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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years ago

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Encounters of the Strange Kind || Ariana & Frank

TIMING: Before the last full moon during the nightmares POTW PARTIES: @frankmulloy & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana goes to watch a soccer match and bug her favorite bartender, Frank. Some nightmares brought to life make for a strange afternoon.

It wasn’t often lately that Ariana found herself with a free afternoon and as much had been preferred. Just when she felt like she was finally beginning to move forward again, Winn had to go and die on her, too. If she let herself sit in all those feelings for too long, she was almost certain she wouldn’t be able to find it in her to get up again. Moving was easier. At least that’s what she had kept telling herself, but now the erratic weather meant soccer practice was cancelled which means she wouldn’t spend the rest of her day coaching. She was far ahead on all of her projects for school and she didn’t want to bother Blanche or Grace yet again. The weather also meant a run with her dog was out of the question so she opted to drink beer and watch some soccer matches at Perfect Pint. It wasn’t the world’s best distraction, but bugging the bartender had always proven to be a good time. While the USWNT wasn’t playing, she threw on the Rapinoe jersey Athena had gotten her anyway. Something about channeling Rapinoe had always left her feeling a little tougher. Which was saying a lot because most days, she considered herself to be pretty badass.

Considering it was a weekday afternoon, Ariana found the bar wasn’t overly crowded, so she grabbed a seat in front of the women’s Olympique Lyons team’s match. While they weren’t her team, she remembered Kaden was a Lyons fan. It gave her some sort of deeper attachment to the game which meant it’d be more likely to hold her attention. She waved at Frank as she settled into her seat and gave him a wide smile. Confidence was key to no one questioning her fake ID. “How are you doing today,” she asked brightly before adding, “I’ll take a Guinness when you get a chance.” She hadn’t liked it at first, but it grew on her. She admittedly just said the first thing she looked at the first time she came here and just kept going with it.

Frank had always considered Perfect Pint a lesser form of Soul. Less sticky, less sleazy, less were the chance of someone kicking someone else’s teeth in—or maybe that was just his shift. Maybe in his absence the patrons that gathered at the latter establishment were perfectly pleasant, either way, the Irish bar was a welcomed breath of civility before the shit-storm the evening would no doubt bring. The presence of another gancanagh added to the ease of simply being as the pub owner exercised a control over his ability that even after all these years Frank had never fully mastered. His pheromones fluctuated to a rhythm of its own make, a song Frank was not privy to and struggled still to understand. But the shadow of a smile that threatened to break his mask of perpetual indifference came at the hands of one that, legally, shouldn’t even be allowed at the bar. They both knew this— that no matter what her ID said, Ariana was not 21, not the fact that he silently enjoyed her company. No drink was strong enough to make him admit anything so personal. But more than that, if he admitted it, then it must be true, and if that was true then so was the very real possibility that she was only hanging around him because of the reason that most people were. The same reason he slid people their drinks across the bar, why he was always so generous with his distance, why he didn’t smile when he turned to meet Ariana but rather regarded that she was there—of course she was wearing a fucking Rapinoe jersey—another body to warm the bar’s seat.

“Do you have an ID for that Guinness?” Frank said, with perhaps a little too much enjoyment, after the glass was already in his hand. “I get the pub is Irish but you know that American laws still apply right?”

Something about the chatter around the bar was much more comforting than the near silence of her apartment. Ariana was glad this place was close to her new apartment and that her fake ID never seemed to be extensively questioned even though it seemed fairly obvious Frank knew she wasn’t 21 yet. Plus, they always played the soccer matches so it always gave her something engaging to do even if she didn’t have someone joining her. As Frank asked for her ID, she pouted and dramatically pulled her wallet out of one of the pockets in her cargo pants. “You know, you keep not remembering me and my very iconic blue hair, I’m gonna stop tipping… okay, that’s a lie,” she responded with a small laugh as she slid her ID across to him. She gave him a pointed look as she waited for him to set her beer down. The urge to do a triumph fist pump was resisted. Instead, she motioned her glass up in a cheers motion and took a sip before commenting, “You never told me how you were doing. You haven’t seen any weird fish lately, have you?” She’d seen a few of them floating around along with some other strange things. Still felt like a good idea to check in and make sure everyone was staying safe amidst the crazy that was White Crest.

The threat of no tip was met with a slight upward lean to the corner of Frank’s mouth, which was more of a smile than most could say they’ve ever received from the infamously stoic bartender. The Guinness had already slid across the bar’s top to her awaiting hand before she had even pulled the ID out; the presence of the little card vaguely acknowledged though not such attention was paid to its content. “Fine,” he said, and he was fine, and was happy to leave it at fine, but of course, Ariana had a talent for catching his attention when he least expected it. Like, say, a remark about weird fishes. “This whole fucking town is weird.” Frank would be remiss to say that the amount of fog that blanketed the town was a common occurrence, not to mention the pair of bright glowing lights that peered eerily behind them. Logically, he’d sooner owe it to a pair of headlights, than anything stranger, which was rich coming from a guy with giant wings sticking out of his back. Logically, he also knew that no vehicle or trunk had lights that large, that moved so silently, seamlessly-- there was nothing mechanical about these lights. “Why? What have you seen?” A pause. The temptation was to close the distance between them, but alas (at least this time) habit dug down its heel, and so did Frank. “What have you been up to kid?”

Of course he hadn’t actually bothered to look at her ID which made Ariana laugh a bit. While Frank was never the overly talkative type, she did enjoy his mostly quiet company. It gave her something else to focus on when the game wasn’t enough to keep her thoughts from drifting somewhere darker. He was a bit of mystery though and fine almost never meant fine. She knew better than anyone because she’d put that brave face on every day for the kids and a little bit for herself. “I hate that word,” she stated plainly, “90% of the time it’s bullshit, but I’ll give you that one.” At least his response to the question about fish led her to believe he wasn’t completely clueless to the ways of this town. That made it easier for him to stay safe. “You know, you’re not wrong,” she agreed, “Some of it is good weird though, like the dog toys falling from the sky. My dog had a field day with that one. Still, probably a good idea to avoid the giant floating fish if you can.” For a moment, she could almost detect a hint of concern in his voice though he still kept his distance. She didn’t want to alarm him, so she shrugged and answered, “Honestly, I’ve seen a lot, but more recently it’s been the floating fish. Thankfully, they seem to mostly just kind of float by if you don’t bother them. I may be tough, but I’m not exactly eager to see if I can take on an oversized flying fish.” The answer to his next question was decidedly nothing good outside of school and work. Between ghost hunting, avoiding sleep, and her plans to turn Ace into a werewolf like her, she was decidedly not staying out of trouble. Not even a little bit. “Oh, you know-- work, class, typical young we-- people things. I opened up an Etsy shop, so if you need any custom woodwork or repairs, I’m your girl,” she responded hoping her answer sufficed even if she definitely left big bits of the truth out. She shifted in her seat slightly and a puzzled look crossed her face as all the TV screens in the bar went fuzzy. That was weird. It was a perfectly sunny day out so she couldn’t think of any good reason for the television picture to just go out.

For reasons too complicated, and probably too depressing, to dissect without the supervision of his therapist, Frank had somehow convinced himself of being able to care for little else beyond that which directly affected him. Now Frank was a great many things but never the uncaring type, and while he was a talented wordsmith (when he had the energy to be) he was, as was the nature of his species, a poor liar. Even to himself. So when “fine” was met with a reaction that was far from it, his heart—he was frequently surprised to learn, or be reminded, of its existence—reared its head, and fixed a tender gaze on the younger girl. He said nothing however, feeling that it was the wrong time to press, but he would remember the minor outburst, and keep it close to heart. While Frank himself was still challenged with admitting to the existence of the strange and unnatural, despite himself being one of those strange and unnatural things, to have Ariana confess to it so readily, and so casually at that, made it concrete, and real. No, the lights were not in fact a truck in the foggy distance, it was indeed a giant floating fish. That was normal now. He was part of that normal. So what happened then when a normal person has spent his entire life believing he was not? How does he come to terms with that? The answer: he doesn’t. He instead focused his attention on anything else, on anyone else. “Right, so that sounded decidedly unconvincing. Your fake ID is more convincing than…whatever that was.” He waited for a characteristically snappy response, but when she looked up at him—no, past him, her brows knitted together at whatever the TV was showing. “What are you…?” Nothing, the TV was showing nothing, and yet she seemed entranced, or at least concerned enough to be curious. This made him concerned, and by the way the few patrons that were in the bar were whispering and mumbling to themselves and each other, it was going around.

“Jesus H,” the dish rag draped over his shoulder, Frank sought for the remote and tried to turn it off, but the battery was either flat or the TV refused to obey. Logic supported the former, and logic made him reach up to press the button on the monitor itself. That was when water started leaking from the screen. Logic offered no sound explanation for that. Somewhere within the bar came a yelp as the water from one of the leaking TVs (was he seriously admitting to that?) short-circuited the juke box. No, Frank thought decidedly, it had been two weeks since he last fed and he was too fucking tired for this shit. “Yeah, I’m not cleaning that shit up.” He tossed the towel aside, stuck his head into the kitchen and announced his early finish. “No offence but I don’t think your game is playing kid,” he said and ducked out from behind the bar. Something wasn’t right, and frankly he felt no great desire to stick around, and owed to some strange endearment he’s found in Ariana, he didn’t want her to stick around either. “I’m heading out. Finish your Guinness. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Normally, she would have been quick to comment on the fake ID remark. Ariana wasn’t sure just how serious he was, because would he really be serving her if he thought her ID was fake? Maybe he just didn’t give a crap which actually checked out to a degree. The water leaking from the TVs was far more pressing though. She was pretty sure electronics and water didn’t mix, so she took a step back. “TVs,” she answered as she pointed upward. How were they even doing that? She doubted there was any satisfying answer, but slowly scooted away from any electronics. After all she’d been through, she wasn’t about to go out by electrocution of all things. She took a big gulp from her glass of beer because frankly it was warranted with the current level of insanity. So much for having a nice escape from White Crest reality. It hadn’t been all that surprise to see Frank ditch the bar. She laughed a bit and commented, “I don’t blame you. Probably dangerous back there right now anyway.” The jukebox seemed to agree with her so she was glad he was seemingly away from any spots that may cause electrical shock.

While the TV situation was still concerning, Ariana figured she didn’t have much of a reason to stick around with both the game off and Frank gone. Beer alone wasn’t going to be enough to distract her from the whirlwind of emotions she currently didn’t feel like acknowledging. His offer to walk her home was unexpected though. She looked up to him and said, “Yeah, thanks, I’d appreciate that even if I am probably a lot tougher than you think I am.” She jokingly sized him up, but agreed her beer was worth finishing. “For sure gonna finish this bad boy. Can’t be out here wasting a perfectly good beer!” She was quick to polish off her beer. She refrained from burping as she set the glass down because as Celeste taught her growing up, it wasn’t proper table manners. Not that she truly understood why table manners were a thing humans cared about, but for the sake of blending in, she did her best to follow some sort of norm. “So we adding bodyguard to your business card now,” she joked as they left the now nightmarish scene behind. Thankfully, everyone else had also been quick to bolt, so she wasn’t too concerned for their safety. Every so often, a creepy face would flash on the screen and she muttered, “Wow, I fucking hate that.” She pointed down the block and said, “I live this way, not too far away and surprisingly decent rent. Not sure if you know the area well or not, but it really is a steal.”

“I am sure that you are.” Frank’s lips twitched as a genesis of a smile began to take shape across his mouth, one that came very close to becoming fully formed, until he too saw the ghostly face that haunted the TV screens. Fuck. That. Many of the pub’s patrons shared the same sentiment and a steady stream of people trickled out behind them, and for the first time (and hopefully the last) Frank was glad that he had the evening shift at Soul that day. A snort escaped his guard, harsh and full, a gleam of something mirthful reflected in his eyes as he turned them toward Ariana. “Depends on how much you’re willing to pay me,” he said and was only half joking. Bartending doesn’t pay a great deal, and there were many artefacts in his piece of crap apartment, including the piece of crap apartment itself, that would attest to this. The Bend wasn’t exactly known for its New England style living, but then again, neither was Frank.

“It’s nice.” He mused, quietly observing the shops that lined the streets and the plants and bushes that trimmed the sidewalks. Frank spied what looked like a stray dog toy tangled in the leaves of one of the passing bushes. Raining dog toys. That was normal too. Another thing he had to come to terms with getting used to. Not the fact that that particular thing happened, but the possibility of something similar, and equally strange and outlandish happening again. “I never really took the time to take in the streets. I mostly just come in for work, and then go to Soul and then go home. But this street, this place, I can see you living in it.” In the same weird way that you can somehow just sense that someone does not belong in a certain place, you can also sense when someone else belonged exactly where they were-- the latter was usually a lot more pleasant to observe. Walking next to Ariana, in the street she lived, Frank came to the conclusion that she looked like she was exactly where she needed to be; a place bustling with life, and events, and possibilities...even if it was a little strange. “It’s nice.”

Ariana noted the almost smile that Frank made though she didn’t comment on it. He was seemingly gruff, but she was pretty sure he enjoyed her company. Well, at least more so than the rest of the bar’s patrons. Which was fair, she was way cooler and far more adorable. As they walked, she laughed a bit at the mention of paying him. “Thankfully, I don’t need my own bodyguard, not that I could afford one. As it turns out, coaching kids’ soccer a few times a week doesn’t pay enough for a glamorous lifestyle. Not that I want one, but building a cabin one day would still be nice. If my woodworking really takes off, I may have a job for you.” They rounded a corner and something about the sky felt off. She ignored it and added, “I should warn, I’m good at finding trouble.” To be fair to herself, trouble often found her based on her species alone, but she definitely had a knack for following her nose right into some sort of White Crest nonsense.

It surprised Ariana that Frank hadn’t done much exploring the streets yet. While the more populated parts of town weren’t necessarily her thing, she did know the woods like the back of her hand. Or paw, depending on the day of the month. “Yeah, there’s a lot of good shops and restaurants down here. It’s a good area, I prefer the woods, but it’s nice living across the hall from one of my best friends. So thanks.” She was almost wistful for that cabin in the woods she was supposed to build with Celeste one day. Hell, she even missed the place she helped Ulfric build, but there was a sense of pride that came with having a place of her own. Plus, hiking with her school projects that were often bigger than her was a bit much. She’d been smiling softly when a strange smell hit her nose. She paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked in the direction her nose was picking up a more animalistic smell. Before it could even register fully in her mind, a raging moose was charging them. “Shit,” she yelled out and pushed Frank out of the way as she barely dodged getting impaled by a fucking antler. “What the fuck,” she grumbled as she regained her balance and stared the moose down, letting out a low growl.

“Me too.” Frank’s smile hiked a little higher, and there was something knowing about it, like sharing in a secret that they both had, even if it was from each other. Though he did not necessarily indulge in the more cursed aspects of his existence, he always found that it was better to take it with good humour lest he drowns himself in self-pity; the latter being a significantly worse reality.

Frank spent the rest of their walk quietly observing the younger girl, his eyes squinted in a mixture of easy amusement and sharp curiosity. She spoke, a lot, and he listened, filing away pieces of information that he found useful or interesting: her relationship with the woods, her best friend, woodwork, how the three worked together to form an idyllic picture of the life Ariana wanted for herself. The pieces of information that went untold, fueled by a detailed history, alive and well as evidence in how she spoke. It made him wistful for a future that he never imagined for himself (he never tried to), and wanted dearly for her to have—her sudden stop elicited the same reaction in him, though it was obvious that she was sensing something that he wasn’t. Something he couldn’t. He heard the rumbling of hooves on pavement before he saw it, and even then he saw very little as a force, and a very impressive one at that, pushed him out of harm’s way, very nearly knocking him off his feet were it not for the swift sweep of his wings slowing gravity just enough for him to recover his balance—the product of instinct rather than any great skill. And then a low growl, unmistakably animal, and too near for comfort. First the ghost child TV, then the moose, now if he was about to get mauled by a fucking wolf Frank was going to lose his shit. Alas, there was just Ariana, and a very angry moose carving its way through the street before disappearing around the corner. No wolves to be seen…and yet. “Ariana, are you okay?” Concern coloured his words and made his touch more gentle as he reached out to examine her for any obvious injury. “Are you hurt?” And then finally, inevitably, “only in this fucking town.”

As she reoriented herself she swore she saw a flicker of wings on Frank. Ariana blinked slowly a few times and realized it must have been a trick of the light. Not that wings would be totally off base in this town, but the rest of their surroundings still felt surreal enough that she wrote it off. There was still a small lingering suspicion that maybe Frank wasn’t quite so human either. She’d have to observe him more carefully. She brushed herself off and answered, “Yeah, I’m fine. More startled than anything.” The moose kept running and rounded a corner. Maybe she should have been more concerned, but she simply didn’t have the energy to chase a moose right now. Not in this form. She figured she could shoot Kaden a text and let animal control deal with the seemingly pissed off moose. She stood still for a moment as he looked her over and kept her demeanor calm despite the internal ‘what the fuck just happened’ vibes she had going on. “I’m not hurt. Did only narrowly dodge becoming a moose kebab, but it be like that I guess,” she said with a slight laugh. “Yeah, that was super on brand for White Crest, but hey, neither of us turned into moose-pops today, so I’ll call it a win.” She was dying to ask about the wings, but she still wasn’t entirely sure of what she saw, so she’d file that one away for later. “To be safe, let’s keep moving in case he decides to come back for round 2.” She paused briefly as she started leading the way to her apartment before she finally caved and noted, “So… you were pretty good at catching your balance there.”

Ariana’s note was like a plunged blade, spearing through the glamour that he has tried so hard to maintain. Did it fall? Did she see? She couldn’t have. Frank’s wings were not little plastic accessories that you found hanging off some rack at some halloween store. They were huge, and not something that usually elicited such a casual response...not that he’s had many experiences to draw from. Yet at her remark, he prompted his face to smooth over any evidence of emotion, trying his best to manufacture the closest imitation to nonchalance. “Oh yeah? Thanks kid,” he said before allowing an edge of gentle humor pushed into the timber of his voice, “I mean I’d be a pretty shoddy bodyguard if I’m tripping over my own damn feet.” This made sense--even if Frank’s history of fighting recorded more losses than wins. “Maybe you should consider getting into the bodyguard business. That’s some arm you’ve got.” Needless to say, had it not been for Ariana’s quick reaction, his day would have gone in a very different, most likely more painful, direction. The reminder beckoned curiosity’s head to surface through the crack’s of his apathy, and despite the strangeness of the TV, the moose, he could not erase from his memory the distinct sound of a dog’s growl.

Curiosity also prompted him to vocalise his next words, but Frank was careful with them, lest he risked sounding insane in a town known for its strangeness. “After that moose, did you, I don’t know, hear anything weird? Like a growl?” Was he suggesting that he heard the moose...growl? Perhaps. But what was the more likely event: the moose growling or Ariana growling? Then again, little ghost girls were crawling out of leaky TVs and only moments ago they were almost ran over by a rampant moose and Frank himself had a literal silver tongue and giant wings stuck to his back, Ariana growling was hardly the strangest thing that happened in that afternoon alone.

“Fair point,” Ariana responded with a laugh. A clumsy bodyguard seemed like more of a hazard than protection. At the mention of having a strong arm, she shrugged. The full moon was quickly approaching so her strength was peaking though even during the new moon she liked to think her athleticism afforded her a bit more in the way of strength. “What can I say? My natural athletic prowess surprises yet again,” she answered with a laugh. It wasn’t entirely a lie and she was tempted to just throw out the fact she was a werewolf. She was almost positive she had seen the briefest glimpse of giant ass wings on his back when he stumbled from her push. It was unlikely he’d have anything against werewolves. She was trying to have a little bit more in the way of tact regarding this kind of thing, but was pretty much failing at that. Would there really be much harm in telling him? As stoic as he was, he seemed to have a soft spot for her. Not that she could blame him. She was adorable and she knew it.

As Ariana started to lead the way toward her apartment again, Frank mentioned the growl and she stopped in her tracks. Of course he heard that. Sometimes her instincts were stronger than her common fucking sense. If she was being honest, it was probably more than sometimes. She sighed and explained, “That wasn’t the moose. You did hear a growl. That was me.” She was already most of the way there to telling him, might as well go for it. “I’m a werewolf, that happens sometimes.” And there it was. Did this give her the ground to ask if she saw wings or would he just think she was crazy? She could probably chalk it up to weird teenaged Twilight daydreams if anything else. She watched Frank carefully, looking for any sign of how he was taking that little bomb.

In summation: little ghost girls were crawling out of leaking TVs, they were almost ran over by a raging moose, flying fishes were a thing, and so was raining dog toys apparently, and Ariana was a werewolf. The truth settled over Frank like a blanket and he was unpanicked and strangely unperturbed, though either would have seemed a more conventional reaction to the news. In fairness, that tends to happen when you have a tongue that is literally silver and giant wings sticking out of your back. She could have told him that she was Irish (considering how often she was at the Irish pub), and his reaction would not have differed greatly from that he had on now: raised brows, mouth slightly parted as if wanting to say something but unsure of what, and a pensiveness had settled over his eyes as he digested this new discovery. “You are…a werewolf.”

The first time Patrick told Frank that he was a fae, and that Frank was one too, he laughed (and then punched him again, but that could also be accredited to several other factors), and though the reality of his situation seemed entirely too impossible to be logical, his father’s explanation was the only one that made sense. Frank didn’t laugh this time, but was instead preoccupied with another thought: why was she volunteering this information? He was suddenly very acutely aware of his wings, and the effort he exerted to keep them hidden—like one who was suddenly very cognizant of their own breathing, and the mechanics of that unconscious process. She did see his wings, was the first thought, followed by a question of whether he minded that she did? Was he comfortable enough to let her know of what he was, as she apparently was with her secret? Was it ever a secret? It wasn’t as if the subject came up in a lot of their conversations to begin with. “A werewolf like…Michael J. Fox, werewolf?”

The news of her being a werewolf didn’t seem to come across as too much of a shock and Ariana was grateful for that. There was definitely some processing happening, but as much was to be expected. At least he wasn’t looking at her like she had five heads or something which meant he most likely believed her. “Yes, I’m a werewolf,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a secret, but shouting it from the rooftops would likely attract hunters that weren’t as understanding as the ones she knew. If she could help it, she’d rather not be a trophy on some asshole’s wall. She wanted to follow that statement with ‘you have wings’ because she was pretty sure she’d gotten a glimpse of them, but if she was wrong, he’d really think she was insane. At the mention of being a Michael J. Fox werewolf, her features contorted in confusion and she paused for a moment. “Wait, what?” Her head tilted as she looked at him in earnest and said, “I have no idea what that means or who Michael J. Fox is. The gist of it is I become wolfy around the full moon, have a good sense of smell and strength, and really like red meat. Oh, and I guess I growl sometimes.”

Well, fuck. There’s nothing quite like making an aged reference to remind you exactly of how old you are. “Michael J. Fox...like, Teen Wolf nineteen-eighty—you know what, don’t worry about it.” Although Ariana’s general description seemed to follow, more or less, the general formula of the werewolf myth Frank was familiar with, the strangest part of all of this was not that she was a werewolf but that he felt no distance between them since the discovery. No unease, or distrust; she was still exactly the Ariana he had come to know. The same Ariana who knew exactly which buttons of his to press, and the right words to say to coax a grin or a chuckle out of him, especially when he least expected it. In fact what he did feel was something more akin to relief. She wasn’t a fae but she wasn’t entirely human either—like him. A small part of Frank was almost envious of her. She was so comfortable with herself, she knew exactly what she was, and unapologetically so. She listed her traits with the familiarity and ease of a cook listing the ingredients of a well-known dish: no judgement, no prejudice, just simple facts. The same could not be said of himself. The subject of his fae heritage had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. One Frank washed down with cheap cigarettes and even cheaper alcohol, finished with a serving of good old fashioned denial. You know, healthy things. “You didn’t have to tell me that you know,” he said, “why did you?”

No one had ever really asked Ariana that question before and it left her a bit curious. Frank definitely did not seemed bothered by her revelation or afraid of her in any way which was good. It wasn’t like she’d ever hurt him. Still, she supposed other people were a bit more tight lipped about their species than she was. The fact of the matter was that she liked Frank and she didn’t believe he’d ever do anything to hurt her. She shrugged as they rounded the corner toward her building and she answered, “I don’t know, it’s not like a big secret or anything. I mean, I don’t like broadcast it for the world to know, but given everything today, I didn’t think you’d be too shocked. Plus, pretty sure you’re not a hunter… not that hunters are automatically bad. I’m friends with a few, but still.” It dawned on her she was growing more curious about what he was so she added, “Plus, you don’t seem too shocked. Do you have like some sort of background with this stuff?”

Frank kept his eyes forward, his expression betrayed little of his thoughts, but he could not deny the sliver of ice that slid down his spine at the mention of the word. Hunters. He didn’t know why that was. He also didn’t know why he started thinking about his father. Didn’t know why the word triggered the image of him to come to the forefront of his mind, and the fear that he saw in his eyes, or perhaps most frightening: the resignation in them. Most faes were immune to things that otherwise proved fatal to humans; difficult to kill if you didn’t know what you were doing, entirely possible if you did. Hunters would. Was that what happened to Patrick? Frank had never cared to ask, and thought little of that night since, until now. Not that hunters were automatically bad, Ariana had assured him. Frank offered her a smile (it looked off, but then again, it was Frank), though he wasn’t particularly eager to go out and test that theory either. He turned his gaze back down, and for a moment their eyes met. She knows. He lets out a sigh, his fingers raked through the side of his beard, unsure of how to put together the words he struggled to say even to himself in front of a mirror. “Er…yeah, you could say something like that. I mean not werewolves, obviously, you’d be the first, but other things.”

While it was still a mystery of how Frank knew all of this, he seemed to take it relatively with stride. At least, he wasn’t any more or less stoic than he normally was. Ariana was still curious to know if her hunch was correct, but he could tell her in his own time. She knew not everyone was as comfortable sharing their species as she was. Or maybe he was human and just didn’t try to make excuses for everything weird that happened in this town. She’d sworn she saw wings for a second there, but with everything else that happened, it was hard to tell. Either way, she offered him a warm smile as they neared her building. “Well, whoever said save the best for last was wrong then,” she joked with a smirk present on her face. She took on a more serious tone and added, “I know a lot of people here who have a bit of something extra, so if you ever find yourself in trouble or anything, let me know. Even if it’s not something you can throw a werewolf at, I usually know who to ask for help.” She stopped outside the front of her building and turned to Frank. With a small gesture, she said, “This is my stop. Keep an eye out for angry moose and let me know you make it home safe, alright?”

The invitation was a door and Ariana had so graciously held it open for him. All warm smiles and not even a glimpse of a shadow to hint judgement or malice or a well to use the knowledge of what he was against him. But Frank’s history shackled his feet and he didn’t move but looked at her with feigned ignorance. He’d as good as closed the door himself and every part of him wondered why. Simply, it was not Ariana he wanted to hide the truth from but himself. So he could play grumpy bartender a little bit longer, supplying banter and alcohol to underage werewolves and deny the responsibility of his supernatural inheritance. It was fucking pathetic, he knew it, and he swallowed the truth with a smile as Ariana was delivered safely to her front door. Although that was perhaps more her doing than his. “I’m not going to ask who or how you know said persons, but I will keep that in mind. Personally, I hope that it never comes to that.” He mirrored the gesture back to her, a reluctant grin cracked across his face in a way only Ariana could force out of him, “yes ma’am. You stay out of trouble kiddo.” Somehow he knew, as soon as he said it, trouble and Ariana were never too far away from each other.

#wickedswriting #encounters of the strange kind #frank #// this was so fun and i love their dynamic #JT also sent me with that last line

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writerman · 5 years ago

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Some sort of soulmate au with Elbarduil? Like maybe Elrond and Thranduil have been soulmates for a while and Bard is still trying to figure how ti tell them he is their soulmate as well? (Or tbh general soulmate thing if you prefer I am just a sucker for that trope)

Oh you and me both, anon! I just finished writing a 110,000 word fic about soulmates so this is absolutely my jaaaaam.

I hope you enjoy this response, I would have finished it earlier but I am a dumbass amongst other things.

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A wistful sigh would go unnoticed if only expressed once.

The way one might get away with a heavy sigh on a summer day when the sun is at its zenith, the heat unbearable to all manner of man and beast.

But a second heavy sigh would not be missed, especially not by elven ears.

When Bard received concerned looks from both Elrond and Thranduil he passed off the second sigh as a yawn and profusely apologised because that seemed less embarrassing than the truth.

In his mind anyway.

His excuse worked, for the most part, and Elrond merely nodded and gave him an understanding smile before continuing on with his explanation of the trade agreements. One hand holding the documents as he read, the other hand gently tucking a strand of soft brunet hair behind his ear.

However, the same could not be said for Thranduil who stared Bard down for a long moment, his ridiculously pale blue eyes dissecting every inch of his face for any telltale sign that Bard had lied to him.

He had, of course.

But it really wasn’t the place to tell both the elves that he woke up one day absolutely sure he was their soulmate. The mark on his wrist was growing bolder every day and it looked just like theirs…

So, this left him with nothing left to do but hide the fact he was silently yearning for the both of them to realise in their own time. He already felt terrible that he was, essentially, invading their marriage by being a ‘third wheel’ without their knowledge.

As kind as they both were to him, they had helped him get the kingdom of Dale on its feet with nothing in return, he was quite sure they would not appreciate his sudden appearance in their love lives too- but if he was their soulmate wouldn’t they realise it?

Was the mark on his wrist only similar and not identical to theirs? How could he compare without revealing that after the majority of his life he’d never had a soul mate mark until now?

The meeting was adjourned until the next morning, Elrond and Thranduil had things to do in their own kingdoms and Bard had to get back to Dale, which for the first time he was absolutely looking forward to, especially the ride back which he was going to make alone this time.

Much to the despair of Elrond who had insisted on sending his own soldiers with him. Bard refused and explained all would be well without an armed elven escort.

There was not a single ounce of motivation inside him that he could summon to make conversation and the thought of trying made his skin itch as it did in spring when the trees and flowers started to bloom again.

Collecting his papers up, Bard shoved them as quickly yet as gently as he could into the leather bag that had been at his feet moments before. Everyone was filing out of Elrond’s study with the exception of Elrond himself and Thranduil.

The blond elf had stalked over to where Bard stood trying to ensure the papers weren’t creased or folded over on themselves, Thranduil’s gaze something akin to fire rather than the cool indifference they often displayed.

Why he was angry Bard had no idea, but in an attempt to remain casual he looked to Thranduil with, probably awful, feigned surprise. In return, he received the full force of Thranduil’s expression and every vein in his body felt as though they had been ignited and for a moment his brain shorted out. Whatever friendly greeting he had prepared fled and his mouth refused to do anything other than clamp shut like a bear trap snapping over a deer’s leg.

With his body conspiring against him Bard could only blink up at Thranduil who with a sneer gritted out between bared teeth that he would accept the elven escort home and he would thank Elrond for the offer.

Almost in the blink of an eye, Elrond was behind Thranduil with a hand on his shoulder pulling the blond away from Bard, who was still silent and mentally trying to put himself back together because while his veins were no longer on fire, he wasn’t quite sure he was perfectly stable either.

He consciously rubbed the mark on his inner wrist with his thumb as he began processing a response to Thranduil that would not ignite his fury further. Bard knew the anger was more likely concern for his safety but it still stung to be spoken to like that.

“I don’t need an escort, Thranduil. I want the time alone, let me have this.” This was too personal a conversation to be having with them both. They were friends to an extent but mostly they were considered… what exactly?

They were lords of an ancient race and they governed their people with power and respect that Bard could only dream of exuding, they were not close friends but allies and that was all.

Except that really wasn’t all, not to Bard. They were his soulmates only he couldn’t tell them that, couldn’t tell them that the reason he seemed so far away when he came to the meetings was that they were close, close enough to touch but even as the king of Dale he didn’t think he deserved such an honour.

Perhaps it was dangerous to hold them in such high esteem, but why not?

These men were closer to Gods than man. Bard shared very little in common with the two of them and when he did try to find a similar interest to share with them it was a struggle to make it seem legitimate and not utterly flimsy.

“Don’t let yourself get so riled up imagining the worst. Bard is a capable fighter. Remember that he took down a dragon on his own, he fought in battle and survived. You underestimate our friend, Thranduil.” Elrond spoke calmly and it seemed to ease the tension in Thranduil as his expression softened to something more like concern.

“It is still dangerous out there,” Thranduil mumbled but he threw out his hand as though to dismiss the rest of the conversation and moved aside to allow Bard to leave the study.

In the stable, he dismissed the stable hands and tacked up the horse himself. It was good to have the time alone doing something simple that did not require constant thought. Preparing his horse for the journey home gave him the grounding he needed while his thoughts played out his reunion with the children.

They were the perfect distraction and he always missed them dearly when he had to travel without them. Sigrid and Bain were growing so fast and soon he imagined it would just be himself and Tilda left in the castle atop the hill in Dale. But at least he would not be alone.

“Are you going to tell me what has you so distracted?” Thranduil stood at the entrance of the horse’s stall, tall and imposing even when he was gifting Bard with the softest look of worry he had ever seen on the elf. “It has been months and you only grow more distant from us, do you wish to close off from us completely?”

It almost sounded- no they did not know. Thranduil was worried that he and Elrond might lose an ally and nothing more, but still, Bard offered a tired smile hoping it covered the worst of his unease.

“You worry for nothing, Lord Thranduil. Did I not explain myself clearly enough earlier?” To save himself, if only for a moment, he turned from the elf and busied himself with adjusting the bridle all the while thanking the horse for being so patient. He had known all too well that what he had said was harsh but the alternative of staying silent was not an option.

Once he was satisfied that his expression was neutral and the horse was fully ready for the journey Bard turned back to the elf and offered up a casual shrug. What more could he say to get rid of him?

Apparently, the shrug had not helped him in any way because before he knew it his back met with the wall of the stall and Thranduil was bearing down on him once again. Getting up close to the elven lord was nice and all but Bard really had to get back to Dale and there was the problem of getting his heart to stop thundering in his chest.

Thranduil stepped back when he realised what he had done, the surprise on his face told Bard all he needed to know. Something beyond their control was trying to force them together.

Fate.

The Gods.

Whoever or whatever ordained for them to be together was getting impatient with the lack of results.

“My apologies, Bard. I am unsure what caused me to behave in such a way.”

“It’s fine,” Bard stepped away from the wall and hurried to his horse’s side grabbing the reins and leading him out of the stall without meeting Thranduil’s eyes. He wasn’t afraid of Thranduil for what he had done, but it had not been pleasant to feel his heart pulse hard for someone he could never have.

Out in the courtyard, Elrond awaited him.

You can’t escape either of them, Bard, even when you try to avoid them you can’t, he thought to himself wearily as he brought the horse to a stop at Elrond’s behest.

“I am saddened to see you go when there is much that weighs you down, Bard. It bears repeating that Thranduil and I are happy to help you if you are in need-”

“I’m not.” Bard interrupted abruptly, “I’m just tired and I feel as though I have taken up enough of your time as it is, gentleman. So, let me ride back out to Dale and rest. I promise that when you call for my return I will be well again and you can set aside your fears for my health." Elrond seemed taken aback at just how abrupt Bard had been, and had it been any other moment than this Bard would have already apologised.

The more space he put between himself and his supposed soulmates the better. Distance seemed to help somewhat, the age-old adage of ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ had been all he was able to cling to lately and it had served him well enough.

“Bard…” Elrond tried again to coax something from him but like a coward, he mounted his horse and offered a curt nod to the elf before he nudged his horse enough that it near leapt across the courtyard and through the gates.

Don’t look back, don’t ever look back, Bard told himself and he did not allow his horse to slow until they were deep into the wilds and the sun barely filtered through the trees, only then did he allow the pace to slow.

It would take him at least three days ride to get home and Bard used the time to muse, no, to erratically overthink his situation and in quiet moments he found himself rubbing the mark with his thumb.

Thankfully he was not disturbed by anyone other than travelling merchants on the road, but they mainly paid their respects to a king and moved on.

When he finally arrived home it was to very little fanfare. Both Bain and Sigrid were not there to greet him and Tilda was already distracted by something else, though she did gift him with a pleased smile and a long hug to welcome him home.

“I’m sorry Da, I have to get back to my studies.” She had explained as she turned away hurrying off toward their home leaving Bard, again, alone.

He had to take care of business before he could rest but paperwork held no appeal when the allure of sleep tugged at his consciousness tempting him to close his eyes while he sat at his desk.

Eventually, he gave up on trying to get anything in order in his study and instead left for his bedroom. As he walked he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to a passing staff member who whisked it away for cleaning. Sleep seemed to be the only way to rid himself of the horrible feeling building inside him.

A mix of anxiety and sadness welled up and Bard could only take a deep breath and try his hardest to will the feeling away. It was tight and cold in his chest a reminder that he was so far from those he was meant to be with.

Falling into bed was the only thing on his mind when he finally reached his room, a distraction had come in the form of Bain who had fallen into step beside him and walked him to his chambers chattering happily about what had happened while Bard was away. After bidding his son good night, he didn’t even bother to undress before climbing on top of the covers and passing out almost immediately.

The plague of odd dreams left Bard with only a short and fitful sleep, so when he woke up he was on edge, more so because there happened to be two rather familiar elves standing at his bedside.

Lifting a hand, Bard brushed his hair back off his face and blinked up at both of them with great confusion. Both elves, who had at first been smiling gently, seemed surprised by the sight of something, and so when Elrond leaned forward, to better inspect, Bard did not question him and allowed him to wrap slender fingers around his wrist.

Elrond sat on the bed and with a light touch traced the symbol on Bard’s wrist several times sending the king of Dale’s thoughts into a frenzied mess as he tried to form words to deny the mark.

“I suppose this would make sense of all our sorrow upon your departure, you left so abruptly and we were unsure why it had hurt so much.” Elrond’s voice was soft as he spoke and when he looked to Bard for a response none came.

How could he say anything now?

They both knew now that he had hidden this from them.

Were they disappointed in him or betrayed?

“Did you fear we would shun you if you told us?” It was Thranduil that had spoken then, he moved around the bed and sat on the edge of it with his back to both of them. His gaze was set to the window where sunlight streamed in with dust motes drifting in and out of the light like minuscule ghosts.

“My anger,” Thranduil paused clearly filled with unease, “Was it that which had you hide this from us?”

Bard scrambled into a sitting position, feeling Elrond release his gentle grip from his wrist, looking between the both of them wondering what on earth he could say to make any of this into a better conversation.

“No, no… I’m not afraid of either of you.” Bard let out a heavy sigh and tried to pick through his jumbled thoughts for something to say that would make sense, but regardless of what he said he knew it might hurt them.

“You and Elrond have been married for years, who am I to come between that and demand to be a part of your lives?” Yes, he had feelings of inadequacy and that he would address at some point, but he had to battle with the intensity of his imposter syndrome first.

The next thing to come out of Thranduil’s mouth was laughter, the surprised laugh of disbelief. As he turned to face Bard he gestured to the symbol on his own wrist.

“You have no idea what this symbol means, do you?”

“Do not make him feel bad, Thranduil.” Elrond began though he too also smiled as he tried to hide his amused laughter. “See how worried he was in telling us he likely did not think with logic.”

“Are you going to explain or just continue to make fun of my tiny human brain?”

The elves try, in vain, to stifle their laughter but Bard’s words did garner softer looks of apology from them once they had settled down a little.

Amazingly, he didn’t feel so very slighted at their words, they had never withheld knowledge from him before so it was only logical they would not now. It had always been something he had appreciated about them both.

“The marking on your wrist has the theme of three. Three lines overlapping into the shape of a pyramid, and three circles along all three sides. Do you understand now?” Thranduil asked and he reached over as Elrond had done earlier and traced the lines but all Bard understood was that it felt very nice when both the elves touched him softly.

“It means that we have been waiting for our soulmate, we were never supposed to remain as a duo. At last, it all aligns perfectly, three lines overlapping are our lives. The two that cross at the top are Thranduil and mine, the third line represents you and the long space of time from you meeting Thranduil and then me.” Elrond explained and it made sense to Bard now he understood because they had met each other first, he had then met Thranduil and after that Elrond.

“The circles’ represent us as individuals that belong together. That is why they are found along all three lines.” Thranduil finished.

They fell into silence for a short moment letting Bard take in the information.

Elation unfurled in his stomach like the wings of a bird readying for flight and Bard, at that moment, truly felt like he could fly. He could scarcely let the information fully sink in because his joy blotted out all his doubts like the sun blotted out the dark.

It was not that he was a piece that required to be wedged into a space that did not exist. No, there had always been a space waiting for him, a space in which he perfectly fit.

“We are so glad we finally found you.”

#Bard the bowman #Thranduil #Elbarduil #Elrond #Writing Prompt #The Hobbit #Anonymous

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corpse--diem · 5 years ago

Text

The Organ Trail | Nic & Erin

Tips hat in shady

@bountybossier

White Crest seemed incredibly open about their less-than-mundane characteristics and that was what Nicodemus appreciated about it. The less complicated his job, the more streamlined he could keep his internal database. It didn’t take long to find a bounty worth his time. A bigwig at Nichols’ Funeral Home. Shit, if there were ever a place to be inconspicuous while slinging a body bag over his shoulder. At least the day was burrowing into the evening and no one was likely to pay him any mind. He adjusted the body and rapped at the back door. “Evening.”

Erin wasn’t expecting anyone that night. The staff had just finished up, filling the house with that sweet silence she could only truly enjoy for a few hours of the night. Not willing to waste any of it on sleep, she disappeared to the basement, the influx of new arrivals ready and waiting. The “sky fish”, as she’d seen on the news, had reigned down on more than a few unfortunate souls that week. Between the skull fractures and the heavy bruising, she finally had some worthwhile challenges to sink her teeth into. It was gonna be a good night. But when the knock came, her first thought went to Dale. That wasn’t right, though, was it? He wasn’t due for another few days. Today was Tuesday, right? Scalpel in hand, she held it to her side as she opened the door. Not Dale. Definitely not Dale. “Can I… help you?” She asked, though her eyes were locked on the hefty bag he had in tow.

Nicodemus blinked complacently and shifted his weight to his right side. The client had told him that there’d be someone else at the building when he arrived. On purpose, too. At least she hadn’t come out swinging at him, though he could read the tension in her shoulders well enough. It wasn’t anything for him to bat an eye at. His arrivals typically ran the route of unexpected. Of course, it did likely look strange. A man with a bodybag and more than a few scratches to show for how he might have got it. “Nichols, right?” He said after a shared silence, voice gravel on a broken road. He remembered the name the client gave him, but had placed the client’s own on the backburner. It would only matter if the check bounced. “I hear you know your way around organs.” His grip tightened on the body bag. “Your boss said that you do a hell of a job an’ all.”

Her boss? Great. Erin’s lips pursed together as the initial shock eased into an angry-shocked hybrid. “Jesus,” she mumbled, stepping back to open the door wider. “Yeah that—that’s me.” Body bags were normal around here. Walking in with one slung over your shoulder? This guy was trying to look as suspicious as possible. Nonchalant as can be - like he was a pizza delivery boy or something. “Get in, hurry up,” she took a quick glance, seeing and hearing nothing, then locked it behind her. “What is this?” Her voice grew shrill and her eyes popped open. “Who is this?” That sinking feeling she got every time she slipped a bag of organs into the freezer instead of placing them back where they belonged overwhelmed her. “Who are you?”

Nic’s brow furrowed as he stepped in. “You got it.” She hadn’t been expecting him. Annoyance thrummed against the back of his eye. His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek. He would demand a higher price the next time he spoke to her boss, because dropping a werewolf body on an unsuspecting person most certainly cost extra. The hunter creed didn’t mean as much to him as it did others. Even then, he tried. “So he didn’t tell you.” Even saying it outloud had his arm clenching tighter around the still-warm body bag. He swore and took in a breath. How to explain? The straightforward route seemed appropriate. “Your boss wanted a certain set of organs from a certain type of person,” he explained, casual as the weather. Whether or not it would set her mind at ease, he couldn’t be certain. A body was a body was a body to him. “I’m just the guy your boss hired. Nic works fine.” He glanced around carefully. “There a sink I can use?”

A certain set of organs from a certain type of person. Erin hated the way those words fell so smoothly from this man’s lips. As if he’d done this before. Or something like it, anyway. She hated that this man probably also had something to do with whoever it was inside that bag. She hated that there was absolutely nothing she could do about any of this either, unless she wanted to wind up in one of these too. She pointed to an empty metal slab for him to lay the body down. “Cold day in hell before anyone does anything but dump things in my lap,” she muttered darkly. Before she even realized it, she was slipping on her scrubs, mind slipping into auto-pilot. “Over there,” she tilted her head toward the sink at the end of the room. “What, uh--” she paused to swallow, fighting with her rubber gloves. “Did he mention what he wanted? Specifically.”

For as rough as he could be, Nicodemus laid the body down carefully. He reached up and stretched his shoulders, popped the bones in his clavicle as he shook himself out. It really cramped up the body to lug a corpse around. “Ain’t that just the way,” he said in response as he headed toward the sink she indicated. He rolled up the sleeves of his henley and scrubbed away at his skin, his face, until the water went from red to clear. He dabbed at his face with paper towels as he returned, maintaining a respectful distance. “Livers and kidneys, I think,” he answered. “Y’know, the good stuff.” His expression was just as flat as his voice. “So, boss really didn’t tell you, huh?” He sighed low into his chest. Unbelievable. It could have been disastrous and he wasn’t above choking a man out in front of a grieving family. “Pretty fucked up. He prone to shit like that?”

Erin kept an eye on Nic as she unzipped the bag. Didn’t miss how warm the body was the second she touched the bag, either. This was something she’d done a thousand times. Never hand delivered by a stranger without proper documentation, though. “I’m still new to this, but I’ve gathered he’s the ‘does whatever the fuck he wants’ kind of guy.” Like, having his henchmen murder a guy and have his mortician slice him up like she was on fucking retainer or something. Her shoulder rolled, and she took a final steadying breath before unzipping the bag. Something was wrong, just not in the way that she had anticipated. Her body sagged and she glared up at Nico. “This is a dog,” was all she said, her voice flat but also slightly relieved.

The hunter watched her watch him as she opened the bag. “Yeah, I’m gathering as much. These black market types usually are, but they can’t be bothered to actually do a damn thing themselves.” As much as Nicodemus could complain about it, it kept him, for lack of a better word, employed. He folded his arms and leaned back against the nearest counter. The appearance of fur in the bag didn’t phase him a bit. Wolves died however they lived, just how the world worked. His face screwed up at her statement. “The dog has thumbs. Big fuckin’ ones,” he stated, just as flat. “That ain’t a dog.”

Erin would’ve cringed at hearing the words black market actually spoken out loud to her, but all she could focus on was the dead dog in the body bag. “A dog, a wolf—whatever. I’m not a fucking veterinarian.” She let the bag close and stepped away, searching for a cooler to put the organs into. The relief was there, but the confusion stepped in where the initial fear had been. “He couldn’t have sent this thing to a—a butcher or something to take care of this?” What a fucking day this was turning out to be. “I can’t believe this guy,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Boss guy, not you,” she corrected, not forgetting this guy had killed something before he got here. She had a rough idea of how this would go, but she’d never dissected a dog before. Her first cut was careful, intentional, desperately trying not to puncture one of the nonspecific organs requested.

Nicodemus stared blankly at the mortician. “And I’m not fuckin’ Jesus, but sometimes we have to make wine out of water.” Even if she thought it was just a dog, that didn’t stop her from grabbing organ coolers anyway. He could appreciate her work ethic and the way she handled a scalpel. “Well, if we’re gonna be frank...” He figured they had established a report of honesty, dog thumbs and all. Maybe it would be helpful if her boss continued to pull fast ones of the organ collecting variety. “Bossman said you were good when it came to matters of the delicate type. And considering that’s a werewolf you’re gettin’ handsy with…” He paused and searched for his flask to take a small sip. A shrug followed. “I can follow the logic.” A quick glance at his flask and then back to her. “...you want a drink?

Erin tilted her head a bit. Glad to know her shadowy boss figure at least had some faith in her. Was she glad, actually? At least of all his henchmen, Nic was up front about his intentions. Her nose turned upwards at the smell of dog filling the room, fingers exploring warm innards—“what?” She asked, caught off guard. Werewolf? It was a big dog but—a werewolf? It’s barely been a week since she’d just touched on the fact that vampires and bear-people were a thing. And already she was elbow deep in a fucking werewolf? “Werewolf,” she repeated the word, an exasperated laugh following. “A werewolf. Naturally. Of course it is. Of course.” She pulled her hands out of it’s chest, reaching for the flask with the gloves hand with the least amount of blood on it. If this guy killed this thing, what did it matter? “Yes,” she answered. “More than you know.”

“Yup,” Nicodemus affirmed. Better to rip the whole fucked up world view bandaid off then try and take it slow. “A whole ass werewolf.” He wasn’t attuned to any normal sense of human expression, but she seemed to be taking it well. She hadn’t fainted, screamed, or stabbed him yet. All perfectly acceptable responses. Maybe that meant it was going well. For the time being, he would assume that it did. He blinked in surprise as she reached for the flask, a quiet hell yeah sounding in his head. “You got it. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss you were drinkin’ on the job,” he said with a half-smile as he passed it off to her. The place was fucking freezing but his neck felt warm. “This not your first, uh, rodeo then?”

For all of the internal screaming she was doing, Erin was thankful that Nic was at least trying to be a calming presence during this. Plus, he brought the alcohol, and was thoughtful enough to share. “I think there’d be more cause for concern if I didn’t drink,” she gave a small smile back before she felt the liquid burn down her throat. Tried to rub off any blood onto her scrubs, but couldn’t help the little bit that stuck to the flask. She gave an apologetic wince when she handed it back. “Not my first collection. But it’s my first werewolf. Thank you so much for sharing this experience with me.” Nic kept saying it, and she’d said it a few times now, but all she could see was a dog. A massive, dead dog. She raised an eyebrow at him. Oh, great. “So did you think about whether or not bossman wanted the heart before or after you stabbed it?” She questioned, pulling out a chunk for him to see.

Nicodemus snorted and shook his head. He hadn’t expected them to idly chat while a werewolf’s entire innards were on display, but he had stranger ways of making a first impression. “Yeah, I’d hate to see you try this shit sober.” The smell was the first thing he had to become accustomed to, his grandfather all but sticking his face into gut rot night after night. After that, the rest came easy like Sunday morning. He eyed the blood on the flask, but didn’t pay it much mind when he stuck it back into his pocket. Wouldn’t be the last time blood got in weird places. “Oh, sure. Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. “Not just a dog anymore, huh? Told you, it’s the thumbs. Besides, her boss had wanted him there anyway. After what he had learned, he assumed it was meant as some sort of intimidation tactic. He could only hope that her boss would see his remark of being good at killing shit other than beasts as one too. His mouth turned down thoughtfully. “If he wanted it, he should have been specific. He wasn’t. Besides, everything else is more useful.”

“It’s not the thumbs—“ Erin sighed, but gave up halfway through with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just not the weirdest thing I’ve seen in the past few weeks.” A deformed dog. A werewolf. Whatever it was, it would be out of her basement faster than she could study it. She tossed the heart chunk into a waste bin next to her, “Well if he asks, be sure to let him know you played chop suey with it, not me,” she told him rather than asked him. She realized she had very little control in any of this, but she could pretend, right? She kneeled a bit, digging in a little further, getting to the good stuff, as Nic has put it. “So,” she glanced up after an awkward moment, making careful slices around the creature’s liver. “Is this your, uh—thing? Dog catcher and delivery boy?” A hint of a smile followed, remembering again that he was still the one with the bigger knife here.

He didn’t fight the slim smile that cracked his relaxed expression. “Fair enough,” Nicodemus hummed. “Plenty of fucky stuff around here that this might as well be white bread.” His eyes crept across the room, taking in every sharp and shiny edge. A far cry from the back alley chop shops he wandered into every now and then. Erin Nichols was a lot more accommodating, let alone easy to talk to, than the last man he met that simply went by Butcher Pete. “By the time I’m done talking to him, the heart’ll be the last thing on his mind,” he said as he pulled out the flask again, tightening and loosening the cap to keep his hands busy. The hunter was about to take another drink when she spoke up again. Delivery boy? A frown lacking any true distaste appeared. “Depends on the order,” he answered after a drink. “Sometimes I deliver, sometimes I don’t.” He shot her a knowing look. “It’s different every night, but as long as the check clears...Little bit of both.” With her elbow deep in werewolf and him sprinkled with blood, honesty came easy among thieves of a varying nature. “Should I be doin’ anything other than just standing here?”

“Why, do you plan on sweet talking him? Or giving him hell for not preparing either one of us for tonight? ” Erin had seen enough crime movies to get the gist of what Nic was saying. He was a hitman for hire, from what it sounded like. Not unnerving at all. Her hand only shook a little as she tried desperately not to knick the dog—the werewolf’s—internal organs. “Gotcha,” she nodded, cautiously pulling out the thing’s liver, setting it inside the cooler. Raised a brow at his question as she dove back in. “Unless you know how to remove werewolf kidneys, just keep sittin’ pretty,” she smirked up at him. This wasn’t the worst shady interaction she’s had since moving back to White Crest. “There’s whiskey in the cabinet by the sink. I don’t think there’s enough in that little flask of yours for the both of us after this.”

"A little somethin' like that," Nicodemus said as he tipped his head to the side. "Givin' him hell an' all, 'cause I'm a little rusty at sweet talkin'." The hunter tried to gauge her reaction, but if she was bothered at all by what his words all but confirmed, she kept cool about it. The werewolf's liver came out and he was looking at that instead of her. He didn't stick around too long to see what the parts he delivered were ever truly used for. There was a distinct feeling that would change while he was in White Crest, especially if the two of them made a night of organ harvesting a weekly endeavour. "Well, can't say I do, so yes ma'am, sittin' pretty it is." He bit back the dry smile that threatened to creep. At the suggestion of whiskey though, his brows rose. Oh, really? He hadn't expected that. Unlike her boss's surprise, he liked that one a bit more. Hell of a lot more. The bottle was quickly found and he held it up to the light. "Well goddamn. Probably makes it easier dealing with your boss."

“You? Rusty at sweet talking?” Erin scoffed, but she still shot a smile his way. “I don’t believe it.” This guy was dangerous, but there was something… warm about him? Maybe that wasn’t the word, but she probably wasn’t as terrified as she should have been. Or maybe she was still numb to this. Either way, he was doing a fantastic job at making this oddly casual. “I didn’t start keeping that down here until I found out about our mutual… friend,” she grumbled. A few more organs came out and Erin gave pause, almost forgetting the big one. “Sorry, buddy,” she murmured to the wolf as she dug around for her brainsaw. It wasn’t often that she got to use it, as the medical examiner usually got to this part first. “Hope you’re not squeamish,” she said a little louder to Nic as the saw buzzed to life. A few minutes later, and some snipping around the edges, the surprisingly large brain joined the rest of the organs in the cooler. “That should do it,” she said, clicking the container shut. Thank god.

“Well, shit. Give it time, you’ll see.” Bashful was not a word the hunter would ever use to describe himself. Nor would anyone else under threat of an imminent throat punch or nighttime garroting. That being said, socially unprepared for anything less than a business conversation wouldn’t be inaccurate. Her smile unnerved Nicodemus. He wanted to frown back as some sort of equalizer, but his face, the bastard, betrayed him. Just like he knew it would. Something would have to die after this, that would probably help stifle anything. Suddenly, he became very interested in the organs she pulled out. “This isn’t my first impromptu anatomy session. I ain’t gonna faint.” The top of the bottle came spinning off as soon as the organ cooler shut. All he had done was bring the werewolf in, yet he felt like a drink was suddenly incredibly important. “Looks good to me,” he said with a nod. Considering the blood and guts, he turned on the sink for her and stepped aside. A thought slipped by him and he snorted. “Got any clean jars around? We could really old school the hell out of this if we wanted.”

Was this supposedly dangerous man trying to fight that smile on his face? Was he actually having a good time right now? Despite the circumstances, the better question - was she? Erin was wholly perturbed at the thought, even as she pulled the bloody scrubs off and watched him turn the sink on for her. “Glad to know I’m not your first,” she smirked, then narrowed her eyes in confusion (mostly at herself) after she turned. This was weird. She needed that drink more than ever. After washing her hands, she leaned down and sorted through one of the cabinets. “You’re just in luck,” she said as she dug, the sound of glasses bouncing off each other echoing through the room. “I promise, these have been thoroughly sterilized.” She set them down on one of the empty metal tables, snatching the whiskey back from him. Found herself smirking up at him again as she poured. “I can’t imagine all of your ‘meetings’ go exactly like this though.”

The hunter made a sound like a cross between a snort and a laugh. Nicodemus was glad for the momentary reprieve from her gaze, as he looked down at the floor, completely bewildered. What the utter absolute hell was happening? Biting the inside of his lip brought him back to reality, as well as the smell of blood that settled heavy in his nose. At least he could thank his senses for making him completely incapable of just projecting his way out of a room. “Holy shit, I was half-joking, but hell yeah,” he said as he found his voice again, gravel and all. “I’ll take your word for it, but if I get dysentery, I’m gonna be pissed.” His hand stayed suspended after she grabbed the bottle. Right, hands were used for shit and he grabbed the jar. Damn it, he’d need to kill something else while he was out. “They sure as shit don’t, but it hasn’t been that bad. Was it good for you, organs an’ all?”

Erin wished she could blame some of the flush in her cheeks on the drink from his flask earlier. But nope. All her. And a lot thanks to him, too. “Dysentery for two, then,” she laughed, lifting her jar and clinking it to his. She almost choked on her sip, the alcohol burning her sinuses as it tried to force its way back up. “Wow, well, when you put it that way,” she nodded, sure that now whatever cool demeanor she’d been projecting was entirely out of the window. “Not my worst organ collection, no. You’re better company than the usual guy. Dale? Total dick. Never offers booze. Just a lot of creepy smirks and vague threats.” She let out a longer laugh now, shaking her head, trying to stare at her drink instead of him. This was her life, huh? That’s when her eyes fell back onto the wolf carcass. “You’re going to take that with you too, right?”

"Dysentery for two," Nicodemus agreed, eyes on the shaking surface of the whiskey for a beat before he finally looked at her. He took a long draw of his drink, relishing the burn to distract him from the heat rising up the back of his neck. He was a grown ass man, this was ridiculous. But she was also a grown ass woman and she was smiling at him like he'd never really been smiled at before. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? The tally for the night grew larger. They were supposed to just be digging for organs and calling it a night, not whatever this was. "Dale, huh? Yeah sounds like a real chip on the shoulder." Fuck he needed to leave. Immediately. The distraction of the carcass worked wonders. He finished the rest of his drink with a hefty swallow. "Well, appreciate the drink an' all but gotta hit the ol' dusty trail…" He set the glass down and swiftly shut the body bag as an answer to her question. It was easier to fall back into that rhythm. Body bag slung over his shoulder and a small smile on, he went for the door. "See you at the next harvest."

It was hard to gross out a mortician, but the feeling swelling in Erin’s stomach was enough to make her nauseous. Especially when she was torn between relief and disappointment when he started to pick things up. Be cool, she internally screamed at herself. This guy had killed a… thing she wasn’t entirely unconvinced was just an oversized wolf he found in the woods. “Safe travels,” she nodded, shaking her head at the harvest joke. Fuck. He was funny. She held the basement door for him, handing off the cooler like she was handing off his lunch pail. “Hey, uh—give bossman a little extra hell, just for me, won’t ya?”

#chatzy #chatzy: nic #chatzy: the organ trail #wickedswriting

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lailaliquorice · 5 years ago

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be the sunshine you cannot see

AO3 link

alternative title: let! cleves! be! soft!!! halfway through and here’s anna’s edition of the six hurt/comfort series. Took me a while to think of an idea for this so maybe it’s an obvious choice but I enjoyed writing it, plus the bonus of anne and cathy being the most supportive friends brings me endless joy. I’ll never tire of soft boleyn and motherly parr

One thing Anna had always been good at was complimenting people. She’d always been able to just focus on what was good in people, be it in their appearance or their personality. She’d been good at it in her old life too, a true charmer in the ballroom and someone who everyone wanted to be around. Nowadays it meant that she could never fail to make her fellow Queens smile through either a quick kind word or a soul-searching pep talk.

One thing Anna had never been good at was dealing with negativity. She hardly listened when it was directed at her; she was used to that, as in shamed-for-her-looks-500-years-ago-reminded-of-it-every-night used to that. What she couldn’t deal with was negativity towards her friends. That was when she would fight back, protecting her friends like a mother bear when they were broken down and building them back up again afterwards. When the other Queens enquired about her after a harsh review she’d always shrug her shoulders, shrug off those comments like water from a duck’s back, and tell them it took more than that to bring her down.

But sometimes, she was wrong about that part. Sometimes, painful words snuck through the charismatic shell she liked to hide behind and stung her hard.

It was early enough that the rest of the Queens wouldn’t get to the theatre for a little while, and Anna was sat at her desk in the dressing room with her eyes fixed to her phone screen. The voice of logic in her head was screaming at her to stop scrolling, to stop falling further down that rabbit hole when they had a show to do that evening and she would only put herself in the wrong mindset if she kept looking. But her thumb was on autopilot as it kept on scrolling, the kind comments blurring to leave only sharp words of hate behind. If it weren’t for the miracle of waterproof mascara then there would be thick black trails carved into her cheeks from the silent tears that fell without her even noticing them.

She could have been sat there minutes or days for all she knew. The sound of the dressing door opening jolted her back to life, practically throwing her phone onto the desk and pretending to be hunting through her makeup box for something as Anne walked in, shouting a loud greeting that Anna returned in what she hoped was a normal voice.

The sound of Anne cluttering around her desk on the opposite side of the room made Anna want to shrink even further within herself, her usual excitement when the other Queens came in dulled by panic that someone could see her upset. “Hey babe, you got any spare hair grips? Managed to leave mine at home and don’t want to wait for Jane to bring them,” Anne said, explaining why she’d been tearing the dressing room apart.

“Yeah, I’ve got some,” she replied without looking over her shoulder, attempting to sound casual in the hope that Anne wouldn’t notice anything was wrong.

“Ugh you’re a beaut,” Anne groaned. Anna flinched at her word choice, the mention of her appearance immediately bringing her mind back to what she’d been reading on her phone screen even though it was said with kindness. She put her box of hair grips on her desk as Anne walked over, wary to hand them to her directly in case she caught sight of her ruined makeup.

Anne grabbed the box but paused without going back to her side of the dressing room, making Anna freeze in case she’d noticed anything. Her heart was hammering at the close call as Anne turned to fiddle with the costume rail in the middle of the room, asking “D’you know what time it is?”

Unwilling to pick up her phone again, Anna made the mistake of looking up towards the clock and directly into Anne’s eyes.

“Oh hun,” she sighed, expression softening as she pulled Aragon’s chair up to sit down next to her. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Hastily wiping a hand underneath her eye, Anna shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said with a sniffle, averting her gaze from Anne’s intent look to stare at the desk in front of her. She was careful to avoid glancing straight in front of her; even looking at Anne was preferable to looking in the mirror. “Nothing’s happened. I’m fine.”

Anne was still for a moment, before she got out of her chair without a word and marched out of the dressing room. The knot of worry in Anna’s stomach only tightened when she heard two sets of footsteps echoing down the corridor and Anne’s shout of “I’ve brought the cavalry!” as she flung the door open again.

A flash of blue appeared in Anna’s peripheral vision before she heard the gentle voice of Cathy Parr. “Hey Anna,” she said, sitting down in Aragon’s chair while Anne stood behind her. “Please tell us what’s happened. We want to help and we can’t do that if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

Anna barked out a laugh. “You can’t fix this,” she said, gesturing roughly to her face.

“There’s nothing there that needs fixing,” Cathy said, a note of surprise in her voice that only made Anna feel like laughing again. “You don’t really believe that.”

“Well there’s plenty of people who do,” Anna huffed, unlocking her phone and shoving it towards Cathy and Anne. She knew she wasn’t being fair by taking her frustration out on them, but in the moment she was too wrapped up in self-loathing to care about anyone else.

There was silence for a moment as Anne scrolled down Anna’s phone screen, before Cathy shut the screen off and placed it face down on the desk. “Those people don’t know the you that we know,” Cathy said, “I doubt many of them have even seen the show. They take any opportunity to send hate to someone who they loathe for doing better than them. They feel safe hiding behind their computer screens and are too cowardly to do anything about it in real life.” A note of bitterness crept into her voice as she finished; while Cathy could spend days lost in the internet researching seven subjects at once, she could spend just as long ranting quietly about the lack of manners that social media made commonplace.

But as much as Anna knew Cathy’s comments were true, they weren’t hitting the nail on the head though. “I know I’m beautiful on the inside. But it’s the outside that people care about, isn’t it? When you’re Queen and when you’re an actress, everyone’s always dissecting what your face and body look like,” she said, voice hitching a little as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Anna didn’t you hear her? You’re gorgeous, babe. Honestly you are,” Anne interrupted. Anna was puzzled by the look of confusion on her face as if she was stating the obvious to her.

“What they think about doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think,” Cathy pushed on, glancing at Anne before looking at Anna carefully. “Do you like what you look like?”

Anna paused at the question, slowly finding the courage to look up and face her reflection. At first all she saw was the ruined makeup, patchy foundation and smudged foundation from where she’d cried, but after a few moments she managed to look closer. The shade of her skin, the shape of her cheekbones, the colour of her eyes. “Sometimes,” she said eventually, the word sounding almost like a shameful confession.

“And that’s enough,” said Cathy, she and Anne both smiling as they looked at her. Glancing at her watch she added “Will you let me do your makeup tonight?”

The offer was surprising, but the voice in the back of her head asking why Cathy would want to stare at her naked face was hushed by gratitude at her offer. She’d only had her makeup done a handful of times since they were reincarnated and it never failed to make her feel beautiful.

Cathy took her smile as a yes, fetching a few products from her own makeup bag before wiping off the remnants of Anna’s makeup to start over fresh. Anne hung her jacket over the mirror so that Anna couldn’t accidentally catch sight of herself before Cathy was done, though she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at having no makeup on at all in front of the other two girls for the first time ever. But Anne’s never-ending stream of uplifting comments from her position hanging over Cathy’s shoulder was enough to break down that fear a little.

Once Cathy had blended her foundation she picked up the concealer stick, but only looked at it for a moment before putting it down again and rummaging around for her setting powder. “Don’t you need that?” she couldn’t help but ask, internally rattling off the list of things that she usually covered over with it.

“Nope,” Cathy said, meeting Anna’s gaze for a split second before making a start with the powder. “The only person who needs copious amounts of concealer in this building is me so that I actually look half awake.” Anna smirked at that; Cathy’s raccoon eyes were a common sight first thing in the morning when she would trail down to the kitchen for her necessary coffee.

“What colour eyeshadow are you thinking?” Anne asked Cathy as she picked up the palette, scrutinising the colours carefully before pointing to one without a word. Cathy hummed in apparent agreement, and Anna trusted them both enough to close her eyes and let them carry on without her knowing.

She was midway through having her eyeliner applied when the dressing room door opened, but she didn’t have to guess who had entered as Anne’s shout of “Alright Aragon?” made it clear within seconds.

“Evening everybody,” Aragon said, and when Anna was allowed to open her eyes she was relieved to see her looking amused rather than annoyed at Cathy and Anne having stolen her chair. “Are we all doing each other’s makeup tonight?”

“Nah, it’s just taking three people to make me look presentable right now,” Anna joked.

Her poking fun at herself only earned her a disapproving frown from Cathy and a flick on the hand from Anne. “Oi you, or I’ll keep telling you you’re a beaut ‘til our dying days," Anne retorted.

Privately Anna thought that she probably wouldn’t believe her even if she did, but she didn’t voice that one aloud since she knew they’d all jump in to disprove her. Becoming desensitised to negative comments had the unfortunate side effect that positive comments on her looks had almost lost their impact too, meaning she was left in an even worse place when the hate did end up getting on top of her.

After pausing for a minute while Cathy shifted into Anne’s chair to let Aragon sit down, she finished off Anna’s makeup and leaned back with a satisfied smile. “What do you think?” she asked Anne first, who was still leaning over the back of the chair with her arms around Cathy’s neck.

“Looks gorgeous,” Anne said, grinning at Cathy before turning her infectious smile towards Anna. “You ready to see it?”

Anna nodded apprehensively, looking towards the mirror as Anne pulled her jacket down with a flourish. Immediately her eyebrows raised in surprise at what she saw. Cathy had done her eye makeup slightly different than usual, more like a mix between her own and Anne’s than what Anna usually wore. Cathy's dusky pink eyeshadow glimmered like stardust against her skin and the hints of red matched her costume just like Anne’s green glitter did, and completed by her usual dark red lipstick it just looked like a new take on her own make up rather than a copy of anyone else’s.

“She’s smiling!” Anne squealed, and Anna laughed upon realising she had started beaming without even realising it. “Go on, what do you think!”

Tearing her gaze away from the mirror, there was no doubt in Anna’s voice as she said “I think I look banging!”

Anne and Cathy both cheered, Aragon’s laughter in the background completing the happy scene. “Now will you believe me when I say you look amazing?” Anne asked, looking at her through intense wide eyes.

“And that’s with or without the makeup,” added Cathy quietly.

Anna fell quiet for a moment then, glancing back towards the mirror again. “I believe it a little more,” she said. She could have lied and pretended that her self-confidence had returned in full force, but after what they’d both done for her she didn’t think they deserved the disservice of being lied to. She could let herself be truthful with them for a change.

Anne grinned, skirting around Cathy’s chair to squeeze Anna into a tight hug instead. “And that, ladies and gents, is what we call a good start.”

She laughed as she returned the warm embrace. Maybe self-confidence would always feel like walking a tightrope to her, but at least in this life she had friends to give her a helping hand whenever she needed one.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #anna of cleves #anne boleyn #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #laila's writing

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/acceleration-of-polarity/

Acceleration of Polarity

By A Gift From Gaia

Energetic Navigation – FULLY LOADED

Did someone hit the acceleration button for polarity? Has gravity been turned off? This energy is beyond magical, super intense, super exquisite and I’m witnessing cosmic surfers reach off the charts high waves! IN-CRED-IBLE

High waves are most definitely what we are experiencing, super charged photonic light from the cosmic rays has been pouring through, however we are now due some Solar Winds to bring forward some more action energy, some more super movement for the new codes we have been storing within our DNA to be activated. Protons are currently raising which tells us our magnetosphere is charging so many of the super sensitives will begin to feel the shift now, the prediction is for a G1 storm which is likely to take folk deep within or deep OUT, this will simply depend on how many of those sand bags, those weighted timelines you are prepared to cut away, but DEEP is most definitely the word that springs to mind.

The acceleration of polarity is making itself known within the collective, a divide, something resembling the Grand Canyon is appearing in the 4th frequency, folk dancing with ego and choosing to experience the depths of their minds creations, returning to outdated experiences to realise the attachment programming, where they do not value LIGHT, where they do not value love which ultimately is a lesson in Self Love, the trouble with the 4th frequency is there is an expanded awareness somewhat, which holds responsibility in which the soul will be pushing for those to experience, a guiding light onto the path of the heart where we experience the ultimate heart awakening and begin living as Soul on Earth in Flesh. Yet on the other end of the spectrum there are the cosmic surfers, those who have moved through the 5th portal and there have been a number who have come through are finding the new space of peace, joy and abundant everything like living the dream, clear minds, open hearts and very comfortable in the zero point space where everything begins to move, what this does, energetically speaking is creates acceleration for all, for the entire collective as the cosmic surfers stretch out the bandwidth with their rapid expansion, those anchored in the 3rd dimension of blind bliss, the matrix makers who act like busy little worker ants, securing and building pointlessly hold the old earth frequency in place (for now) which stretches out the 4th frequency so that ALL may be SEEN and more can move from their mind awakened state into their heart awakening, and this is the space in which we see the quickening taking place, everything is pulled, twisted and stretched to the maximum in order for all to be Seen.

Not all are yet able or willing to enter the pain barriers, not all are able to see that behind that smoke screen of what they believe to be true, exists a whole new world designed with the codes of the 5th frequency, that of unconditional love, those who have been surfing the lower aspects of the 4th realm often bounce back into their sleepy space to continue their addiction of chasing the happy dragon, an addiction that this race has been running out for aeons, a false belief that happiness is like a pill, we receive it in small doses when we have been good, our parents and our parents, parents trained us well to believe that happiness isn’t a stable frequency – more blind lies.

I am sure it wont be long before those choosing the old, to go back, start using that word “SORRY” and if you hear it, if you experience the “jumpers” humbly returning, then please remember a sorry is a changed behaviour ONLY and perhaps give a reminder that there is no need to apologise or explain to the out there world, but to realise those words need to be redirected within, for their own Self to feel forgiveness of the highest order.

If you find yourself teetering on the edge of a timeline, if you haven’t quite jumped yet then take some advice……

DON’T GO BACK

Not even with a little extra awareness, not even with a safety plan, not even with a guide…..how much more of the SAME do you need to see, it becomes self sacrificing and trust me when I say, as we now move ever closer to the great conjunction in January, going back is going to feel like suicide, that’s one heck of a ego death you are choosing, however perhaps it is needed, perhaps to connect with the heart the entire world needs to snap in half to be able to see the core.

In order to release these attachments, in order to snap the back of duality it really is a case of doing the opposite and from here observing the fallout, which will highlight the anchors that held you in so tightly, for you to begin dissecting and breaking down the old codes.

Now enough of the old world HOW ABOUT THE NEW!

Goodness me its been quite a wave, cosmic surfers, those chasing the waves out front are expanding in their amazingness and experiencing realities that are now feeling so spacious, everything forming, aligning as the focus purely now goes onto the physical vessel and the realisation comes in that in order to CARRY on the experience MORE must be given to the physical body. New exercise routines, new diets, new ways of living consciously, tweaks and turns to improve the ability to hold and carry this light begins and light bodies begin to come online in the higher frequencies that attract the Soulstyle life we are to experience. Everything becomes simple, there are no requirements to push, to exert energy in fields not along the path, to seek, to correct, to debate or to state, its just simple, its easy and it all comes home to YOU.

Home is where the heart is after all…..

Todays energy brings some beautiful harmonies for us to play in, the moon makes a number of trines so I will give a brief explanation.

Moon trine Juno, well Juno is really coming into play now as the Sun, Venus and Mars play around this little gem in our sky. Juno represents commitment, partnerships and if I continue lots of things that create attachment out there in the timelines of realities so I would like to quickly invert this, commitment to Source (being you, and All), the partnership or the union of the masculine and feminine within YOU, lets entirely release this out there stuff, everything is reflective of the internal vibration, so as we know, by making the adjustments within and by holding a love frequency we attract realities aligned, lets keep the focus entirely on Self expansion…

So as we know the Sun, Mars and Venus are about to conjunct with Juno who requests the union, the balance, the harmony between the masculine and feminine within. The Moons trine today feels somewhat like a preparation so whilst in some octaves they will be experiencing the emotional streams of realising what is out of whack, this is ultimately preparing you for the meet just hours away, tomorrow the sun conjuncts Juno and they begin entering the frequency of Regulus, this trine could work like a little trickster, as we know trines are harmonious so it may be easy to drift into the false beliefs as the trine makes this soft, its easy to MANIPULATE through the false kindness, the relief that this moment is more comfortable, that “they” are being reasonable “today” BUT and we love big BUTS this is likely to give a lesson for you to look deeper into the truth, the agenda and the subconscious drivers as this trine energy could well be flipped on its head and the TRUTH, the behaviour rears its head again as we move into this Virgo party now about to happen, like walking into a party dressed in fancy dress but the invite clearly stated casual dress, not paying attention? THINK you know better? Like dancing with illusions? LIGHTS ON, you will feel the spotlight.

Those of open heart will feel this super nurturing energy, expanding on the already established equilibrium, moon trine juno is a get out in nature day, it’s a day to play with the magic, to create something from the heart, a stream of purity to play in.

Moon trine Venus echoes this, open the heart, come back home, kick off those shoes and dance barefoot to the harmony of Earth, this holds some super relaxed tones to again get creative, enjoy some leisure time and nurture Self just that whole lot more. Its an energy to practice the affirmation of SOFT, tone everything down, walk softly, touch softly, speak softly and through this focus it will be super easy to spot the harshness….FOR you to then realign and deal with in order to continue the these divine experiences.

Moon trine Pholus gives new direction, new coordinates are being seeded and there are glimpses, day dreaming, feeling into what the new timeline will be like, this can make folk feel a little ungrounded however it is up in the heights that we receive the most amazing dreams and from here it is your role, as ground control to begin planting them in the fertile soil of reality.

Whereas Pholus now also trine to Venus brings in a huge amount of heart vibration, a huge influx of feel to direct the inner masculine into a space of Deal as we listen to the whispers from within. This also could play out in the reality as a female bringing assistance or perhaps a new perspective for you to see and change course…..watch out for angels in female form, these changes will be long lasting.

Moon trine Mars creates that harmony I just mentioned with the venus pholus transit, this feels like a compliant masculine energy that is ready and able to take direction from that internal feminine whisper. Confidence increases, an inner knowing that it is exactly right to follow the heart, and it feels safe, comfortable and aligned……because it is!

Mercury trine Jupiter gives an expansion on the data we are currently receiving, MORE, MORE and MORE we scream when tuned into the hearts requests however the lower octaves can experience a lot of mind junk bubbling up to the surface, things can get noisy and the most perfect way to begin un-muddling the muddle is to journal it all out, spend time (self love) removing the noise from the mind and get it on paper, start the evaluations, start seeing what is conscious and what is unconscious, the chances are everything that is loud is simply unconscious and really needs a data dump, get it on paper and hold a little ritual of burning it, purifying it out.

Moon will be moving through a conjunction with Uranus today, more direction changes to be expected, the Moon is currently at 0 degrees and Uranus at 6 degrees Taurus, so this charged moon with its aspects today is really getting down and dirty in the foundational spaces of you, demanding that all old emotions are released, like a clear up as she begins her task of dissolving what no longer allows the structure, the foundation to hold securely. This may reflect in your patterns in terms of self love, cosmic surfers will no doubt be pulled towards making changes in diet, exercise and aligning their way, their habits to a more light aligned way, those in the lower octaves generally look at the relationships, the attachments and when Uranus is in play we often see a lot of reactive activity, which creates somewhat surprise revelations, in order to shift direction. Sudden roadblocks tend to appear, emotionally charged to highlight this road is now fully closed.

All in all it appears the collective have some huge opportunities to shift in a completely new direction, and if this solar wind appears this will assist no end, changes are here for the picking.

You only need choose………do you choose the light of your Soul, do you choose Source, do you choose unconditional everything and to be a part of creating the new world

Or do you choose the stress, anxiety filled and cyclic patterns of the people program.

*****

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emperorsfoot · 6 years ago

Link

New one-shot, part of my “Elevator Monologue ” series. A missing scene from chapter 9 of “...Before Its Ever Even...”.

Since its just a short missing scene, and not very plot relevant, I don’t mind posting it here too instead of just linking it. (Although, I do prefer you comment on AO3 if you have comments you’d like to share.)

...

About as hesitantly as Zed had been when she came over, Devlin extended his fingers. He stroked up one of her pointed blue ears, paused to see if she was going to protest, whimper in fear, or run away. When she didn't, he repeated the motion on the other ear. Then Devlin looked at Kevin. Zed also turned her eyes to gaze at him, as if questioning what they were supposed to do now.

“There.” He said, smiling at them both. Legitimately smiling. Not just at Zed, but at Devlin too. Kevin never thought he would ever actually smile at his son for real. An honest to goodness smile of pride and affection. “Now, was that so bad?”

Zed gave a little wine of admission. No. It wasn't that bad. Devlin wasn't as bad as he was when he was still a new puppy.

Devlin pulled away. “She still hates me.”

“It'll take time.” Kevin assured him. Fixing broken relationships took time. Some more than others. The Osmosian had a lot of experience with that. It was easy to rebuild trust where there was already a history of trust. But Devlin was still newborn when he almost killed Zed. That was their history. That was their only history. There was no friendship before it to call back to or rebuild on.

Gwendolyn came out carrying a serving tray of spaghetti. She looked at both her boys sitting on the couch with the dog. Zed never hung out so close to Devlin. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Devlin said. He looked back at the dog, it was the first time Zed had let him touch her since he came to live with his mother. He glanced up at his father, and it was all thanks to Kevin of all people. “Actually, everything's fine.”

Who would have thought?

Upon seeing that human food was out and available, Zed abandoned the Osmosians in favor of pressing herself up against Gwendolyn's legs. The Anubian Baskurr gazed up at the sorceress expectantly, her crimson eyes big and sparkling. Zed might have become an elderly dog by this point, but she still managed to pull off the 'puppy-dog face' flawlessly.

But Gwendolyn just looked down at her, unimpressed. “If I don't let Kevin and Devlin give you human food, what makes you think you'll get any from me?”

Kevin stood from the couch.

“I can carry that.” He said, offering to take the spaghetti tray from her.

But Gwendolyn shifted her body, moving the tray out of his reach. “Ya know what else you can do?” She said. “Help our injured son to the table.”

“I can walk!” Devlin snapped from the couch. Both parents noted that, to spite his protests, the boy didn't actually make any move to get up under his own power.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Kevin came back to the couch and hoisted his son up over his shoulder. Carrying him like a sack of potatoes, the Osmosian deposited him in an empty seat at the dining table.

Gwendolyn set out the spaghetti and the three of them sat down for what was their first ever dinner together.

Devlin looked from one parent to the other at a bit of a loss as to what to think. Sure, he'd seen his parents in the same room together. He'd seen them at Plumbers HQ, and at Gwendolyn's library, and sometimes just out around Bellwood. But he'd never seen them look so... domestic before. The whole picture -the whole idea- was a little too surreal for him.

“Eat something.” Kevin barked at him.

At least Dad was the same old Dad. Bossy and impatient. Good to know a change of scenery and change of company didn't change him. Devlin twirled a string of spaghetti around on his fork before lifting it to his mouth. He knew the sauce came from a jar, but Mom always added her own spices and seasonings to it which made the store bough sauce so much better.

Zed came up beside Kevin's chair and looked up at him expectantly. As if he owed her or something. And maybe because he made her let Devlin pet her, he kinda did. Besides, the Osmosian never had any problem feeding her human food before. This seemed to be no different. Kevin chanced a glance at Gwendolyn to make sure she wasn't paying attention. The sorceress was watching her son eat. Kevin carefully slid one of the turkey meatballs off his plate and onto the floor. Zed quickly scooped it up with her tongue and started chomping on it loudly.

Gwendolyn turned her head at the sound. “What's Zed got? Is she eating something? Kevin!”

“What?” The Osmosian feigned innocents -he wasn't very good at it.

“How many times have I told you not to feed her at the table and not to give her human food!” The sorceress glared at him. “She's not as young as she used to be, she needs to eat healthy. I spend good money on senior formula dog food made especially for Anubian Baskurr. Its not easy to get on Earth and only a few feed stores carry it -feed stores, not pet stores! So, could you please not let her fill up on our food which is full of sodiums and grains that are bad for her!”

“But she likes it.” Kevin argued back.

“You like moldy fluffeloafs.” Gwendolyn was quick to counter. “That doesn't mean their good for you.”

“I'm bad for you.” The Osmosian reminded his Anodite wife. “That doesn't seem to stop you from handing out with me or-” a quick glance at the child at the table “-doing other things with me.”

Devlin couldn't help but snort with amusement at the exchange. “You can say 'sex', Dad. I'm twelve, not stupid. I know what sex is.”

“Just so long as you're not having any.” Kevin brushed off his son's remark. The censorship was more for Gwendolyn's benefit than the boy's. The Osmosian assumed she would like to keep things clean and appropriate for mixed company or around preadolescent children.

“Bottom line: everyone likes things that are bad for them.” Scoffed the younger Osmosian.

“What do you like that's bad for you?” Gwendolyn asked, watching her son from across the table with a critical -almost concerned- look.

Devlin twirled more spaghetti on his fork, unbothered by his mother's scrutiny. His answer was casual, almost as if nothing about it mattered. “Soft drinks, processed foods, and -oh yeah!- the big one, helping Uncle Ben with his stupid alien and monster fights.” To illustrate this, the Osmosian lifted a leg and brought one injured and bandaged foot on the table. “But then, that's pretty standard in this family.”

“Get your feet off the table.” Kevin growled.

The boy slid his bandaged foot back to the floor.

Gwendolyn heaved a sigh. Her son made a valid point. Liking things that weren't exactly in ones own best interests was kind of a standard in their family -on both sides. She and Ben never could pass up the chance to nearly get themselves killed fighting aliens and monsters (or dating aliens and monsters). Kevin used to trade in contraband alien technology, and even after he went legit, would still continue to haggle with warlords and tyrants over the price tea on Khoros. Devlin liked tinkering with machines like his father, and tagging along with Ben on missions and pretending to be a Big Damn Hero -a combination of which lead to his current injury. So, yeah, self-destructive behavior was pretty standard in their family.

That didn't make it healthy.

Gwendolyn decided it was best to change the subject. “Tell me about school, Devlin. I know you were sent to ISS again last week, I hope you're remembering to catch up on the work you miss when they send you out of class.”

She did not suggest that he should amend his behavior so that he wasn't sent out of class anymore. The sorceress already learned that was a losing battle. So long as he wasn't attacking his classmates in the middle of tests or breaking bones for disputing the terms of a trade, she was happy.

“Yes. I am.” He assured his mother.

Kevin cast a sideways look at the boy. “Oh, really? Is that what you were doing with the textbook abandoned on the coffee table while you putzed around on your e-reader.”

Devlin cast his father a scathing look, as if to reprimand the older man for tattling on him. Out loud, he said, “How do you know I wasn't reading a book for school on my e-reader?”

“Well, were you reading a book for school?” Gwendolyn asked, fixing her son with a scrutinizing glare that seem to cut right through him. Dissect him in a way the boy thought only his therapist could. Peer down into his soul with her Anodite eyes.

“Um...” He faltered, suddenly unable to lie to his mother. Devlin opened his mouth, a semi-convincing half-truth ready on his lips. But Gwendolyn only raised a single scarlet eyebrow and the young Osmosian collapsed like a house of cards. “I was reading 'A Song of Ice and Fire'.”

Kevin didn't know what that was.

But Gwendolyn did.

“Devlin!” Her fork clattered onto her plate with a loud clinking of metal on porcelain. “You are too young to be reading that! How did you even get that on there? I put parental controls on it!”

“And I overrode them.” The boy informed her, proud of himself. His pride quickly deflated as her glare of disapproval only deepened. She was not impressed with her child's ability to hack his tech. Devlin sank into his seat. “I just really needed to know what all the memes were about. Okay? I did it for the memes.”

Kevin looked from one to the other, not understanding the objection here. Sure, the kid had been neglecting his homework, but it wasn't like he was rotting his brain on video games or doing drugs. He was reading. Wouldn't Gwendolyn be relieved he was reading? “I don't get it. What's the big deal?”

“Game of Thrones!” Gwendolyn snarled at him, as if he were a moron for also not having an objection. “Your twelve-year-old son is reading Game of Thrones.”

The Osmosian opened his mouth, thought about what he was about to say, decided he did not want to share. Like, yeah, Devlin was only twelve, and yeah, all the sex, violence, and death in the books was a little inappropriate for a normal human child that young. But Devlin wasn't exactly a normal human child and it wasn't like he didn't get his fair share of exposure to violence and death in his real life. Back when it was just him and Kevin, and Kevin was his most insane version of himself -Kevin 11,000- Devlin got a front row seat for Red Weddings, blowing up Septs of Baelor, and Battles of Bastards. Really, the only thing that might be in those books that Devlin hadn't been desensitized to would be all the gratuitous and creative fantasy sex.

Kevin remained tactfully silent.

He looked down at his plate and slid another meatball off it. It rolled off the table and landed on the floor next to Zed, whom scooped it up greedily, once again chomping loudly. Kevin would much rather have his wife mad at him about feed the dog human food than all the bloody, violent shit he exposed their younger-than-eleven-year-old son to over the course of his short life.

“Kevin! Stop that!” She snapped at him.

Zed gave a drawn-out little whine of an “Ar~rf!” As if to say, 'Oh my gawd! Shut up, Gwendolyn! You let me eat my own poop!'

“I want my dog to get the things she likes.” Argued the Osmosian. “As you keep reminding me, she's not that young anymore. She should be allowed to enjoy the time she's got!”

Zed let loose a loud bark of agreement.

“And I want her to have as much time as she can have!” Gwendolyn snarled back. “Don't you want her to have a long life?”

“What's more important to you, quantity of life, or quality of life?” Kevin demanded. “What's the point of prolonging a life if its not being enjoyed.”

“How can a creature enjoy a life that's cut short?” The sorceress evaded his question with one of her own.

Devlin sat there watching his parents argue. This conflict of philosophy really explained a lot about them and their disagreement about him and his very existence. Back when his mother was pregnant and dying because of said pregnancy. Kevin suggested terminating, and Gwendolyn refused to even consider the idea.

“They wouldn't care!” Kevin informed her. “They'd be dead.”

There was a strange kind of comfort to be found in nihilism.

“You are so heartless sometimes, Kevin!” Gwendolyn was raising her voice now. “I really don't understand how you can say these things so casually!”

“Look, I've had a hard life, and you know it. You were there for a lot of it. You got to witness first hand!” They were both using raised voices now.

Devlin couldn't help the schadenfreudian grin that pulled at his lips from watching the exchange. “Mom, Dad, please keep fighting.”

That comment got the adults to pause their disagreement. Both turning their attention to the boy at the same time.

“Eat your food, you need the calories to heal.” Kevin commanded.

Gwendolyn stood from her seat and exited the dining room. “I need to take those books off your e-reader and reset the parental controls.”

Devlin watched her head to the living room and pick up his e-reader. As she overrode the lock screen, the boy turned to his father. Leaning over the table, he hissed. “Okay, quickly, tell me everyone who dies and their method of death.”

Kevin twirled some spaghetti around his fork, unconcerned. “So, I never read the books, and -apparently- they're very different from the show. Just make a mental list of all your favorite characters and assume they die.”

“Thanks, Dad.” The boy groaned, unamused.

“Eat your food.” Repeated the older Osmosian. “Maybe if your mother see's you've cleaned your plate by the time she get's back in here, she won't look too closely at what else you have on your e-reader.”

“What makes you think I have anything else on my e-reader Mom might object to?” Devlin argued back, putting on his most innocent -and most fake- insulted glare.

“Because I was a twelve-year-old boy once.” Kevin reminded him.

The boy continued to glare at the older man for a bit longer, before deciding that maybe it was a good deal, and he should take it. He scooped up a giant wad of noodles and shoved them in his mouth, chewing loudly.

“Okay, but eat slower.” Kevin amended. “Otherwise you're gonna make yourself sick and I don't wanna have to clean up your puke.”

…

After dinner, Devlin was gassy and had a stomach ache because of it. Gwendolyn was pouring him a dose of Pepto while Kevin cleared the table.

Gathering up all the plates, he was given explicit instructions to deposit any uneaten food on them into the garbage disposer in the sink, and put any untouched spaghetti from the serving tray into a tupperware container. Under no circumstances was he to give any leftovers or uneaten scraps to Zed. At all.

Kevin carried everything to the kitchen, making a big show of ignoring the Anubian Baskurr's wines as she trailed behind him. He paused, at the sink, leaning away from the counter to peer out into the living room where Gwendolyn was standing over their son with a shot of pink stomach medicine and a glass over water.

“This better not be an act to get out of finishing your homework.” She was saying.

Gwendolyn seemed adequately distracted. Kevin set all three plates on the kitchen floor. “Zed,” he hissed, “help me clean these.”

The alien dog was all too happy to oblige. Lapping up the leftover sauce and scraps of meatball and noodle with loud licks.

“Okay, but do it quietly!” The Osmosian tried to keep his voice at a whisper while also putting enough authority into it to get the dog to listen.

Zed paused briefly to look up at him, then back to the living room where Gwendolyn was collecting the empty Pepto cup. She also took his e-reader with her. On her way to put the medicine away, Gwendolyn turned towards the kitchen slightly and the dog walked away from the plates before she could see and get mad at Kevin again.

“Good girl.” Muttered the Osmosian as he gathered up all three plates and deposited them in the sink.

Turning on the water, Kevin meant to just rince the plates off. But then they looked so close to being clean already, the Osmosian touched the lavender dish gloves that Gwendolyn kept there (she always bought them sized for own hands, not his) and absorbed the rubber. Squeezing some soap into the sponge, Kevin started actually washing the dishes. He was just finishing up the last plate when Gwendolyn came up behind him.

Circling her arms around his waist, she peered around his broad body. “Is Kevin Levin washing a dish!?”

He was about to reply with some kind of witty retort, but Gwendolyn had moved by the time he turned around. The sorceress was gathering up the pot and saucepan from the stove and threw them in the sink with the plate Kevin had just finished.

“I'll dry and put things away while you wash.” She smiled.

The Osmosian suppressed a groan. He preferred being the one who dried and put things away. It was the easier job, and besides, Kevin was taller. It was he didn't have to stand on his tip-toes or use mana to put things away in the higher cabinets. Besides, washing was gross. He preferred not to have to do the dirty part of the job.

But then Gwendolyn kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for being so sweet and considerate and, well, he couldn't refuse after that. So, before the Osmosian even know what he was doing, he had already scrubbed through the sauce pan and was currently rinsing soap off noodle pot.

When everything was done, Kevin even wiped down the counter.

Gwendolyn wrapped her arms around his waist again, this time turning him around to face her. Kevin encircled her waist in his own thick arms and pulled her closer to him. She leaned up, and he leaned down, both lips parting. Gwendolyn was ready for a sweet gentle open-mouthed kiss, her tongue waiting to dart out into his. But at the last moment, Kevin turned to the side. Whispering in her ear, breath hot on her lobe.

“Ya know, I didn't bring my pajamas.”

“That's good...” She whispered, back. Her own voice taking on a thick heady quality. It sent a shiver down Kevin's back. “...Because you're not spending the night here.”

“What!?” He pulled away. Looking at her confused, and slightly betrayed. He thought they made so much progress! She let him in the house while their son was here. Devlin was more comfortable with him. “But you said I was doing good. I did do good. I got Zed to let Delvin pet her!” He snapped his fingers at the dog. “Zed, go let Devlin pet you again!”

The Anubian Baskurr just turned her head to look at him, gave a short snip of an “urf”, and trotted through the kitchen dog-door, and out of the house. She let Devlin pet her once already today.

“She still hates me!” The boy shouted from the living room where he was -finally- working on his homework -for real.

“She barely knows you!” Kevin called back.

“I live with her!” Devlin continued to argue.

“Okay, stop shouting across the house!” Gwendolyn grabbed Kevin by the arm and dragged him out of the kitchen. She pushed him down on the couch next to their son. “Now, finish your conversation using your inside voices. After that, Kevin, you're gonna make sure Devlin stays on task and gets his homework done. Then I'll check it over and, Devlin, you can have your e-reader back. I've already taken off all the inappropriate books and changed my Kindle password.”

“Hey, does he get internet on that thing?” Kevin asked. “'Cause you should also check his AO3 feeds. Just to be safe.”

“Shut-up, Dad!” The boy snarled, practically jumping off the couch as he launched himself to his feet. Completely ignoring the discomfort from putting his full weight on his burns.

Gwendolyn paused, glaring at her son and wondering exactly what tags her twelve-year-old son was searching that Kevin thought should be checked for her approval. What was Devlin looking at that she might object to?

“You'll get your e-reader back tomorrow.” She walked back into the kitchen to make up a to-go container for Kevin's portion of the leftovers.

Devlin flopped back down on the couch. “Why are you so terrible all the time?”

The older man only shrugged. “Why do you read instead of looking at stuff like a normal guy?”

“For the plot, obviously.”

Kevin only flashed him a skeptical look. The things that he was reading that Gwendolyn might object to included many things a pubescent pre-teen might be interested in. None of them were 'plot'. But the older man didn't call him on it. Instead, the Osmosian tried to bring his son back to task. “Get back to your homework.”

He was still new to the whole 'responsible and nurturing parent' thing.

Devlin stuck his tongue out at the older Osmosian. But he pulled his textbook onto his lap and got to work all the same. After a few minutes of watching his son fill out short-answer questions on a separate sheet of paper, Kevin got board. He stood from the couch and wandered back into the kitchen where Gwendolyn was just finishing up a sweet little to-go bag for him. Complete with the spaghetti they just ate, some bread, and sliced fruit -because she knew he didn't have anything fresh at his own place.

“I guess this means its time to go?” He asked.

“Only if you don't want to stay and help me helicopter around Devlin for the rest of the night.” She answered.

Amazingly, that did not sound particularly appealing to the Osmosian. “I'll head back.” He took the to-go bag. “When can I see you again?”

“The next day that Devlin has his therapy appointment.” Gwendolyn supplied. “We can grab dinner after work.”

“That sounds nice.” He wrapped an arms around her, pulling the sorceress flush against his body.

This time, she she leaned up and he leaned down, Kevin did not turn away. Their lips met, parted, and Gwendolyn's tongue slithered out to slide along her husband's. The Osmosian pressed deeper, and the sorceress gave a light moan... ...before pushing him away.

“Don't go starting any of that, mister.” She warned. “I already told you, you can't spend the night.”

“Right.” He muttered.

Kevin didn't know why he was so disappointed. What was he expecting? Gwendolyn just barely let him have dinner with them. That didn't mean that everything was fixed in their relationship, she implicitly trusted him again, and would allow him to be around their son for extended periods. It was literally just dinner.

Gripping the leftovers in one hand, the Osmosian exited the kitchen.

“Bye, Brat, I'm leaving.” He told his son as he passed the couch.

“Be a stranger.” The younger Osmosian replied.

Kevin left.

He went home with a tupperware container of leftover spaghetti and meatballs, and a good feeling in his chest. It was nice having dinner with the wife and kid.

But Gwendolyn still wouldn't let him spend the night. She now trusted him enough to be around their son so long as she was present and in a position to easily intervene should hostilities arise between father and son. But she did not trust him to stay in the house over night while Devlin was there. Not when she was asleep and not alert.

After all, it was in the middle of the night when she was asleep that Kevin originally kidnapped the boy in the first place. He understood, and was amazed at just how much trust in him had been restored already. Sure, their relationship was completely and perfectly healed. But it was well on its way there. That was Kevin could ask for.

…

END

#fan fiction #gwevin #Ben 10 #devlin levin #Gwen is Devlin's mother #Devlin is Gwen's son #Kevin Levin #gwen tennyson #Kevin 11000 #Devlin 11 #Bad Luck #Zed #family dinner #game of thrones #Devlin is gay #RenkonNairu

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ansgiftexchange · 7 years ago

Text

Radiate

The radiologist that Shirayuki worked under was said to be the weirdest guy in the world. Obi had heard all of the little mutterings and musings that had filtered down the system and into his ear with a curiosity that had been hard to ignore. They said that the man came and went as he pleased, that the board allowed him to do whatever he wished because of his genius. People who had never even seen him confirmed that he could be awkward and off-putting, never able to have a real conversation with him due to his abrasive attitude. He tended to avoid people and became a shadowed being that people couldn’t positively identify, save for glimpses and glances, kind of like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster. Well, that just made the unspoken challenge all the more fun.

The man was definitely a little weird. Doctor Lata Forzeno didn’t avoid people; he just considered the majority of the earth’s population lacking in its ability to provide him with stimulating conversation. If he considered someone boring, he simply walked away. There were no grey areas, only black and white. Facts were facts and beliefs were not, so either one could accept the man for his quirks, or they couldn’t. Either way, the doctor would not stick around or bother conforming to other people’s standards of normal in order to make them more comfortable. He was simply too busy living his life to be somebody that he wasn’t. Obi liked him. He wasn’t exactly sure as to why he tolerated the eccentric and awkward radiologist sometimes, but he liked him all the same. It might have had something to do with the fact that he didn’t give Obi a hard time over his unrequited pining that he was harboring for his roommate. The man had strange skills at dissecting people’s mannerisms and hidden feelings at just one glance, something that would normally set Obi on edge but instead fascinated him to no end. Most socially awkward people tended to read people incorrectly, their abilities in that department usually lacking while their scholarly skills soared higher than the heavens. “My mother originally wanted me to be a psychiatrist,” he’d informed the paramedic one afternoon as he’d quickly flipped through a few X-RAY files he’d pulled up on his computer screen, not shy and willing to give away any details of his past after Obi had teased him about his gift. “Technically I am one- have the diploma to prove it,” he’d mumbled over his shoulder while ignoring Obi’s somewhat shocked look at his casually spoken statement. “Didn’t want to spend my life listening to people’s boring problems, though. I have better things to do with my time.” “Like study bones, doctor Forzeno?” Obi had quipped with a smile. “Yes, actually,” doctor Forzeno said as he’d turned around in his chair, fixing the paramedic with that radioactive stare that seemed to weigh and measure people’s souls with minimal effort. “And it’s Lata. I’ve recently branched out into forensics. Care to donate your body to science to serve a greater cause?” Most people would either laugh and consider the man’s genuine question a joke, or blink before heading for the door in a stunned stupor. Obi had given his head a small shake as he’d hopped down from his perch upon one of the many stacks of boxed books that were slowly taking over the radiologist’s office space. He was more than used to this by now. “Nah,” he’d grunted as he’d stretched, happy to be done with his shift and eager to take Shirayuki out to lunch once she was finished with her patient. “Think I’ll keep this ‘ol bag-o-bones a bit longer.” “Too bad,” the doctor had murmured as he’d turned back towards his computer, tall frame slouching slightly over his keyboard as his fingers landed back upon the mouse. “Cadavers are expensive and I’ve always wanted one of my own.”

Maybe it was because he was the only doctor in the entire hospital who didn’t give him shit about his caffeine addiction. “‘M not technically a physician,” he’d mumbled around the cigarette perched in between his lips one evening, his hands delving into the pockets of his lab coat to protect them from the cool evening air out in the ambulance bay. “I mean- I am, but I don’t practice internal medicine. There are worse things than replacing your blood with coffee, anyway.” Obi had nodded as he’d lifted the nice to-go-mug of good coffee from the physician’s lounge up to his lips. He’d made a friend when no one else had bothered and apparently, it came with its perks. “Got big weekend plans, doc?” The radiologist had soured at the nickname, mumbling that he preferred to be called Lata, dammit. He had then scoffed, chuckling before blinking and tilting his head. “Oh…you were serious…?” Obi had suppressed a yawn as he’d blinked away the bleariness clouding up his vision. He couldn’t afford to be tired yet- only five hours to go until freedom. “I can’t tell anymore, to be honest.” Lata had merely blinked at him with a blank expression before shrugging a shoulder and allowing their conversation to morph into comfortable silence, something that never truly bothered Obi while the doctor found peace in it. The man seemed to work whenever he wanted to, coming and going at his leisure but never really far from the hospital. Sure, he may have been a bit of an eccentric recluse, but he was as real as it got, no pretenses or angles. The man had no hidden agendas and it was common knowledge that one always knew where they stood with Lata Forzeno, even if what he had to say wasn’t exactly the nicest thing in the world.

“You’re a damn moron.” Yes, that was the general consensus. Especially when one did chest compressions on a code blue non-stop, failing to switch out and putting a strain upon one’s (only recently) healed shoulder in the process. Ah, well. He tended to do stupid shit when he was tired; everyone knew that. Obi ran his hands down his face as he groaned, trying to will away his current state of delusional exhaustion by sheer force of will and finding himself lacking. A twenty-seven hour shift in the back of an ambulance wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, but putting the down payment on a ring for Shirayuki certainly was. “Could you be a bit more specific with that ruling, judge?” He winced at the pull in his sore shoulder and bit back a hiss as doctor Forzeno pushed against his chest, urging him to recline back upon the table, his hands deceptively gentle as he assisted the paramedic and ordered him to lie still. “If I’m a judge, then what does that make you?” Obi grinned wryly as his eyes watched the doctor adjust his own machinery with careful precision, wondering idly when the man had last done this as he sighed, “I’d like to think of myself as a knight in shining armor, riding in to the rescue and all that jazz.” Lata scoffed and snorted as he headed for the little room that housed the controls, pausing to gauge Obi’s own amused reaction and allowing the laughter to fall from his face at the paramedic’s flat look. “Oh…you were serious…?”

The films showed only a strain, luckily, but the doctor still wanted him to take it easy for a few days. Rest and anti-inflammatories were issued, along with a weight-lifting restriction that had Obi’s shoulders sagging in defeat. Looked like it would be another few weeks until he could fix his hasty-proposal and make it right. Shirayuki deserved that much, at least. He bemoaned his fate as Lata clapped him lightly on the shoulder with one hand after Obi had winced his way into his coat, his other hand extending out to shake his. Obi blinked. Usually the radiologist avoided touching people if he could help it. Odd, but whatever. Obi supposed that if the man wanted a handshake, it was the least that he could do, seeing as how the doctor had offered to check him out ‘under the table’ and free of charge. Obi blinked and frowned in question at the feeling of something rectangular being placed into his palm, the corners pricking and poking at his skin as the radiologist turned and headed for the door. “Tell him Lata sent you,” he’d called over his shoulder as Obi’s eyes scanned the jeweler’s minimalistic and sleek modern card. “He’ll give you a good deal. He owes me one.”

“Well, isn’t that a pretty little piece of carbon,” Lata murmured appreciatively as his hand gently held Shirayuki’s, watching the diamond sparkle upon her finger in the dim light as he tilted her wrist every which way. “Looks like Shikito was able to point you in the right direction?” Obi hummed and smiled as Lata realeased his fiancée’s hand, allowing Shirayuki to rock back on her heels in her happy excitement. She excused herself in order to show the rest of the radiology department her new engagement ring, leaving the two men alone in the space. Obi opened his mouth to break the silence, to offer his gratitude in the matter and inquire as to how he could ever repay the doctor for all that he had done, when Lata turned back towards his computer screen and waved the paramedic off, his voice sounding almost bored as he stated that if Obi didn’t hurry, she might just change her mind and leave him. Obi smirked and gave his head a small shake as he backed out into the hallway, poking his head in through the doorway. “Thank-you, Lata.” “You’re welcome, Sir Obi.”

Happy holidays @vivianwisteria!

#ss17 #submission #gift

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