And as if it were on instinct, she opened her legs more for him, which was greeted with more rubbing against her clit.

“Oh god, Keiji.” She threw her head back and whimpered. Her eyes blurred for a moment as she focused on the full moon above her, and all the stars that danced around it. She found it harder and harder to keep herself propped up on her elbows, her high chasing her the more he moved against her.

Her arms collapsed underneath her, and the moment her back hit the grass, the first heavy wave of her orgasm hit her, a deep and heavy sigh escaping her as it did. His name was all she could moan as she rode out her high, strangled breaths leaving her mouth afterwards. It hit her like a train, the pure and unholy satisfaction of pleasure wasn’t foriegn to her, but in this circumstance, it left her dripping onto the grass below them. This didn’t go unnoticed by him, he ran one finger up her slit, which caused her to jolt from her after high sensitivity. Keiji merely smirked, leaning over her body to catch her lips in a kiss once again.

“Kei-” She stammered against his lips, trying to prop herself back up on her arms to look up at the gorgeous Fae who she was enamored with. “Keiji.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Oh god, Keiji, fuck me.”

There was a foreign thrill of being exposed in nature the way her and Keiji were at the moment. She could feel her heartbeat all throughout her body as Keiji positioned himself above her, his lips on her chest as he got a feel for her body. An owl hooted off in the distance, crickets chirped and other gentle sounds of nature were all that she could hear besides Keiji’s gentle breaths. In one slow, fluid movement, he slid himself inside of her to the hilt. She almost felt paralized, nothing else dared cross her mind besides Keiji. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she kissed him. The numb pain was worth it, anything was worth being close to him.

“You’re doing so well.” His voice was still so monotonous, it spawned butterflies in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak again, but at that moment Keiji pulled out and slammed into her again, only ammitting a small, gentle squeak from her. Keiji began to rut into her at an even pace, leaving her wordless and tingling on the earth below. She let out another pathetic moan, wishing she could do more for him from her submissive position.

“You’re so fucking-” She stopped to sigh, then grabbed at the roots of the grass underneath her. “You’re so fucking etheral, Keiji.”

Keiji chuckled in response, his thrusts getting deeper and deeper the more he moved. The feeling of being exposed to him and mother nature sent chills across her bare body. She wished she could do more for him, make him feel better too, but her had her locked in this pathetic position, all she could do was spread her legs further apart and let him fuck her senselessly.

And he did. The soft pants that came from his parted lips made her feel even more full than before, and the more she thought about the way he stretched her, the wetter she felt herself become. This didn’t go unnoticed by Keiji at all, him making a comment on how she was such a good girl. Her senses were clouded by chills and sex and butterflies in her stomach.

“You’re doing so good.” Keiji hummed, yet his monotonous voice sounded a little more strangled. “I’m gonna come.”

“Come inside me.” She muttered, not even thinking. “I’m yours.”

Moments later, with a gentle groan, his thrusts came to a halt, and spilled himself inside of her. She felt fuller, fuller than before, and warm. She sighed softly, holding him against her with his cock buried deep inside of her still.

“Am I worth it for forever?” She asked, her fingers running through his hair as she kissed his forehead gently. “Do you really want me forever?”

“Yes.” Keiji hummed, kissing her back. “And I wish you found me sooner.”

#akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!!#anime #haikyuu scenarios #fairytale #fae #magic #cottagecore #forestcore

84 notes · View notes

babyjiminiexx · 5 years ago

Text

Angel On Fire

Sinopsis/Chapter 1/Chapter ?

Demon!BTS (Only Taehyung for now) X AngelTurnedToDemon!reader

When you fell in love with him you had never thought you would get caught and pay for it. But here you are now, body fuming with hate and ready to sow the pain with every step you take.

-------------

Warnings: For now only some graphic details, if i continue this this will probably have smut and angst, polygamy and mention of blood... i think

Author's Note: As my first official fic here i wanted to do something that could easily continue as a series, i would appreciate it a lot if you guys could give me some feedback and tell me what you think about me doing a serie, so now i hope you'll enjoy it and like the idea!! 💖 (Also a Seraphim is like the figure of authority in the angel world, the angel below God)

-------------

"How could you, y/n? We trusted you! HE trusted you!"

The Seraphim was standing right in front of you, powerful; radiating such a strong aura and light, all fed by his anger, that you were almost blinded by it. His voice was powerful. Everybody was quiet, not daring to say a word to contradict or interrupt him; they were all too scared of the consequences.

"You were one of our bests! You swore loyalty to us and to this kingdom, and you betrayed us!", he continued, "This is unacceptable!"

Rare were the times that an angel disobeyed the laws of the Land of God. No one dared to do it, yet the prices of committing such a sin was exile. Exile to Hell.

"I cannot let you stay here. You know the rules...", he finally said.

"Please, please, Great Seraphim... Don't let me fall! Don't be the one pushing me!", you pleaded between tears, "Don't be the one having my torment and my misery on your conscience, please!"

"You have nothing left to say up here. Like I said, you betrayed us. You. Who never failed us. Who excelled in her category. All for a demon boy", he spat, "And look what it cost you; your own wings. You stopped having them the moment you let him enter your soul"

You were completely aware of why you were here, being judged. You let yourself fall in the arms of a demon. That being the worst thing an angel could do. You gave yourself to him, letting him eat you alive. Letting him absorb all you light and all your power. You were nothing anymore in the Land of God. Your place was the Netherworld now. But even tho you knew it and knew that you had to pay for your sins, you weren't ready to leave all of this behind. This land of light, of love, of respect and beauty, for the land of the miserable, the outcast and the killers...

"I can't beg any more, Great Seraphim... I beg you please to let me stay here... I won't make it in the Netherworld and you know it! All of you know it!", you turned to a judging audience. They were all looking at you with despise; you could feel it.

"Please...", you continued, "I can't do this... It was all a mistake and I am aware of it! Please don't make me lose my home, all of you are the only thing I have!"

"I am sorry, y/n... You know you have to be punished... And I have no choice but letting you fall... You have to pay."

And with these last words, you started falling. Falling for what it seemed to be hours. You knew the Seraphim made it like so on purpose, so you could think about your mistakes over and over again until the big landing.

You regretted everything. Every word, every touch, every eye contact you could have with this demon. You were so blinded by love you didn't even think about how much it would have costed you if you had been caught. And now, thinking about it, none of that was worth the emptiness and the pain you were feeling.

Images of you and the demon boy running through your head over and over again; never ending. You started to feel what your superiors called "madness". You wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry, all at the same time, and perhaps that's what you did.

Until you finally woke up on a flat and what you thought was a hot surface. It was insanely hot. So hot it was painful, like something had torn you apart. When you tried to sit down, you realized. It wasn't a hot surface. You touched your back carefully, and you felt how your two beautiful wings had been replaced by two enormous and deep cuts that were taking almost your whole back. You didn't say a word, you didn't even scream. The pain of losing your home was worse than any physical pain. You didn't know how long you stayed that way, embracing your knees and crying in silence, but the distant screams made you come back to reason. You knew where you were, there was no place for cries. This was Hell. A land were everything and everyone could eat you alive if you made the mistake of showing any sign of weakness. So even though your pain was almost unbearable, you decided to take the small amount of energy you had left in your body and got up.

"So, here's the fallen angel then...", a raspy voice came to you through the darkness. You turned around, looking at every corner of the dark room you were in.

"Who's there?!", you asked. In a second, what seemed to be a boy made his way to you. No, he wasn't a boy, he was way more than that. You could barely see his face, but what you could see perfectly were his eyes, his flames red eyes. Piercing right through your soul.

"You will know about me soon enough. Now, if you make me the honor of following me, I have a place to take you to", he extended his hand. You knew it wouldn't be smart of you to resist, you knew perfectly were he would be taking you. Your arrival had to be noticed. And with that, you took his hand and he walked you out of the room.

The boy didn't say a word during the whole walk through the dark halls of what you assumed was a sort of castle. The only thing you could see of him was his jet black hair and feel the coldness of his hand.

A few instances later, you arrived to a gigantic double door. "So that's what the door looks like...", you thought to yourself. You had read about this door in your books so many times, yet, you couldn't stop but feel this anxiety running through your body when you first saw it. You wanted to run away, but you knew it wouldn't do any good for you.

"He's waiting for you...", the boy said in his raspy voice before opening the door for you. You felt a hot breath coming out of it, like it was embracing your body and pulling you into the room. When you entered, you only saw a fireplace and a few red seats; the rest of the room was dark.

"Here you are my dear...", this was the coldest yet the most powerful voice you've ever heard. Not even the Great Seraphim had the same tone, the same... Aura. Just by the sound of it you could feel all the hair stand straight up on your body.

"H-here I am...", you said, eyes locked on the man that was getting up from his seat. That man. The one you had feared the most. The one you read about so much. The Devil in person. Right in front you, powerful, imposing. You'd never thought about a precise image of him, if he was a soul, an actual body or, like humans thought, a humanoid goat; but him appearing like this surprised you. He was wearing an entire black suit, his hair perfectly combed back. Like his all being was too perfect to be real.

"I am glad you finally made it, my lady. We were dying to meet you", he said showing his best smile, "So, I suppose you are eager to see your dear lover again... Right?"

"I am...", you answered, your voice full of hate. And just when you opened your mouth you realized how much air you where holding in.

"Good, good... Bring the boy in", he growled. All of the sudden, the same door you entered by opened again, showing you clearly a way too familiar figure. You never knew you could feel so much hate; where you are from, hate is not a common feeling, you'd rather avoid it. But now, your whole body was burning by it.

"Taehyung", you murmured to the boy, now in front of you. He was directly looking at you; his dark red eyes you knew and once loved so much. But you couldn't describe his expression. He was only smiling.

"My dear boy, would you mind explaining my beautiful guest why she is here on this day?", the Devil politely asked him, giving him a strong shoulder grip. "Of course, Master", Taehyung smiled, "You'll see my dear... I'd never thought I would see you here..." "But that means everything worked according to the plan..."

"What plan?", you interrupted, feeling again your body being flooded by anxiety and fear. Taehyung paused and chuckled. "You really thought I could love you?", you felt the rest of the little heart that was still in you explode. You felt broken. Pain. More pain. You hated him for making you love him and lose you wings, and now the hate was growing and growing, like it could stop. But you didn't do anything. It was like you couldn't move. You couldn't speak either.

"You really thought I would love an angel?", he laughed, "No, dear. I had to make you come down here. And you fell for me. You are one of us now."

Tears of pain and anger started falling from your pale blue eyes that were now slowly turning red. You felt your whole body combust and started to feel a whole new type of power entering it.

"You are condemned to live here with us forever", he said while caressing your cheek, "You can cry and hate me all you want, you are trapped here now. That's what happens when you fall in love with a demon..." And with that he left with a laugh, followed by his Master. You were now alone in the room, crying and screaming like something had possessed you. It wasn't a feeling you were used to, but the only thing you know was that it felt right. So right. You were filled with hate. You wanted to make him suffer, just the way he made you suffer. Everything was turning dark around you, and even though a few days earlier you would have felt so opressed by the simple idea of being trapped between these dark sheets, you were now feeling fed by them. You felt right. Almost like you belong there. The little part of kindness, empathy and light that were still in you were now long gone; so you dried out your tears, feeling no more than the thirst for revenge, the thirst for power. If your punishment for loving a demon was being condemned to live by his side for eternity, this was going to be his worse eternity.

MASTERLIST

99 notes · View notes

atinytokki · 3 years ago

Text

The Windy Road

ix. The Ghost Friend

The fish were thinning.

Some accident must have befallen them on their northern migration for the summer — pollution or overfishing due to the new military activity near the archipelago perhaps— and it was to the loss of the Song business.

The dry summer followed a dreary spring, which followed a dreary winter, which followed a dreary autumn.

Mingi had often seen Dahye and Bosung out in town on their way to and from school and various other outings.

He couldn’t tell whether Dahye truly had feelings for Bosung or not, but the backstabbing neighbour seemed to think she did and followed her around like a lost puppy.

It was sickening to watch.

When they both finished their courses of study, Mingi had some reprieve, but it was only until the day he woke up to see Dahye packing her trunks into a carriage and setting out for the capital. Her parents were sending her to start work there and as much as Mingi wanted to follow— to run away together and have a wild adventure in the city— his own family needed him. Badly.

With his mother’s occupation exposed, there had been a period where hardly anyone would buy from the Song fish stall at all.

In time it passed, and Mingi was thankful for the work but it was the type of work that felt like digging their own graves as they tried to save themselves from falling on hard times.

His father needed help with the business and his mother needed protection from slanderers. And Minseok was never coming back, so that meant Mingi was for all intents and purposes, the eldest. The responsible son. The adult.

A fire had been started and Mingi was fighting to keep up with it.

“I asked around at the market and there are hardly any in the usual places,” Father told him over the dinner table while the pair sat with the map in front of them.

“Bluefish, tuna, monkfish… I don’t know why, but they haven’t appeared and they’re long overdue.”

Mingi nodded and continued picking at the small scratch in the wood surface. “What did the other fishers find?”

“There were plenty of shellfish and carp,” Father sighed, and they both knew that wouldn’t last them the season unless they jacked up the price.

Mingi was tired of shellfish.

“You want to try eel?” He suggested, and Father looked affronted so he went on to explain. “Look inland for it, freshwater rivers and such. You’ll be able to sell at a higher price without question because it’s a delicacy.”

Father sat back and watched him for a moment, considering it.

“Alright, I’ll go to Ineo and see if I can find any at the end of the week, but it may be a long trip. I don’t want to end up wasting my time.”

Mingi nodded with something akin to excitement inside. It was fulfilling to be heard every once in awhile. He’d be eighteen next month, so it was about time he was treated as an adult.

The sound of the first few raindrops drumming on the wooden roof crescendoed into a torrential downpour while they looked out the window at the ocean.

Finally some miserable weather to match his mood.

It was the time of year when it could be deadly out there and Mingi was at least relieved Father would be safe inland and far away from the typhoons that plagued Panhang.

A fog began to cover the sea with the growing intensity of the warm rain meeting cool ocean water, and it created a spooky atmosphere that made Mingi remember an old story from his childhood.

“Hongjoong said it happened once with the gourami,” Mingi whispered as he lit a fire in the lantern on the table. “They just disappeared one season and came back like nothing happened the next. No one knew why, but some of the locals blamed it on a sea monster.”

Father turned to observe his reaction to mentioning Hongjoong when he stumbled over the name. It still hurt to think about him sometimes, dead at the bottom of the sea after being caught up in a pirate’s affairs. Mingi had been checking over his shoulder every day since for his ghost, haunting him as punishment for his idiotic behaviour.

They were his childhood— Hongjoong, Dahye, and Bosung. Without them, Mingi felt like he’d lost part of his own identity.

“You are more than your circumstances,” another voice shook him out of it, and there was Mother to encourage him. “That’s a truth I know well.”

“You’ll take care of your mother while I’m gone?” Father instructed, more of a command than a question, standing to wrap her in his arms before she ventured out into the night.

“Of course,” Mingi answered, joining the hug and relishing it while he could.

Everything else may have changed, but the three of them were still together.

It was difficult to say goodbye when Father set out with his smaller nets stuffed into the bag on his back, hiking southwest to meet the Chigu river. Mother refused to let Mingi walk her to town each night when she went to work, knowing her employer would be angry with her for doing so, but it made him feel useless to sit by the window and watch her walk away, keeping her head down and away from those who would mock her. Usually the angry townspeople dispersed after she left the house, but the whole affair made him uneasy every evening.

The rains continued into the next week, and Mingi began to understand how it might’ve been that night that Hongjoong’s parents died.

He wanted to cover as much area as possible but gave the rocks a wide berth while he could see them, adjusting the sails quickly to reach his traps and collect them before he lost the sunlight.

Rain poured into his eyes and the nagging voice in the back of his head berated him for not bringing a hat.

“I’ll have to buy one in town when I sell these,” he muttered to himself, hauling the last crate over the side and setting it down with the others.

He was cold, sore, and soaked to the bones but nevertheless took his time returning to shore, peering through the grey sheets of rain to make sure the rocks were still a good distance from him.

Father would be perturbed that he went out on the ocean alone, but they couldn’t afford to miss a day’s catch— even a poor one. They still had Minseok’s debts to pay.

While he stood at the stall, accompanied only by fish buried in ice, doing an adequate job selling his wares by emulating his father’s booming merchant voice, he wished more than ever that Hongjoong was still there.

They could have had the entire load done in half the time and maybe even gone searching for places where the sea was rich with catches with the extra hours.

Instead Mingi was left to pack his things and trudge home when the market closed to sit, shivering, by the fire with a book in his lap that he was only half paying attention to.

For a summer evening, the wind carried a strange chill and somewhere the sea goddess must have heard him, because a miracle came that night.

A knock at the door startled Mingi out of his reading. It was well past midnight, and highly unlikely either of his parents had returned, so he approached with caution, peering through the window.

Whoever had knocked was now slumped on the doorstep, having slipped in the rain. It looked like someone who needed help, not someone who wanted to kill him.

Mingi threw the door open and knelt by the huddled form, placing a hand on the bony shoulder gently.

A head shot up and even through the rain streaking down his cheeks, Mingi knew who it was.

He recognised all the angles of his face, the way he carried himself, even that nervous look in his eyes.

“Hongjoong?”

Slowly Hongjoong got to his feet, still staring at him with hesitation, like he wasn’t sure whether he would be accepted or not.

“Hongjoong—” Mingi’s voice broke and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug, clinging on and crying like he was afraid to lose him again. Tears mixed with rain dripped down his face, and his sobs were muffled in the cloak Hongjoong was wearing.

“It’s me,” Hongjoong whispered, rocking gently from side to side and reaching up to stroke the back of his head. “I’m here.”

A shiver from Hongjoong broke the spell, and Mingi pulled him inside, closing the door behind him. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners, you must be freezing...”

He ran to the linen closet to pull out some towels while Hongjoong attempted to explain what he was doing here all of a sudden.

“I tried docking all along the archipelago and even further south, but there was too much navy presence at every other port and I didn’t know where I...” he said, accepting the towel and wrapping it around himself. “I didn’t want to intrude but I needed shelter.”

“You could never intrude,” Mingi rushed you reassure him. “We... I thought you were dead.”

Hongjoong froze and stared at him for a moment before blinking it away and wandering into the living room.

As he looked around, a strange expression came over his face. It suddenly occurred to Mingi that he hadn’t been in here since the Song family moved in, years ago.

But the weight of that fact was buried under a lot more unspoken pain Mingi didn’t know about.

Once they were settled in chairs and Hongjoong was adequately dried off, Mingi played host.

“Father’s on a trip and Mother’s out... working. Minseok’s bed is always free. So you can stay the night if you need to.”

Hongjoong sighed and smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Or you can stay here as long as you like,” Mingi shrugged with a withering smile, still too embarrassed to ask him to stay forever outright. “I take it you aren’t returning to Jangwon.”

Hongjoong stiffened and nodded quickly.

After a moment more of sitting around awkwardly, Mingi just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Hongjoong, where have you been? What happened?”

His appearance now was a third outcome Mingi hadn’t considered, and it was eating him up inside the more he wondered what had taken place.

There was a tense silence that followed the question before Hongjoong met his gaze.

Tears swam in his eyes but they didn’t fall. He was shaking his head slightly as if he wasn’t even sure where to begin. He pursed his lips and it occurred to Mingi that he probably didn’t even want to.

“Well, that’s alright,” Mingi coughed uncomfortably, heading towards the stairs and listening to the quiet sound of Hongjoong following. “You can tell me tomorrow. You look like you need the sleep.”

This Hongjoong had been to hell and back. He was a ghost, a shadow of Hongjoong.

Not until he was asleep did the darkness lift for awhile.

Mingi watched him from his own bed, trying not to stare at the scars decorating his bare collarbone, or the way his ribcage jutted out from beneath flimsy fabric. Whatever he had been eating, it wasn’t enough. If he wasn’t swimming in his clothes, Mingi would offer his own. From how small he looked lying there it was obvious Mingi towered over him even more now.

When drowsiness came over him, a small voice in the back of his head allowed itself to celebrate.

After an agonising year of merely surviving in this stale town while his life slipped out of his control, Hongjoong came back to him. He was really back.

Perhaps Mingi wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

On waking to an otherwise empty room the next morning, Mingi wondered in a panic if he’d simply dreamed the encounter.

But there Hongjoong was, downstairs in the kitchen, cooking him a humble breakfast and clutching a cup of tea like a lifeline.

“You’re already up?” Mingi questioned softly, concern seeping into his voice. “You seemed exhausted last night...”

“I’m not really able to sleep much more than a couple hours at a time,” Hongjoong confessed, laying a plate on the table in front of his host. He continued to explain, seeing the clear curiosity in Mingi’s eyes. “Sailing solo against the currents and amongst all the trade route traffic will do that to you.”

“Let me get this straight,” Mingi pressed, swallowing a gulp of his own tea and pulling Hongjoong into the chair across from him. “You survived the naval ambush reported in all the papers and bulletins a year ago, and sailed here all by yourself without sleeping properly on what ship, exactly?”

Hongjoong bit his lip like he was having second thoughts before sighing and getting to his feet, motioning Mingi to follow him.

“I left her at our old spot on the beach,” he told him, following the familiar path down the cliffside. “She’s not much, but I think I’ve grown attached.”

By the time they reached the water, Mingi was bursting with curiosity. Hongjoong let him take a good look at the little boat sitting there, tied to the dock just north of them before he said anything.

It wasn’t the most impressive vessel Mingi had ever seen, a bit smaller than the Song fishing boat and composed of mismatched wood and sheets, but as Hongjoong went on, its appearance began to make sense.

“The bulletins were correct about the Stardust going down,” he told him through a strained throat. “This is all that is left of her.”

“You built this,” Mingi breathed, astounded. “Out of what, the wreckage? You must not have been on the open ocean when it was sunk, then. Unless you’ve gained the ability to dive hundreds of feet while carrying soaked lumber…”

Hongjoong snorted and shook his head, loving eyes on the little bobbing boat he had made. That thing was probably as close a companion as Mingi had been once, and it prompted him to ask what he’d been meaning to since yesterday.

“I guess the only question I have left is... where were you in the meantime?” He kept his voice low, afraid to startle Hongjoong out of his daze while he continued to stare at the boat. “I mean, a whole year has passed since word of the sinking of the Stardust. I always assumed you had-had, you know... drowned.”

There was a restrained silence for a few moments, and Mingi had quietly decided to try again later when his guest had been given more time to recover from the experience, but to his great surprise he suddenly received his answer.

“I don’t know what happened to Eden but his body wasn’t with the shipwreck when I returned to it. We were separated and I drifted ashore,” Hongjoong nearly whispered, digging his bare foot into the sand absently. It was probably too soon to be talking about it but Mingi couldn’t help himself. “I survived on an uninhabited island day by day through...” he trailed off again like he wasn’t sure he wanted to go into detail. “Through so many scrapes with death that I needed to find a way off. No one was coming to get me and I’d been there 292 days.”

Mingi followed his gaze past the boat and out to the ocean. It was cruel and unpredictable, even from his pleasant view here on the shore. He couldn’t imagine traversing it on his own, dead to the world and surviving a nightmare.

And to think it was his own loose lips that had caused all this...

“I’m so sorry,” Mingi choked, lowering his head. “About Eden and- and everything that happened to you. And being abandoned in the wild for that long? I can’t even imagine it. I probably wouldn’t have lasted a day,” he brushed Hongjoong in the shoulder lightly with a teary smile to lift the mood.

“You’re more resourceful than you think,” Hongjoong reminded him as he took his hand and squeezed it. “I was.”

Together they climbed the hill back to the house and watched the sunrise through the windows. The skies promised sunshine for once, and it was a welcome guest.

Mingi watched Hongjoong clean up the dishes then root around for more to fill his empty stomach with and considered how they’d both come full circle.

His first friend, the one he should have stuck with through everything, back to being a ghost boy and floating through this shell of a house as if he was haunting it.

Now hopefully he’d lead a quiet life, recovering from everything that had clearly already traumatised him, settling down with a trade he liked, maybe a family of his own.

And Mingi would be right there to support him. He’d never make the mistake of leaving his side again.

Although, he would have to explain things to his mother when she came home.

Speaking of Mother…

Mingi busied himself by hurrying around the cottage, cleaning up after Hongjoong. He’d tracked wet sand all over the place with his bare feet, there was a spot of dirt on the sofa where he’d been sitting, and the sheets on Minseok’s bed probably needed changing.

Generally, Mingi didn’t take much notice of the state of cleanliness the house was in, but as resident caretaker of it and an almost-adult, he felt the need to make the place presentable and also take good care of his guest.

“Hyung, do you happen to have a change of clothes?” Mingi called from the sitting room, glancing over to see Hongjoong turn sharply from where he was stuffing his face with toast and blink in surprise a few times.

“Everything I own is at Jangwon or the bottom of the sea,” he informed him, speaking with his mouth still full. “So, no.”

Mingi muffled his laugh at Hongjoong’s loss of manners and went to draw water for him to bathe in. He’d been alone in the wild for so long that it was hardly surprising to have banished all thought and memory of high society, but the fact that he also had untreated wounds and tattered rags hanging off him was a little more urgent in Mingi’s eyes.

“Let’s wash off some of that dirt first,” Mingi instructed, leading Hongjoong from the kitchen and into the bathroom, not prepared to have to drag him away and throw him in the tub, but unrelenting when that was the case.

It was a good thing he spent so much time hauling the squirming catches in his fishnets around, considering Hongjoong was as untamed as the ocean and of no mind to be scrubbed like a child, though that was what Mingi decided to do anyway.

“You’re shaking,” he frowned when Hongjoong finally stilled, fingers clutching the lip of the tub until he had a chance to grab the cleaning rag from him and scrub himself. “Is the water cold?”

Hongjoong shook his head, refusing to look at him, and snatched up the towel when Mingi offered it with a successful smile.

Now he was all clean and smooth again.

Eventually the new roughness around the edges would weather away too.

“Though we should most definitely get you something... else... to wear,” Mingi laughed when Hongjoong discovered a new hole in the shirt he’d been forcibly removed from.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” he started to say, but Mingi cut him off by handing him an outfit of his own for the meantime.

“No, I meant to take a trip to the market this morning anyway. Let’s just be sure to return before Mother does.”

For Hongjoong’s sake, Mingi decided he could miss a day’s fishing after all.

The first stop was the clothing booth, where they’d bought fabrics on Hongjoong’s birthday almost three years ago. It felt like much longer when a burning wave of nostalgia washed over him, but Mingi busied himself by looking for a hat like he’d meant to yesterday and didn’t dwell on it. He had a lot of regrets about that year.

Hongjoong wasn’t exactly shopping, mostly just standing around and watching the goings-on with a shrewd eye.

“Stop staring at people, you don’t want to end up back at Jangwon,” Mingi admonished nervously before steering him to another section of the booth. “Here, get yourself some shoes.”

It took over an hour to get him into a pair of boots he wouldn’t complain about and Mingi threw in a shirt, jacket, and pair of breeches for good measure when he went to buy them along with his hat.

“I know you like jewellery,” Mingi suggested as they returned to the main road, steering Hongjoong out of the way of some rowdy women in the middle of the road. “Let me introduce you to the latest styles in fashion.”

“I’m not a child,” Hongjoong groaned, brushing his hands off and striding ahead a few paces in rebellion.

“I know you aren’t,” Mingi explained, taking a couple steps to keep up with him. “I’m just… trying to make up for not spending more time with you when we were children.”

Hongjoong didn’t reply but slowed down and glanced up at his host with a nod that told him he was forgiven. “Yes, I do like jewellery.”

He fumbled with the chain of a necklace he already wore, a crystal swinging from it that Mingi didn’t recognise, and made a turn onto the street where the store was.

Deciding not to press Hongjoong about anything else, Mingi settled for following him around and paying for the items he chose. It was the least he could do.

They ended up eating lunch in the corner of a pub, and Mingi struggled to keep up with Hongjoong’s drinking pace but was glad to get him talking again with some alcoholic lubrication.

“So where is this island?”

Hongjoong frowned in thought before pulling a wanted sign off the wall and sketching on it with a quill from the nearby table.

“Here,” he finally passed him a map with the coastline, archipelago, and colonies plotted on it, as well as some smaller islands to the south that Mingi hadn’t known about. “This one is where I was, to the best of my knowledge. Admiral Kim’s fire ships ambushed us here, and this was where the Stardust went down.”

Mingi scoffed and finally looked back up at him. “You memorised all that well enough to recreate it?”

“Well, it’s more or less accurate to a couple of coordinates—”

“Kim Hongjoong, I’m amazed at you,” Mingi laughed and sat back, taking a swig of his drink. He was suddenly very glad he had suggested the pub and not one of the tea houses.

“I’m happy to see you smile again,” Hongjoong told him warmly as he folded up the paper and pushed it to the side, suddenly deep in thought.

“All I wanted on that island was not to be alone anymore. Somehow despite that, being in the marketplace is too suffocating. It’s much better in here tucked into a corner with just the two of us.”

Another reason Mingi was glad to have chosen the pub. Everything was in the open and capable of being scrutinised at the tea house. It would have been total disaster if anyone from Jangwon was there.

“You know, I thought about you a lot while I was gone,” Hongjoong suddenly said and Mingi tilted his head in disbelief.

“Truly?”

“Yes, I agree with what you said earlier about regretting not spending more time together,” Hongjoong explained with a shallow sigh. “There were things I couldn’t have told you, but I feel I ought to have done better, and those words I said that night when I ran away…”

“I deserved them. I should have done better, too,” Mingi confessed softly. “And I will. This is a second chance, hyung. We can live our lives side-by-side from now on.”

They clinked their glasses together and downed them to seal the deal, and as they stood to leave Mingi noticed Hongjoong barefoot again and sat him down to lace up his boots.

“But not if you won’t keep your shoes on, for heaven’s sake…”

He laughed it off with Hongjoong as they walked back into the street, but behind closed doors, he knew what it was. Between the way he ate that oyster soup like it was his last meal, how easily disquieted he was, and his aversion to being touched without warning, Hongjoong was struggling to turn off his survival instincts. If it was as bad as Mingi thought, he might not be able to return to society. Not in any meaningful way.

For a while longer, they wandered the stalls and Mingi tried not to let it bother him. It was one of those days where the sun transitioned between blazing hot and being hidden behind the moving clouds, and a headache was growing behind his eyes as a result.

“What do you think of this one?” Hongjoong had to ask twice when Mingi couldn’t keep his eyes open and pay attention.

He was standing in between two anchors of different sizes and materials and Mingi couldn’t help but snort as he imagined Hongjoong trying to figure out how to move them down to the waterfront.

“An anchor? Why would you need an anchor?”

He was becoming irritable and Hongjoong knew it.

“You head back, I’ll look around for some other things to buy for the ATEEZ,” Hongjoong finally suggested instead of explaining himself.

“ATEEZ?” Mingi mumbled, putting up a hand to shade his eyes as the sun came out again.

“That’s what I’ve decided to call her,” came the response and Mingi gave an approving nod, dropped his money bag into Hongjoong’s hands, and trudged home to get in a nap.

Mother was there mending some clothes in the sitting room and Mingi provided her with a short explanation before escaping to his bed and evading all the following questions.

Sleep came over him gradually and wasn’t the most peaceful, not with the worry that Hongjoong was alone in the market gnawing at the back of his mind. He might get into a fight or steal something from a shop owner for all he knew, and as host Mingi would feel responsible for whatever harm might come to the stranger.

Perhaps he was treating Hongjoong too much like a child.

Thankfully, Mingi woke to the smell of dinner wafting through the house and the sight of his mother and guest sitting and eating peacefully. Hongjoong had brought back a canola flower bunch to decorate the table and upon seeing it, Mingi remembered the way he gave Dahye flowers once and became overly excited. It was as if the old Hongjoong was back.

The feeling didn’t last as supper went on when conversation fizzled out and Hongjoong, already finished with his meagre fish, would stare at nothing, reliving a horror he didn’t share.

He did an excellent job of hiding his fragile state when a dark memory overtook him, but Mingi was better at seeing it than Hongjoong was at pretending.

Mingi had noticed it before in the old sailors who fought in wars once. Hongjoong carried a type of pain with him that never faded, it only changed form.

“What do you intend to do with the ATEEZ?” Mingi asked to break the silence when the two of them sat outside under the stars, watching Mingi’s mother head to town for work.

“I’m not sure where I’ll go yet, but I want to sail,” Hongjoong answered, fiddling with his hands. “I have a feeling Eden is still out there…”

He trailed off quietly and neither of them spoke for a long time. If there was something he wanted to add, he was having trouble expressing it, so Mingi let the silence stretch on and considered whether Eden could be alive.

Hongjoong had survived, and Eden was much more experienced a pirate to begin with which certainly put it in the realm of possibilities.

But to hunt him down and join him would make Hongjoong a true pirate as well, and Mingi knew if he went down that road it would mean being pursued by enemies across the ocean for the rest of his days.

Not the quiet seaside life they’d envisioned earlier.

When the moon came out, the pair retired to bed. Questions of the future could wait at least a day longer, and the exhaustion of their outing had finally caught up with them.

Mingi should have anticipated the night terrors.

Muttering from the other bed awoke him sometime in the night and at first he ignored it, rolling over and pressing a pillow over his ears, but the sound of Hongjoong suddenly yelling had him sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Now he was breathing heavily and his thrashing grew in force until Mingi was genuinely worried and decided to wake him up.

“It’s just a dream, hyung, open your—”

Before he could finish, Hongjoong’s eyes flashed open and a hand shot out to switch their positions, choking Mingi fiercely before he realised who he was.

When had he gotten so strong?

“It’s me,” Mingi tried to say, mouth working with only a breathless grunt coming out of his sore throat, but it seemed to do the trick.

Hongjoong released him with a gasp and slowly moved away, shrinking into a ball and struggling to regain control of himself while Mingi recovered his breath.

“Are you alright?” He whispered, as if being quiet now could atone for the violent episode he’d just had.

Mingi expected him to be crying, releasing that tumultuous emotion somehow, but he simply stared at nothing again, knuckles white as he curled his fingers tightly in the blanket and waited for a reply.

No, I’m terrified, Mingi wanted to say. I could’ve died just now, you could have killed me…

“Just startled is all, it wasn’t your fault.” The rasp in his voice made him pause to swallow carefully. “Are… are you?”

“We don’t… keep secrets from each other,” he answered so quietly that Mingi could barely hear, but he knew what Hongjoong was admitting.

He wasn’t alright. He wouldn’t be for a long time, maybe not ever.

This wasn’t the same Hongjoong who left Mingi alone in the cold, weather-beaten town that had turned against the both of them. This was someone else, someone who was part wild beast himself now.

Mingi didn’t know how to help him, and it made him feel useless.

“You’re soaked,” he mentioned absently as he laid a careful hand on his shoulder and noticed the shirt he wore was doused in sweat. “Let’s get this off…”

He should have known what a mistake that was before pulling the cloth off for him and being greeted with a frightening collection of jagged scars running down Hongjoong’s back, but instead he opened his mouth to ask, stunned, “What happened?”

Mingi hadn’t noticed the marks during the bath, probably because of the way his guest had been pressed against the tub, hiding it from him.

Hongjoong scooted as far away as possible with the speed of a cornered animal and pulled the blankets up to his chin. “Please,” he insisted through his teeth, and he didn’t need to finish the sentence. Mingi knew what he was asking.

Don’t make me lie to you.

He looked like he’d nearly been clawed to death by something, but apparently it wasn’t worth telling Mingi, who may not have experienced anything remotely similar but was doing everything in his power to aid his recovery from it.

He couldn’t help the annoyance from seeping into his voice. “I’m just trying to help—”

“You should go back to bed,” Hongjoong cut him off, voice hoarse and eyes shining with something akin to regret. “You need to sleep.”

Instead Mingi tossed the shirt to the floor and marched outside, upset.

He knew it was his frustration at more than Hongjoong coming through, but despite his friend’s return, life still felt unfair.

He was alive, but in a strange state of limbo, where for long periods of time he might as well not be. He was with Mingi but deep down wanted to go somewhere else, wherever Eden was.

Mingi swallowed his tears before they presented themselves and tried to formulate a plan.

Hongjoong’s suffering wasn’t his alone. It might take time but if he could let Mingi in, they’d both be better equipped to handle it.

Mingi just needed to be patient.

He started by going back inside and crawling into bed. Hongjoong was either asleep or pretending to be, facing the opposite wall to avoid another confrontation.

The two didn’t argue until the following morning, when Mingi found his guest outside again, watching the ATEEZ bob up and down on the water below.

“Why do you expect me to be the same as I was before I left?” Hongjoong asked tiredly without looking at him. Mingi wasn’t sure how he even knew he had approached. “Haven’t you noticed that you changed as well?”

Mingi furrowed his brows and tried to understand. “Me? What on earth are you referring to?”

Hongjoong faced him with his jaw set and a cold look in his eyes. “You’re always trailing behind like you can’t let me out of your sight. I told you before, I’m not a child… or a mangy dog for that matter.”

Mingi bristled but kept his clenched fist by his side.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be as aloof and insensitive as your pirate friends,” he scoffed bitterly, and regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

Hongjoong got to his feet slowly and let his eyes rake over the little cottage he’d loved so dearly once.

“I think it’s best that I stay somewhere else.”

There was no emotion in his voice and it terrified Mingi.

“No, please, hyung! Don’t do this to me, don’t leave me again. I’ll do anything—”

Hongjoong sighed and raised a hand to stop him from going on. There was concern in his eyes that didn’t reach his voice as he explained, “Mingi, I could have killed you last night. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Mingi was partially relieved this suggestion had nothing to do with his sarcastic comment, but still got to his feet and blocked Hongjoong’s route to the sea.

“What does it matter if you do? I deserve it!”

“Don’t say that,” Hongjoong snapped immediately. “You didn’t do this. I know you want to help but—”

“Nothing can be done?” Mingi finished for him. “Are you completely certain of that fact? Let me at least try. Give me another chance, hyung, I’m begging you.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips and glanced away. For a moment he said nothing and simply let the wind ruffle his hair, deciding whether to part on such terms or relent and let Mingi redeem himself.

“I’ll make you a deal— and you know I’m not the gambling type,” Mingi broke the silence breathlessly, for once in his life taking the first step himself. “Work on your ship all you want, but do it here. I won’t interfere, and if you ultimately decide to leave on it, I won’t stop you. But please just try for me. Wear your boots and join society if you can. Promise you’ll do your best… because I can’t bear the thought of being separated from you again.”

Hongjoong’s eyes swam before meeting his and he let out a wet chuckle before scratching the back of his head. “You really want me here?”

“We won’t even make you help with the fishing,” Mingi promised with a growing smile. He knew he’d managed to convince him by the way Hongjoong let out that little amused snort and offered his hand to be shaken.

“Alright,” he sighed, resigned, before setting his eyes on the town. “I have other means of earning my keep.”

Mingi overlooked the dark undertone of that statement, relieved he’d managed to win back Hongjoong’s company.

“I’ll return for supper,” Hongjoong bade him farewell as he slung a bag over his shoulder. “The ATEEZ needs some work.”

He had his word, and that held good for Mingi. His heart was lighter as he returned to the kitchen and looked around for something to cook breakfast with.

Not fish this time, Hongjoong was probably sick of them.

Mingi looked out the window that pointed toward the road inland, with still no sign of Father. When he returned with his eels, it was likely he would try to enlist Hongjoong’s help in finding the elusive catches, and that would be a breach of the verbal contract Mingi had just made.

But even then, no fish for breakfast. If it was the only food available on a remote tropical island, Mingi could do better.

There weren’t many new fish in Panhang in the first place.

...

A/N: With only a few chapters left, we’ve reached a turning point both in the story and Mingi’s character! Let me know if you managed to connect past and present by leaving a comment, and have a great week <3

← Previous | Masterlist | Next →

2 notes · View notes

eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 5 years ago

Text

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 17 - WITH YOU, I AM BORN AGAIN.

Good evening all. I am re-posting the last two chapters of E-to-B so you can either catch up if you didn’t get a chance to read it or it is new to you. I will post Chapter 18 tomorrow night. The newest chapter will be posted most likely this Thursday. At the very latest Friday. Thank you for your patience in waiting for each chapter.

AND HAPPY WORLD OUTLANDER DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is a very, very long chapter. in fact it comes in at over 9300 words. I had considered breaking it up, but in the end, I felt it would lose some of the continuity if I did.

Also, when you think about this chapter this is a “making up” chapter. So at the end of the chapter, there is an NSFW scene. Please take this as an advisement if this is not your thing.

For the sake of the story, J&C are in business class on the plane. BUT, in order to make certain things happen, we must pretend that that darned console is not there.

Again the title of the chapter relates to a Motown song. The song to me represents coming together. There is a link at the end and I wound hope that you will listen to it. To me, it just says Jamie and Claire. I thought it very apropos considering what they went through in Boston and having almost lost each other. That is the reason for the choice of title and song. I hope it makes sense to you like it does to me. There are still some unresolved feelings, but we will get to that a little later.

As always I am deeply indebted to @scubalass who keeps me honest with the story, finds my mistakes, and keeps me on the straight and narrow. Thank you, thank you, thank you.🧡🧡🧡🧡

I am always open to questions about this chapter or any other chapter. Any thoughts comments or suggestions are always welcome.

Thanks for reading my ramble. So without further delay, I give you the newest chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. Here goes nothing. I hope you enjoy.

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 17

With You, I Am Born Again

The slumbering beast droned awake. The engines hummed as the jet slowly taxied into position for takeoff. Having received clearance from the tower, th e Captain released the deceptive power held in check. Roaring to life, the air shook around its massive body. Gathering speed, the lumbering giant began its climb toward its skyward goal. Thundering it thrust forward shearing the air mass surrounding it. The flaps moved into place and the brakes groaned as the landing gear retracted with a loud thud. Continuing its ascent, the silver leviathan increased its speed causing air molecules to strike the fuselage mercilessly. It finally reached cruising altitude leveling off. And it became blessedly quiet. Claire Beauchamp raised her head up from its hiding place within the crook of Jamie Fraser’s neck. She looked like a snail peeking out of its shell after a rainstorm. “‘Tis alright lass. We’re in the air. ‘Tis safe tae come out now,” he coaxed her. “Easy for you to say, Fraser. You’ve never been in a plane crash.” Childhood memories of the plane crash that took the lives of her parents still haunt her. Claire survived the accident because her mother sacrificed herself using her body to shield her precious daughter from injury.

“Aye, yer right, Sassenach. And I hope I never find out what that’s like.” Smiling at her, he placed a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose.

Claire leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Another seven hours and we’ll be in Scotland. I can’t wait to go home and leave the memories of this miserable trip behind us.”

“Ye ken it was no’ a total disaster Sassenach,” he suggested trying to lighten her mood. “We made the acquaintance of Harry and Maizie and we had fun in the park, did we no?” He looked at her with a sidelong glance, “Then we umm,” he cleared his throat. The beginnings of a spectacularly vibrant red blush colored his cheeks, “then we became better acquainted, several times. I hope I was no’ a disappointment tae ye Claire,” he said shyly.

“A disappointment? Were you a disappointment? Fraser, I have never been so thoroughly shagged in my life. A disappointment, forsooth!”

The redness on Jamie’s cheek deepened. A self-satisfied smile splayed across his face.

“Ye ken we still have three days left before we have tae return tae work. Do ye have any idea of what ye would like tae do?”

She tilted her head back as she stared upward contemplating his question.

“For one thing, a nice long soaking bath,” she exhaled with pleasure. “Wearing my softest pyjamas, curling up in bed and sleeping. Oh! And order take away so I don’t have to go grocery shopping and cook. It just sounds like heaven.” She smiled contentedly as she stretched languorously.

“Ye ken Sassenach I hoped that we could spend the time together.” Sagging into his seat he radiated a sense of disappointment at the prospect of not spending the time together.

Running her fingers over his cheek, “I didn’t say I wanted to do those things alone, did I? Is your bathtub big enough for two?”

“Yes. No. Yes!”

Is a bathtub big enough for two what it would take tae get Beauchamp into his home? He wondered? I may be looking at a bathroom renovation if it doesna fit the two of us. Ah weel a small price to pay, he thought.

“‘Tis big enough for me so a wee lassie like you should have nay trouble fitting in it.” Thinking about the last time they shared a bath together made the tips of his ears turn pink. What is about Beauchamp that could reduce him to an awkward blushing schoolboy?

“I guess we will have to find out together, won’t we Fraser?” Claire licked her lips as if she was going to sample a tasty morsel. “I also seem to remember you promised to do things to me that would make me scream once we arrive home. You are a man of your word, are you not?” Claire responded in a seductive voice.

It was his turn to make her squirm. “Claire, I am a man of my word. I intend to make ye scream with the wanting. I will have ye riding waves of pleasure till ye can bear it nay more,” his smile both reckless and savage made no mistake as to what his intentions were.

Her eyes opened wide, and her jaw dropped. She tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry, arid like the deserts of her youth. She knew he meant it. It almost sounded more like a threat than a promise. A threat she couldn’t wait for him to make good on.

“Ye should get some rest, Claire. Ye’ll need it,” his whispered with a provocative voice weighty with a primitive want and need.

His eyes closed as a small smile curved on his lips.

Claire reclined her seat, but could not sleep. She was restless wriggling around trying to find a comfortable position to nap in.

“Ye canna sleep, Sassenach? Yer wiggling like a wee lad with a toad in his pocket.”

“No, I can’t sleep. Just couldn’t get comfortable.”

“What is it? Is there anything on yer mind?” Jamie didn’t trust that she still wasn’t keeping secrets from him.

She looked at him shyly, “Now that you mention it, I do have one more confession to make.”

He sat up straight, bracing himself for the worst. “And that is…what?”

“I really can bake you know. I just never made a cake with a saw in it.”

Laughing, she completely reclined her seat and moments later her body relaxed into sleep.

Jamie watched her fall asleep, just as easy as you please, “Christ, Claire, ye will be the death of me yet,” he muttered shaking his head. With one hand, Jamie took a blanket twirling it open with the dexterity of a matador swirling his Capote de Brega covering his Sassenach.

The cabin was dark for some time and all around him, the sounds of passengers settling in for the night time passage had little effect on Jamie. The pull of sleep would not come. His mind jumped through the events over the past several days. With her startling revelation of abuse and rape at the hands’ of her ex-husband, he feared she might compare him to Frank. Not that he would ever hurt her. God, no. But there was something about Beauchamp that drove him to extremes of emotion. He wanted to protect her like a wee kitten that he could keep safe in his shirt and cradle tenderly. And then. And then there were times he wanted to take her, spread her thighs wide and plow into her like a crazed rutting bull. That’s what worried him. What if he could not be gentle? Would he frighten her? He did not want to be compared to him. Over and over again, he told himself his fears were baseless, senseless. After all, they had been intimate several times without the slightest hint or suggestion that she was afraid of him. He would need to find a way to reassure her. And perhaps, himself. Coming to a decision, he closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

Several hours later, Jamie woke only to find Claire awake as well. She was reading a book on her tablet, one of those bodice-rippers that she was so fond of.

Claire turned her head toward Jamie’s movement. “Can’t sleep?” she inquired.

“Nah. Uncomfortable. I see ye canna either.”

“No, I usually don’t sleep well, if at all, on planes,” she shrugged as this was an accepted fact of life.

They sat quietly for a while until Jamie broke the silence. “Would ye like tae hear a story, Sassenach?”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Weel, did I ever tell ye the story of Mary McNab?”

“No, I don’t believe you have.”

“Then, I shall,” he smiled brightly. “Mary McNab lived with her husband and son in a small croft on the Lallybroch lands. Her husband Ronald worked with my Da on the farm. Now Ronald was a very good worker. He had one flaw. He turned mean when he drank. Whenever he got paid or came into some extra money, he would make his way to a local pub. After staggering home, he would take out his frustration and anger on his wife and his poor wee laddie. If his son made too much noise while playing or his supper was not to his liking, they suffered for it.

One hot summer day Jenny and some of her friends made plans to go swimming at the loch. As they approached it, Jenny spotted wee Rabbie McNab with his fishing pole sitting shirtless on a log, hook dangling in the water. On hearing the laughter of the approaching girls, he jumped up tae get his shirt that hung over a tree branch but dinna get himself covered before the girls saw him. The lad was covered in bruises in various colors, purple, yellow, and brown.

Jenny reached him and spun him around to face her while he struggled into his shirt.

“Rabbie, who did this tae ye?” Jenny demanded her face white with shock and anger.

“No one. I…I fell down the stairs,” the scared lad told her. He knew what would happen if he told.

“I dinna think sae. I ask ye again, Rabbie McNab, who did this tae ye?” Jenny had heard rumors about his father’s drunkenness and the abuse he heaped on his family.

The boy went silent. His head hanging down low.

“Sae that’s how ‘tis? Come on then,” Jenny grabbed him by the hand pulling and dragging the boy along with her.

“Miss, where are we goin’?”

“Tae see my Da. He’ll get tae the bottom of this.”

“No, Miss, no! Ye canna! Please!” The bairn clearly panicked at this possibility.

“Why no’, Rabbie?”

“Because if my Da finds out…” His free hand went tae his mouth as he realized what he had said.

“Mmphm. Rabbie dinna be afraid my Da willna let nay harm come tae ye.”

Da and I were mending the sheep’s pen, again. It seemed that Huey, the fifth in his line, managed to create a hole large enough allowing him and his harem to escape.

Holding Rabbie’s hand so he would not run off, Jenny explained to her Da what prompted her concern for the wee lad showing him the bruises on Rabbie’s back.

Rabbie finally and tearfully told the truth.

You could see how angry my Da became as he listened tae the story. His eyebrows drew in and his lips formed a tight line.

“Alright, Master Rabbie get ye inside. Tell Mrs. Crook tae feed ye up, aye? I need tae speak with my daughter and son.”

Rabbie hesitated.

“Get ye gone, lad. Miss Jenny will come tae keep ye company directly.”

The boy took halting steps toward the door, fear and worry emanated from his small form.

“Oh, and Rabbie, dinna be afraid for yerself or yer Mam, aye? Nay harm shall come tae either of ye.”

The boy nodded his head. A glimmer of hope and trust brightened the sad hazel eyes.

I looked at my Da wondering what he would do. How do you interfere in another man’s family? But, then this was no ordinary problem. Wife beating. Child beating. This was different.

“What are ye going tae do Da?”

Da paced back and forth, running his hands through his thick black hair contemplating the question. “I dinna ken laddie, but by Christ, I will do something. I canna sit by and let the pur lad and his mam be beaten every time the man is gone with drink. Let’s go talk with Mistress McNab,”

So I went with my Da tae the McNab croft. Mrs. McNab, of course, denied everything saying her bruises were the result of accidental injuries. She claimed to be a clumsy person, always tripping and falling. She said her laddie took after her, bumping into things, falling, tripping.

Da took her by the hand leading her to a chair to sit. “Mary, ye ken that I know. I have seen Ron at the pub o’er taken with drink. I’ve seen him get into fights.” Brian’s hazel eyes went soft with compassion. “I will see ye and yer lad safe. I can give you the protection of my home and my family’s good name. But, Mary ye must tell me true. Is he hurting ye and yer son?”

Mary McNab searched the depths of Brian Fraser’s warm hazel eyes finding the kindness in his soul. She opened up in a great flood of emotions telling us everything.

Listening intently, Da drummed his fingers on the table considering what she had tae say. He came tae a decision as Mrs. McNab finished her story.

“Mary pack what ye think ye and yer son will need. Ye will come tae stay at Lallybroch until we straighten this out. I will call my lawyer tae see what can be done legally tae protect ye. Then you can decide what you wish tae do. Jamie, go help Mrs. McNab.”

So Mary McNab came home with us. Da called Ned Gowan our lawyer and Mary decided it was in her and her son’s best interest tae get a divorce, which she did. Da hired her tae help Mrs. Crook with the running of the house.

“Jamie, what about her husband? Didn’t he create a fuss? I can’t believe that he agreed to a divorce so easily.”

“He dinna. Ron marched up tae our house and began tae bang on the door calling out my Da. He told my Da that he had no right tae interfere with another man’s family. And as head of his household, he would do as he saw fit.”

“So, my Da asked him where he lived.”

“Have ye gone daft man? Ye ken fine well I live here at Lallybroch.”

“So ye admit ye live on Lallybroch land, do ye? Which is my land, of which I am the Laird? So as the Laird ‘tis my duty tae see tae the welfare of all who live on it. I am responsible for the welfare of every soul here including yer family. So, I say tae ye now Ronald McNab get yer things and get ye gone from my property. Yer services are no longer required.”

With that my Da turned around and went into the house, leaving Ronnie standing there agog.

“Your father used his authority as the Laird to keep her safe and make her husband leave the property, then. I thought you told me that the title of Laird was only honorary.”

“That’s right ‘tis. But in the Highlands memories are long and traditions die slowly ye ken?”

“I’m glad everything worked out for Mary and her son, but why did you tell me this story?”

He took her very small hand in his large warm one, holding it tenderly.

“My Dad asked me if I knew why he brought me along with him. I foolishly told him because he needed another man along with him, to protect his right.” Jamie smiled remembering his youthful faux pas. “My Da looked at me with a benevolent smile and I could see him thinking. I think that day my Da realized that I was becoming a man and no’ just the wee red-heided bairn that chased after him.”

“Aye, Jamie lad I did need a man with me,” Brian Fraser remarked solemnly giving his beloved son his due. “And since ye are near becoming a man grown there are some lessons ye need tae learn that will govern yer behavior yer whole life.”

“Sassenach, ye should have seen me! I puffed myself up like a proud peacock ready tae receive the sage words of wisdom that my Da would impart tae me. I think my Da almost damn near collapsed trying no’ tae laugh at me.” Jamie shook his head recalling his younger self.

Looking at Jamie, Claire could see the love and respect he had for his father. Something she had always wished she had known with her father.

“Da said he took me along with him tae see Mrs. McNab because someday I would hold the title of Laird. As such it was necessary for me to become a fear an urram. Part of being a duine urramach was the need tae have respect for the land and the beasts in my care. And men of honor have a call tae duty toward the people in his care and those he would meet in life. Most of all, a true man had tae respect women and hold them in high esteem. For women are our strength, our hearts, and the hope for the future. Above all else, a true man respects and cares for those he loves. As they are the reason men rise in the dark of the morning and return home with the setting of the sun laboring so that they can be safe and secure. My Da had a wistful look on his face, staring at something only he could see. He looked at me then told me something I dinna understand at the time, but I do now.”

“Mo mac,” Brian Fraser said, “one day ye will find a lady who will be yer anchor in life. Ye will tether yerself tae her for she will be yer safe harbor. She will stand by yer side through the good and the lean. Yer bairns will be sheltered in her body then brought forth in great pain which she will willingly suffer. Her heart and body will comfort ye when ye are sore with fatigue and worry. She will take ye tae her and ye will find peace. She will be yer home. When ye find her ye must treasure her, Jamie, for she is a rare jewel. Dinna abuse her ever.”

Jamie grew quiet recalling the day the Fraser men discussed what would become the guiding principles in his life.

“I asked my Da if this was how it was between him and my Mam.”

“Da gazed out over the land he loved, the land my Mam loved. When he turned tae look at me, his eyes gleamed full of emotion, love, and joy for his land, his bairns, and his wife.”

“Aye Jaime ‘tis. ‘Tis.”

His hand moved to cup her face. “Ye mo chridhe are the love of my heart and my soul. I tell ye this as I dinna want ye ever tae be scairt of me. I would never hurt ye, or…” he choked on the words, “force ye. I couldna bear it if ye were afraid of me,” he said with a hitch in his voice.“

Jamie turned in his seat allowing him to drop his forehead to Claire’s touching, breathing in their shared space.

“I never thought you would, Jamie.” Her hand reached to cup his cheek.

They shared the silence and stillness of their own thoughts as the jet whisked them homeward.

*****************

Traffic back into Edinburgh was light at that hour of the morning. The Uber silently pulled up to the curb in front of Jamie’s flat. Gallantly, Jamie opened the door for Claire offering her his hand for her to step out of the car. Fishing around in his pocket he found his keys. Handing them to Claire, he told her to go inside and get comfortable. He would be along with the luggage shortly. The driver opened the boot and placed the luggage on the pavement.

“Oi mate, what does yer wife have in the bag, eh? Rocks?”

“My wife, he thinks she’s my wife. Do we look like a couple already?” The thought pleased him that they did and a wide grin spread across his face. “One day she will be my wife. One day she will wear my ring.”

Jamie cleared his throat, “She likes to be prepared.”

“Fer what? An apocalypse? Christ man feels like she packed the entire flat in here!”

Jamie just shrugged giving the man a generous tip for his help.

“She is a bonny lass, though. Weel, luck tae ye man,” and sped off to his next call.

He managed to get all the baggage into the foyer and kicked the door closed.

There she was walking around his sitting room picking things up and putting them down. Seeing her there made his heart speed up. She looked so natural there like she belonged there, with him.

Claire turned around after hearing the door slam shut. She flushed worried that he might think she was snooping about. Which she was.

“Jamie, I hope you don’t mind my looking around. You have a lovely home.”

“Thank ye. ‘Tis no much, but ‘tis comfortable.”

His flat reflected him, masculine and functional. Although the room was devoid of a feminine touch it was tastefully decorated. The room was spacious with a large butter-soft gray leather settee, a bold geometric white and black patterned carpet over the hardwood floor, several comfortable armchairs, and a bookcase filled with assorted books dominated the room. An antique wooden trunk place in front of the sette served as a coffee table. On a far wall, a fireplace with a large flat-screen television above it made quite the statement. Most likely for Jamie to watch his beloved rugby games. Another wall displayed various photographs and portraits of his family as well as small paintings of what looked like pastoral scenes. Here and there there were small splashes of color to break up the greys, blacks, and whites of the room. A tartan gracefully draped over the settee.

“Yer welcome to look about, Sassenach. ‘Tis no much tae see. Just a bachelor’s home. I’ll be putting the luggage in the bedroom.” He looked at her to see if she reacted to his statement. Claire only nodded then asked if she could help.

“Nah, I’ll manage. Why don’t ye make us some tea? Are ye hungry? I could make us something to eat if ye like.”

“Hmm, I could stand to eat a bit. I’ll start on making the food while you take care of the bags.”

“Ye can cook!? I dinna think ye had the opportunity to learn.”

“Oh, I can. I just don’t cook much since it’s only just for me.”

Jamie took their bags into his bedroom. A king-size bed big enough to accommodate his large frame stood as the centerpiece of the room. The palette of the room was neutral colors soft beige, cream, and taupe. The room spoke of a man for whom the room became a respite from the stress of his professional life. The en-suite could only be described as luxurious. One wall is covered in multicolor gray stone tiles, the others were painted white, a black marble countertop with a clear glass bowl basin sink completed the esthetic. He looked at the tub and felt delighted that it would accommodate the two of them. Should he get some scented candles, he wondered? What about some bubbly stuff that smells good? Is that what lasses liked? He thought of asking his sister but damn the wee besom. She would be all into his business and he would have no peace. He would need to figure it out himself. Moving back to the bedroom, Jamie opened his chest of drawers. Would she want to leave some of her things here, he wondered? Ought he to make room for her? He worried that he was pushing things too fast. Better safe than sorry he reasoned. He picked up a pile of old workout clothes from a drawer and stuffed them into the back of a closet. He should have gotten rid of those clothes a long time ago. Having Claire in his life will mean changes, good changes. One that he wanted to make permanent.

He lifted his head and smelled an enticing aroma. She can cook. In the kitchen, he found her busy at work. She listened to some jazzy music as she cooked and was shaking that glorious arse of hers in time to the beat. He didn’t know which he was more hungry for the food or her.

“Something smells good Sassenach. What are ye making?”

Claire turned to face him beaming with happiness and pride. She had a towel draped over one shoulder and her hand one hip.

“Well, Fraser you didn’t have much in the way of food in the refrigerator so we’ll have to make do with this. It’s just a small snack, really. Just about two bites each.” The table was set and the food plated with the panache of a food stylist. There were crispy baguette slices toasted to perfection and fragrant with olive oil. She placed dollops of goat cheese on the bread and covered it with beautifully grilled peach slices. A chiffonade of sauteed basil garnishes the top. And to pull the flavors together a drizzle of honey making it sparkle. Mugs of earthy coffee sent tendrils of fragrant steam into the surrounding dining area whetting their appetite.

Jamie stood there with his mouth open in disbelief.

“Sassenach, you did this? By yerself?” His mouth hung open in surprise. He only had expected tea and buttered toast, but this was an amazing treat. It looked good enough to have been plated for a fine restaurant.

Claire squinted her eyes at him, her foot tapping showing her annoyance at the implication.

“I told you I can cook and quite well for that matter. I just don’t. Now, why don’t you sit down and put some food into that gaping hole of your mouth before you begin to catch flies with it.”

He quickly sat rather than catch the wrong end of her pique. “I dinna mean tae offend ye, Sassenach. I just dinna think ye had much time tae learn with all the traveling ye did with yer Uncle ‘tis all.” Jamie decided the safest thing to do would be to just eat and not say anything else that could get him into trouble.

Claire somewhat mollified by his explanation simply nodded. “Uncle Lamb made sure I became exposed to what he called ‘womanly arts’. So I learned to cook, keep house, manage budgets amongst other things women should know,” she said with a devilish grin on her face. “It has come in handy.”

“I must thank ye, mo leannan. ‘Twas delicious. And I would like tae repay ye by being in charge of dinner. Would ye mind going shopping with me to fill up my empty refrigerator?”

They meandered along the High Street keeping well away from places where friends could easily spot them. Neither wanted to be found by colleagues or acquaintances just yet. At least not until tomorrow. Holding hands, fingers linked together, they peered into store windows, carried on conversations about things of no great consequence. With the afternoon chill descending on them Jamie and Claire stopped for tea at his favorite tea room. The tearoom evoked the feeling of being in a grannie’s sitting room. It was a bit cluttered with an assortment of antique nick-nacks on display, lace tablecloths covering the tables, and a small bouquet of flowers on the table. In truth, it was cozy and utterly charming. The tea warm and fragrant was served in delicate rose-patterned china cups and a variety of sweets and pastries graced the table. They found a table by the window where they could observe the passers-by. Heads bent in whispered conversation, soft giggles uttered, they sipped and nibbled as hands connected unable to bear lack of contact.

The afternoon sky began to lower threatening a change in the weather. Jamie brought Claire’s hand to his lips leaving a tender kiss on her palm. “We need to leave Sassenach before we get caught in the snow.

Claire hummed in agreement. “Yes, you’re right. Let’s go buy something for dinner and go home.”

He was startled by her answer. Was she considering his place as her home already? He rather hoped that she would.

They went to the nearest market to stock up for a while. Claire regaled Jamie about the different cuisines she tried while traveling with Lamb.

“Did you know that guinea pig is considered a delicacy in parts of South America? I never tried it myself but Lamb did. He had to or risk offending the Headman of the village.”

He marveled at the things she told him. Her life experiences were so different from his own.

“Ye mean the wee animals that live in cages and run on a wheel?” He grimaced at the thought.

“That’s a hamster. Guinea pigs shouldn’t use a wheel. Bad for the back, you know.”

He made what Claire referred to as a Scottish noise in the back of his throat. “I dinna ken ye knew sae much about the wee beasties.”

“As a child, I was like a sponge sucking up knowledge from my experiences with Lamb. It was an unorthodox lifestyle for a child but I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.”

He watched her as she stood amongst the display of produce, her index finger tapping her lower lip as she concentrated on what to choose. She examined everything for freshness, ripeness, color, texture before choosing. He was enchanted by her. She truly was a Sassenach, an Outlander. Claire did not belong to England nor Scotland nor America nor anywhere in particular. Having had such a unique upbringing, she was a woman belonging to the world. She belonged to nothing and yet to everything. It was this otherness about her that intrigued him, made him desperately want her to belong only to him.

Making short work of gathering their staples and perishables, they made it back to Jamie’s flat before the storm broke. The wind whipped up around them blowing Claire’s hair into wild disarray. Laughing they stumbled through the door almost collapsing on each other. The door slammed shut from the force of the wind.

They placed their bundles on the kitchen island unpacking their delectables. Jamie gave Claire a sidelong look. Clearing his throat and keeping his eyes averted he said in a nonchalant voice, “Sassenach I, er, um, I made some room for ye this morning in the bathroom for yer personal things. I, ah, also made room for ye in the chest of drawers and in the closet should ye wish tae put your things in there. Maybe ye might want tae leave some of yer things here. But only if ye wish tae.” The tips of his ears turned pink, he worried that this might be too fast, too soon to suggest such a thing.

Claire looked up at him her bottom lip quivering. “You did that for me? I…” She placed both her hands on his cheeks bringing him closer to her. She leaned in kissing him soundly on the lips. Turning away quickly from him before the tears could escape the dam, she ran toward the bedroom to see what he had done for her.

Jamie smiled contentedly as he watched her scurry away. While she was occupied with unpacking her things, Jamie made a phone call he hoped would also please her. He continued to put away their purchases and set the table for their dinner. Hopefully, Aldo would not disappoint.

Claire busied herself with putting away some of her things. Jamie making room for her spoke volumes to her. He was trying to make her comfortable in his home. He wanted her there. As she placed her hairbrush, shampoo, and other toiletries in the en-suite she developed a warm feeling of belonging that she had never before experienced, not even in her own home with Frank. She wondered if this is what home felt like.

Having completed arranging her things, Claire came out to find the dining area glowing with the soft light from dinner candles, the table set, and dinner served. Jamie escorted her to the table, giving her a slight bow, “My lady,” seating her then taking his place opposite her.

“How did you, when did you…”

“I did promise you dinner. I dinna say I would make it myself,” as he waved his injured hand about. “I have a friend Aldo who owns an Italian restaurant close by. He sometimes sends dinner if I have a long day.”

“This is excellent, Jamie. How do you know Aldo?”

“He is a footie mate and a damn good goalie too.”

After finishing dinner and wine, Claire offered to clean up. “You went through all this trouble it’s the least I can do,” she smirked.

“Nay, Sassenach. ‘‘Twas my treat. Why dinna you get comfortable? It’s been a long couple of days.”

Standing she stretched until she heard little popping sounds between her vertebrae, “Perhaps you’re right. I think a shower is in order. Will you be coming soon?”

“Aye, I will. Just as soon as I put the dishes in the dishwasher and the leftovers away.”

Claire undressed taking her robe with her into the bathroom. She decided to ask Jaime for his tee-shirt again to wear to sleep. Having something of his next to her skin was a balm to her soul. She shampooed her hair then washed with her favorite body wash. Looking in the mirror she thought her hair resembled a wet poodle. With a towel wrapped around her head, she walked into the bedroom to find Jamie shirtless and shoeless only his jeans remained.

He smiled broadly at her, “A quick shower, then tae bed.” The heat of the water felt comforting. But he had no time to linger as his thoughts gravitated toward his lass. He wanted to, well he knew what he wanted to do, but would she? They were both jet-lagged, but just maybe.” He dried off and wrapped a low hanging towel about his hips. Opening the bathroom door, he stood there watching her as she tried to brush out several recalcitrant knots out of her curly hair. He could hear her mutterings and swearing. “Bloody-minded hair.” A particular mutinous snag gave rise to a blasphemous “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

“Here Sassenach, let me,” Jamie coaxed the brush from her hand. “When I was a young lad, I would brush my Mam’s hair for her when she felt troubled. She said it helped her tae relax.”

He sectioned her hair gently then began brushing it, working the tangles out. He worked slowly, carefully working each snarl out all while whispering softly in Gaidhlig.

There was something supremely peaceful in Jamie’s touch. Claire slipped into an almost hypnotic state. She relaxed under his skilled hand and the susurrous of the brush skimming through her hair. Her eyes closed enjoying his surgeon-like expertise. Methodical, proficient, and meticulous. Just like he approached everything. No wonder his mother liked him to brush her hair.

He was totally focused on the task at hand making the unruly mass of curls into soft waves and tender ringlets. One would have thought that her hair would feel coarse and rough. But no, her hair was soft and lush. He brought a lock of her hair to his nose. It smelled of herbs and flowers soft and fragrant. It smelled of her. Jamie paid great attention to the colors of her tresses. Predominantly it was brunette with wisps of caramel, cinnamon, and auburn scattered throughout. Jamie let the strands slip over his fingers like silken threads to once again cascade over her shoulders. “Mo nighean donn,” he whispered.

Claire turned her head to him. “You have called me that before but I never asked what it means.”

He smiled, “It means my brown-haired lass.”

“I have always thought brown to be a rather dull color.”

Jamie placed an errant curl behind her ear, “No, no’ dull at all. It’s like the water in a burn, where it ruffles over the stones. Dark in the wavy spots with bits of silver and auburn where the sun catches it.”

He put the brush down on the bedside table, turned to face her. He lifted her chin up and gazed into her eyes. Her eyes were pools of liquid honey warm and sweet.

Claire fell into the depth of his eyes, so impossibly blue that it seemed that part of the sky fell into them.

“Jamie…”

“Dance with me, Claire.”

She looked at him in surprise and question.

“You mean here, now, like this?” Her eyes took in their mutual state of undress.

“Besides, there is no music and truthfully I can’t dance.

“‘Tis nay bother. Music ye shall have. I’ll tell ye a secret, I canna dance too. I’m tae big and clumsy. Dinna be afraid ‘tis no’ but a bit of swaying. I think we can manage that without damaging each other.” Jamie extended his hand for her to take with a smile so brilliant it rivaled the summer sun.

She knew she should have resisted and said no. But Claire found herself powerless, mesmerized by him. She reached out her hands clasping theirs together. He pulled her toward him. Their bodies touching.

“First, ye need to take this off.” He began tugging at the ties of her robe. “I need tae feel ye next tae me.”

Her hands entwined with his as they worked to release the tie allowing the satiny fabric to slip off her body. Standing there naked she felt just a bit foolish.

“Now your turn.”

Giving the towel a quick tug, it fell away landing on the floor. He kicked the towel and robe out of the way, widening their area to move.

They were bare to each other. His arousal full and complete.

Once again he drew her into him, his large hands settling on her hips, while Claire’s hands rested around his neck.

“Alexa,” Jamie called out, “Play With You I’m Born Again on repeat.”

The room filled with sultry vocals and seductive notes from the piano.

Jamie pulled her deeper into his embrace feeling the fullness of her breasts against him, her nipples hardening from contact with his chest. His rigid cock pressed firmly upon her belly.

Their bodies moved in sync to the music swaying together like flowers in the wind. His sound hand floated over her back holding her close, reducing whatever little space still separated them.

Tucking her head neatly under his chin, Claire’s eyes drifted shut, sighing in contentment. He was warm and had a masculine smell rather spicy she thought. Pepper, ginger, lemon, and coriander. Overlaying that was his own unique scent which could not be masked. She nuzzled into his chest breathing him in making small wuffling sounds.

“Are ye smelling me, Sassenach?”

She looked up at him with a dreamy look on her face, “Why yes. Yes, I am,” and returned to resting her head against him.

Jamie gave a soft chuckle and placed his head atop hers.

He crooned softly into her hair,

Come bring me yer softness

Comfort me through all this madness

Woman, don’t ye know with ye I’m born again?

Looking up into the face of her love, Claire sang softly back,

Come give me your sweetness

Now there’s you, there is no weakness

Lying safe within your arms, I’m born again.

They joined together in a duet singing softly of their love for each other,

I was half not whole, in step with none

Reaching through the world, in need of one.

Come show me your kindness

In your arms I know I’ll find this.

Lying safe within your arms, I’m born again.

Jamie bent down kissing Claire tenderly on her lips,

Woman don’t ye know with ye I’m born again

A single tear ran down her face,

Lying safe within your arms I’m born again.

Jamie bade Alexa stop the music. They came to a standstill, eyes locked on each other.

“I am naught but a poor simple man. I dinna have the words of a poet. Nor can I write ye a love song. This I tell ye true mo ghràdh, I love ye. I love ye more than I have ever loved nay will ever love someone. Ye have captured my heart.” He began to tremble in her arms and stumbled over his words. “I dinna ken what a soul is other than what the priests told us in kirk. But, I kent mine was only half until I found you. When I met ye, I felt mine call out to yers for I kent we share but one soul and one heart my Sassenach. Neither of us is complete without the other.”

Claire looked up into his face seeing the truth of his words.

“I feel the same way, Jamie. I do love you so.”

A tidal wave of lust coursed through him. His pupils were blown wide open turning the placid blue eyes dark and dangerous. He dropped his face toward hers, their lips just a whisper away. Jamie kissed her with a fierceness, no perhaps it was with desperation trying to convey his feelings with actions instead of his paltry words.

Claire felt the heat rising up in her belly spreading through her like the warmth from a dram of good whisky. She parted her lips in invitation. His tongue ran over her lips then invading her mouth tasting its deep recesses as they joined in mutual caresses.

Jamie broke the kiss. His breathing became heavy with want. “I need ye lass. I canna say it plainer than that.”

Claire’s eyes of toffee gazed up at him begging him to touch her everywhere. “Then take me, now.”

“I dinna ken if I can be gentle.”

“Then don’t.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Come lass let me love ye. ‘Tis been too long since I last held ye in my arms.” He lifted her up and carried her to the bed, gently placing her down. Her hair spread over the pillow like a great nimbus cloud of light and dark. She opened herself to him with her arms raised up in supplication. She never looked lovelier than she did when flushed with desire. “Ye are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“As you say so.”

“Do ye doubt me?”

“No, what I mean is I am beautiful because you say it is so.”

“Aye, ‘tis so.”

He came to her like a starving man hungrily seizing her mouth. It would be her body and soul that would sustain him, nourish him, make him whole again. He had feared he had lost her in Boston because of his own negligence. And yet she forgave him, still wanted him. He needed to claim her as his.

“Mine,” he growled into her mouth. “Mine now and forever.”

“Yours, only you,” she sighed.

His kisses were hard, brutal leaving her lips swollen from the attention. She kissed him back with equal fervor pulling at his bottom lip biting down on it. Her own need to join with him raged through her like wildfire. She had almost lost him through her foolish fears, her foolish secrets.

Jamie began to rain kisses down the column of her neck. Kissing, nipping at the tender skin marking her as his.

“Jamie!” she cried as she raked her nails down his back raising red welts over the old scar tissue. He felt the sting of the scratches but couldn’t have cared less.

He moved down her body placing fevered kisses as he moved. Reaching her breasts, he took a delicate nipple in his mouth tongue circling it raising it to a hardened nub. He suckled it while kneading the other. Turning his attention to its fellow, it received the same treatment.

Claire arched her back and held his head in place to her breast. “Harder,” she ordered. With a ferocity, he did not know he possessed he sucked harder and bit down on her nipple. She cried out in pleasure and pain.

“Christ, I hurt ye. I’m sorry, Claire,” he worried.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. Don’t stop, please.”

“Yer sure, Claire?”

Yes, I’m sure, damn it. Please, Jamie. Don’t stop.”

He gently kissed each breast in apology before taking his leave. Journeying down her he nipped at the delicate skin placing soothing kisses at each bruise. Reaching her hip he placed tender kisses to each one.

“Jamie…please.”

“Please what, Claire?”

She huffed in frustration, “I need you, now.”

“Ye have me lass, I’m right here am I no’? Adoring ye, loving ye,” as he placed kiss after kiss along her stately legs. When he reached her feet, he massaged each foot working the tension out.

“Do ye like this a nighean?”

“Yes,” she purred deep and throaty as she arched her back in contented pleasure.

Jamie chuckled with delight, “I see. And what would ye do if I did this?”

He slid off of the bed pulling her by her ankles until her arse rested at the edge. Hitching her legs over his shoulders, he placed his face firmly between her thighs.

“Christ, mo leannan, yer so wet.

Claire moaned her head tossing from side to side writhing in anticipation.

Delicately he ran his tongue over her apex tasting her, “Yer so sweet.” He found her nub the source of all her pleasure lightly flicking his tongue over it.

Claire moaned and whimpered, thrusting her hips toward him.

“More, mo chridhe?”

“Yes, yes Jamie. I want more,” she gasped out as she ground herself against his face.

Greedily his mouth took possession of her bud, sucking, licking in long broad stripes and gentle circles driving her to the edge of madness. Carefully he began to drag his teeth over the sensitive tissue and began to hum. Relentlessly his tongue dipped and swirled tasting her heat and her honey.

The sensations electrified her senses. Her body jerking, thrashing clutching at the linens.

“Ah, Jamie, please, please,” she gasped. Her hand grabbed at his head, fingers tangled in his curls holding him captive to her need.

He knew she was nearing her climax. Slipping one finger into her sweet heat sliding in and

“Tell me, Claire, how ye feel,” he growled wickedly.

Her eyes were sealed shut and she mumbled unintelligible words as she continued to writhe on the bed.

“Open yer eyes lass look at me. Watch as I make ye come. Know who yer master is.”

His eyes were trained on her, intently watching. Adding a second finger he curved them both finding the sensitive area inside her. His tongue resumed its onslaught as he pushed her over the precipice.

Claire’s eyes opened wide, seeing but not seeing and screamed, “JAIME!” Her world narrowed until she became pure sensation, pure pleasure.

“Aye, ‘tis right lass. Scream my name so all will ken who ye belong tae. LOUDER,” he commanded.

She keened, back arched, head falling back against the bed, “Jamie, only you Jamie.” And convulsed into her orgasm.

He picked her up cradling her against his broad chest bringing back to the bed resting her head upon the pillows. He murmured soft words in Gàidhlig into the glory of her hair. “Rest a neighan. For I will need tae take ye soon. I am filled with savage lust that I canna control. I need tae feel ye around me for I mean to use ye hard. Forgive me, my Sassenach.” He spooned into her back and pressed his nose into the crook of her neck. His manhood hardened with wanting resting on her thigh.

Claire smiled turning to face him as she cupped his face between her hands. Her voice hoarse and no more than a whisper, “I want to feel you too. I need to claim you as my own and hear you call my name in desire. And at the end, I want to hear you cry out as you find your pleasure knowing that it was I who took you there. She kissed him at his pulse point on the neck, then boldly bit and sucked the skin leaving a mark. “You are mine Jamie Fraser, now and forever. I have marked you for all to see.” Her eyes burned bright with an untamed yearning for this man. She dragged her lips across his face and down his neck leaving searing kisses along the path. Coming to his well-defined chest she bit hard again leaving the stamp of her lust on him.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“God no.”

Her tongue swept over his areola and his delicate pink nipple causing it to harden at her bidding. Again she sank her teeth into his flesh causing him to gasp from her assault on him.

“Am I too rough on you,” she whispered sensually in his ear while she rubbed her breasts across his chest making her buds become firm ready for him to suck.

“Yer a she-devil come to torture me,” he moaned raising his hand trying to grasp at her breasts.

Claire threw her head back laughing. “Aye, I am. A succubus surely and I will lead us to the fiery pits of hell where we will be consumed by our lust for each other.”

She continued to scatter kisses and bites as she moved down his magnificent body. She sucked the skin over his hip, then dragged her nails through his fiery thatch the last barrier before his cock.

Jamie jolted at the sensation. “Sassenach, please. I canna bear it nay longer.”

“Please, wot?” Claire asked innocently.

“Claire, ye ken what I want and need. Please, Claire.”

“Are you talking about this? She leaned over and took him in her mouth. She unfurled her tongue over his length. She took in his whole length working her tongue over the silkiness of his cock. Using her brazen wee hand she slid it up and down his length twisting and turning all while she worked the head with her mouth and tongue diving him to near completion.

“Lass, I’ll no last if ye keeping doing that.”

Claire ceasing her assault on his flesh giving him a sultry smile, “We can’t have that now can we.”

She sat back on her heels taking in the landscape of his body. He was beautifully formed with slanted eyes, long straight nose, high broad cheekbones, and full, sensuous lips. The terrain of his body was formed by mountains of hard muscle and bone lying above the flat plains of his abdominal muscles. The man was a work of art, one of God’s finest creations.

Claire was broken out of her reverie as she became cognizant that Jamie was speaking to her. Actually, he was threatening her.

“By all that is holy, Sassenach, ye shall pay for this, severely.”

She laughed, “I believe that I have already, my lad. You had your way with me now it’s my turn.”

She lifted her leg to straddle him, brushing her wet sex over his engorged erection. “Or perhaps this is more to your liking, hmm? Which mouth do you want my lad?”

Shuddering from the sensation, he tried to will himself into control.

“Claire…” He warned.

She leaned over, drawing herself at length atop him grinding her hips against his. “Yes, Jamie?” She asked innocently.

“Ye are a verra verra wicked woman. And ye deserve tae be punished.”

Slowly his hand found its way down her back grabbing her magnificent arse fondling it pressing her close to him.

“Oh, and just how do you plan to do that?”

His hands clutched her hips moving them in lewd movements creating friction between them.

Raising up his hand Jamie gave Claire a slight slap on her buttock causing more of a sting than pain.

She wiggled her luscious bum in delight and giggled. “Is that my punishment, Fraser? I rather liked it,” she smirked.

“Then perhaps ye will like this.” Jamie seized Claire’s hands holding them above her head and flipped them over. Quirking his eyebrow, he pressed his arousal against her. “Ye like this Sassenach?”

She opened her legs wider then flexed her hips hard against him.

“Do. It. Now,” she demanded. Her voice rough and harsh.

Jamie lined himself up at her wet entrance and slowly pushed in perhaps no more than a quarter-inch and quickly withdrew. Claire gasped at the sudden loss of him.

“Exactly what game are you playing at Fraser?” She huffed in frustration. Wiggling under him Claire tried to re-establish physical contact, needing the feel of him. But he kept his distance from her.

“Ye kent I told ye that ye needed tae be punished, did I no’? The best way is tae deprive ye of what ye want. But if ye yield tae me, ye can have it. What say ye?” He replied smugly. He inched closer, letting her feel him again at her entrance.

“You’re on some fucking power trip, Jamie,” she huffed. Her efforts to join with him were fruitless as he kept her pinned to the mattress with his body.

“Aye, I am. Ye remember I told ye I would make ye scream, did I no’? And I did. Now ye tortured me to near insanity and wouldna come to me. That was no’ nice of ye, Claire. So now Dr. Beauchamp ye get a wee taste of yer own medicine. Ye dinna like it do ye?”

“No.”

“Resign yerself tae me then, beg me, and ye shall have what ye want.” Thrusting his hips forward he was mere centimeters from home. He placed soft kisses on the corners of her lips, lightly running his tongue along the seam of her mouth.

Claire struggled a few times more, just for form’s sake.

She used her whisky orbs to do her pleading. “Jamie, please, I…I…need you. I want you now. I need to feel you inside of me.”

“That’s a good lass. But, remember, mo ghràdh I never said I dinna like yer teasing, ye ken.” And he drove home sheathing himself to the hilt in one swift thrust.

“YOU son of a…AHHH!”

His hips moved within her drawing comfort from her softness getting lost in her silken folds.

She felt herself stretch as he filled her and reveled in the power of him.

He put her hands on his chest, “Feel my heartbeat, Claire, it only beats for ye.”

His mouth sealed over hers, taking possession of her breath, her sighs, swallowing them making them part of his being.

Absorbed in the feel of him, Claire wrapped her legs around him pulling him deeper, deeper than either one thought was possible.

A burning tension built linking their hearts, souls, and bodies together. “Jamie,” she mumbled. “My lad, my sweet, sweet lad. How I need you. Oh god, Jamie.” Her body began to tremble and shake. “I…”

Jamie whispered softly in her ear, “Let it go, Claire surrender yourself tae me. Give me all of yourself as I give you everything I am. I can hold nothing back from ye lass.”

“Jaime. Oh god, Jamie.” Claire wrapped her arms around him succumbing to her all-consuming climax.

Jamie continued his relentless rhythm now that he had served her and began to seek his own pleasure.

Two, then three, then four thrusts, his hips moved wildly his cadence began to falter.

“Claire, sweet Jesus, Claire.” Shuddering, he bit down on her shoulder as his seed filled her.

Jamie collapsed on her then fell to the side avoiding crushing her. Pulling her to him he tucked her under his chin. Claire felt the thrum of his voice in his chest speaking Gàidhlig words of love to her. She did not understand the words but knew their meaning. Her arms surrounded his waist still not yet ready to release their connection.

“I love you, Jamie,” she whispered as she succumbed to the world of dreams.

“Tha gaol agam ort, mo ghràdh.”

Lying safe within our arms, we are born again.

*********************

Capote de brega — a cape used by a matador during a bull fight.

A fear an urram - A man of honor.

Duine urramach - An honorable man

With You, I Am Born Again - sung by Billy Preston and Syreeta Wright

Songwriters - Carol Connors/David Shire/David L. Shire

Released - December 1979

Motown Records

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqTq8gckf8E

#ICYMI

55 notes · View notes

ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

Raindrops Keep Falling

Summary: On a particularly rainy day as the Ericson kids huddle together in the piano room for warmth, Clementine and Louis brave the outside to get some herbs in their quest for a hot meal.

Read on A03:

Rainy days were the worst.

It had been raining for the entire day. They had woken up to rain, taken turns keeping watch in the rain and finished the daily chores to the best of their ability despite the downpour. Most of them had spent the majority of the day indoors, boarding up all the windows to prevent the wind from blowing more water inside the halls. They’d built up a fire in the music room’s fireplace, most of the kids holing up there when they didn’t have anywhere else they needed to be. It was miserably cold throughout most of the school, but they managed to keep it warm in there.

Ruby and Aasim had gone to check the traps in the morning and found all of them empty. There wasn’t any point in hunting either as all the animals were hiding from the rain. Luckily they’d dried some extra meat in the past few weeks, so they had something to tide them over, that was, if the rain didn’t go on too much longer. The group sat around the fire, chewing jerky and playing every card game Louis could come up with.

By dinnertime their stomachs were all growling again. Omar insisted that he wouldn’t allow them to suffer through another meal of solely jerky if he had anything to say about it. They could improvise a wood fire within the old kitchen. As long as they cracked open a few windows, the smoke created from one meal shouldn’t be too bad. All they needed from outside was the cast-iron pot and some fresh herbs from the greenhouse to bring the dried meat’s flavor out. Willy and A.J. volunteered to get the pot, with Aasim tagging along to make sure they stayed on task.

“I can go get the herbs,” Clem volunteered eagerly.

Aasim looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I mean, I know you’ve gotten really good on the prosthetic lately, but it’s super muddy out there,”

“Anything to get outside for a few minutes. Being in here since morning’s driving me a bit crazy. Plus it’s not like I don’t know the way,”

Louis rose up with a groan, dramatically bowing as he offered Clementine a hand up. “If my lady insists on getting out for some fresh air, who am I to say no? I’ll accompany you,”

“You really don’t have to. I know you just got dry from watch,”

“Alas, too true. But a few raindrops are a small price to pay to see you smile,”

Violet rolled her eyes. “God, you get more sappy every day, Louis,”

“Why, thank you! I do try my best,”

“Just get out of here before I have to gag you. Clem, do us all a favor and take him with you,”

“Alright then,” Clementine took Louis’ hand, making it upright with only the tiniest wobble. “To the greenhouse we go,”

---

They were surprised to see how bad the rain had gotten when they stepped out the front of the administrative building. The overhang did little to protect them from the rain as it fell down in showers before them, forcing them to squint to make out anything in front of them. In hindsight they should have known how bad the conditions were when Ruby had come in dripping wet from watch and announced that watch duties would be suspended until the rain let up. Still, there was nothing quite like seeing the storm in person to really put things into perspective.

“You sure you want to do this?” Louis shouted over the wind, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Clementine nodded. “It’ll be worth it to get a hot meal!”

Before she could say anything further, A.J. and Willy came barreling out the front doors, laughing wildly as they ran out into the rain. Aasim was close behind them, not looking nearly as happy.

“Slow down!” he called out, trying to sound authoritative. “Stay on task!”

Clementine turned back to Louis with a smile. “I guess we gotta go for it!”

“Wait!” Louis exclaimed. He quickly took his trenchcoat off, an action that surprised Clem until he draped the coat above his head, stepping behind her to draw her into the makeshift shelter. “OK, on three?”

Clementine felt her heart warm at the selfless gesture. She leaned up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “On three,”

Louis glanced down in surprise, clearly flustered by the kiss. The same dorky grin that had crossed his face the night she’d confessed her feelings reemerged now. He nodded quickly, signaling he was ready.

“One, two… three!” With that they began their sprint across the yard. Well, it was really more of a brisk jog with Louis making sure not to outrun Clementine or pressure her from behind while Clementine did her utmost to not slip and fall in the mud. She had a couple close calls, one of which had Louis wrapping his arms around her to prevent the fall and dropping his coat in the process, getting them both momentarily soaked. They quickly righted themselves though, getting back on track to their destination.

They burst through the greenhouse door with uproarious laughter, taking a moment to catch their breath as they leaned against the nearest planters. As their laughter stilled, the sound of the rain came through. It was a much more peaceful sound when inside the greenhouse. The patter of the rain falling against the glass panes was comforting and they could see individual rivulets of rain making their way from the roof all the way down the sides of the greenhouse. Even the howling of the wind felt distant despite the stark chilliness inside.

Clementine involuntarily shivered and Louis immediately threw his coat over her shoulders, drawing it round her to try to fend off the cold.

“Lou, c’mon, that’s too much,” Clementine said, trying to shrug it off. “I’m fine, really!”

“Nu uh,” Louis shook his head, some droplets falling down from his dreadlocks. “You keep it for now. It looks cuter on you anyways,”

“I don’t know, you look pretty great in it too,” Clementine quipped.

Louis blushed at her words. He turned round quickly to survey the greenhouse. “So… what was it exactly that we needed?”

“I got this,” Clementine made her way among the planters, picking a few herbs here and there in various planters. “Omar tends to have his favorites. As long as we bring a wide selection back we should be fine,” They made their way amongst the aisles, tucking the herbs into the sleeves of Louis’ coat as they went along.

When they’d made a full circuit, Clementine offered Louis’ coat back to him.

Louis took it reluctantly. “Only for pseudo-umbrella purposes,” he said, tucking it under his arm.

With that, they were ready to face the storm once more. The first time Clementine tried to open the door it slammed back shut with the force of the wind, surprising both of them. Clementine planted her good foot, anchoring the other against Louis’ left side before gritting her teeth and trying again. This time they didn’t hesitate, leaping outside before the door unceremoniously slammed shut behind them. Louis tried to use the same trick with his trenchcoat as they’d done on the way there, but this time the wind was blowing the rain towards them instead of against their backs. They were forced to adopt a new plan: holding the trench coat in front of themselves instead of behind, they used it as a sort of shield, peeking out from underneath occasionally as they made their way back to the main building. It certainly wasn’t an easy or direct route they ended up taking, but finally they found themselves at the steps of Ericson.

Rushing inside, they stopped by the kitchen first to give Omar the herbs. He already had the water boiling over the makeshift fire and told them it would only be about 15 more minutes till dinner could be served. With the promise of a hard-won hot meal in their minds, they rejoined the others in the music room. A.J. was busy regaling the others with a story of a close call he and Clementine had a couple years back and how they’d gotten out of it. Louis and Clem took their places on the outer edge of the circle, leaning against the piano bench for support.

Louis looked at his trench coat rather sadly before laying it out beside him to dry in the fire’s glow.

“Too wet to wear?” Clementine asked with concern.

“Only for a while. It fought bravely out there against those stormy winds. It deserves a moment of rest and recovery,” Louis saluted his coat with a wry smile.

Clementine joined in with a grin. Looking over at Louis, she could see he was still shivering a bit. She was freezing too. Perhaps if they combined their warmth though… Silently she crawled forward, settling in front of Louis before leaning back to rest against his chest. She heard some nervous spluttering from behind her, but Louis didn’t protest. In fact, after a few moments his arms circled round her, drawing her closer. They basked in the warmth of the room and each other’s company, neither wanting to move at all for the rest of the night.

“Well,” Louis murmured, his mouth close to her ear. “Not a bad end to what could have been a very sucky day,”

“Every day is a good day when I’m with you,”

She could hear Louis happily chuckling behind her. “Careful. If we get too sappy, Vi might just gag the both of us,”

Clementine interlocked her fingers with Louis’, drawing his arms more tightly around her. “I’m willing to take that risk,”

And so the rest of the night passed in blissful peace, stories and stew being shared round the circle till all eyes grew heavy and surrendered to sleep.

Rainy days really were the best.

#clouis #twdg louis #twdg clementine #fluff #fanfic #twdg

47 notes · View notes

youseissi · 4 years ago

Text

The Dark Witch Next Door

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

The man that just moved in next to Hongjoong might be too kind for his own good and the witch's totally not worried about him.

Kim Hongjoong is a dark witch that specializes in potions and when herbs from his garden keep going missing he's pretty sure Park Seonghwa is the culprit. After all who else would need fern flowers besides the white mage living next door.

Pairings: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Onesided Enemies to Lovers, Light Angst, someone dies but not really, tsundere hongjoong, Necromancy

Notes: This is the first story in a series of short stories for a witch au.

Warnings: Non descriptive gore (necromancy).

Arcana Series: TDWND ✧ TWND ✧ TBC ✧ AO3

Hongjoong counts the little sprouts on the garden floor. He finishes and starts over not quite satisfied. And then one more time. A couple of them were missing. Again. It took weeks to grow those and every single time at least a couple of them went missing, if not up to half of the batch and he needed those. He didn’t have time to wait for another month to continue to brew his potions.

He knew who always did this and, unlike that doofus, he had actual clients to tend to. Saying that Hongjoong, the village's dark witch, was furious was an understatement.

“Having problems with wild animals again?” His neighbour’s annoyingly angelic voice sounded over the fence. Ha. As if it wasn’t that little familiar of his that snatched all his ingredients away.

“I guess so, you don’t happen to know anything about it, do you?”

“Haven’t I answered this question a few too many times before? My answer haven’t changed.” Seonghwa replied, a soft smiled contradicting the tone of his words.

“Yes, yes I know. I just feel the need to ask since these herbs…”

“Are very important ingredients for very expensive potions, I’m aware.” The white mage completed his phrase with a chuckle, having heard the speech way too often. “I really don’t know anything, but I’ll let you know in case I do.”

His two tailed cat chose this moment to cut in between them, sprinting between Hongjoong’s feet and jumping onto the fence, mewling quietly for its owner and Seonghwa promptly took it in his arms excusing himself.

Hongjoong just hummed in response, going back to tend to his destroyed garden. One day he would catch the older in the act, he promised to himself mindlessly as he plucked the remaining blossoms and replaced them with new seeds. It had to be him, after all who else would need fern flowers besides the white mage living next door.

✦

“That’ll be fifteen gold pieces for a good harvest potion, per field of course.” Hongjoong declared matter of factly as he wrote down on a piece of paper with his crow feather quill, doing the math for how much the final price would be.

“Can’t you lower your price? Isn’t that a little too expensive? People are dying, you know.”

Yes, he knew. Tough luck, that was the cycle of life for a mere mortal, get over it. He couldn’t lower his price for a simple reason like that as Magic wasn’t free for him either. Every single ounce of mana needed a sacrifice to be turned into magic. No matter the use, it had a price, always and forever that was the universal truth for every supernatural being. So the whole town could die if that was the case, but he was getting paid for his sacrifice.

“I’m aware of the situation, this is the best price I can do and it’s already severely lowered. Also I need at least half the pay beforehand for ingredients. Would you like some tea while you go over the papers?”

“Sure…”

Hongjoong didn’t stay out of the room for long, just quick enough to grab the already boiling kettle and pour the tea onto some fancy china cups he used for clients, but immediately he knew something was amiss when he stepped back into his living room.

“Have you reached a decision?” He asked with a fake condescending smile.

“I- I’ll speak to the other farmers.” The villager sitting at his couch mumbled.

“Okay, just decide before the next moon cycle or it’ll damage the quality of the spell.” Hongjoong warned eager to get it over with, gathering the papers from the table before getting up to show his client to the door.

He opened the door facing away from his seated guest slowly, stalling a bit until he heard surprised gasps turn into loud screams. The smile in his face turned genuine as he turned back to face the distraught villager.

“What have you done to me?” His guest exclaimed frightened off his mind as he stared at his arms, little mushrooms growing not only there, but all over his body. A harmless prank, if you ask Hongjoong he deserved much worse.

“A little curse, this one for free even! I don’t take kindly to thieves around here, if you could please put back the bottles you took from under the window sill.” The dark witch replied with a fake sweet tone, smiling wide.

“Here, here just stop it please!” The man took out of his jacket pocket a few bottles and even a little jar of stardust that he hadn’t noticed it was gone, surely more valuable than any service the man could buy. Tending to humans was so bothersome, perhaps he’d only take requests from unworldly beings from now on.

“Good boy, now come closer so I can undo the curse.” Hongjoong commanded.

Naively the man rushed to his side and the witch only pushed him out the door, swiftly closing and locking it up on his face.

The man knocked loudly and yelled angrily, with empty threats of burning his house or some other stereotypical bravado humans liked to throw at them. A real witch has nothing to fear against such bigoted ideas, as if his small territory wasn’t strongly protected already.

He giggled as he took the cups back to the kitchen. On one of his windows the neighbour’s cat sat there staring judgmentally, his two tails swinging uncoordinatedly against one another. Not that he expressed any judgment, but Hongjoong just felt his disapproval somehow.

“What? It’ll wear off in a week, stop staring at me.” He excused his actions annoyed.

The cat only started back, letting out a yawn and pawning at his ears. The back of his paws a familiar blue and green that could only be found on the dark witch’s yard.

“You little…”

The smart kitty ran away before he could finish cursing under his breath.

✦

Usually at that time he'd be having tea with the herb thief that was his neighbour. Not that he enjoyed his company or anything, or at least he wouldn't admit to it, it just became their ritual not long after he moved in. Seonghwa knocked at his door with a basket of baked goods inviting him out for a cup on his first day and it stuck. The man might be a petty thief, but he did make great cookies.

The dark witch came out to his front yard with a spring in his step that day, excited to confront Park Seonghwa about his sneaky familiar. He had caught the pesky little animal red handed! He even brought out his favourite cups, brewed his fancier tea leaves, the ones he had imported from lands far beyond their little edge of the forest, and spiked it just the littlest bit with alcohol. Hongjoong was one to celebrate his victories in life no matter how small they were.

Yet as tea time approached Seonghwa’s voice sounded through the fence just out of his sight, covered by the wall of mismatched planks that were higher at the side of his small outdoors resting area. It seemed the white mage had guests. Rude ones for that matter, did no one respect tea time anymore these days? A sacrilege if you asked him.

“Oh dear, what has happened to you?” The mage asked, concern loud and clear on the other side.

“The evil dark witch! He has bestowed an horrible curse upon myself, can you believe it? But that is not the reason I come to you today, no need to worry about such trivial matters.” A familiar gruffy voice answered and Hongjoong groaned quietly at the reappearance of his former client, if the cheapskate could even be called that. Humans like this one just did not know when to give up.

“I’m sure he must’ve had a reason, have you done something to offend him again?” Seonghwa still seemed very concerned with that matter regardless it seemed.

“Not a thing! I swear that witch is the devil.” The villager exclaimed as if it was true and Hongjoong had to remind himself that it was rude to interject into conversations he was not invited to. It took him all his self control as he had quite a few things to say, most of them not pretty words, that's for sure.

“You should be more careful from now on, let me take care of this for you.”

A moment went by without voices, Hongjoong sipping on his tea slowly. Seonghwa’s tea would get cold if he didn’t hurry up, the witch thought impatiently.

“Oh, honorable white mage, I’ll forever be in debt to your generosity.”

Tch, his curse wouldn’t get to last a week it seemed. The overly polite flair in that man words annoyed Hongjoong so much he considered muting the man for a few days. Give him a scare that made him think twice before speaking.

“That’s nothing, please. Now why have you come here? You mentioned you had something to ask before.”

“I fear I might fall into even greater debt for I’ve come to ask for a favor, if you’d be so kind to hear me out.”

A favor? If it was the same he had asked from the dark witch than that man really had no shame downplaying a service like this. Seonghwa shouldn’t have bothered undoing his curse, now it’ll only waste him more energy to cast a new one. Making little of a witch’s work, there was no worse offence and Hongjoong was expecting the white mage to repay the man in kind.

But it did not come, the situation developing in the complete opposite he’d expect. The man did ask for an enchantment that assured a good harvest, the last few ones having been miserable it seemed, and the village starved under his rule. Seonghwa seemingly empathetic agreed to go and asses the situation for him, to see if there was anything he could do and of course there was.

The way Seonghwa was talked to unsettled the dark witch, he’d better charge a great sum, because of course he could help and at a much quicker and effective manner than Hongjoong could. But at greater cost as well.

If he were to do something to this degree for free, where would he draw the line? There was a difference between being kind to being a pushover and it needed to be clear. At least that's the work ethic witches had to live by, magic was an expensive craft after all.

Soon enough the sky began to darken, Hongjoong not quite knowing if he should just go back inside. It wasn’t like they had arranged anything, he only came out to his yard out of habit. Who would even want to meet Park Seonghwa, the stupid fern flower thief that kept undoing his curses? Not him, that’s for sure. The fancy tea he had put out for him had gone bitter after the first hour anyway.

The witch was about to go back inside, the dishes floating back through the window at a wave of his hand when Seonghwa finally appeared, passing by the dirt road in front of his house.

“Oh, Joongie! Have I made you wait? I’m sorry, I should’ve let you know I’d be busy.” The older said with regret, but all Hongjoong could focus on was since when did the white mage called him by Joongie ? It short-circuited his brain for a few seconds before he answered with a rosy tint to his cheeks.

“It's not like I was waiting for you, I was just enjoying my afternoon tea. I finally made some from that exotic blend you’ve been nagging me to make, but oh well guess it’s too late now.” Hongjoong downplayed it as he got up to follow the cutlery inside.

“Aw, you ought to make it again tomorrow.” Seonghwa whined bringing a hand to rest on Hongjoong’s shoulder to keep him there.

“Hmmm… I don’t know, I already wasted a lot of it today.” Hongjoong tried to answer calm and collected, but a thumb rubbing at the base of his neck had him sidetracked.

“Please? For me?” The white mage pleaded with his best puppy eyes and Hongjoong started feeling very suffocated all of a sudden, heat crawling up his neck and tightening his chest.

“Oh, get over yourself, Park Seonghwa.” Hongjoong muttered under his breath, inaudible to the older as he retreats inside hurriedly. Stupid charming mage with his stupid starry eyes. If his ears burned red it had nothing to do with him.

✦

He did not make the tea the next day, or the next one, or the next next one, or…

It had been over a week before a day came that Seonghwa did not start the day announcing he’d be busy and to not wait for him. Hongjoong appreciated the daily notice, as excessive as they sounded, not particularly curious for what was keeping the mage busy. It was probably just a busy time for his business.

When they finally sit down together again the long awaited reaction to his findings were quite underwhelming, the older just chuckled at how worked up he was, but Hongjoong did not relent.

“If I catch this little rascal anywhere near my herb garden again...” He threatened, trying to express how serious this was to him as he poured himself more tea.

“Yeosangie likes sweets, it’s not his fault! I’ll try to discipline him better from now on.” The white mage continued to make light of it with a soft smile, not convincing Hongjoong for one moment that he’d tell off his beloved pet.

The dark witch eyed the cat resting over his fence with distraught and Seonghwa made a motion for the cat to jump on his lap, stretching his arm to catch him into a protective hold as his shirt swayed around obnoxiously. Usually what would catch the witch’s attention was the veins popping in his hands, the way his collar bone poked from under his skin and his muscles flexing, Hongjoong wasn’t blind after all even if he liked to pretend he was.

But that wasn’t it today. Seonghwa quickly fixed himself, noticing where the other’s eye fell and how his expression turned sour.

“Working a lot lately?”

“Yes, I suppose it’s been busy.” The white mage averted his eyes.

“And getting fairly rewarded, I assume?” Hongjoong asked, even though he could guess the answer. He wanted to reach and touch the plethora of scars covering from the tip of the other's fingers up his forearms, he almost did.

Hongjoong was a dark witch for he poured his magic into potions and that dealt with the dead rather than the living. A technicality really, only categorized by the facts that all his ingredients were either already dead or would be by the time his potions were done.

Yet for white magic as it affected the living it required live sacrifices. Seonghwa didn’t look like the type to use animals and such, the practice was not well seen by the community to start with and he didn’t keep any besides the cat as far as Hongjoong knew. So there was only one source left to drive mana from. Himself.

“I only wish to help, it’s no trouble.” Seonghwa dismissed his worries with a weak smile.

Hongjoong considered it to be all the trouble, but oh well.

“You are an absolute fool Park Seonghwa.” His voice came out harsh and sharp, Seonghwa immediately hurt by then. Not offended, just sad to have upset the dark witch so much.

Hongjoong got up quickly to go back into his house not feeling in the mood for tea anymore, a pout and puffed cheeks hidden away from his companion.

✦

“Mister! Don’t you think you poured more blood on his field? Pour some more on mine too!”

“What?” Honestly Seonghwa was getting a lightheaded at this point, this was supposed to be the last one for the day.

“Oh, mine too! I don’t think you did enough today.”

“No! Mine is more important, don’t listen to them!”

“Wait, I’ll-” The white mage tried reasoning, but soon a crowd started forming and it wasn’t long before it started going out of control, no longer just words being used to try and grab his attention.

✦

The dark witch was drinking his precious tea with a different guest from faraway that eventful morning. Very far away considering how painfully slow it was to make a gateway from the underworld, be it through a spell or potion or however method used. It was a long time coming that meeting, months in the making.

The summoner in front of him talked excitedly about all the new pets he found on his latest journey there, eager to show the hellhound he had the pleasure to domesticate and Hongjoong was about to scold Mingi for even suggesting conjuring one on his living room close to all his precious tomes when he felt a crippling cold at the back of his neck, an eerie omen and he just knew something had to be wrong.

His neighbour's cat appeared tapping frantically at his window not an hour later, paw scratching at the glass with sharp screeches and desperate mews to catch his attention.

Oh, humans. Such selfish creatures, they just couldn't help themselves, could they? Once they found something that gave them even the littlest bit of edge over the others, any way to make their lives easier without working for it, they needed to capture it, hog it for themselves, grabbing and pulling without a care for the source.

And that was exactly what they did in this case with the treasure that was Park Seonghwa. The villagers fought nail and tooth for a piece of him, blunt claws showing themselves to paint the fields red till there was no more, leaving his remains to dry up. 'It can't be helped', they thought as their precious magic spell could no longer work for them, losing interest without a second thought.

With blood and flesh at his feet the dark witch saw red with rage, cursing at their fields, at the air they breathed and at the water they drank. He cursed and cursed till there was nothing left uncursed, loud cries and screams sounding all throughout the small village cursing back at him uselessly, but they did not dare raise a finger against him as they knew Hongjoong wouldn’t be merciful like their beloved white mage.

All the pain and misfortune that would befall the village served them right, the witch laughed through tears.

✦

“You’re so lucky I have a necromancer friend that owed me a favor.” Hongjoong continued to tell off the white mage that struggled to look up at him with the unusual height difference, his head laying on their garden table surrounded by flowers to cover the gruesome details of his severed neck.

“Yes, yes I’ll be sure to repay Wooyoung properly once I’m back on my feet.” Quite literally, the bodiless head meant. “Speaking of that, when do you think that will be?”

“It looks like it might take a while, we’re not paying for it after all. And he’s been very preoccupied lately with a jinx that went south.”

“Oh really?” The mundane chit chat was oddly nice, the witch had been extra prickly since the incident and Seonghwa had no choice, but to listen to his nagging now. Not that he minded, if asked he’d tell without an ounce of hesitance how much he loved to hear Hongjoong’s voice, be it sharp remarks or embarrassed squeals.

“He’s been using up all his energy trying to exorcise his boyfriend for a month now.” The dark witch commented absentmindedly as he stirred some powder into the bowl in his hands.

“Oh my, what a predicament. I think I have a spell that might-”

Seonghwa did not manage to finish his phrase as a spoon full of soup was pushed into his mouth.

“Even after all this you’re still wanting to help people? For free? Haven’t you learned your lesson?” Hongjoong asked incredulously.

“Haha, I’m sorry I guess it’s an habit.” The older just chuckled. “Are you mad?”

“I am! You need to take better care of yourself! It’s not like I really care about what you do or anything, but, you know… I- I… I don’t know what I’d do if you really died. Be more considerate.”

Seonghwa swore the blush in the younger’s cheeks was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He might just die a few more times if it meant he got to hear such words and see the expression again.

“You’re too kind, Joongie.” The comment only earned him another forced spoonful of soup through his smile.

#kpop fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #seongjoong #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #ateez #witch au #long #long post #my writing #youseissi #SleepyFairyAO3 #Arcana Series

30 notes · View notes

indiavolowetrust · 5 years ago

Text

What if MC was the demon and the demons were humans? A mystery AU.

THE DETECTIVE

MC is a detective sent by the Devildom. They have been sent to place where many souls have been reported to have gone missing -- effectively skewing the soul trade in Hell -- and so they must solve the issue as soon as possible.

The details surrounding these reports are ... strange. MC is sent alone in order make them as inconspicuous as possible.

MC is sent to a dreary town by the sea, a place affectionately known as the home of hellish tides (fishermen are known to be knocked off their boats and drown in the turbulent waters). It is a fishing town that's damn near on the water itself, with half of it built on the docks. Old-fashioned diners with creaky seats, dark and seedy bars, and a plethora of secrets lurking just beneath the surface.

As it would turn out, MC isn't the only monster here.

THE SUSPECTS

DIAVOLO

Your local eccentric. His family is old money in this town, and so the large mansion in the cliff is mostly just for show. Or is it?

Known by the locals as a collector of strange and anomalous art, often leaving for weeks at a time to travel in pursuit of his hobby. His butler usually keeps the house tidy and composed until his return.

Diavolo meets MC at a local diner, pulling up a chair at their table when he doesn't recognize them straightaway. Where are you from? he asks. How long will you be here? Do you have any family and friends here? Much to his disappointment, MC lies and says they'll be here for quite some time on family business. Their mother is terribly I'll, you see.

Prone to inviting visitors and tourists of all kinds to his home for dinner. The sea is quite beautiful, after all, and his mansion surely has the best view. Despite whatever qualms they may have in regards to dining at the house of a stranger, his sonorous laugh and disarming smile usually convinces them.

Strangely, he has never invited any locals. And where exactly do those visitors of his go afterwards?

BARBATOS

The quiet, unobtrusive, and ever-present butler of Diavolo. He is typically only ever seen in town on dark and rainy days, often on some errand or another. He is almost never seen without his pocket watch or umbrella.

Very little is known about him. Some say it was Diavolo's father who brought him up as a boy, that Barbatos was a mere orphan walking the streets. Some say that his father bought Barbatos in some terrible exchange of human life. Some say Barbatos simply showed up one day and never left. Either way, Barbatos takes no part in the rumors.

Barbatos meets MC in the street when MC nearly runs into them. MC is looking for their hotel in the downpour, which makes it difficult to see anything, and Barbatos helps lead them to their destination. Before MC can thank them, Barbatos has disappeared.

Barbatos almost always tends to be in the wrong place at the right time, tipping off MC about various wrongdoings and suspicious activity that happens in the area. Could this be a mere coincidence? Is he truly as innocent as he claims to be?

LUCIFER

The irritable overseer of the town. No one really knows what he does for sure, actually, given that he's done what he's done for so long, but it appears to be working. Informally works for Diavolo as well, keeping tabs on local elections and other affairs.

A man who oozes pride. Despite his supposed origins in the town, Lucifer's presence takes up a room when he steps into it, commanding the attention of all. It's no wonder he was chosen for ... whatever it is that he does.

Lucifer is one of the first adversaries of MC. After a few days of poking around too much, MC is paid a personal visit by Lucifer regarding their activities in the town. The trouble they could stir up. Lucifer tells them to stay out of the town's business.

Lucifer always seems to be updated on MC's whereabouts and activities -- going so far as to go to the trouble of threatening them. What does he have to hide?

MAMMON

The greedy, scummy, money-grubbing banker of the town. Given that he is the only banker of the town, people are forced to go through him to deposit and withdraw their money. His thick orange sunglasses do well to hide his gaze.

Loud and generally obnoxious, it is almost impossible to miss Mammon out in the street. Known by the locals as an annoying but harmless miser. Can often be seen arguing with local shopkeepers over influxes in prices or the bartering of goods.

Mammon meets MC in the bar one night after MC accidentally spills their drink on the man, who had obviously been walking too fast. Mammon turns around and is about to yell at MC ... but immediately forgives them upon seeing them, his face going beet red. He apologizes profusely and offers to buy them another drink.

Mammon has other ... side projects, sure, but can that really explain why he was behind the docks that night? Can that really explain the conversation he had with the supposed fisherman? And what was in those boxes?

SATAN

The charming yet irritable librarian. While his job is meant to concern only books, it sometimes appears that there are more cats roaming around the library than books. Satan knows the names of each and every one of them.

A little too charming. While known as quite the gentleman with a penchant for cats, MC can't help but feel wary around the supposedly kind librarian. There is something about his green-eyed gaze that seems off, even with the addition of his reading glasses.

When MC heads to the library to do research on the history of the town, it is Satan that greets them -- albeit emerging from one of the back rooms covered in kittens. After getting the squealing cats in order, he manages to direct MC to the correct section of the library.

MC comes in late one night to see the front desk empty and an almost miniscule trail of blood leading to the back of the library. If they weren't trained, they would have certainly missed it. If Satan is only a harmless librarian, then what was in the dumpster at the back of the library? Why did Satan lie to MC, even though he knew damned well MC knew he was lying? That smile never reached his eyes.

LEVIATHAN

The awkward, bashful fisherman. Leviathan can typically be seen on the docks with a comic book when he isn't fishing, nose-deep into its pages. When he's not reading comics, he's watching cartoons. When he's not watching cartoons, he's writing fan letters. When he's not doing any of that, he's fishing.

Known by most of the fish mongers as that strange young man. Given his hobbies and general antisocial nature, Levi has no friends and often finds comfort in solitude. So that means he can't possibly be connected to anything, right?

MC meets Levi when they're looking for the fisherman at that docks -- to which they find, to their surprise, that Levi is that fisherman at the docks with the lead. MC startles Levi when they greet him, causing him to nearly drop his comic book into the water.

If he's a fisherman, then shouldn't he work with someone or at least have the same hours as the other fishermen? Where does he go at night? Is there something he's not telling MC?

ASMODEUS

The flamboyant shopkeeper of the town's finest -- and only -- boutique, specializing in hair cutting and hair treatment services. With his updated style and high sense of fashion, he looks rather out of place in this town.

Everyone and their mother has a had a wonderful experience at his boutique. A bleaching before the day of a wedding, a last-minute hairdo, fixing an at-home dye job, doing some late mother's hair for her funeral -- this man can truly do it all.

MC meets him when they accidentally wander into his shop, wanting to get out of the rain. Upon his insistence, they end up getting a quick trim for their split ends, with Asmo fussing over how much better they look now. Don't forget to come back in a few weeks!

Asmodeus, being the one and only hairdresser, knows all the gossip that there is in town. Quite open about it, actually. But when MC asks him even the vaguest hints of what they're here for, why does he clam up? Why is he suddenly so silent?

BEELZEBUB

The ravenous, gluttonous cook of one of the best diners in town. Besides your typical diner food, Beel serves fish, fish, and more fish. As the cook of the diner, he has quite the loyal customer base.

People rant and rave about Beel's dishes from this town to the next one over. In fact, it's one of the things that brings tourists to this town. Everyone -- big or small, young or old -- has a hankering for Beel's famous fish fry.

MC meets him at the front counter of the diner when they first get into town, famished. Given that MC is new to town, Beel takes it upon himself to serve them up his famous fish fry, telling them that they don't have to pay for it if they don't like it. MC pays for it full price and tips him at least 30 percent.

Everyone knows that Beel's a rather hungry cook, considering his size ... But what on Earth was he eating that night? What vividly, horribly red thing was he tearing into on the counter?

BELPHEGOR

The grumpy waiter of Beel's diner and also his fraternal twin. He seems to be neither a morning or afternoon person, with a tendency to answer with one word, gruff responses and a deadpan expression. Despite this, the diner is as popular as ever.

More than waiter, however, Belphegor seems to look over just about everything in the restaurant. From co-owner to cashier to inventory, Belphegor has quite the multitasking talent. It is perhaps this hardworking ethic -- despite his outward laziness -- that continues to draw people into the diner.

MC meets Belphegor when they walk into the diner, as Belphegor is the one who wordlessly gives them their menu and black coffee before attending to other customers. While he seems mostly stoic the whole time, MC sees the almost-smile on his mouth when they compliment Beel's food and leave such a hefty tip.

MC understands that Belphegor may have to be up at weird hours to do inventory, but for what reason does Belphegor have in regards to receiving a package in the dead of night? Why sneak into the diner, as if he wanted to make sure no one saw him? And what was that shadow in the diner?

Who is the culprit? What was their motive? How did they pull it off? You, as MC, must solve the mystery ... or die trying.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #belphegor obey me #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me mc #obey me hcs #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #save for later #writing

41 notes · View notes

nymphigeon · 5 years ago

Text

Roses Have Thorns

♡ Pairing; Jungkook x Reader

♡ Genre; Angst, Fluff, Fantasy!AU, Supernatural!AU, S2L, Student!Jungkook, Wizard!Jungkook, Angel!Reader, Demon!Reader, Student!Reader

♡ Warnings (for this chapter); Swearing, mentions of stabbing, an attack

♡ Rating; NC-17

♡ Words; 2893

♡ Summary; A girl forced to live in fear because of her own power. Even though she isn’t supposed to exist, she wants to live. She’ll just make sure that she breaks herself over and over until there is nothing left of her. He, of course, won’t let her.

Series masterlist

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Two

“Haeun? Is this yours?” You ask as you walk into your mansion’s private library. In the middle of the library stands a long table with chairs all round. Only one of the chairs is taken. “I found this glass looking thing in my room, but I can’t remember having anything like it.” You open the palm of your hand to show the item mentioned.

Haeun doesn’t look up from her book, but somehow still knows what you’re talking about. “It’s a regeneration crystal. As long as you keep it on you the crystal will heal all wounds until it’s drained of power. After that you can keep it as a pretty rock or throw it out if you wish. A gift from one of mother’s clients. We all have one.”

Despite spending her time reading a book, she couldn’t have looked more bored. You can’t read the title on the cover with the way she’s holding it, but if you had to guess it’s probably something college related.

“Why would they gift regeneration crystals? They’re crazy expensive and it’s not like one of us gets stabbed every day.” You look at the tiny crystal in your hand with a puzzled look. For the longest time these crystals were thought to be a myth. Something someone thought of while writing their newest fantasy thriller.

Everyone claiming they had one got called crazy and eventually, nobody spoke of them anymore. Too scared to be criticized by a large number of people, these owners of the regeneration crystals got silenced.

It wasn’t until a group of researches accidentally stumbled upon a small warehouse filled with the crystals that the supposed myth was proven to be reality. A few powerful witches had been creating them, hoping to be able to distribute them among those joining the military.

Back then the crystals weren’t nearly as powerful or small as they are now, but as a myth proven true all the tabloids were filled with the news. Obviously the researches saw money in the crystals, and instead of giving them to those that needed them for free like the witches wanted, they sold them off to those with power.

Needles to say the creators were angry and stopped producing them. Some say they still created the crystals in secret, giving them off to the ones they trusted as soon as they were done so nobody could selfishly steal them, though this was never confirmed.

It wasn’t until a few years later that researches found another type of witches who were able to make them. These individuals had a completely different mindset compared to the original inventors, and decided to team up with the researchers, creating the crystals to sell them.

Sadly, both types of witches that were able to produce these see-through stones slowly died out, leaving just a handful all over the world. The crystals got rarer by the day, prices skyrocketing. If you’re lucky you’ll meet a nice witch sometime during your life who will create you a free crystal. If not, you must be ready to pay a fortune.

“Should you really be talking though? If anything you need it the most out of us all.” She closes her book after placing a bookmark in between pages. “Nobody is trying to harm me Haeun.”

Your older sister never seemed to particularly like you, and you’ve never been able to find out why. Out of your three siblings, all older than you, she’s the only one who seems to hold a grudge against you. By now it’s almost an everyday occurrence, wondering why she was the only one that had to stay home besides yourself, while the others moved out when they finished high school.

“Because you’ve been protected by a stuck-up entitled brat your whole life.” She glares at you and pushes her chair back to stand up, clearly not wanting to be in the same room as you. “You’re lucky you’re mom’s child. She’s probably the only person who would go through such great lengths to make sure you’re safe.”

Being the youngest child, you’ve always sought for the validation of your older siblings. That worked two times, or more specific, it worked for the two twins in the household. Your 24 year old brother and sister adore you, always calling to make sure everything is okay back home. Haeun though, can’t seem to hold that same energy.

“You truly speak like a fully-fledged demon.” You do not wish to fight with her, still, you also can’t just let her get away with her words. Perhaps this is your own way of trying to show her that she hurt you.

“I’d like to remind you that your own mother and like half of your family tree is full-demon.” She seems to think your distress is amusing, happily replying to your insults. “You’re the only one whose personality matches one as well.”

Somewhere you were hoping she’d comfort you, apologizing for her words. “If I’m so bad then why is nobody hunting me down? Why am I not the one being protected?” You can’t do anything but look at the ground and stand there, not knowing what to say.

Haeun, noticing your lack of answer, walks up to you so she can deliver her following words right in your face. “You know, criminals aren’t supposed to be protected.” Walking past you, she gets to the exit of the room.

“I didn’t do anything.” Once again you’re trying to hold back tears. Why do you have to be such a cry baby? “Keep telling yourself that. Hopefully it’ll come true one day.” Is it her mission to make you feel as miserable as she possibly can?

“Is it so wrong to just want to feel safe?” You whisper, but her sensitive ears still hear you. “In your case, of course it is.” With that she walks out, letting the door fall closed behind her. With her she takes the little confidence you managed to build up for yourself.

The loud thud of something – or rather a bunch of things – falling wakes Jungkook up. Complete silence follows the sound, almost as if it was never even there. The still tired boy groans, rolls over, and gets ready to fall back asleep. It’s Saturday, waking up at any time before 1 pm is way too early according to him.

Just for a second Jungkook debates whether he should go check if everything is okay, but quickly dismisses the thought. Nobody is screaming out it pain, so it should be fine. Except if said person fucked up so bad that whatever fell instantly killed them.

Jungkook sighs and accepts the fact that he might be a teensy bit worried. He yawns, not caring to block his mouth, and sits up in bed. There’s not much his eyes have to adjust to, as the room is still completely dark thanks to his blackout curtains hanging in front of the windows. The curtains were hell for his basically empty bank account back when he bought them, but damn do they do a good job at keeping the light out.

He can’t tell what time it is, but his droopy eyes tell him it’s definitely nowhere near noon yet. Getting out of bed, Jungkook puts some socks on his bare feet. It’s no secret that their laminate flooring is almost always freezing in the mornings. There was even a time when Namjoon was sure some evil spell had been casted on their floor, doing his best to get rid of it. Needless to say, that didn’t go very well. Turns out no evil spell was on the floor, their bitchy apartment just loses heat really fast.

When Jungkook walks out of his room he calls out for the only other person living there. “Namjoon?” He squints at the light coming through the living room windows. Both Namjoon and Jungkook have their own room, so there was no need to get any curtains for the living room. It would just have been a waste of money, although Jungkook is thinking of buying some for his poor eyes.

Nobody answers his call. Did these things just fall on their own then? Jungkook is quite sure he doesn’t live with a pair of ghosts, so he shuffles a bit further into the room and calls out again. “Is everything okay? Where are you?” He raises the volume of his voice a bit, hoping that it will help.

He can’t help but lightly cringe at the way he sounds, having forgotten he only woke up a few minutes ago and his voice is still laced with sleep. “I’m here Jungkook.” This time Namjoon responds to the call from the kitchen.

Jungkook walks over to the kitchen to check on the current situation. “What happened? I heard something falling and-“ Abruptly stopping his speech, Jungkook’s eyes widen as soon as he reaches the doorway.

The kitchen floor is an absolute mess. Food laying everywhere on top of what seems to be a dozen of broken eggs, with Namjoon’s form desperately trying to clean at the side. “Wha- How did you…” It takes him a moment before he can manage to form a proper sentence, not sure if what he’s seeing is real.

“Why is there food all over the floor?!” Jungkook nearly screams in shock. Luckily none of his snacks ended up on the floor, having no need to be refrigerated. They are still safely tucked away somewhere in one of the cupboards.

“I wanted to take something out of the fridge without moving the rest in front of it, but as you see, it kind of failed..” Namjoon looks guilty. Not only did he throw hard earned money on the floor, he also woke his roommate up in the process. Two things he likes to avoid.

Jungkook internally face palms, but doesn’t show it on his face. “This is what you get for being lazy.” Although he probably shouldn’t be saying that, as he is usually the lazy one. Jungkook bends down to get a towel from one of the lower cupboards. Initially he was going straight back to sleep after seeing what happened, but he’d feel bad if he just left Namjoon alone here.

“No worries, I’ll help you.” He smiles at his friend, trying to somehow comfort him. “Thank you.” Namjoon scratches the back of his head out of embarrassment, before audible sighing. “I’ll go get the mop.” He lets Jungkook know before walking out. This was not how Jungkook imagined he would be spending his Saturday morning, but at least nobody got hurt.

“Eleanor.” She didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing behind her. Having heard his voice for years now, the sound is most familiar to her. Comforting, soft, caring.

“It’s getting cold, so I brought you a jacket.” Elenora smiles and takes the jacket her husband offers her. “Thank you.”

The temperature dropping hadn’t been on her mind, too deep in her own thoughts. She’s thankful for the garment, instantly feeling a lot warmer.

“What do you think of the flowers?” Elenora asks Minho right after he sits down next to her. “I planted them before my sister brought the kids over, since Juwon likes them.” A small smile is plastered on her face at the thought of her excited nephew.

“They’re pretty, I like them.” He feels her eyes on him and looks down to meet her gaze. Having been caught, Elenora quickly turns her head in the opposite direction. They have been married for quite a few years, but sometimes she still acts like a high school student having a crush.

“I’m glad.”

Silence follows. Minho wasn’t planning on staying outside with her, but now that he’s here he might as well enjoy the fresh air. Besides, something feels off, a pull keeping him next to her.

“Am I a bad person?” The silence get cut by an unexpected question. “Eleanor-” “I’m making sure that someone who shouldn’t have power, keeps her crown. At this point I’m just spreading propaganda.”

She sighs and rests her head in her hands, covering her face. “I’m trying to keep someone safe by helping those with ill intentions. Does that make me a bad person?” She isn’t necessarily looking for an answer, she knows there is none.

“I agreed to it. If that makes you a bad person then I’m one too.” Scooting closer, Minho takes her hands from her face, squeezing lightly. “Angels can’t be bad, that’s exactly what they’re known for, what gives them their name.” She lets out a sad sounding chuckle. Despite everything, she can find a little enjoyment in the statement.

“There’s a first for everything.” He smiles at her, stroking the back of her hands. “No one is ever 100% good, but I’d like to think you are.” They say love makes you blind, and maybe she is, but she doesn’t really care.

“Then you are too.” No hesitation in his voice. She isn’t sure what makes him say that, but she’ll believe his words for now.

“We’ll figure out a way to satisfy everyone eventually. It just takes time of course. I trust the story won’t end badly.” He isn’t sure how to comfort her or how to give her an answer. All he can do now is support her. “I do hope so.” She lays her head on his shoulder, hoping that perhaps all her problems will disappear if she just forgets about them.

Jungkook usually loves the fact that the stores in town are open until late. He can’t even count the amount of times he went out at night to restock the snack he ate during the day, thanking the Lord for the gift of convenience stores.

Right now though, he hates it. Had the stores been closed by now, Namjoon wouldn’t have pushed him out the door to do the weekly grocery shopping, and Jungkook could have still been playing the new game he bought a week ago to which he ended up getting addicted to.

Well he wasn’t really forced out of the door, more like Namjoon convinced him to go. Damn him for having an important appointment with his project partner. Who wants to do school work during the weekend anyway?

“I should have everything now.” He murmurs while peering into the plastic bag dangling from his arm, looking back and forth between its contents and the shopping list to make sure he didn’t forget anything.

Jungkook probably bought more ramen than needed, but as long as he didn’t forget anything it should be fine. Even though it’s Jungkook who does most of the cooking in the house, Namjoon isn’t scared to scold him whenever he forgets something. Ridiculous, It isn’t even his fault the fridge ended up empty.

Realizing he still needs one of the vegetables, he turns around, walking back to the store he just came from with sighs and curses leaving his mouth. All he wants to do is go home and just get this done. There is nothing likable about eggplants anyway, when will he ever use them to cook?

Luckily for him, he won’t need to go back after all. Though, giving your life for not having to get an eggplant may seem a bit much. Not that he really has a choice in the unfair trade anyway.

Jungkook’s steps are fast, arriving at the grocery store as soon as possible is the only thing on his mind. It’s not until the clock strikes 9 pm exactly that he is forced to stop, an incredible heat closing in on his spot.

Someone somewhere screams. People everywhere start running in opposite directions, blindly clashing into each other. A few trip and fall, crawling to safety between the legs blocking their path. Others faint, their heads not being able to make sense of what’s happening.

Nobody minds them, forcefully stepping on the bodies of those on the ground. With the way people are moving it won’t be long before the entire street is empty. It’s complete chaos.

Jungkook, still standing where he stopped, looks up at the sky, searching for the cause of all this madness. He regrets it instantly, having probably been off better without knowing what was about to end him. Nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight.

About to set fire to everyone and everything, a massive blue fireball is raging his way. The bag he was holding falls to the ground, his eyes widening. It’s not hard to guess who the sender is. Luna is still after him.

It’s like time suddenly slows down substantially. The fireball is still so far away, yet also way too close. A memory of Namjoon chanting an extinguishing spell flashes through Jungkook’s mind, but is all too soon forgotten. Maybe if he had actually paid attention at that time he would be able to save himself now.

Frozen with fear, his feet refuse to move. He can’t do anything. Shivering all over, Jungkook crosses his arms in front of him as a way to shield himself. Maybe if he can’t see anything, it will cease to exist. And thus he closes his eyes as tightly as he can, waiting for the burning hot impact. He had long accepted his fate. It’s over for him.

59 notes · View notes

drowningsongsrp · 4 years ago

Photo

These are the Canons from our first subplot Founding Families.

Faces can be mixed and matched and are not necessarily bound by what’s suggested here. If you have specific ideas for the character, feel free to reach out to an admin to talk through, we’re happy to be flexible and help brainstorm.

We do not permit whitewashing of any of the canons listed here. Please keep this in mind when choosing a FC that is not suggested below.

THE WOLFF FAMILY

Eleonora Wolff Deceased ᐧ NPC

ELEAONORA WOLFF was one of the last remaining true believers, who sustained a practice of feeding THE ABYSS through rituals, even when its demands became greater. Tourists were chosen and stolen away to become its annual offerings. Eleonora called them ‘sacrifices’ whereas others saw them for what they were: murders. As THE ABYSS grew hungrier than she could ever feed alone, she made one last offering by walking herself into the cold sea. Eleonora left one child behind, a daughter born out of an affair with a PENEWAIT man – LIANA PENEWAIT. The child was raised by the Penewaits after Eleonora’s own family disowned her.

FC: Helen Mirren

Emanuel Wolff 54 ᐧ Taken by Lina

A disappointment, the odd one out. Emanuel was soft, yielding, and therefore weaker in their aloof eyes. He took a shine to the seas and steep lands around them, learning all that he could of Alderhelm. Their world seemed so great and so small all at once, and he wanted to document what he could. In doing so, he learned the unpleasant truth of their legacy, and of the town’s strange occurrences. As a young man he fell in love, as one is bound to do, and had a daughter. Emanuel was left to raise her on his own, much to the shame of his parents but even more so to his own delight.

FC: Mads Mikkelsen

—- Wolff early 30s ᐧ Open

Her dad kept her safely out of the corrupting influences of their family tree, keeping their gnarled branches from coming too close. It never did leave her fearful, only aware. The town was built on blood-soaked sand and she was determined to see it get its comeuppance. On most days, she can be found organizing protesters and leading pickets outside of town hall. It is vital to her to use her own privilege, and so what if it gets a little out of hand sometimes? A night or two in lock-up is a small price to pay.

Suggested FCs: Rebecca Ferguson, Keira Knightley, Haley Bennett

—- Wolff 50s ᐧ Open

It’s true what they say about apples and not falling very far from the rotten tree. It would seem he has some of the fallen patriarch of the family under his skin. He’s not as cruel or brutal as his predecessor but just as callous and greedy. He can never have enough, always wanting his reach to be wider and deeper. He runs the OLDE ALDER HOTEL with a strong grip and steers the family to even greater riches. Sometimes his hand slips, taking money where it shouldn’t (read: embezzlement). It’s alright, though, he stands sure as the husband of the Mayor and when the dusk settles he dons the cloak of a Son of the Sea alum.

Suggested FCs: Oliver Masucci, Rufus Sewell

—- Wolff Early 50s ᐧ Open

The Mayor of Alderhelm, at least for the past two years. She is a local; born and bred in the salty air of The Dregs. Came from a heap of penniless nothing and clawed her way to the top where she now stands as a Wolff, scoping out a view she is unlikely to let slip from her grasp. For someone who has only left the town limits a handful of times, she carries herself as a well-travelled, learned woman. Some claim it’s all surface-level, but her cunning mind and articulate tongue say different.

An key facet of the Mayor is that she has a vision for the town, though the nature of this vision is open and flexible. Perhaps she very opposed to THE KING FAMILY’s new reign, feeling they’re threatening all she’s worked for to get where she is or maybe she admires them. Perhaps she decides to work with them and, if she does, perhaps she’s secretive about it with her husband/his family. Or maybe she’s playing both sides, waiting to see who comes out on top. Whether she upholds and attempts to maintain/strengthen the Wolff name or is secretively plotting against it is up to the player of her and her husband. She also has ties to THE PENEWAIT FAMILY given that she grew up in the Dregs.

Suggested FCs: Rachel Weisz, Christy Turlington, Uma Thurman

—- Wolff Late 20s ᐧ Open

What are they if not the dried up husk of their father’s daydreams? Unlike the rest of their family, they were born into a feeling of uncertainty. Father taught them the importance of maintaining a unified front and not letting the public see you slip. They took that, bottled it up, and drank it until they couldn’t see where they began and their father’s idealized first born ended. They followed him closely, learning about the secrets of the business and the funds father pocketed for himself. Eventually, they were asked to leave town to get more investors for Father’s embezzlement scheme only to fail miserably. Now they have returned home, cloaked in their father’s disappointment and attempting to carve out a new identity for themselves.

Suggested FCs: Bill Skarsgård, Imogen Poots, Andreea Diaconu

Cordelia Wolff 23 ᐧ Reserved for Darc

CORDELIA WOLFF is every bit a wolf in sheep’s clothing. As the youngest, she grew up like a cankerous lullaby with all of Alderhelm as her playground. For most of her life, she has been dangerously underestimated. Though the girl looks like a daydream, she’s more nightmarish, sinister, and ruthless than she seems. Cordelia is presently attending Alderhelm College and majoring in finance. She is also a legacy member of the shadowy secret student society THE SONS OF THE SEA and may or may not have a thing for drowning.

FC: Andrea Madlova

THE PENEWAIT FAMILY

—- Penewait 40s ᐧ Open

Often regarded as more brawn than brains, he is his brother’s right hand man and can almost always be relied upon to get his hands dirty. Once he had been widely admired for his adventurous and at times reckless sailing abilities, his boat among the first to be seen in the morning and the last to dock at night.

However, sometime in the last 10 years, he was involved in a shipping accident that not only marred his relationship with the sea, but left him a little unstable: prone to violence and quick to anger. If money is owed, he’s the wolf sent to retrieve it; him and/or any of his droogs at the docks.

Suggested FCs: Zahn McClarnon, Alex Meraz

—- Penewait 35-40 ᐧ Open

Unlike his siblings, he is a very calm and observant man, showcasing his wit and ruthlessness to anyone who threatens him or his family. He has been instrumental in the success of the family business. He is widely respected among the community and seen as a dangerous foe by his enemies. Dissatisfied with the size of the Penewait empire and concerned about the legacy they will leave behind, he has begun playing his hand at relatively small, organised crime. In particular, he has drawn the family into pushing drugs, particularly weed, cocaine, pills, and meth. He has been known to use or leverage those closest to him in order to achieve his goals, believing that the ends justify the means.

Suggested FCs: Gerald Tokala Clifford, Martin Sensmeier

—- Penewait Mid-late 30s ᐧ Reserved for Therese

She idolizes the Family moniker and their image and reputation amongst town. Not only is she a formidable business woman, having worked for several years covering the family’s finances, but she has also been widely noted in the local community for her beauty and charm. It has been said that she could ensnare a person with just one glance. And while she is more good humored than her brothers, she maintains the infamous family temper. She handles the books and balances the family ledger to ensure their criminal dealings are untraceable.

Suggested FCs: Julia Jones, Q'orianka Kilcher

—- Penewait Early 20s ᐧ Reserved for Cyl

As the youngest of the Penewait siblings, it seems he has spent his life looking up at closed doors or catching the tail ends of hushed conversations. His family has always made it a priority to shield him from the worst of their actions. And as a result, he’s developed a bit of a ‘devil may care’ attitude toward the business, enjoying the limited Alderhelm “luxuries” it affords him.

Suggested FCs: Haatepah Clearbear, Forrest Goodluck, Boo Boo Stewart

—- Penewait Early 30s ᐧ Reserved for Asteria

The love child of Eleonora Wolff and a Penewait man. She spent her formative years raised by her eccentric mother after her mother was disowned by The Wolffs. However, as her mother’s fixation with The Abyss grew, so did the Penewaits concern for her, and she eventually moved in with the rest of the family and raised alongside her cousins. She has a complex relationship with her mother and, until recently, maintained a cynical attitude toward The Abyss.

Following her mother’s death and the disbanding of her cult, she has begun looking into ways to reassemble them, as a means to finally understand her mother and honor her memory.

—- Penewait Early 20s ᐧ Reserved for Shayne

Somewhat estranged cousin, they grew up away from the family and the spoils of the Penewait “empire”. They are an excellent mathematician, even earning themselves a place at Alderhelm College.

And though they are relatively new to the town, their ambition is clear. They have already begun working their way up the ranks of the family business, and can often be found shadowing their cousins and trying to prove their worth.

Suggested FCs: Amber Midthunder, Audreyana Michelle

THE KING FAMILY

—- King 50s-60s ᐧ Open

As head of the family, he is determined to do right by the people around him. After losing his wife and teenaged son to a car accident shortly after arriving in Alderhelm, he has since thrown himself into his work as a distraction. Family is important to him, and he holds some varied feelings for some of his siblings, as they are not as serious about the family endeavor as he is.

Very much becoming overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the revitalization project, the weird occurrences in town have only helped to exacerbate his frustrations. His guilt around surviving the accident has especially begun to turn into blame against the town that he’s committed himself to saving.

Suggested FCs: Mahershala Ali, Orlando Jones, Laurence Fishburne

—- King 50s to 60s ᐧ Open

She has long since committed to the success of her family, especially when it comes to her best friend and older brother. Two halves of the same whole, she is very outspoken where her brother is deliberate, more confrontational where her brother exercises patience. But a sour life of being overshadowed by her brother in her early years and her sister later in life has hardened her heart. As an adult, she manages to maintain her temper and composure but can often come off as cold and unyielding, especially when her vast intelligence is challenged.

With the reappearance of her younger sister, she is once again being overshadowed and has taken to working at the local hospital to keep the distance between her and her sister and, as a result, keep the peace.

Suggested FCs: Gina Torres, Naomi Campbell

Theodora King Early-mid 30s ᐧ Reserved for Grim

Determined to take the reins, she was deemed a queen from birth. She was a headstrong child with little interest in her much older siblings and has a dwindling patience for those who have come after her. A Harvard graduate, she worked for years in politics as a campaign manager in Washington DC, but after a bad affair with alcohol and bribery, lost her credibility, job, Congressman fiance, and was pushed out of the circles she’d strived so hard to form.

She has since returned to her family in an effort to find a place for herself again. Presently, she combats the eldest sibling in regards to control and tends to bait her older sister into confrontations by playing off her jealousies and insecurities. But despite all of her flaws, she is an effective political ally. Overseeing her family’s image and relationship with the mayor and the town, she has decided to be her brother’s lackey just long enough to force him out of his position and take over the family business, even if that means dabbling in illegal and illicit businesses to make it happen.

FC: Laura Harrier

—- King Late 20s ᐧ Reserved for Tea

The rebel without a cause, he fights his family at every turn and is the most outspoken against the revitalization project. While there is good in the cause, most of what he sees is the negative effects that could befall the community. Prone to brooding and bouts of sadness, he will come out of his shell for causes that he deems truly good for all involved. But his rejection of his family’s ideals are a hindrance to the cause, as he thinks of himself as a hero with an unwavering moral compass, saving the people from yet another powerful family that will do them wrong.

Suggested FCs: Lakeith Stanfield, Trevante Rhodes, Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, The Weeknd

—- King 20s ᐧ Reserved for Olivia

The youngest sibling, but hardly ever forgotten about. Their older siblings coddle them at every turn, forcing them away from their lavish life in the big city in exchange for the middle of nowhere. A bit of a tech sleuth, they have worked hard toward the interests of his family by digging up dirt on the Wolff and Penewait families that can be used as leverage to push out their older, more conservative regimes.

But at the heart of it, they are bored and missing their lavish life in the city. So they’ve taken to organizing a start-up on the side with a few friends to break away from the family name and to create a legacy of their own, far away from Alderhelm.

Suggested FCs: Sharon Alexie, Rachide Embalo, Amandine Guihard, Ashton Sanders, Duckie Thot

#canons #premise #canons i #drowningrp

9 notes · View notes

pauldron-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

Destrier Revel: So Little Time

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Switchfoot: On Fire and I-Human: Give All Of Yourself

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains semi-graphic depictions of sexual acts between two consenting adults, and emotional duress. Stay safe!]

Illeria always looked beautiful to him.

It was never a question of finding the right angle, or seeing the good through the mediocre. To Destrier, she just... was . It was as if it radiated from her, permeated her entire being.

She was, is, would always be lovely.

Were he not already serving his masters, both earthly and cosmic, she would be his divinity. Her hands, her smiles, her body...she was so tender with him, so strong when she had to be; an intoxicating duality that would not cease to awe him in its ever-present splendor.

Illeria, always waiting for him at the door as he left in the early hours for yet another forum with the King's Chosen, and he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe she would willingly spend her time with someone who could offer her so very little.

When the choice was finally made that they must deal with the other fiendish abomination, the other lich that had encroached and sought to bring such destruction to the kingdom, both King Jonathan and Leofore counseled for expedience. The King's Chosen were to depart on the day after the 'morrow.

There was always so little time to spend with his beloved, but Destrier bore that burden gladly. It was a small price to pay to keep her, to keep the kingdom safe.

Their kisses had grown steadily hungrier as of late, the two of them lingering longer and longer in the mornings. Destrier, for all of Illeria's prompting, had yet to join her in her bed in the evenings, the knight choosing instead to sprawl out across the warm hearth.

Not for lack of interest did he avoid her, gods no! But instead, out of an odd fear. He was a man so used to destruction, able to summon fire with a mere thought, able to strike down foes four times his size.

He was a man raised rough. War was all he knew, was all he had ever known. This...

Gods, he ached to hold her, to truly touch her and know her, but he feared that his clumsy, indelicate hands would leave some mark , some grotesque stain. If he harmed her, he would never forgive himself.

So he battled his urges, reasoning that it was far more than he deserved to even just kiss her. If that was all she wanted from him, he would be content with that.

/x\

His sigh sounded like it came from the earth itself and Illeria looked up to see her beloved Destrier standing in the doorway, his fingers grazing the crest above the lintel. His eyes were fixed on the fire that crackled in the common room's hearth, their brown depths equal amounts thoughtful and wistful. For being a man who wasn't particularly renowned for his intelligence, Destrier Revel certainly seemed to do a lot of thinking .

"I come bearing news that is good, for all that it makes my heart heavy." The knight stated after a moment, his eyes flicking to her own and warming almost immediately.

A blind man could have picked up on the knight's shyness around her years ago, Destrier's stammering the most endearing part of the whole debacle. That he had finally managed to overcome such a hurdle was a true indicator of how devastating the struggle with Leofore must have been.

In spite of that progress though, Destrier still seemed hesitant to go any further than his tender, drawn-out kisses. Illeria could posit easily enough that some of his hesitation was due to his military mileage, the trials he endured enough to break a lesser man. While the woman wished he would talk to her more openly about such things, she could only assume that he was doing the best that he could.

Illeria Stennas was not some frail creature to swoon after a turn about the drawing room, however.

She wiped her hands off on her apron, then crossed her arms on the counter, leaning forward a bit. "What new trouble is our great king sending you and your friends to sort out this time?" Illeria asked, her tone one of playful resignation. She had learned long before their involvement that Destrier's loyalty to his master and comrades was second to none.

"We are to do battle with a lich." Destrier looked haunted for a moment and Illeria was reminded anew of how hard the King's Chosen had to fight to reclaim Leofore from the clutches of such evil previously. "Illeria, I…" The blond man paused to close and lock the door behind him against the chill of the night air, then turned to face her again. "My love, I am to leave shortly."

"How shortly?" Illeria queried, cursing inwardly at the sharpness of her tone.

"Two days, Illeria."

She wanted to protest, to voice her disapproval of the rapid decision, so soon? . But Destrier already appeared miserable, the large man cupping her face in his hands over the counter. "I know you have no choice." She said instead. The young woman wasn't sure if the kiss on her forehead was gratitude or apology. Maybe both. A boon for her understanding heart.

"Illeria…" Goddess, when he breathed her name like that it was as if her knees were designed to tremble.

Destrier was all softness with her, but the occasional sharp edge to him was what she loved so dearly. The barest crack in his armor of propriety, painstakingly crafted over the years of knightly training. Leofore had taught him well, guarded his mind against corruptions or temptations that may have struck out in the field. His occasional slip-ups around her served as a reminder of his comfort in her, as well as a bit of an ego-stroke.

"Yes, Destrier?" She replied, her voice just as soft while he leaned in.

"Forgive me for this." Destrier murmured, and then slotted their mouths together. His tongue sought hers out hungrily and Illeria found herself at a loss, her hands fumbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. He rested his forehead against hers, those eyes nearly golden in the light from the lantern. "Forgive me." He begged again, stroking over the kerchief that she had covered her hair with.

"What terrible thing have you done, my love?" Illeria murmured.

"Not for what I have done, beloved. For what I may do." Destrier seemed legitimately distressed and Illeria caught his hands as he struggled to articulate himself. "I have this... hunger I cannot seem to reconcile. These urges, these… base cravings I feel to see more of you. Yet I cannot call anything associated with you truly base, for you are all that I fight for." Destrier kissed her knuckles. "My beautiful Illeria, my shelter, my light, I come to you not as one of the King's Chosen, not even as a knight of the crown. I come to you simply as Destrier Revel, a man rendered insensate by his need for you."

"What is worse," Illeria began, her head swimming pleasantly at his luxurious words, "than a man who takes what is not his to take?"

" Nothing ." Destrier answered firmly, and if it was possible the woman fell even more in love with him even as she shook her head.

"Destrier, it is a man who keeps his eager lover waiting!" She teased, seizing his ascot to reel him in. A bit more serious, she added, "I feared that you did not want me." Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "I feared that perhaps you did not have the same depth of feeling towards me that I foster for you."

"Illeria, I might die from wanting you." Destrier replied, the bluntness of his words settling in her stomach like an ember. "The years have been brutal to me. I am not the man you deserve."

"You are the man that I want. I believe that is enough." Illeria twined her fingers through his, leading him around the bar. "Take me to bed, Revel."

"Are you certain? Illeria-"

" Desty ." The woman said the nickname in exasperation, making him chuckle. "I am much more certain than you seem willing to give me credit for!"

"Very well, my love." Destrier acquiesced, his smile faint but still there. "Forgive my constant need for reassurance."

She rolled her eyes, tugging him into her bedchamber. Their bedchamber. Goddess, she was really about to take this plunge with Destrier . The incorruptible paladin of the King's Chosen, Knight-Captain Revel. All the lofty titles he had accumulated and yet he was still so uncertain , so humble, that he came to her as nothing more than a man.

They had entered this room many times before, hand in hand like they were now. Occasionally even clumsily fumbling at one another for a time before he would inevitably soothe her back against the counterpane, his expression troubled as he departed the cozy warmth of her bed and curled up in front of the fireplace.

He had oft left her wet and aching with his passionate, tender kisses, but she did not chide him for it. Destrier was not a hasty man, and he was also not a man lacking in emotion. Turmoil ran deep in him, the caution he displayed only fanning the flames of her ardent curiosity. What would he be like if he was truly unleashed?

She thought she got her answer as the door clicked shut.

Destrier pinned her against the wall, his hand cupping the back of her head to shield it from the impact. " Illeria ," he whispered, his voice grating slightly. "There is never enough time, my love, and yet if I do not ask now, I fear that I will be unable to again." He half-laughed sadly, resting his forehead on her own. "Every time I have ever had to leave the kingdom, every maneuver against the enemy...all I could think about was whether this would be the final time. Whether it would be the end, and I would never be able to see you again. Even if you didn't know how I felt, it seemed like it was enough just to see you, happy and safe. I told myself I could live with that, why muddy everything so?"

Illeria dug her fingers into his hair, freeing it from the haphazard braid he had constructed at the nape of his neck. Destrier hummed at the gesture, his eyes half-lidding as he leaned into her touch.

"After what transpired with...with the Knight-Commander, believing that we had truly lost him…I was in such a disgraceful state. It was an immense blow, one that I am aggrieved to say nearly ended me." He confessed. "I could not bear the thought of making you feel even a tenth of the pain I felt at losing Leofore, should something happen to me." His large hand tucked beneath her chin to lift her gaze to meet his own. "Should we continue down this path, my love, I fear I will cause you grief. If we need to cease our interactions here, I will understand."

Illeria remembered well the way that he had been following Leofore's supposed death. Distant, painfully so, and no victory seemed to be enough to blunt the edge of that specific defeat. "Did you believe you would die? When you departed with the others to rescue the queen and prince?" She asked instead.

"I do not fear death, Illeria."

"That is not what I asked." Illeria pushed him back a step, enough to give her some room so that she didn't lose her senses. His proximity could be... overwhelming . "I asked whether you believed you would perish. Did you believe, in some corner of your heart, that your death would serve as penance for the loss of his life?"

"I..." the guilty look Destrier sported told her all she needed to know. "You must understand, he taught me all that I ever had to offer. Unshakeable where I am brittle, strong where I am feeble, Leofore...is everything I could aspire to be. I told you before that I did not think I would survive the war, and losing someone so important--"

"And what of your own importance, Destrier?" Illeria interrupted him fiercely. "What of the people that might grieve you, as you grieved Leofore?" What of me , she wanted to ask, what of my heart that broke every time you left? But no, she could not take that out on him. It had been her own fault for remaining silent about her affections for so long, trapped by the inadequacy she felt. He was a brave, noble knight, and she was nothing but an ordinary woman who had carved out an existence for herself. Free, and so, so lonely.

"Every life in this kingdom, from the youngest babe to the oldest counselor, is worth my own many times over, Illeria. That is the reality of my knighthood, and a burden that I gladly accept." Destrier's tone was resigned. "My life so that others may live on in peace."

"Do not pretend as if there is no heart in your chest, Revel." Illeria snapped. "You do yourself no great service."

"Naero said much the same to me once." He smiled fondly at her and despite her best efforts, the woman felt her irritation wane. "When I am with you, it feels as though it is fit to leap free of my chest."

"You leave the day after tomorrow?" Illeria waited for his nod of confirmation before drawing a shaky breath. "I suppose we must make the most of that time, then."

"It would be wise." Destrier agreed, sounding a bit confused. "Are there any repairs to be completed? Or-"

She caught him by the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling herself into him and kissing him hard. Destrier's startled exhale made her want to laugh for a moment, but then he was kissing her back and suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from her mind. "Destrier," Illeria sighed, pleasantly surprised by the way that he groaned in response. "I would appreciate you laying with me before you depart."

Destrier buried his face in the junction of her neck and shoulder with another groan, this one louder. "Illeria, have mercy ." He pleaded, "I want that so badly it hurts, my love, but-"

"What is stopping you?" Illeria pressed kisses to his throat, his ear. "Undress me, love."

" Gods ." Destrier said through gritted teeth. "You want me? Truly?"

" Yes , Destrier. I want all of you." Illeria hesitated, unsure if what she was about to say would be too weighty for their current situation. "I want you to know exactly why you're fighting so hard to return to me."

Destrier's fingers dug into her back and the man held her tightly for several long moments. "I don't deserve you." He muttered, finally tugging at the laces of her corset. "I have never deserved you, and I doubt I ever will. If you will accept me as I am, who am I to question such providence?"

Illeria covered his hands with her own, feeling him trembling as she guided him through unlacing the supportive garment. The corset slid down her body, taking her skirts with it and leaving her there in her chemise. The woman raised her hands to his shirt collar, deft fingers untying his ascot. "Are you alright, my love?" She asked gently. Destrier's eyes snapped back to her own, the man nodding hard enough to make her giggle.

"I am uncertain of where to look." He admitted, his expression gone sheepish. A flush had crept up his neck to dust the bridge of his aquiline nose with a sweet rosy tint. The image was utterly precious and so very Destrier that Illeria couldn't have helped her smile even if she had wanted to.

He seemed content to just stand there and let her undo the buttons on his waistcoat, the knight shrugging out of the garment absently. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of other women?" Illeria teased. "You must have looked at them, Destrier."

The large man fidgeted guiltily. "Well, yes."

"And I have enjoyed the company of other men, Destrier." Illeria smiled at him. "Do not appear so pensive, my love! We are neither of us blushing virgins. There is no shame in enjoying the touch of another person."

Destrier swore under his breath, meeting her gaze once more. "I just feel inadequate, Illeria. I bandy with the notion that you may not enjoy me, and to know that you could be trapped with me...many folk love each other without enjoying their coupling. I do not wish for you to warm my proverbial bed merely out of a sense of duty or normalcy."

"Fatalistic! We will be fine , my love." Illeria stated firmly. "You must stop thinking of the worst possible thing, lest your forehead become hopelessly wrinkled."

"Truly, what a terrible fate that might be." Destrier smiled reluctantly, his fingers undoing the kerchief that kept her curls in check. "Gods, I love you. I love everything about you." He said, the plainness of his words doing nothing to take the sincerity from them. "Did you know that your eyes light up when you smile?"

Illeria blinked at him. "They do?" Being the sole caretaker of Maplecrest, she had little time to practice smiling at herself in the mirror.

Destrier nodded. "They take on this warm hue, I am unsure of how to describe it. I've never been of a poetic bent. Regardless, the effect is absolutely enchanting." He cradled her face, brushing their lips together but not fully kissing her. She could feel the strange burn scars that spanned both of his palms pressing into her skin, the touch familiar and grounding. "Illeria, if I do something that makes you feel uneasy or...or if I cause you pain…" he trailed off, searching her eyes.

"We won't ever find out if we keep going at this pace." Illeria half-scolded, half-teased, taking matters into her own hands as she grasped the hem of her chemise and stripped it off over her head.

She understood his concern, of course. She had wrestled with such notions herself on more than one occasion. But there was no need nor room for doubt anymore. With the same certainty that she knew she loved him, Illeria knew that Destrier would never intentionally cause her discomfort.

She stepped out of her underthings and stood before him, hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. Illeria tilted her chin up to give him a playful wink. "Well, Knight Revel? Is one simple woman too great a foe for you to conquer?"

Destrier's reply came in the form of his eyes trailing down over her body, the paladin taking in every inch of her on display. Then, he shifted his weight, advancing on her until the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed.

"I have yet to meet a foe that can best me." He sounded almost contemplative, his hand reaching out to press against her collarbone and continue to urge her back until she had no choice but to lay down. Destrier shed his shirt and unlaced his breeches while she got comfortable, and Illeria decided that she had waited long enough.

Her own fingers began to move down her body, the woman teasing herself. "If you don't hurry, Destrier, I will certainly best you."

"Hmm, doubtful." Destrier murmured, his large form abruptly caging her in. "Though your confidence is not unfounded, I must insist that you yield." His fingers twined through her own, pinning them to the blankets on either side of her head. "You are wholly at my mercy, woman. However, should you request my supplication, I may be swayed to grant it."

Had any other man said such a thing while looming over her in bed, Illeria would have made them regret being born. But Destrier saying those things, brown eyes scorching in their intensity even as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his mouth…

She had never thought that a man teasing her could elicit such a heated reaction. Illeria felt her entire body flush. " Please , Destrier." She begged, and he smiled at her so warmly. Her thighs fell open as he tried her with his fingers, the man's breath leaving his chest in a harsh gasp when he found her slick and ready for him.

" Gods , you want me." Destrier sounded awestruck by the confirmation of her arousal. Illeria whimpered, nodding and arching her hips up in invitation. An invitation which Destrier proceeded to accept, the blond man finally gifting her the last piece of what she had been craving for so long.

His hand still holding hers squeezed once when she moaned his name, her own breathing so quick to stutter when Destrier plunged deep. His pelvis ground against her, providing such delicious stimulation that she couldn't help her cry.

Destrier rumbled wordlessly in response, ducking his head to flick and tease at her nipples with his awful, terrible tongue. The tongue that said such sweet and pleasing things now menaced her mercilessly, feeling like a trail of fire on her sensitive skin. Illeria gripped his back after he released her hand to support his weight more fully, the large man shuddering all over when she dug her nails in. "Good?" He queried breathlessly.

"Gods, Destrier , more-" Illeria couldn't even get the full plea out, the muscles in his back shifting before snapping taut beneath her touch as he moved to obey.

His voice was gravelly when next he spoke, his hand stroking over her hair with such tenderness. "I never believed I would get to do this with you, my love." He looked dazed. "I feel as though I'll wake up at any moment, aching and alone, still in my tent out in the field."

"You dreamed of me?" Illeria meant to joke with him, but his expression was so soft as he looked down at her and nodded she couldn't bring herself to.

"Nearly every night, it seemed." Destrier confessed, making the pit of her stomach throb sweetly with the depth of his next thrust. "I would start awake, your name on my lips, wishing more than anything that I could-" he paused for breath, glancing downwards at where their bodies were currently joined and then back up at her. His grin was pure mischief when he continued, "well, I'm certain your own imagination can fill in the blanks."

"I have been so fearful that you saw me as a trinket, something nice to look at and do nothing with." Illeria gave him her own confession, laughing a little when he accidentally bumped his nose against hers. "I did not want to rush you, Destrier."

"Patience is a virtue, my love, but there are worse things in life than being less virtuous." Destrier kissed her forehead. "You have waited so very long for me, and I for you, Illeria Stennas."

His hand slipped between their bodies, delving into the apex of her thighs to give her what she dared not ask for. Illeria clung to his shoulders, her legs framing his hips as he rutted into her until she was panting his name, over and over in time with his motions. Destrier's fingers stroked her firmly, coaxing her towards her inevitable climax in a way that no other man had ever bothered to do.

"Illeria..." he moaned for her and the effect was instantaneous. Every muscle in her body tensed, Illeria threw her head back and canted her hips to meet his next thrust.

Stars erupted across her field of vision, the lure of completion beckoning her onwards.

Destrier dropped his forehead against her sternum while she trembled and sobbed out his name, her entire being ablaze with aroused heat as she fell apart for him. In the haze of her post-moment, Illeria vaguely realized that Destrier had gone stock-still, quivering a little.

"Where do you want me?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fear I am close."

Where do you want me?

She bit her lip unintentionally as she thought and Destrier groaned, a tremor running through him. "Illeria," he began to protest, then grunted as she pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs, theoretically keeping him right where he was. In truth, she knew full well that he could easily remove himself from her embrace if he did not feel comfortable with such an act.

"Inside me, my love?" She requested softly. Illeria could have sworn the fire in the hearth behind him flared a little brighter, Destrier's brown eyes flickering like molten gold as he stared down at her. "Our first time together should be special, shouldn't it?" She reasoned, combing his hair back out of his face.

"You are certain? " He rasped, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made her want to shiver. "It is not too late to change your mind, Illeria. I will not unless you truly wish for it."

"I love you as I have never loved another, Destrier Revel." Illeria assured him. "I trust you."

That seemed to do him in, the paladin gripping her hips nearly tight enough to bruise. "I will return to you, I swear it." He promised fervently, "Not even death itself has a chance of tearing me from you, Illeria."

Such lofty words, spoken so sincerely. She could not help but almost believe him. The woman embraced him as he too reached his climax, cradling him against her body while he shuddered and spilled himself into her.

/x\

Destrier's heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. Illeria, Illeria , his mind chanted, and she had never looked so beautiful as when she had lost herself under the caress of his fingers.

A thousand nights that he had awoken alone, all washed away by this one instance of lovemaking. He felt like a complete idiot, smiling at her like the lovestruck fool that he was. He was always so careful with her thick hair, knowing that one wrong move could tug it to the point of pain, but he managed to successfully lace his fingers through it so he could tilt her head. His nose being... prodigious , certain precautions had to be taken when he kissed her.

"You are incredible." Illeria whispered against his lips, giving the man pause. He pulled back, a bit startled and confused by the strength of the affectionate look she was giving him.

"I am?" He asked after a moment.

Illeria laughed, the noise carefree as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. " Yes , Destrier!"

"I love you, you know that, right?" He hated how pitiful he sounded. "I have never felt this way before, Illeria. I have never…"

Her hands framed his jaw, tipping his face down to gently peck his slack mouth. "Destrier, I feel the same way. It's all so…"

"Raw." Destrier finished for her, shaking his head.

" New ," she corrected him, "raw makes it sound as though it is painful. Are you pained, my love?"

" Gods , no. Oh! I should move, I must be crushing you." Destrier floundered back, nearly falling over in his hasty effort to take his weight off of her. "I did not hurt you, did I?" He asked after righting himself, relieved when she shook her head.

Her fingers traced the scarring that intersected his left eyebrow. Unbeknownst to her, those and a few more marks that his hair thankfully hid were the only indication of his abrupt departure from (and subsequent return to) the land of the living.

Destrier leaned into her touch, taking her hand after a moment and pressing a kiss to the still-thundering pulse in her wrist. "My beloved." He murmured, sure that he looked absolutely smitten. He certainly felt as much!

"I know you have to leave, but…" Illeria trailed off, her brow creased with worry.

Destrier cleared his throat. "Not for two days." He reminded her, trying to smile. "The day after tomorrow."

Illeria nodded. "We won't be open tomorrow." She said decisively, her tone downright flippant .

"No?" Destrier cocked his head, thoroughly confused. "But...the inn?"

" Destrier , you leave in two days ." Illeria reiterated with a wave of her hand. "If I can still walk at that point, I may consider it a personal failing on your part."

" Illeria! " The knight sputtered, torn between laughter and embarrassment. "You are...gods, I love you." He smiled, much more fondly than their ribald conversation would call for. "I shall do my best, if you are willing." He was sure he was red from the tips of his ears to the center of his chest.

"That is all I can ask of you, Destrier." The young woman slung her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. "If you are mine, I am willing." She sighed when they parted once more.

" Always , beloved. Until the stars burn to ash."

/x\

"You had better be safe. It will be cold without you." He could recognize now that the terse tone she had taken was due to her concern for him, and his heart ached in his chest.

Destrier took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "I promised, did I not?" He tried to assure her. "I will return as fast as I can, my love."

The soft gray fabric wound around his neck, and Illeria used it to pull him back down for another kiss. "Wear your helmet." She insisted.

"Of course, Illeria."

"If something happens-" Her voice choked off, the woman blinking rapidly and then looking away.

"Illeria, you must be strong enough for the both of us." Destrier murmured, his thumb catching the tear that managed to escape. "I will not ask you to force a smile or even put on a brave face, for it would be foolish to expect such a taxing thing. All I can ask is that you do not lose hope. I will return, and when I do, I…" Destrier hesitated, then smiled thinly. "I shall put in a better effort to ensure your lack of motion."

Illeria gave a watery snicker at that, and Knight Revel rushed to kiss her again before she could potentially say something that would send Thranrok into an absolute spasm .

Part Five: A Choice

#destrier revel #illeria stennas #a paladin and his love #pauldronsexual activity #non-player character x player character #npc x pc #female npc #male pc #paladin #dnd character #dnd #dnd 5e #dnd paladin #me finally finding an outlet for all my flowery language like

2 notes · View notes