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qyllenhaal · 3 years ago

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Good Wives Club [2]

Lee Bodecker x Reader. 3rd POV. Word Count: 4.2k.

Spin-off to American Pie

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Summary: It's been more than a year since she's escaped the ghost of her past but life is never fair to a girl like her. Lee doesn't care that she has a husband, a nice house, and sugary fake friends, he wants what's rightfully his.

Warnings (series): Cheating, smut, violence, housewife kink, period-typical misogyny, age gap (about a ten year difference), manipulation, dark themes all around.

A/N: If anyone wants to be added to future tag list just let me know!

Y/n woke up at 5am with a dry mouth and her head spinning. Her night has been plagued with restlessness and she couldn't stay still. When she did fall asleep, it was for small periods of time. Each time she woke up she was not aware of where she was for the first five seconds, panic almost setting in before she registered the sound of her husband snoring.

The end of her irregular sleep cycle ended because she saw the hallway light was on. She sighed when realized it must be time for her husband to get ready for work. She virtually got no sleep and she'll probably be tired for the rest of the day.

She gets up from their creaky bed and starts walking down the hallway. It takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the brightness as she slowly plods down the hallway. She follows the light to the bathroom where she can hear her husband getting ready for work. On the days he goes in this early Y/n is relieved that she doesn't have to get up and cook breakfast for him.

The door is cracked but she opens it to find him inside. She situates herself in the doorway, watching him shave his face through the mirror.

"Good morning," he spoke with a scratchy voice. Even though Y/n didn't marry Llewellyn for love, she's still attracted to him and likes his company most of the time. She feels an ache inside of her that wants him to take her, but after running into Lee last night she's afraid she won't be able to get Lee's face out of her mind while beneath her husband.

"Good morning. Going in early?"

"Yep. Dad wants to do inventory today since he put it off last week."

"Oh okay," she accepts quietly, ready to leave her husband alone so he can get ready in peace.

However he asks her a surprising question, "hey, did you enjoy last night?"

"Uh, it was fine I guess. Did you?" Her hope is that he at least enjoyed himself somewhat.

"You know I don't like that super fancy stuff like that, but I have to eat crow; it wasn't all that bad and Bodecker's not as bad as I thought. He's kind of a funny guy. I still think he's not as hard on crime like everyone claims he is, but personally, he's not that bad. Florence was nice too. She invited us to dinner on Wednesday night, apparently that's the only night Lee has off. I told her we'd be able to join them."

The turn of events was shocking. Y/n couldn't believe her ears and she thought maybe she indeed was still asleep. Lou was not fond of many people and his only "friends" were his two brothers so him warming up to Lee and Florence left her speechless. So speechless that she didn't register the fact that he accepted a dinner invite for them.

"What?"

"What do you mean ‘what’? You dragged me to that dinner last night and wanted me to be nice, and now you're confused when I do just that?"

"I-I'm not confused...just shocked," she admits truthfully, "I can't believe you want to go to someone’s house who isn't your mother house for dinner —are you sure you want to go?"

"We're going Y/n."

His tone of voice indicates that the conversation is done and over with and the decision has been made. Y/n didn't even get to contest his decision but Lou can tell when Y/n is in a defiant mood. Her folding her arms and walking away was confirmation for him. She stalks her way back to the bedroom where she takes to hiding under the covers.

Lee and Lou under the same roof — it makes her stomach churn just to think about it. They're wildly different from each other but the thing she hates about them is what they have in common.

All she can hope is that this nightmare ends and she wakes back up to a life without Lee's ghost lingering around.

She decided to go with a floral dress again. She really wanted to take out the checkerboard dress that made her legs look good and showed off her arms, but Lou would have made her change before she had the chance to step out of the house. The floral print is dizzying, but it's the kind of dress that Lou likes to see her wear.

It's just a small dinner at the Bodecker's house but Y/n opts for kitten heels instead of sensible flats. She feels obligated to look her best despite there being less people to dress for. She's never been alone with Florence save for that day at the grocery store. Florence is always dressed to the 10's and Y/n needs to look just as good, if not better. She claims to hate Lee, but it would be so satisfying if she caught Lee ogling her breasts.

"Are you ready?"

Y/n thought Lou was too dressed up for a home dinner of four. He wore a pinstriped suit and those nice leather shoes he bought himself around the holidays.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighs in an attempt to let off some steam.

It was a shorter drive than Y/n expected. Florence hadn't disclosed where she lived before, but Brewer Heights wasn't that for them to live at a distance. The sun was nearly dipped over the horizon and the remaining light that hits their house makes it look like a model home. Everything little aspect and detail Y/n was going to compare herself too. She lives in a nice house, but Florence lives in a nicer house. It tears her up knowing she has the ultimate upper hand over Florence in the form of her own husband and she can't even act upon it. She would royally fuck up her life and their lives too if she decide to let her jealousy get the best of her.

As she walks up their stairs as another man's wife, she accepts that she is jealous. She's always been jealous of Florence even when she didn't know her name. What made her so worthy of all of these things? Lee used to act like he hates the woman so she must be a bitch behind closed doors. It wouldn't be surprising if she is because most people in this town will smile in your face and then gossip about you a minute later.

Lou knocks on the door and only a second later Florence is opening the door with a big smile on her face and Lee right next to her. He wore his police uniform without the jacket while Florence looked like a Lilly Pulitzer catalog girl.

It only took one millisecond of their eyes locking together for Y/n to feel the electricity between her and Lee. She drags her eyes away from his, but she can bet that he has a smirk on her face. He always liked to see her squirm; in a good and bad way.

"Y/n, Llewellyn! I'm so glad you could make it! Why don't you come on in," Florence steps to the side, nudging Lee over with her, to make way for Y/n and her husband.

Her eyes scan over every inch of their house. It's warm, cozy, and oddly comforting. Everything little thing was in its place; perfectly dusted and polished. Y/n is sure that Lee had no hand in decorating this place, it screams Florence through and through.

"Dinner is almost ready. I started the scalloped potatoes a little too late, but it should be done soon! Y/n, do you want to help me set the table?"

Y/n didn't want to leave her husband alone with Lee, but she also didn't want to be in the room with just them. She nods at Florence and follows behind her to their kitchen.

The house smells like Lou's parent's house on holidays. Y/n's stomach rumbles and she doesn't realize how hungry she was. She despises herself for wanting Florence's cooking, but she barely ate today because of how nervous she was.

"I already laid out the place mates, you can place the plates and silverware."

Y/n picks up the expensive dining ware that Florence points towards. She wonders if Florence cooks like this all the time, even when Lee works well into the night.

The walls of their dining room have an awful floral pattern. Y/n is beginning to become sick at the sight of anything that pertains to flowers. The cedar table is perfect for accommodating guests and Y/n wonders how many dinner parties they had in this room. Florence seems to put a lot of stock into being a good hostess. Y/n herself has yet to throw a dinner party at her home, but setting the plates on someone else's dining room table feels like practice. She silently imagines her house filled with Lou's family as she cooks dinner for them.

Florence enters the room and starts placing the dishes in the middle of the table. Her presence takes Y/n out of her fantasy, and when she sees how Florence made a 3-course-meal she feels worse.

"Does the food look good? I tried some new recipes from Julia Child's cookbook to try to impress you and Llewellyn," she admits, "I wasn't sure what you two would like, but Lee loves when I make those recipes from Julia Child and I bet Llewellyn would love it too! I could lend you the book some time!"

"Of course. I love her work!" Y/n lies straight through her teeth. She has no clue who the hell Julia Child is.

Florence grabs one last thing before calling the husbands into the dining room. She places one beer on the coasters designated for Lee and Lou. Lou has never been much of a drinker, but she knows that Lee can knock down a few beers in one sitting. He might be on his best behavior tonight in front of his wife and company.

"Dinner's ready!" Florence called out.

Y/n took her seat on the right side of the table and Florence sat opposite of her. Their husbands come walking in laughing as if they were young boys sneaking back into the house during a family get together. Y/n doesn't like it; she doesn't like it at all. They look too cheery with each other and she knows that Lee is doing it on purpose — she can see it in his eyes when he quickly glances at her. He takes pride in making her uncomfortable. Y/n wishes she had that same affect on him to scare him off a bit, but no matter how chummy she gets with Florence, Lee looks unbothered.

Florence stands up from her seat as if she's presenting the food on the table to an audience. Everything is placed perfectly with the main dish being the middle of the smaller plates.

"This looks great honey, you made a whole feast," Lee walked up to Florence's side and kissed on the cheek. Y/n's eyes are trained on his hand snaking around her waist and giving her a light squeeze before letting go. When she pulls her eyes away from his hands, she sees that Florence almost looks shocked at her husband's affection; Lee is definitely putting on a show for Y/n and it's a damn good one.

Lee sits opposite of Lou and the first thing he does is open his beer. The food isn't even on plates anymore and he's drinking.

"I hope you like Schmidt's, Llewellyn. Lee loves it so it's all we have in the house."

"I'm not one to drink beer often, but I'll try it. And call me Lou, Florence."

Lou was acting out of his normal character. Him only interacting with his family and Y/n left him a bit awkward in the presence of others, but around Florence and Lee he seems to be much...warmer. If Lee was someone else then Y/n would be over the moon, but because it's him she can't even force herself to even look happy about it.

Y/n takes note of how Florence places portions of food on Lee's plate. They were small portions too. She was always strict about what he ate and how much he drank. She's surprised Florence is letting him drink tonight, but she must be trying to look nicer in front of guests.

Y/n was not as controlling as Florence. She always let Lou fix his plate to his liking. She thought it made her a good wife for letting her husband make his own decisions. But Y/n felt a tap on her shoulder after she finished making her own plate. He looked down at his empty plate before looking back at her and nodded towards the food.

"Y/n," he tries to whisper but his tone is rather harsh.

"What?" She whispers back in true confusion.

"My plate."

He looked at her as if she was crazy, as if it was a common occurrence for her to fix his plate. She starts to scramble to save herself from further embarrassment, the sound of silverware against plates so loud. She can feel the stares coming from the other side of the table but she doesn't dare look up.

Her skin began to grow hot. Her husband had embarrassed her in front of Lee and Florence. The worst part was when Florence tried to change the subject to something lighthearted to pull the attention off of Y/n. She felt small and useless. Lou never expected her to fix his plate, but he looked at her as if she was crazy for not doing so. She didn't want to spend dinner almost in tears. This changed behavior in her husband is giving her whiplash and making her dizzy.

"So, Y/n, did you enjoy the other night?"

"It was really nice Florence," she replies sheepishly.

"Susie and I put so much work into planning it. You should join us next time! We're going to start working on the fundraising events for Lee's next campaign-"

"Let's not talk about that tonight Florence," Lee interrupts. It was a moment that would've left Y/n embarrassed if she was in Florence's shoes but Florence was much better at masking her emotions. Only for a split second can Y/n see Florence flinch at his interjection before she just smiles.

"Sorry Lee, you know how excited I get about those things," she masks her apology in a cheery voice.

Dinner basically became a probe of Y/n and Lou's relationship. Florence wanted to know how they met, when they got married, how long they had been together, and what their future plans together were. Y/n let Lou answer the last question by herself because she genuinely didn't know what their future plans were. Lou usually wakes up and decides what major life change they're going to undertake, that's what happened when he decided to move to Brewer Heights.

When the topic of work came up, Y/n thought the coast was clear. Lou talked extensively about the work he does with his father and what his plan is for the next five years regarding the business.

"Once my father retires I'll have to hire someone to do his job. I didn’t go study in school after high school so I can't take over his position, even though it would make things easier."

"I'm sure you can find someone. I know it's rare for someone to leave the city and come to this little town, but Brewer Heights is always a nice incentive!"

"It is nice here," Lou agrees, "and it's quiet. We were in Meade before which is okay-"

"But, it's nothing like Brewer Heights," Florence interjects. "So, Y/n, what did you do before meeting Lou?"

Lee had not looked her way since the plate-fixing incident but his eyes were sure on her now. If his mouth wasn't stuffed with food he'd be grinning from ear to ear waiting for her answer. He knows she's not a good liar, but she's going to have to come up with something.

"I helped my mom with her business. She used to sell fruit preserves out of the house before she passed."

It wasn't a complete lie. She did help her mother label her jars, but that became less frequent when her hours picked up at Tecumseh. Her parents didn't know about her job either; she told them she was a waitress and it was a safe lie seeing as they didn't go out to diners.

"I'm sorry for your loss, I'm sure she was a lovely woman if she raised such a lovely daughter! Have you ever thought of continuing her business?"

"Not really. It was pretty small. I still make the preserves sometimes for Lou and I."

"If you wouldn't mind, would you be interested in making some for us one day? You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's just so hard to find any good fruit preserves around town." Florence's social habits were very transparent once you were around her for long; she tends to make it impossible for people to say no to her by making them feel bad about even possibly saying no.

"I'd love to Florence. I have fresh peaches at home and I can make peach preserves."

"Oh I'd love that so much," she fawns, "a jar for me and a jar for Lee! He loves his sweets."

"I'm not too big on peaches, Flo. You know I like cherries more."

"You always have," she leans into him and pats him on the chest before straightening up again.

The audacity of Lee is astounding, however not only is he a cop, he's the sheriff. It's such a cowardly move to pick at Y/n when she can't react, but what someone would call cowardly, he'd call fun. She looks like she wants to disappear from her spot and it scratches an itch for him. He missed seeing her get flustered and if he'd known that it would be much more enjoyable to taunt her while his wife was around, he would have found a reason a long time ago to bring her around.

And as if the night couldn't be more humiliating for her, Lou finished his plate before anyone else. He devoured the food on his plate, like a starved man. Y/n felt embarrassed when her husband went for seconds. He never eats this much at home, even when she makes his favorite meals. It makes her want to reach across the dinner table and smack Florence in the face. She hates her; she hates that she has to smile in her face and be friends with her. It's her own fault for continuing this "friendship" with Florence, but her rage makes her blind to her own faults.

She could ruin Florence's life with one sentence: "I've been fucking your husband for years." She'd cause a scene but it would be so gratifying.

Instead she just shuts her mouth and lets dinner continue without anymore incidents.

Y/n thought it would show she was grateful for dinner if she helped Florence with the dishes. She was glad to accept Y/n's help and the two spent their time in the kitchen while Lee and Lou sat on the back porch. With Lee's influence, Lou took another drink out back with him. Y/n wondered what they had to talk about, but she would truly not like to know.

"Your wife cooks like that every night, sheriff?"

"Enough with the title. And she cooks every night, but she went a little overboard since she was happy with having guests," he tells him. If it was anybody else, Lee would just answer the questions and not have any for himself. However, he really wants to know what Y/n has been up to since she's adopted this new image. "How about Y/n? Does she cook for you like that?"

"Not at all. She tries, but she's not the good of a cook," he brings the alcohol up to his lips before pulling away and sighing, "she tries but it's just not her best."

"Her mother didn't teach her how to cook?"

"I don't know much about her family. Her mother was dead when I met her and her father doesn't seem to be doing so well. They're from the same area as my folks but moved when they had Y/n. Maybe she was just too spoiled considering she's an only child."

Y/n's past was a mystery to Lee too, but he's surprised to learn she hasn't opened up to her husband. All he knows is that whether it was her home life or not, something had messed her up and it was almost made worse by her time at Tecumseh. He isn't sure how she made it out, but so much of her old life still bleeds through.

"You know I thought I was getting a good girl. One that would clean and have dinner ready when I get home," Lou continued.

Lee wanted to laugh in his face. Lou is proof that you can come from a smart family and still be dumb as rocks. How could he not know what type of girl Y/n was when he first laid eyes on her? She'd dress just like his sister Sandy; shorts that suffered from mistreatment over the years and a sleeveless blouse that was always stained. He's sure her hair was mussed up that day too. Many people would mistake her for a whore (which many people did see her as one even though she didn't outright sell her body to anyone).

"It can't be that bad," Lee tried to vouch for his former lover. Even he can name some good qualities about her; they just don't include any wifely qualities.

"It's not, but things could be better. Anytime I tell her to shape-up she gets this timid look on her face and flinches a little bit. I try to be nice and gentle but I'm losing my patience with her. I’m not looking to leave her, but what’s the point of marrying a woman who can’t do anything? She won’t even talk to me about having kids — was Florence ever like this?”

“No. Her family is from here so she’s been primed to be a housewife. But I will say it’s not all that fun havin’ a doting wife…she’s overbearing at times and I can never unwind with her around. She’s always on my ass about somethin’.”

Lee felt the need to vouch for Y/n. Anytime he would go to Tecumseh, she would accompany out back or get into his cruiser whenever he told her to. All the gritty things he dealt with at work, everything he kept inside, he dumped it on her. Florence would never sit there to listen to his grievances. Lee would never admit it, but he was vulnerable around Y/n, he knew that she would always be there to listen and he attached himself to that. In the beginning she wasn’t willingly listening to his problems but by the end she was. She took care of him when he was too drunk to go home, or she would let him take his stress and frustration out on her body. However, it doesn’t seem as if Lou is budging; his mind is made up.

“I work long hours. My father is putting more responsibilities on me. I put Y/n in that nice home, the least she could do is not serve me burnt food. Hangin’ around Florence and that Susie woman should have at least influenced her or something,” he continued to complain.

Florence was the last person that would be able to influence a girl like Y/n. Lee didn't know why his wife was seemingly grooming that girl. If anything it was just another person for her to control since Lee started telling her to knock it off. The only time she can get away with controlling her husband is if they're in the company of others where Lee has to be on his best behavior.

Y/n is not the type to be influenced by another woman. The only woman she held in high regard was her mother. Y/n listens to male authority. She listens to a man that will rough her up a little bit but then be sweet on her afterwards. She’s a little fucked up and jaded from her former “profession.” Lee knows this, but not Lou. He seems to know nothing of her past and Lee isn’t going to snitch on her.

“I can talk to Florence and see if she can do something. I know she likes taking people under her wing and shit. She seems to really like Y/n too.”

“I’d greatly appreciate that Lee. I know I sound like I’m hard on her, but I do love her. It’s hard for me to show when she just doesn’t put any effort in.”

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Florence — I'll make everything right."

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x oc #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker smut #the devil all the time #dark fic #fic #sebastian stan

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worth-more-than-two-thousand · 3 years ago

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Omega’s Observations

Request: Congrats on starting the blog!! Pumped to have a new writer's work to read 🥰 If you need some requests, how about an echo/gn!medic reader who he develops a crush on, for a little of that sweet sweet mutual pining action✨ Dunno if you write pre-citadel or just BB echo, but I'm happy with either. Have a good weekend!! :) (@krussyfed)

Author’s Note: Whew! This took a while for me to get to a place where I felt good about posting it. Honestly, as most of my writing does, it got a bit away from me, but that’s because I love fleshing out a story, showing-not-telling, and building on events from the canon. But if I saw this through until the end, I probably wouldn’t end up posting this for months! So I hope what I have here is worth the wait, and if you want more, let me know!

Story Notes: Unbeta’ed, no obvious warnings.

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Ask her brothers to describe her, and ‘still and quiet’ would not be two of the words any of them would use.

Hunter would call her curious to a fault, then ruffle her hair to let her know that he meant it in the nicest way possible.

Wrecker would boom with laughter, proclaiming her one of them (“Always ready for action and adventurin’! Let’s go get those gundarks!”).

Tech would probably consider for a moment, then use a four-syllable word. Like effervescent.

Echo would call her young and energetic, but his brow would furrow as though this might be a bad thing. Then he would inevitably follow up with a reminder to stay within sight and keep out of trouble. She didn’t mind. She knew he just worried about her. Omega would always reassure him that she would keep close to her brothers. Of course, whether it actually happened was usually another thing.

Crosshair, if he was with them, would probably call her troublesome.

But really, this was a tactical advantage. Her brothers never expected her to be still and quiet, so she could settle in and be observant when it was least expected of her.

Omega was actually quite accustomed to being taciturn, at least when she needed to be. Her time with Nala Se, after all, was mostly like this.

Watching over like a stone guardian as Nala Se pored over the capsules containing her modified brothers…

...being as unobtrusive as possible during another endless meeting with Lama Su…

...laying noiselessly and without complaint as Nala Se inserted a needle into her arm for yet another blood sample…

These days, Omega could be as boisterous and vivacious (two more words Tech had taught her) as she wanted to be, so long as there was no chance of enemies being around. The only time she was obediently still by choice during these times was when she was being treated by Y/N, Clone Force 99’s on-board medic.

Again, this was mostly out of habit from her time with Nala Se, but it wasn’t as bad. For one thing, Y/N fielded all of Omega’s questions with unending patience. And their hands were less clinical, more gentle than Omega was used to. Nala Se was efficient, not a movement wasted in her examinations. Y/N, however, always offered a comforting touch on the back after a scary encounter, and would gently but firmly place their hands on Omega’s face to look her in the eye to assess emotional well-being.

The first time Y/N had done this was on the Ordo Moon, as Y/N was finishing wrapping up Omega’s small scratches on her hands and knees from her misadventures in the underground tunnels.

At this point, not used to such close eye contact, Omega averted her eyes and looked over Y/N’s shoulder for something to distract her from the unusual awkwardness she felt.

Her eyes met Echo’s.

Her awkwardness vanished as he seemed to startle, a faint flush appearing on his neck, as he coughed, crossed his arms, and turned away, suddenly much more interested in examining the ship’s ceiling than anything else.

What an interesting reaction. Her brain filed it away, curiosity piqued.

Then, over the course of a few weeks, Omega confirmed her suspicions.

Echo was always watching Y/N. Echo liked Y/N.

Omega caught him absentmindedly gazing at Y/N’s hands as they tapped thoughtfully on a datapad while Wrecker carried new medical inventory aboard the Marauder during a supply run.

After Wrecker’s successful inhibitor chip removal on Bracca, and Tech volunteered to go next, Omega watched Y/N’s hands fly across the medical controls, fierce determination sharpening their features. Glancing up, she saw that Echo’s attention was similarly arrested, a look on his face that was bordering very close to adoration.

He seemed most captivated by Y/N’s hands, however, whenever they were treating him personally for any ailments or injuries. Echo always sat pin straight, almost comedically robotic (it would be funnier, but his history brought a sort of cruel irony to the thought) and allowing Y/N to turn his body and maneuver his prosthetic arm however was needed without any fidgeting or complaint.

But his eyes were another story. Darting back and forth everywhere their fingers touched, such a stoniness to his face that Omega was certain he was committing every graze, every feather-light touch, to memory. Y/N, as always, was so focused on the medical work that they never seemed to notice.

Omega saw things, though. Echo was like Y/N’s shadow, often slipping into the same room or area Y/N was in, like a ghost. She observed with fascination how he always angled himself to face her whenever there was a conversation in the cockpit. It didn’t matter if it was just the two of them, or if the entire squad was there and discussing a mission, it was as though he had attuned himself to wherever Y/N happened to be and was drawn to them.

Like a sunflower always facing the sun.

She saw in the field how Echo, not Hunter, was usually the one to call the Marauder to check in or alert Y/N to any injuries that would need to be treated when they returned. How the space between his brows would crease whenever they would radio in but only receive the static of communications interference.

Or worse, no answer at all.

Echo wouldn’t say anything, but Omega felt that her brother’s steps would quicken, just a little. And she wasn’t sure she was just imagining a sudden sense of urgency in the air as they completed the mission, with just a bit more efficiency, a bit more ruthlessness than was usual.

Omega saw how Echo always let out a tiny breath in relief, as though he had been holding it the whole time, whenever they returned to the Marauder with its medic unharmed.

And she would never forget that one time they had returned to the Marauder, doors blasted open, interior trashed, with no medic in sight and droplets of blood leading away from the ship.

Omega had never been in war, had only heard about it passively from the conversations between Nala Se and Lama Su, then a bit more directly from her brothers once she was allowed out of the private lab.

She had once asked Tech about the war, but his response clearly paled in comparison to the dark look on Echo’s face, as they battled their way through enemy after enemy to rescue Y/N.

Omega felt as though she understood war a little bit more after this. At least its motivations.

It took longer for Omega to figure out whether her brother’s feelings were reciprocated. Y/N’s affection wasn’t as obvious, but the trick was to watch more for their actions than in body language.

Since Y/N and Tech slept the least, they would swap bunks and so were usually on opposite sleep schedules. This meant that Y/N would stay up late into the night well after the rest of the boys had retired to their bunks, face alight in the glow of a datapad. They would concentrate fiercely, chewing on their thumbnail and pausing often to tap notes into the margins.

Omega eventually managed to snatch and break into Y/N’s data pad, and saw that they were working their way through a series of medical journals, detailing the latest treatment for prosthetics. There were also several articles on treating post-traumatic stress disorder for former prisoners of war.

Omega had even checked Y/N’s search history, and discovered that they had been using an encrypted channel to search for chatter on the whereabouts of the former 501st legion and its various members. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Y/N had much luck so far, but if the number of searches were any indication, they weren’t giving up.

Omega wondered incredulously how none of her other brothers had yet caught on to the two’s clearly mutual affection for each other. Until she realized that no, they already knew.

Once, when Omega had offered Echo some of her Mantell Mix, Echo had sniffed it, much to her amusement. Her giggles subsided immediately when Echo murmured apologetically that he sometimes had trouble digesting pretty much any food that wasn’t nutritional paste, due to half his digestive system being completely artificial.

Of course, this meant that he must have been experiencing constant abdominal discomfort, as they hadn’t had any nutritional paste on the ship since their escape from Kamino. Hunter once mentioned to her that even the plainest of rations seemed to bother him, but he gamely never complained.

One day, Hunter was giving out rations in the cockpit, and had already given Tech and Wrecker their usual. Then he pulled out a green, unlabeled squeeze packet instead of the usual rations bar, and handed it to Echo, who took it with some confusion.

“What’s this?”

“New brand. It should be easier on your digestive systems than the usual stuff. Tastier, too.”

Echo glanced at the packet skeptically, unscrewing the cap and sniffing at its contents.

“It smells...fresh?”

“Try it,” Hunter urged him, to which Echo obediently tried a small amount.

His mouth rounded in a surprised ‘oh’. Omega wished she could have captured the look on his face with a holovid. He stared at the packet in his hands, with a look that was a bit like wonder and amazement.

This didn’t escape Wrecker’s notice, who immediately stood up in protest. “What? Why does Echo get something new to eat?” He glanced forlornly at the slightly crumpled, stale rations bar in his hand. “I want some!”

“They’re too expensive for your appetite, Wrecker,” Hunter replied, just a bit too quickly, though none of the others seemed to notice. “Besides, you probably wouldn’t like it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Wrecker proclaimed, swiping the packet from Echo’s hands despite Hunter’s attempt to chastise him. Wrecker took a giant slurp.

...and immediately spat it out, some of it splattering on poor Gronk.

“Blech! That tastes weird.”

“Probably because it’s made of fruits and vegetables,” Tech said dryly, “Your palette likely isn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate the subtle bitterness and natural sweetness that are characteristic of those food categories.”

Echo eyed Hunter skeptically. “And we have the money to keep buying these?”

Hunter hummed, closing the rations box and turning away from the cockpit. “Omega’s paying for it from her holochess winnings.” She startled at the sudden mention of her name. “We have extra to spare, for now.” Hunter subtly winked at her when the others weren’t looking.

“Oh. Thank you, Omega,” said Echo, looking at her with true gratitude. Omega flushed a bit, but mostly because it actually didn’t have anything to do with her. She played along, however, and insisted it was no problem. It did seem to make him happy, so there was no harm in a small lie like that, right?

She cornered Hunter later, though, and insisted on him telling her the truth. After wearing him down a bit, he finally relented.

“Okay, but you can’t tell the others, all right? Believe me, I’ve already tried to talk them out of it. But Y/N has been doing some medical work on the side, working at one of the clinics near Cid’s bar. They’ve been using the money to buy these.”

Omega’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why can’t you just tell Echo that?”

Hunter sighed. “Because they don’t want Echo to know. Figures that Echo wouldn’t like them going out on their own to work in the slums for his sake. They’re probably right, of course.” He rubbed at his forehead, a sure sign of an impending headache.

Omega frowned, then decided to go for it.

“You know they like each other, right?”

Hunter blinked at her, looking surprised. At her determined stare, he gave a sigh and muttered something like, ‘I’m getting too old for this’. He proceeded to explain patiently to her that perhaps Echo and Y/N liked each other, but pointed out how awkward or difficult it could be to have a romantic relationship in such close quarters, especially when they as a team also had bigger things to worry about.

It sounded like Hunter had given this exact speech at least twice before.

So Tech and Wrecker knew, then, but were being polite about it (or, in Wrecker’s case, had probably gotten an earful from Hunter earlier about tact and ‘minding one’s own business’).

Well. That wouldn’t do.

By the time Echo got up the nerve to say anything, he’d probably be old! (Omega wouldn’t, but she tried not to think too hard about that particular fact.)

So, she began to scheme. Quietly.

She had the tactical advantage, after all.

#fic request #arc trooper echo #echo x you #echo x reader #echo #tbb echo #star wars tbb #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #tbb omega #echo x g/n reader #unbeta'd

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beskarberry · 4 years ago

Text

Valkyrie

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 4

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“What... did you... do?” You hissed between clenched teeth. “Did you poison him?! Give me the antidote right now or so fucking help me I’ll tear every limb off your ugly little body!” You were seething, fear and fury stoking fire behind your eyes. The bounty only laughed harder.

“Antidote?There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.8k

Content warnings: Canon-typical violence, SEX POLLEN + rough sex, oral sex (m receiving) and kink talk (not gonna list all of them but they’re all very common.) There’s another filk song reference in this one that I’ll link in the replies.

A/N: VERY IMPORTANT TAG! The bounty uses she/her pronouns so if girl on girl violence makes you squeamish please read ahead with caution! Also know that I >>do not<< use any gender-specific slurs (b*tch, c*nt, etc.)

<-Previous Next->

Everything. Was. Purple.

Purple! The grass, the sky, the trees, if you could call them that. The pulsating, gelatinous towers that spiraled into the sky were definitely alive, but you weren’t sure if ‘tree’ was a fitting word for them. Their branches were long and hanging, weighed down by some kind of berry or fruit that glowed with teal streaks. Your next bounty was on a habitable moon orbiting an enormous gas giant that took up the entire skyline. It was lush with vegetation and sparsely populated, a perfect hideout for an Ardennian.

The Razor Crest was parked in a meadow of lavender grass, though once again you questioned your choice of words, watching the way the long wet leaves wiggled in the breeze. You breathed deep, letting the rich, humid air fill your lungs while your traveling companions followed behind you down the old ship’s ramp. Baby beans trotted right past you on stubby legs, picking things up off the ground that he probably shouldn’t be putting in his mouth, but was too sneaky for you to stop him from doing so. You heard the Crest’s access door shut, and turned to see Mando eagerly trotting along to join you.

No, not ‘Mando’... Din. Mr. Mystery finally had a name, though you were still conflicted about using it. The man had spilled so many secrets into you in such a short amount of time that the butterflies in your stomach were breeding many-legged worms. Squirming, creeping things that quickly metamorphosized back into their illustrious true selves, and you weren’t sure which part of their cycle was making you more nauseous. But they were your secrets to keep, your heart wearing his name like a locket; safely hidden where nobody but you could see.

You had slid the heavy beskar bucket back up the ladder to him while he stayed in the dark of the cockpit, the knowledge of his facial features still kept by your hands alone. The pair of you had then stood close together at the armory, him with his helmet back where it belonged and you with your bright eyed mask protecting your crown. At the equipment cache he couldn’t stop talking, pointing out and picking up a variety of weapons and traps that would work particularly well for this simian quarry. Everything had a story, and he told you all about the bounties he had pulled trophies off of, or things he had gotten as rewards for helping someone else. He’s giddy. You could only listen along as he prattled away, handing you grapple after snare until you had to start putting things back in the armory, just so you could have your hands free again.

Hands. Every time he gave you another tool of the trade to add to your ever-growing inventory his hands brushed somewhere on you. Leather tipped fingers glancing quickly on your wrist, a lingering palm on your shoulder; each fleeting touch lasting just slightly longer than the last. He was struggling to keep his hands off of you, reluctant to give up the intimacy you had both been working at in the void-black darkness of the flight deck before atmospheric reentry tore you both apart. What other prayers of devotion could he pour into you, if you’d just had a little more time? ‘You belong to them, that is The Way’. The oath he had made to you was followed coldly in your mind by another string of words, ‘I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian’.

You couldn’t think about all the words that you still needed to unpack, it was hunting time. The six-limbed simian was wanted for, checks puck notes, chemical warfare. She had blasted her way to the Guild’s Most Wanted list by lobbing incendiary bombs and poison gas grenades through a meeting of outer rim parliament, and the price on her head might have been higher than yours. The bounty puck specifically stated she was to be taken alive. Super. The droid-face mask wasn’t going to be much protection for your lungs, but it might at least keep your eyes safe. You took time to pack extra bacta and some quality rations, plus one of your new bantha-wool blankets. You woke up that morning on Tatooine, and the voice of your tortured circadian rhythm wondered if you would be sleeping rugged tonight somewhere on this heliotropic hellscape.

A bounty fob blinked lazily from the larger hunter’s belt, indicating that the quarry was on-world, but not close enough to catch. The three of you would have some walking to do. The child tried to make friends with every wiggly thing, running on his short little legs from fern to fern, hunting for treats. The little beastie’s adopted father chased him through the grass, trying, and failing, to keep him from getting into trouble. The sight of the mighty metal man being defeated so easily by a baby made you laugh, and the sound of your melodic giggles drew his attention.

“What are you laughing at?”

Oh no, I’ve been caught! “I’m laughing at you, rust bucket! The scariest person here isn’t either of us, it’s him!” You pointed to where the child was tearing through the reeds after some kind of amphibian, and started laughing harder when Mando cursed and flew after his impish son. The rowdy child had a frog-like creature hanging from his mouth that vanished the second his dad tried to pull it away.

“Stop eating things you find on the ground!” The baby only squealed at the scolding, earning himself a grumpy, papa-patented sigh. Mando picked up the potato-sack of a child and dumped him unceremoniously into the hover-crib that floated along behind. “You can get back out when you learn your lesson! I don’t want you to get sick.” The baby made huge, sad eyes up at his dad, but Mando turned away quickly to avoid their hypnotic powers. You were doing your best to hide your giggles, covering the part of your mask where your mouth was, as if that would help. The Mandalorian strode up to you with a swagger. “Oh, you think that’s funny, cyar’ika?”

“You don’t?” You caught your reflection in the black gloss of his visor as he sauntered up to you, and your bug-eyed doppelganger only made you laugh more. A wall of beskar stood in front of you, eyeing you with slow tilts of his helmet while you got it all out of your system. When your breaths returned to normal you looked down at your hands and found that they had made friends. You had reached out for him without even thinking, and you were a little embarrassed that they had gravitated to him so naturally. He squeezed your hands gently before letting them return to you, and you heard the songs of star-lost sailors whispering in the back of your mind. The nights are long between the stars, and lonely, too, for me. I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

“Night’s coming fast, we should keep moving.” Hunting mode reactivated, your companion started towards the undulating wilderness. He wasn’t wrong, within a few hours the massive planet that hung above you drifted out of view, replaced with a sea of glittering stars. The foliage around you glowed with otherworldly colors, teals and violets splattering their dense leaves and curling down their jelly trunks. Their loveliness made it easy to distract yourself from the task at hand, your eyes chasing the occasional yellow and red flashes that blinked from insects high in the branches. Ahead of you a large old tree had fallen over, and between its trunk and its upturned roots the spot was easily defensible.

Mando busied himself with clearing squishy sticks and leaves from the area to make a campsite while you looked for something to start a fire with. Nothing looked burnable, everything had a gooey, wet consistency, but some dead leaves under the log were dried out. They would have to do. You made them into a neat pile and pushed some rocks in a circle around them for safety, now you would just need a light.

“Hey, tinman, I need some heat!” He followed your pointing finger with his helmet and waltzed over to you, happy to be of assistance. He started up his wrist mounted flamethrower and used the pilot light to set the tinder ablaze. Not even fire could escape the overwhelming purpleness of the estranged moon as the blaze kicked up a bright indigo with a low heat. You got to work getting dinner around, pulling savory Tatooine treats out of your pack, pushing some of them towards the heat source so they would be warm. At the bottom of your bag you found some soft, squashed thing, and pulled the remains of breakfast out into the light. It was mashed, but it was still probably edible. “Mando, you never ate your breakfast.”

“What?” He looked at the sad excuse for a meal that you were offering him, eyeing it with curiosity. “You got me breakfast?”

“Yes? I told you that I would, though I guess it’s dinner now. Here.” You waved it at him so he would get the hint, and he took it carefully from you with timid hands.

“T-thank you. You’re very kind.”

“And don’t you forget it!” You whooped with overwhelming confidence, but the sweet words made you blush under your mask. Before he could turn and leave the safety of the fire to find a private eating area you reached for his hand again, pulling the armored paw to your forehead and knocking it softly against your mask. Kov'nynir. A wistful sigh escaped his modulator, and you knew the act of affection was well received. He bent himself down to where you sat at the fire and pressed his own forehead against yours, rumbling with contentment. The gentle sound made your heart swell, such a simple gesture that carried so much meaning. A bounty hunter’s life was fast and dangerous, why should finding companionship be any different?

You pushed your heads together just a little harder before he pulled himself away from you to go eat. You lifted your own dinner and the baby’s from the hearth, poking at it with your fingers to make sure it wasn’t too hot for Mr. Green Beans to eat. The child took it from you eagerly, content in his protective pram and making gross little noises while he ate. The food tin you had was much better than day one’s menu: bantha meat and Tusken hardtack with a side of more mystery mush. Your partner chose to take his meal elsewhere, fading into the darkness behind the fallen log where he could remove his helmet and eat in peace. Someday he might make more sense to you. The clank! of an empty food tin hitting the ground brought your attention back to your campsite buddy, the baby having thrown his clean plate at you.

“What’s wrong, booger? You bored? Alright.” There was a tiny bit of energy still left in your bones, and what better way to spend it than entertaining your precious audience. You pulled yourself to your feet, taking a moment to dust the spores from your pants and pull your backpack on before launching into song.

“When we pulled into Naboo’s Port in need of R&R,

The crew set out investigating every joint and bar.

We had high expectations of their hospitality,

But found too late it wasn't geared for spacers such as we!”

“And we're banned from Naboo, everyone!

Banned from Naboo, just for having a little fun!

We spent a jolly shore leave there for just three days or four,

But Naboo doesn't want us anymore!”

Green baby hands tried their best to clap in time with your sailor song, accompanied by adorable cooing noises while he tried to sing along. Your rambunctiousness summoned Mando back over to the fire, and he sat down on a large rock next to his foundling, watching you through his visor as you danced around the fire with flailing limbs.

“Our Engineer would yield to none at putting down the brew;

She outdrank seven space marines and a demolition crew!

The Navigator didn't win, but he out-drank almost all,

And now they've got a shuttlecraft on the roof of City Hall!”

You ran through the chorus again, taking a second to notice that tinman was tapping his foot to the beat along with you. You wondered briefly if they ever sang on Mandalore. You took a deep breath to continue-

“-KABOOM-!”

The fireside exploded just meters from your spinning dance, and you were hauled backwards to safety by your oathsworn protector,along with his foundling, and ushered towards the safety of the trees.

“-BOOM! Ba-BOOM! KERPLOW-!”

Trees and plants exploded on either side of you as you ran through the luminous dark. The Ardennian! Neither of you had been paying attention to the bounty fob, blinking fast and red under his cloak. Above you the sound of something swinging through the branches caught your ear, and you pulled your blaster and fired behind you.

“Bwahaha! Missed me missed me now you gotta kiss me, two-arms!” You couldn’t see her, but her taunts gave you a better idea of her position, firing several more shots towards their source. You knew you had to take her alive, but that didn’t mean intact.

“Go go go!” Mando was at your back, doing his best human shield impression while he hurried you away from the bombardment, the child’s bulky pram tucked uncomfortably under one arm. Your flight through the forest was haunted with vicious cackling and the sound of serene foliage being obliterated by the explosives that rained down around you, choking you with incendiary fumes.

A clearing materialized ahead, and the three of you rushed out from under the unmerciful trees. When you had gotten far enough from the tree line you both turned your eyes to the canopy.

“There!” Picking up her heat signature on his visor’s infrared sensors, he pointed to your target, his other arm still occupied with protecting the foundling. You grabbed the barrel of the pulse rife that was still slung over his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The ball of electricity arced from your little trio and collided with the trees, the sound of pained screams and crashes followed the wounded pyromaniac as she fell hard to the ground. Bullseye.

”Stay here, Mando, I got this! Keep him safe!” You stormed into the woods after the sounds of distress, snare at the ready to take the bounty alive. You were angry, rage powering your stride as you chased after her like a Corellian tracking hound. Angry that your sweet moment had been ruined, angry that she’d put the foundling in danger, angry that your partner had been pulled from the comfort of the fire to fulfill his duties as guardian. You sprang over roots and fallen branches, catching the sight of movement where the Ardennian was making a run for it.

“Oh no you don’t! Get back here!” Your words boiled with so much fury that they almost weren’t your own. Balls of fire exploded around you in a last ditch effort by the primate to kill you first. You dropped a knee into the loamy soil to steady your shot.

Woosh! The net sailed past her by mere inches, and you flew to your feet to begin the chase again.

“Ha! Grow some more arms and maybe you’ll have better aim!” Fire erupted around you again, but the flames that seared at your eyes came from inside, burning with fuel siphoned from your heart. You took another shot.

Woosh! Miss! FUCK. You had one shot left on the snare-slinger, and you had to make it count. The trees were thinner here, how long had you been running? The simian was struggling to get away now, the long slimy branches too far apart to swing through. Behind you the sound of thunderous armored boots told you that Mando was hot on your trail, and you were glad to have the back up even though you had specifically told him to stay put. Nobody listens in this crew. Something green and gaseous poofed next to you, and the terms of the bounty puck came back to you clear as day: chemical warfare. The Ardennian was out of bombs and had switched to gas canisters, hurling a variety of brightly colored poisons at your face. Third time’s the charm.

Woosh! The net flew true, tangling in the many limbs of the fleeing quarry and throwing her to the ground. Gotcha! You bore down on her as brightly glowing vials sailed over your head, landing on something behind you with a crash! You were on her in an instant, shoving a blaster in her face.

“You’re done, chuckles! It’s over!” The fear in her eyes vanished as quickly as it had appeared when she glanced back behind you.

“Ha! I don’t think so, stinky. You’re gonna have yer hands too full with that to deal with little old me.” You followed her gaze, and froze from the ice crystalizing in your veins. Mando stood a ways back, still as a statue. Bright neon pink goo slimed its way down his helmet and dripped onto his chest plate. You turned on the Ardennian again.

“Antidote? There’s only one antidote for that one, sugar, and I sure hope you like him enough to give it to him! Bwahaha ha! Good luck!” She was howling with laughter in your grasp, and the sound of her mirth was like nails on chalkboard to your ears. You practically threw her to the ground, running back to your incapacitated partner. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Mando! Hey hey can you hear me? Tell me what’s wrong!” The glowing pink slime was still on his helmet, and you hunted for something to wipe it off with. The closest thing was his cloak, so you reached for it and went to clean the pretty pink sludge from his helmet when an armored claw shot up and caught your wrist. The action startled you, but you were happy to see him still able to move. “Mando? You ok?” Slowly, with almost robotic precision, he turned his gaze to you.

“Cyar...’ika....?” His words were long and labored, the strain of them sending a chill through your bones.

“Yes! It’s me, Mando. I’m right here, I’m gonna get you taken care of. I- I’ll find some bacta or-” Your words were cut off by another wicked claw on your shoulder.

“So... Beautiful...” The lustful words made the gears in your head grind to a halt. Really? Right now?

“Ok great, glad to see you’re fine, now can we get back to hunt-” He cut you off with a hand at your throat.

“Beautiful.. and mouthy. So... fucking... mouthy.” A leather tipped hand snaked up your neck to your lips, grabbing at your jaw and pushing a thumb in past your teeth. You tried to spit him out but his other hand latched on to the back of your skull. “I’m going to put that mouth to good use, mesh’la.” Your mask was tossed to the ground, and the ‘good luck’ the Ardennian had wished you now made sense. Whatever was oozing down the front of his helmet was driving him into an uncontrolled sexual frenzy, and you were the sole outlet for all his desires.

“Mando! -Blech-! Man- Din!” He stopped trying to get down your throat at the sound of his own name, hearing it for the first time from your lips. “Din! We don’t have time for this right now! Get a grip!” Oh, but he already had a grip, and it was tightening on your scalp.

“That’s right, sweetheart, say my name.” The command dripped from his modulator the same way the poison dripped down his face, and he started walking you backwards by the hair until you bumped against a squishy tree. The change of emotion from rage to fear to confusion made your head spin, and the new contending feeling of heat building in your guts was making itself known.

“Knock it off! Fucking hell, she’s going to get away if we don’t do something right now! ”

“Let her. You’re the only one I want.” The weight of his arms on your neck and shoulders became too much, and the man who you had shared a such a sweet moment with not too long ago was now forcing you to your knees. You dropped to a kneel, and your face was hard pressed up against the solid bulge that was trying to rip its way out of his pants. He took only a second to free himself, pushing his throbbing cock against your teeth. “Open wide.”

You wished you were meeting with mini-mando under better circumstances, but if getting him off would get you back to the hunt, you were happy to help. The taste of him on your tongue sent electricity through your body, spooling up fresh heat between your own legs. Above you Mando was making deep, guttural groans as you took his cock all the way to the back of your throat, wrapping a fist around where you couldn’t reach without gagging. You glanced around his leg to where you could see the hover-crib, floating a good distance away with the shield closed tight. Good, he doesn’t need to see this. A swift thrust brought your attention back to where it was demanded.

“That’s a good girl, take it all in. Let me make a mess of that pretty little mouth of yours.” He had a death grip on the back of your hair and the side of your jaw, pushing up to keep you open enough to take his length. Inside you were swirling your tongue around the tip every time it slid past, making sultry praises flood from his modulator. Most of the words were garbled, raunchy and alien, probably Mando’a. Spit leaked from the sides of your mouth, making good on his word to make a mess of you. The claws in your hair pulled tight, forcing your nose into the tuft of soft hair at his base so he could pump your throat full of cum without you escaping. “Ahh~! That’s it, mesh’la, drink it all down.”

The hot spunk made you choke and gag, tears rushing to your eyes, but you still swallowed as best you could. When he finally let you pull away you gasped for air, coughing on the ground at his feet.

“There! *cough!* is that... -blech-, better? Can you hunt now? Are you done?” The potionmaster was probably long gone, you couldn’t hear her fucking cackling anymore.

“Cyar’ika, we’re not done until I say we’re done.” The spear at your cheek was still hard as beskar, ready for round two. The armored man yanked you to your feet, shoving you face first towards the nearest tree. The tree’s flesh was soft and squishy, a fact you would be grateful for soon enough. Your hips were pulled backwards, and a buzzing sound told you he had pulled a vibroblade from his belt, stabbing under your pants’ edge and pulling down the crack of your ass until your clothes were cut away; leaving just the legs and your boots to protect you. The cold air hitting your cunt gave away your arousal, and he zoned in on it like a falcon, pressing still-gloved fingers to your wet slit. The roughness of the leather invading you made you cry out and your knees buckle, squirming under the intrusion of one finger, then two; pumping in and out of you to stoke your flame.

“You’re so pretty. So fucking pretty, and strong. I’m gonna lose myself in you, fierce little thing, and I never want to be found.” His hands ripped away from your swollen cunt, and the head of his cock was pressed to its lips. Both of you made delicious, filthy noises as he buried himself to the hilt, the slick of his own cum making a wonderful lube. “Fuuuuuck, you’re hot inside, lovely girl. My cock was made just for you.” He barely made it a few inches out of you before he was slamming back into you again. The force of him behind you smashed you face into the soft, forgiving tree, though you wished you could find somewhere for your hands to grab hold. He fucked you like a man possessed, and you were sure there would be bruises on your hips and thighs when he was finished.

His mouth ran like surging lava. “Fucking.. Maker... beautiful girl, beautiful hunter! Hunter-killer! I knew you would be a challenge to hunt, but I never thought you would be the one to capture me! You’re a work of art on the killing field! Mmph! You are mine and I’m going to fill your belly with my warriors ‘til you’re fit to burst. They’ll be so ferocious! Born with daggers in their teeth.” Vulgar words between thrusts made your entire body hot with a mix of embarrassment and lust. You might never know if the neon goo had given him the desire to breed you, or if he adored you so much that he wanted more of you to care for, but you did know your contraceptive implant would be having none of it either way. Still, his damning words flowed. “Nobody will ever put their hands on you again but me. I’ll give you everything you desire, cyar’ika, anything you ask for will be yours. I’ll bring the stars down from the sky if you ask me to! I- I’ll- I’m gonna...”

The Mandalorian stilled behind you, twitching as his cock spilled into you and ran hot down your thighs. His breaths were gasping, broken and desperate for air. His fingers digging into the soft skin on your hips would leave their mark for sure, and though he’d done a fantastic job of scrambling your insides you still felt warmth in your chest. Even in his poisoned, delirious state of mind, all of his thoughts were of you alone. The grip on your ass loosened, and the sound of a heavy thud hitting the ground told you he had fallen down into the soft purple grass. You struggled to peel your face from the jelly tree, standing like a newborn fawn on shaky legs. The bright pink streak on his helmet had lost all its glow, and your human rust-bucket was slumped over on his side, still as the grave. Not again, fucksake. You clambered over to him, digging under his cloak with your hands until you found his pulse. Still alive.

“Alright Mando, fucking stay here this time like I told you to.” You glanced around the meadow, but the Ardennian was nowhere to be found. Fuck! All that work for nothing. You groaned, looking down at what was left of your pants. You checked all the pockets, finding your lucky krayt teeth and a bacta patch before kicking the ruined fabric off over your boots. You dropped down to the spent form of your comrade, tilting his helmet up and slapping the bacta patch on one of the hickies you had left there a few days ago. You took a moment to stuff the teeth into one of his many pouches since you no longer had pockets of your own. With your ass in the wind you made your way over to the floating pram to check on your tiny pal. “Hey beans, you doing ok? Your dad and I were just having a little-” you spun the cradle around. Empty.

“No! Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK!” The bounty had made off with Din’s infant son, your little buddy! You couldn’t stop the fear that dried your throat and brought tears to your eyes. Get a hold of yourself! Find him! NOW! Familiar rage welled up behind your eyes, and you raced back over to your unconscious guardian, still laying in the dirt and making it extra difficult to untangle the pulse rifle still slung over his back. Your hunting instincts were on high alert, and the sound of shouting caught your ears. “I’m gonna get him back, Din! Just... just fucking stay here!”

You tore off after the noise, every horrible scenario running through your head at once. Would she steal him? Would she hurt him? Would she kill him? Rage flared hot in your chest and threatened to burn you alive, your feverish skin icy with sweat. Wet leaves slapped past your bare knees so fast that their thin edges left vicious paper cuts. You didn’t care, nothing else mattered but the foundling. The sound of shouting grew louder, and you thundered though the trees to another clearing by a narrow wine-dark stream.

“Help! This thing’s got me! Get me down, please! Get it away from me!” The simian terror was hanging in the air ahead of you. No, not hanging, floating. She was thrashing her arms, but all that did was slowly spin her in place. The sight was magical, but more important was the safety of child. On the ground near her, he stood with one fat little paw in the air, pointing at his abductor and concentrating with all his might. You didn’t know how he had escaped, or what the actual fuck he was doing, but you didn’t hesitate. You pulled the pulse rifle from your back and fired, once, twice, three times until her limp body was hanging in the air, knocked out cold. Or dead.

Baby beans crumpled to the ground, and the Ardennian followed suit, the ugly noise she made when she hit the ground brought a wicked smile to your cheeks. The baby’s little eyes were bleary and tired under his big droopy ears, and you scooped him carefully up off the ground to pull him in for a good, strong hug.

“Did you get the mean lady, sweetie? Good job! I don’t know what the fuck you did but hey, no questions asked, alright? I’m just glad you’re ok.” He smiled up at you with his tiny toothy grin before conking out in your arms, leaning heavily against your chest. You set him back down on the ground, just long enough to tie that six limbed asshole up tight, using everything you still had above the waist to keep her captured. You tied her arms to her feet and slung her limp body over you like a rucksack, then picked the foundling back up. With your bounty, baby, and bare ass you started the hike back to your fallen man.

Mando still laid where you had left him on his side, and you were annoyed to realize that, out of everybody involved, you were the only one left awake. Fantastic. You returned the baby to his floating bucket, pulling it closer to the pair of you this time, and dumped the Ardennian in the dirt. There was no way you could maneuver three bodies at once, somebody was going to have to get up and walk.

“Mando! Mando get up, we gotta go.” The man in question didn’t budge, soft, muffled snores your only response. You tried everything you could think of, pulling on his hands and legs and shouting, anything to wake his ass up. You knocked on his helmet, “Ground control to Major Mando, time to get up! Rise and shine, bucket boy!” Nothing, he was going to have to sleep the after-effects of the potion off, so he was staying right where he was.

You had no idea how far you had gotten from the campsite, and the cold night air on your bare booty made you remember your half-nakedness. On the ground scattered around the pile of living beskar was your backpack and the remains of your pants, along with the rest of your trap gear. Start packing more clothes. You went for the gear first, pulling another set of cuffs and a good strong rope out, and added a few more knots to the half-dead quarry so she wouldn’t be pulling any bullshit in the night. The backpack still had the bantha-wool blanket wrapped up tight, and you tied it around yourself like a skirt. Better than nothing.

Kneeling on the ground next to your Mandalorian, you cleared yourself a space to sit down, taking an extra second to make sure all his bits were tucked back out of view. You leaned back against the crook of his hips, feeling the slow rise and fall of his belly at your back. You were so tired, how many times had you been on the run in the last cycle alone? Your body desperately craved sleep, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the bounty. Anger crept its way back into your eyes again, and you wanted to take it out on her, channel your inner rancor. No, she’s already lost. Go to sleep.

But the merciful tug of sleep didn’t come, and when you realized why you felt foolish. The child’s pram was on the ground where you had pushed it next to his fathers’ armored head. He was sleeping like a little prince, and didn’t move at all when you pulled him out of the crib. When he was situated in your arms you pulled Mando’s cloak around the three of you for extra warmth. Sitting upright was a horrible way to sleep, but with the baby safely in your arms and a blaster at your side, you were able to catch a handful of winks.

You woke up many times that night, worried that something might happen to your baby or your partner, and each time your eyes shot open you glared at the dark form in the grass; though not once did it move. Still, you didn’t trust that you were safe, and only when the rim of the planet that dominated the sky drifted over the horizon could you actually keep your eyes closed. But the blissful comfort of real sleep was torn from you by your lounge chair trying to get up on its own. The rush from trying to sit up too fast knocked Mando right back down on his back, and his hands went to his armored temples to try to stop the world from spinning.

“What...where am... where’s....” He shot up like a bolt of lightning “WHERE’S MY SON?!”

“Right here!” You turned yourself to show the bug-eyed bundle to his father, letting him see that the child was safe. Mando wrapped his arms around you and the child, and you could hear his quick, shuddering breaths coming out from under the helmet. The hug was tight, a comforting fortress around your shoulders.

“Are you ok? What happened? Why are we in the grass? Where’s the bounty? Did she get away?” His questions gushed like a river, urgent and frightened. You pointed at where the Ardennian was still on the ground, far enough away that she was out of earshot. She was awake now, but still immobilized. Her eyes were fixed on you, and you could see the edges of her mouth turning upwards into a snarl to bare her teeth. Din’s hands were all over you, inspecting you for damage, and his breath caught in his throat when he reached your waist. Big, ugly red and purple fingerprints were swelling up between the scrapes on your skin, and he pushed the edge of your makeshift skirt down to follow their horrifying trail; they were everywhere.

“Who did this to you?” The volcano behind the beskar threatened to erupt with molten malevolence, “Did she do this to you?”

“No Mando,” you sighed, a little hurt that he didn’t remember. “You did.” The wall of metal armor went stiff as a rail, his visor locked on your eyes, looking for the truth. But the truth was right in front of him, and he couldn’t accept it.

“What? N-no.. I would never... I could never hurt you, cyar’ika! Please... please tell me that I didn’t do this.” His fingers ghosted over your marks, but never touched them, his hands afraid of dealing more damage to your lovely skin. “I-I couldn’t have... I’m... I’m so sorr-” You cut him off with a hand on his helmet where his mouth might be.

“It’s not your fault, you were poisoned. I’m just glad you’re alive, Din.” The sound of his own name made his shoulders droop and his hands come up cradle your cheeks. You couldn’t meet his visor, the closeness of the distraught hunter making you flustered, so you tried to crack a joke. “I’m just glad you wanted to fuck me instead of the Ardennian.” The way his helmet snapped backwards made you realize he didn’t remember that part either. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I took it like a champ! You’re gonna have to do better than bruises to hurt this mighty hunter!” Your attempted words of comfort didn’t seem to work, and he pulled you and the wiggly child back to his chest in a world-erasing hug.

“Please just tell me you know I wouldn’t do this to you on purpose, I never want to hurt you again. Please.”

“Mando! I’m fine, really.” He held your head firmly, the blackness of the visor trying to bore though your very soul. You nodded in his grasp, “I know you didn’t, it’s alright, Din. I forgive you.” The force of his helmet knocking against your forehead almost made you see stars. His hands were wrapped around your head, holding you as close as he could in the intimate gesture of his people. You didn’t blame him at all for what happened, but it would be a while, if ever, before he could forgive himself.

“Oh isn’t that puke. Spare me the lovey-dovey crap and take me back to the Guild already! Buncha bucketheads.” You didn’t want to address the Ardennian that hollered at you from from the grass, but the beskar bucket turned on her in a heartbeat. He sprang to his feet in a flash, pulling the pulse rife from the ground and firing, stunning the target for the fourth time, fifth time, sixth, seventh.

He’s gonna kill her. You grabbed at his arm, demanding his attention “Mando, you got her, it’s over! It’s done.” Stance wide and chest heaving, the barrel of the long rifle stayed trained on the bounty for what seemed like an eternity before being lowered back to the ground. “Good, good, see, everyone’s ok. Let’s get back to the Crest and get out of here, sound like a plan?” He nodded, still watching the limp-again simian for signs of movement. When he was sure there wouldn’t be any more argument he stalked over to the quarry and slung her over his shoulder, ready to make the long march back to the ship. You set the baby back in his pram so you could take a second to grab everything off the ground, making sure you had your pack and your mask, and followed Mando back through the woods.

After hours of silent hiking, the Razor Crest came into view, and you had never been so happy to see the old girl, pretty as a plum in the violet haze. Once everyone was aboard, the fog of the carbonite chamber filled the tiny cabin to the brim, and left a new dark block in its wake. The Ardennian’s body was limp, though thankfully still alive; but the mischievous sneer couldn’t be erased so easily. You took a deep breath, sighing with relief that this hunt was over. Two down, one to go. Then Nevarro.

Your Mandalorian hadn’t spoken to you the entire trek back to the ship, and he was distracting himself by placing all the weaponry back in their spots in the cabinet. He’s still upset with himself. You still wore the bantha-blanket skirt, and its soft edges swished around your ankles. Gently you placed your hand on his shoulder, and he jumped violently under your touch as he was brought back to the present.

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” He didn’t meet your eyes, but his hands stopped fussing with the armory. “Really, Din, I don’t blame you at all. I’m ok.” You tugged on his waist, bidding him to turn and face you, but still he couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor. You ran your hands from his shoulders down his chest, trying to bring him comfort with your touch, but when you saw his utility belt you remembered what was in his pockets. A flashbulb of an idea lit up in your skull, and clear as day the reason for your frivolous purchase on Tatooine made itself known. “You know what, I’m so not-mad at you that I have a present for you.” You grabbed his belt to dig through the pouches, but strong hands shot up to carefully take your wrists.

“Mesh’la no! Not after.. not after I- I can’t. I don’t deserve your affections.” Your eyes met his visor, its gaze no longer staring down at the floor and instead watching you with intensity. A smile broke it’s way out past your teeth, followed by a knowing laugh.

“No, that’s not what I meant, good thought though. No, Mand-...Din. Din, I have a gift for you.” He hesitated to release your arms, but when you were free of his delicate hold you went back to the pockets on his belt and pulled the opalized krayt teeth from one of the pouches. Your companion’s visor followed the glittering treasures as they were brought into the light, and you wished you could see his bewildered face under the beskar. You handed them to him, and he carefully turned them over in his palm, letting the fossils catch the light and revealing their intricate patterns. His helmet tilted slowly, baffled that such beautiful things could be pulled from anywhere on his body, but the way his beskar sent streaks of light over his armor gave you a fantastic new idea.

Taking the treasures back from him you unscrewed the button fasteners that protruded from their backs, revealing the small, strong magnets hidden underneath; and pressed them up to his helmet. The teeth fit perfectly in the recesses of his cheeks, like they had been made just for him; and though you knew hunters didn’t wear adornments, they still looked lovely. “I know you can’t keep them on, especially when we go hunt, but they still look nice on you. Now you get to be my lucky charm.” His soft leather fingertips rubbed gently at his cheeks, feeling the way the indents had been filled with the precious jewels. The ship didn’t have any mirrors, and he would have to see how the swirling pools of crystalized moonlight looked the next time he took his helmet off.

Wordlessly he reached out for you, taking your face in his hands and pulling your head to his so he could press your foreheads together. You were becoming fond of the mysterious gesture, letting the butterflies in your stomach stretch their iridescent wings and fan contentment into your heart. You pushed back against him, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders, locking his helmet to you. The whole galaxy could fly apart at the seams and you knew you would be alright, as long as you were right where you were, shielded in your Mandalorian’s embrace. I wonder if he feels the same. Tiny claws on your leg pulled your attention to the floor, and you were overjoyed to see big black orbs staring up at you.

“Little Beans! C’mere you, get in on this.” You hauled the foundling up between your bodies, letting him get a good look at you and his father. He chirped away, happily patting his papa’s fancy new trinkets, mesmerized by their shine. The little creature was full of energy, but you had been on your last leg for hours and you couldn’t stifle your yawns any longer. “Boys, I can’t keep this up anymore, you’re both awful cute, but I need sleep.”

“Of course, cyare, you’ve earned it.” Mando reluctantly stepped away from you and rolled out the Tusken sleeping mat that you had purchased. It was much thicker than the sheet originally on the little cot, and a hundred times more forgiving. You were comfy in seconds, and the warm embrace of sleep started pulling on your limbs and shutting your eyes. A different touch was on your arm, and you lazily opened one eye to see an armored hand pulling the bantha blankie up snug around you. Sweet, thoughtful murder-machine is what you had thought of him that first day, and the stupid pet name made you chuckle.

“What does that mean? That word, sire-eeka or sigh-air, they’re Mando’a, right?” You wouldn’t let sleep win you over without a fight, even if it was a fight you wanted to lose.

“Cyar’ika. The closest translation in Basic would be sweetheart, or darling.” Here we go again with Mando’a 101.

“Sweetheart, huh? Pfft... sounds like you like me or something. What’s the other word mean? You’ve never used it before now.” He sighed, long and tired, and you could see the foundling on his lap, still enthralled with the glittering opal on his fathers' metal face.

“I...I don’t know how to translate that one, but it’s more than cyar’ika, stronger, with more depth.” Something about his posture told you he might be lying, he knew exactly how to translate that word, but he wasn’t ready to tell it to you. He might, though, when he was ready.

“Alright, tin man, if you say so.” Your eyes finally let themselves close all the way, but even in the darkness behind your lids your devious hands still found their way to him, giving his hand a good squeeze. “Teach me more someday?”

“For you, ner cyare’se,” Your hand was pulled up from the blankets until the backs of your knuckles rested on the cool beskar of his brow, “I’d bring you the stars down from the sky, if you asked me to.”

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#bargaining with beskar #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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gingerteaonthetardis · 4 years ago

Note

For the writing prompts, this just came into my head but Eight as a wandering wizard selling potions and the like who comes into town one day, and Rose as a customer who comes up with increasingly silly ailments she needs potions for??? (As an excuse to see the cute wizard, obviously) No pressure obvs I just thought it was a fun (very random) idea!!

okay, the truth is, i loved this prompt so much that it took me forever to write, because i wanted to do right by it. i ended up sort of... going my own way, though, so the result isn’t exactly like your prompt. or... really anything like it? but i hope you enjoy my nonsense anyway! it has charley!

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐩 𝐀𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝

There was nothing to suggest that the shop which sprang suddenly into being across the road from Henrik's was built by human hands.

The way the villagers remembered it, they had all simply woken one morning to find it there, standing bold and brilliant against the clear autumn morning. The shop was no taller than any other building in town, though it was a good bit narrower, and it was built in the appropriate style—it nearly looked like it belonged. It had large, recessed windows that didn’t feel particularly out of the common way, and a lovely, hand-painted sign that simply read “Opening Soon.”

Really, excepting it’s sudden construction, the shop might have been completely unremarkable, only the exterior had been painted a deep, vibrant shade of blue.

A shade that caught the eye.

Nothing caught the eye in the village. It was all varying shades of brown—earth, and stone dug from earth, and planks hewn from great, brown trees, with roots that reached deep into the earth.

But the shop across from Henrik’s—Rose felt this distinctly—was unearthly.

She had plenty of time to pore over the impression, as Old Mr. Henrik had long since given over the daily tasks of running the shop. This meant that Rose spent a good deal of time on her own, fussing with inventory and wiping down countertops and—yes, gazing out the window at the shuttered blue door. She doled out spices and flour and lengths of fabric and listened to every scrap of gossip she could get. She spent an even more sizable part of her day imagining what might lay behind it.

Three days passed in this fashion.

All sorts of fancies flew through her mind, the longer the shop sat in empty silence. For nineteen years, nothing had happened in her life. Certainly nothing interesting. Nothing like the spontaneous appearance of a shop, selling unknown wares.

There was no sign of anyone going in or out, nor anyone moving inside, but the townsfolk often stopped to peer in through the windows, Rose among them. She always had some excuse: If the owner was a cure-all, her mother could certainly benefit from some such elixir or powder. If the owner was a mender, she had a shoe in need of cobbling. And if the owner was a wizard—but, no. Rose was too sensible a girl to fall for that kind of fancy.

Day after day, the shop remained dark. After a sufficient amount of time spent in silent unremarkability, the shop seemed to lose some of its mystery for the townspeople. Even the most restless of busybodies seemed bored of looking through the opaque windows, searching for signs of life.

But not Rose.

Only once, on the third day, was there any indication of occupancy, and that was when the sign in the window suddenly changed—metamorphosed, it seemed—to one that read “Opening Quite Soon.” The word “quite” was underlined.

Rose had only looked away for a moment—not nearly long enough for someone to take down the old sign and put up a new one. The sudden alteration was enough to renew her interest, as well as the impression that the little shop was decidedly unusual. But the road was nearly empty by now; there was no one to confirm what she’d seen.

Dark was coming soon, bringing the end of her shift at Henrik’s. Soon, she’d have to go home and give up her most fascinating employment of watching the little blue shop. Rose took her time closing up for the night, contrary to her usual rushing impatience, and locked the shop door with an uncharacteristic sense of regret.

When she turned, she would take her last glimpse for the night, make one last effort to pierce the darkness beyond the window panes—she’d best take her time with it, make enough observations to keep her occupied all night. Her hand lingered at the door handle. And then, teeth worrying at her lip, Rose turned back to the blue shop that had so caught her imagination.

There was a light.

An oil lamp, gleaming in the window, casting warm yellow light over that same wooden sign.

A sign which now said, in bold letters, “Open.”

Her heart leapt, and once again, she found herself looking left and right, as if hoping that someone else would see this impossible occurrence and verify it. But there was no one; the streets were abandoned, and all the nearby windows were shuttered for the night, to keep in the warmth from their hearths. She had only her own eyes to prove that what she saw was real.

Rose couldn’t say how she traveled across the road. Only, in a matter of moments, she felt her hand pressing against the wooden door. It seemed to pulse with a life that sent tremors down her spine. Summoning all of her bravery, she pushed—and the door smoothly opened.

Into a room—a tall room, if not necessarily large, though it certainly couldn’t fit within the limited confines of the wooden exterior. Her eyes searched wildly, looking for some sign to confirm any of her suspicions, to determine the place’s purpose. But her mind came up blank.

It didn’t resemble any shop she’d ever seen; there was far too much clutter, even for a trinket shop. The walls were crammed floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves, holding a host of tomes in varying sizes and shapes, and shoved in between them were the oddest things she’d ever seen in her life: bits and bobs, skulls, dried flowers that she didn’t know the name of, feathers of foreign birds, little boxes, bowls, jars of powders in a whole host of shades, wood-carvings, bone-carvings, wrought metals—even what appeared to be a tiny, silver-flashing fish in an equally tiny glass bowl. It was such an overwhelming sight that she forgot to close the door behind her, or even step inside. Rose was lost in her own fascination.

And from the ceiling hung the oddest thing of all—something she couldn’t quite describe, only it looked like a solid gold sphere, crusted with stones that sparkled in impossible colors and an unreadable pattern, with layers of rings circling all around it, animated by some force that made it move. There was a rhythm to the movement, hypnotic and slow—

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” came a voice, surprisingly stout and close-by. “I haven’t the faintest idea how he does it.” When Rose started, gaze dropping from the wide-beamed ceiling, she was surprised to identify the owner of the voice as distinctly not the sort to be a proprietress of such an impossible shop as this. She wasn’t terribly tall and gaunt, nor was she particularly intimidating, nor was she deliciously enigmatical.

Whoever she was, Rose couldn’t help but feel she was quite lovely, with soft, dimpled cheeks and golden hair that fell in loose, uneven curls around her face. She was dressed strangely, wearing plain, brown-ish sort of trousers that looked as if they’d been cuffed several times to fit her, tucked into heavy boots. But there was a sense of solidity to her that gave the impression that she didn’t necessarily approve of such frippery and nonsense as this shop contained. Her hands were firmly rooted on her hips.

The woman smiled widely as Rose looked her up and down, and then up and down again.

“I’m Charley. And you are?”

“Rose,” she supplied, gaze unwittingly catching on something just over the woman—Charley’s shoulder. It looked like a clock, only more complicated than she could’ve possibly imagined. Interlocked circles made unfathomable rotations, nearly as quick as blinking, while another hand ticked steadily by. It reminded her greatly of the turning of the sphere and rings overhead…

She tore her eyes away from the strange hanging contraption again, offering Charley a rueful smile. “Sorry. This place is just… amazing. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

Charley only laughed, the sound merry and warm, like a home fire. “I understand. I was the same way, when I first started traveling with the Doctor.”

The word caught Rose’s attention. “Doctor?” Her eyes tried to scan the shop, looking for signs of such a person, but if he was there, he was impossible to distinguish from the muddle and mess. “Is he the one who…?” she trailed off, making a faint gesture upwards, while trying to keep her gaze firmly on the woman before her. It was a bit less difficult when she began to note the sparkle in Charley’s eyes, which were something between the colors blue and green, a beautiful colour—and they seemed to emanate a strange light, as if she had seen things impossible to comprehend. Magic, no doubt. The thought sent another shiver through Rose.

Smiling and nodding, Charley glanced briefly up toward the spinning globe. “He’s made—or procured—nearly everything in this shop, I think. Completely brilliant, though I’d never tell him so. His head’s big enough as it is. But the Doctor’s not just magically gifted, he’s really mechanically-minded, you know? He started his apprenticeship—and then his real magical practice—long before I met him, but—” and here, Charley cut herself off with a sudden laugh. “I say! I’m doing quite a dreadful job maintaining the air of mystery, aren’t I?”

Rose couldn’t help the grin that slipped across her face. “I think it’s plenty mysterious in here without you being grave and silent into the bargain. But,” and she turned, glancing out into the dark night, where all of the houses remained unaware of the wonderful things she was seeing, “why did you decide to open up at night? Everyone was so curious, during the daytime.” She was too embarrassed to include herself among that number, regardless of its truth.

“Oh, but that’s just the problem!” Charley cried. “We didn’t want everyone to come—only the most interesting sorts of people. It was my idea, actually,” she went on, sounding a little proud of herself. “Filters out the dull sorts, only opening at night.”

It was with more than a little embarrassment that she shook her head, insisting, “Well, I’m afraid your plan hasn’t worked. I’m quite dull, actually.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say that—”

Rose jumped at the unfamiliar voice which sounded behind her, turning so quickly back toward the open door that she nearly lost her footing. Standing in the wooden frame was a man—the Doctor. She knew it instantly, though she couldn’t say how. Much like Charley, he was not tall, nor was he imposing. But though his smile seemed friendly, there was a dreamy, strange quality to him that reminded her of the great men she read about. Religious men, ones who saw impossible, holy things.

Like Charley, his eyes held an impossible glow—that of starlight, coming from a great way off.

His clothes were as unusual as his person. He wore a coat in an unfamiliar cut, and the colours were shockingly vivid—riotous, not unlike the shop. And glinting between chestnut curls, she could make out the distinct twinkle of gemstones, which seemed to pour from the lobe of his ear, matching the amulet that hung from his neck.

He really was a wizard.

Rose was only distantly aware of her own rudeness, and even less conscious of her reply. But whatever it was, it seemed to amuse the Doctor, for his lips split with a laugh which tumbled musically over her. “But I do know you, Rose Tyler,” he said. “Or I will do, if you come with us.”

“Doctor,” Charley said, her voice tight with warning, and if Rose wasn’t mistaken, touched by the trace of a sigh. Perhaps this was not an unusual occurrence—her mind raced—perhaps they used the shop to attract intrepid young girls like herself, to whisk them away...

Charley moved to the Doctor’s side, eyes narrowed and scolding, hands still on her hips. The Doctor’s answering smile softened, sweetened, and he bent to press a kiss to her temple. Rose watched them with a strange feeling in her stomach, unsure whether she ought to look away or not. If it was an act—

But, no. She couldn’t quite believe it.

Still, some impulse made her avert her eyes from their tender expressions, and in a search for an innocuous resting place, she alighted again on the hanging fixture overhead. It had not ceased its spinning; whatever magic kept it in motion had not been disrupted by the Doctor’s appearance. It continued its inexorable rhythm, as if it had been only waiting for her eyes to return to it. The burnished gold rings caught the light with each rotation, like bracelets interlocked over an arm. The orb itself winked like a great eye. Dimming and flashing, dimming and flashing, ceaseless and steady.

Rose felt, however strangely, that nothing could stop the movement of the encircled sphere. It would spin like this, into time unfathomable. Slowly, almost without her awareness, a vision became superimposed over that of the sphere, over the shop itself: a vision of a girl, a shining, golden creature, with such rings encircling her arms. Only they were made of light—of pure, undiluted light, pouring out through her fingers—

The vision scattered when a hand pressed itself to her shoulder. Rose couldn’t tell whether it was Charley or the Doctor who touched her, but it didn’t matter. The vision was gone, shattered, leaving behind the impression of loss so great that she felt sick with it.

She lurched toward the door, brushing past the Doctor as quickly as she could. She shivered when their arms touched, an echo of that gold light flashing across her vision, burning away the shadowy darkness. Warmth came with it—the sort of body warmth she’d only felt when her mother’s arms were wrapped around her, or when one of her friends took her hand. The warmth that had flowed through the girl in the vision—through her.

Was it a spell, she wondered, to make her compliant? Something to entice her to stay? She had nearly forgotten her fear in the trance of the beautiful, celestial sphere.

The Doctor’s breath caught; she could hear it, so close. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. Charley made a soft noise, almost plaintive, in accompaniment. And Rose wondered if perhaps she was wrong—if they were good...

But it was too late. Rose was out the door, running headlong into the night.

She knew the path by heart, back to the little cottage she shared with her mother. She knew every bump in the road, the change of texture under her feet when she entered their little garden, the scent of the smoke curling from their chimney. But there was no sense of safety in the sameness—in the place where nothing had ever happened. Not for her entire life.

Her mother met her with tea. They had supper. They spoke of small things, unremarkable and unremembered, for Rose’s mind was floating somewhere along the road between herself and the magical shop, where the beautiful man and woman must go about their business of closing their shop, and eating, and sleeping. What did wizards eat? She couldn’t help but wonder. Were they married? Surely, they must be. She had felt their love.

“You’ve barely had a bite to eat, sweetheart,” her mother said, in the way that mother’s have, that is both chiding and concerned. She watched her daughter with a sense that something had happened—something that was, if not awful, surely upsetting the girl’s spirits. But Rose had no words to ease her mother’s fears.

“I just have this feeling,” she replied uncertainly. “This feeling that there’s more.”

Her mother’s rough, work-worn hand stretched over the wooden table between them, pressing into her palm. “More of what?”

She didn’t know how to answer. “Everything,” Rose said. “Of time. Of life.” She sipped her tea, but didn’t taste it. Behind her eyes were endless spinning, hypnotic circles—the promise of something enduring. Something more than waking up each day and eating porridge and balancing Old Mr. Henrik’s books for him.

She wondered if another person would see the light in the strange shop’s windows, and if that brave soul would venture through the door, and if they would be met by Charley’s bright, honest smile—if the Doctor would say their name, just like he had hers. Like the syllables of it meant something big, something burgeoning and great. She wondered if they would see the spinning creation overhead and feel called by it.

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, trying to break free from some invisible restraint. She kissed her mother goodnight without eating a bite more, and she went to her bed.

But Rose barely slept.

When she did, her dreams were haunted by their words. “If you come with us,” the Doctor invited, over and over. “Don’t be afraid.” Charley’s affection when she’d spoken of her travels. “I was the same way, when I first started traveling with the Doctor.” The words felt like an incantation, one Rose performed and repeated in the solitude of her little cot. Remembered phrases. She breathed the cool, quiet cottage air. She wondered at the darkness, now that she had seen such beautiful light.

What else was there? She thought of the little silver fish, and the foreign bones of unnameable creatures. There was magic, she felt, in the world. Magic that she had only to reach out and touch—

If he asks again, she thought. All through the night, she came back to this one thought.

If they ask again, I won’t say no.

And the next day, she went back to the shop.

#prompt fic #eighth doctor #rose tyler #charley pollard #dw #SUNNY THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE #charleightrose #fic and chips

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lesmond-sycamore · 3 years ago

Text

Scavenger Hunts

Words: 1971

ao3 link Summary: Ivor, Harper, Jack, and Nurm have been given scavenger hunt lists by Petra and Jesse, but why? Notes: LOOK I KNOW IT'S PAST 12 AM BUT IT'S TECHNICALLY 10 PM PACIFIC TIME. I HAD WORK. Anyways, enjoy!

“You know, I’m starting to get tired of this wild fox chase.” Jack groaned as he fumbled with the piece of paper that would lead him to a “secret prize, in three weeks (which was, of course, today) only” as stated by Petra in her correspondence a few weeks prior. Nurm hummed lazily in response as he continued to mark locations on his map, unaffected by the stress of figuring out the answers to the clues to the scavenger hunt Petra had created for the two. Jack sighed, “I know, I know, but it’s been months since the last time we’ve seen her, Nurmie. I’m just- I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t be worried about her, but you how I am. I miss her, we haven’t gotten to see her all day because of this stupid scavenger hunt, and I have no clue when’s the next time she’ll be in town, an-” Nurm grumbled at Jack, indicating that he needed to just calm down for a second. Jack sighed once again to calm down his nerves. He might’ve been overreacting a bit.

Jack glanced at the pumpkin and enderpearl he had already gathered. “I just don’t see the point of this. Petra’s never done anything like this before. Why today? Do you think they found something while they were out adventuring and wanted to create hype to impress us?” Jack paused, then smiled fondly at the thought. “Doesn’t she know we’re already proud of her?”

Nurm hummed in agreement, Of course she does. She might just want to shake things up, although I will say that today-, Nurm trailed off. Jack stared at his husband for a moment, waiting for him to continue, but when he went back to studying his map of Beacontown, Jack realized he had no intention of picking up where he left off. Was today special?

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

“Ivor, seriously? You haven’t seen Jesse in months and you’re going to go dressed like you robbed a zombie villager?” Haper asked a very, very frantic Ivor who was currently wearing nothing but a (well-loved) bathrobe and hopping on one leg as he struggled to put on his shoe.

Ivor finished putting on his shoe and glanced down to his attire. “What? Both of you have already seen me in my underwear! I don’t think my bathrobe’s going to kill them considering how everything… and everyone… that’s already tried has failed. Including me. Twice.”

“Still. We have to go into town to do this… scavenger hunt? What’s that all about?” Harper asked, pulling a quill out from behind her ear in preparation, studying the list in front of her. “What the heck is a ‘block of a cheated deal?’ Does that mean anything to you?” she asked as she scrunched her face in confusion.

Ivor hummed in concentration as he collected his potions (you could never be too careful) as he mulled over the question. He planted a quick peck on Harper’s cheek as he began to walk towards the door. “I think I have an idea of what that means,” he stated with a wink as he made his way out the door, ready to solve the puzzle he had been presented.

“But you apparently still have no idea how to dress. Change into something decent if you’re going to been perceived by strangers, love,” Harper punctuated with a face palm, failing to hide the smile creeping on her lips.

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

“Looks like we’ve got most of the items, Nurmie. I hate to say it, but I think I’m actually pretty good at this. Looks like my adventurer’s intuition still runs in my veins. That or I’m still plain awesome,” Jack boasted as they made their back to Jack and Nurm’s Adventure Emporium to have a quick break and focus on the last item on the list, items in hand. “Although… I still don’t know what we’re supposed to do with all of these things.” Jack glanced over each item: an enderpearl, a stack of snowballs, a few baked potatoes, a sponge, a couple of pieces of zombie flesh, and a pumpkin. He hoped the quantities didn’t matter too much, because he lost all of his enderpearls when his shop was ransacked during Romeo’s reign in Beacontown and the price of a stack was not cheap.

Nurm rolled his eyes at his husband’s gloating. Jack playfully nudged the cartographer in the arm and scoffed in fake offense. Jack continued to walk and study the items he was currently carrying until he realized that the villager’s footsteps had ceased. Jack turned his head to look at Nurm with confusion at the random stop, until Nurm spoke. Jack, is that…? The villager gestured in front of them and tilted his head. Jack followed his gaze to find… Ivor and Harper outside the Adventure Emporium. What were they doing here?

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

“Ivor! Harper! Hey!” someone shouted to the couple. The two spun around to find… Jack and Nurm! Perfect timing! The retired adventurer jogged up to the two and shook their hands in greeting.

“Jack, it’s been forever!” Ivor exclaimed. “How’s Petra? I know she and Jesse are supposed to be in town today.”

Jack sighed and shook his head. “We haven’t seen her at all today. She gave us this list of items that we’ve had to find, but we’re confused on what the last one means. How’s Jesse?” “I’m afraid we’re in a similar situation ourselves,” Harper stated plainly. “We’re almost done, though. It’s weird, all of these items are so… seemingly unrelated. Do you think they have any connection?” She nodded down at her own items: a block of redstone, an assortment of stained glass, an iron axe, a block of lapis, a few fireworks, and some soul sand. “We had to solve a bunch of crazy riddles to find the items we were looking for.”

“Sounds exactly like we were doing,” Jack stated as he showed the other couple his own items. “Did Jesse put you up to this?”

Ivor studied the items in Jack’s hands for a moment and then flicked his eyes up to meet Jack’s. “Yes, that’s correct. I’m assuming Petra did the same to you?”

“Correct you are, my friend.” Jack answered. He put the items back in his inventory before gesturing to the two of them and then to the building. “I see that you’re standing outside our shop. Is there something you need?” he inquired.

Harper spoke up. “There is, actually. I’m not well-versed in anything non-mesa related, and Ivor thinks the final clue has something to do with adventuring. Do you know what item the clue ‘the big finale let you soar’ is hinting at?”

Jack grinned. “I think I have an idea.”

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

“I appreciate your help very much, Jack,” Harper thanked the retired adventurer as he handed her the second-to-last item on her and Ivor’s list: the elytra Jesse used to fly to the tower from the Admin episode.

“It's no problem. Now if only Petra could tell us what our last clue means. Nurm and I have been trying for the past few hours to crack it, to no avail,” Jack admitted with a defeated tone.

“What is it? We might be able to help. Actually, we've been scratching our darn heads at our own final clue. I don't have the slightest idea what ‘where it all began’ could be in reference to.”

“Ours is similar. ‘The first unhelping hand?’”

Ivor crossed his arms and closed his eyes in thought, lightly tapping his foot and humming. Nurm did the same, and slightly bit his lip. Harper chose to unconsciously chew on her quill, resulting in her gagging slightly when she got a mouthful of feather instead of the wood of her normal pencil and blushing, hoping no one else saw her do it. Jack opted to spread both lists and all items out on a nearby table and study them intently.

After a few minutes of silence, Nurm chirped and all eyes fell on him. Jack listened intently to what he had to say. Jack, think about our adventure all those months ago and look at the items we've gotten so far. Do you see a coincidence?

Jack glanced at the items and the lists. “Yeah... yeah! The sponge for the Sea Temple, the snowballs for the Icy Palace of Doom, the zombie flesh for the Sunshine institute, I think the pumpkin is for the golems everywhere, the enderpearl for the giant enderman, and the potatoes for that stupid password! Ugh, I cannot believe it took me this long to realize what they had in common. Harper, Ivor, are your items similar?”

Ivor dashed over to the table “Why yes! Of course! How could I have been so blind? These items line up perfectly with the many adventure I had with Jesse! Could this mean...?” Everyone watches Ivor study he and Harper’s list in anticipation. “I think I know what ‘where it all began’ is! The ender dragon egg! Without that, I would have never created the Witherstorm, and Jesse would've never saved the world and I would’ve never gone on those many adventures!”

“And I would still be in Crown Mesa, trying to avoid being chipped,” Harper commented with a sad tone in her voice.

Ivor nodded. “And I would’ve never…” he trailed off, eyes finding the floor the most interesting place to look at at the moment.

Jack gave an acknowledging grunt and closed his eyes “In that case, do you think that ‘unhelping hand’ could be the Ad- Romeo’s gauntlet Jesse found that made them and Petra seek us out in the first place?” Nurm nodded in agreement. Jack opened his eyes and grinned. “Well, I think we all know where those two items are.”

Everyone looked between each other and then spoke in unison. “The Order Hall.”

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

“What happened to all the darn lights in this place? I thought this place was supposed to be ninety-percent windows? I’m not going crazy, right?... right?” Harper asked as the group walked inside the Order Hall, treading carefully in the unusual darkness that was only broken by the light cast through the open door.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here, Harper. Radar was left in charge after Jesse took off too seek out adventure with Petra and that llama. Maybe the man just has… peculiar taste. I did build my lab inside the Farlands myself, you know,” Ivor commented.

The group continued to trudge quietly through the Order Hall, careful not to trip over anything or anyone. After a few steps, the group heard a click, and Ivor, Harper, and Jack each drew their swords they carried for protection. Jack spoke up in a whisper “Quickly, get behind me” and the rest followed the instruction as best they could.

Everyone tensed, their breaths held, frantically glancing around the room, searching for any signs of life. It felt like an eternity, but only a few seconds after the click, the sounds of retracting pistons could be heard all around the four. Jack shuffled, preparing himself for any potential attacks, survival instincts kicking in action, ready to do what it took to protect his friends and husband, he-

The pistons finished retracting, leaving the Order Hall basked in the evening sky’s light. All four members of the group blinked at the brightness, adjusting their eyes. Once they could see again, their sight was filled with a few things: Jesse holding the ender dragon’s egg, Petra holding the Sea Temple gauntlet, a giant table full of food between the two New Order members, and Lluna in an (admittedly adorable) chef hat behind the table. Ivor, Harper, Jack, and Nurm stood in stunned confusion, until Petra and Jesse broke the silence with giant grins on their faces.

“Happy Father’s Day!”

#mcsm #my fics #jack mcsm #nurm mcsm #harper mcsm #ivor mcsm #petra mcsm #jesse mcsm #lluna mcsm #father's day #father's day tw

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years ago

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“Your task is not to seek love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

- Rumi

Thank you to the wonderful and oh so talented @minilev for bringing to life the first face to face meeting of my girl Catlina and @risenlucifer’s Rafael. It came out perfect and I could not be happier! Thank you Kate for creating your boy and helping in creating this piece! 💜 Below the cut is the scene itself from their shared universe.

There was only one location in Hope County that became true neutral ground, and managed to stay that way even after the reaping began. The signs that stood outside the doors were the only indication of where the initial funding came from but nothing else that leant itself to associating itself with Eden’s Gate, just how Catlina wanted it from the start. Her outreach center was created to help all residents of Hope County have their needs met, not recruitment as some assumed. In recent weeks becoming a safe haven for those that didn’t ask to be caught in the crossfire of the holy war. Though Catlina was finding it harder to offer up something as someone kept stealing the wrong trucks. Didn’t matter how many times she tried to make them as distinct as possible from the other ones the deputy was allowed to take from Eden’s Gate he still managed to find a way to hit her trucks now and again.

Cat was lucky that the truck that brought about her special order had survived, all the items planned to be a gift for the fabled friend of Deputy Wes. It's not that she wanted to be a creep, but sometimes it was hard to not overhear the conversations he and John would have as she waited for him to leave or at least make her presence known. It was nice to just hear someone else’s voice in the house that didn’t seem to spout the same notions as everyone else, so she’d prolong the amount of time they had together. It was during one of the times she’d opted to sneak back into the house that she heard the passing comment and joke about his friend’s complaints of not being able to make any sort of decent meal with the food that was offered in the Whitetails.

No surprise to her as that was the place hardest to get any kind of supplies, seeing as Jacob took most of it. Her heart went out to Wes’ friend and she had the means, so she compiled what she could based on the conversation Wes and her husband had, leaving it on the doorstep of the deputy a note attached specifying its intended recipient. That was over a week ago and she hadn’t heard anything about it or related to it. She hadn’t put a name with the note, maybe that was the problem, just the location of the outreach center in case they wanted more and Cat held hope that she’d get to meet them, maybe make the first real connection with someone on the other side of this war.

Each swinging of the door had her looking up, heart racing only to be met with disappointment when it was someone she recognized. “You know you don’t even know what he looks like right,” Lance teased, smirking as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Well do you know what he looks like?” She asked, waving to one of the locals that came by weekly, “Because maybe then you can give me a hint or a name?”

“Firstly, Wes could have had a change of friends since I last remembered,” he pushed himself off looking out the window at the cars driving by, “Secondly, if it is still the same guy he was a bit scrawny still last I saw of him.”

She rolled her eyes, “Did you just become a hermit or something at some point? Cause you said the same about the deputy,” Cat moved back behind the counter leaning her elbows against it, “and we both know how he turned out.”

Lance gave a small laugh looking back at Cat, “You starting to feel jealous?”

Cat narrowed her eyes, “No,” she let out a sigh, ”I just want friends. Or some way to not feel so lonely.” She looked at Lance’s hazel eyes, “Not that you’re not my friend it’s just-.”

“I know. Want people your own age,” Lance’s eyes moved to the person walking through the door, locking onto the holstered handgun, “I was a young man once too.”

Catlina’s eyes followed the patron around the store too until their items were brought up to the counter. She helped him get settled, taking the little money he had to offer before watching him make his way out of the building, leaving her and Lance alone.

“How late are you wanting to stay today?” Lance asked, stretching out his arms, “I don’t think we have to worry about interrupting anything back at the ranch.” He took his seat in the front corner of the store, hands picking up the latest in his engine projects John had given him, “Besides you have to go to the service in the morning, can’t be up too late.”

She gave a small eye roll, “I just want to make sure I don’t miss him. Maybe he can only come later in the day.” Or maybe he never planned on showing.

“So a bit after sundown again?”

She nodded, making herself busy with the smaller inventory behind the counter, “I might have to give up after this week though.” She tapped the pen on the table, “I shouldn’t be holding out too much hope. Not like many people trust me nowadays.” She looked up to the sound of a car pulling up to the building, shoulders sagging letting out a breath, It probably wasn’t him. I really need to stop hoping at this point, “Well outside Eden’s Gate at least.”

She rested her forehead against the counter, the sound of the bell announcing the person that just pulled up, their footsteps filling the space of the small shop. Cat didn’t look up as she traced his movement in the building from the sound of his shoes against the old wood alone. There were a few pauses as he seemed to look around, Cat moving to lay her head against her arm, writing out the list of what may be needed soon.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the shopper called out in a voice clear and deep, “there are no prices on anything.”

Cat lifted her head, giving a smile glancing his way, “Its because this is a pay what you can center. It can range from zero to full price.” She turned to face him head on, eyes locking with his, her heart stopping a moment before starting to race. He was new and she couldn’t look away from his brown eyes, warm, inviting, and a bit playful. His dark curls falling perfectly framing his face, accented by a neatly kept beard. His clothing, while simple, appeared to be of higher quality than other residents of the county. The dark blue cardigan over his burgundy shirt, and silver necklaces catching in the light, bright, though not enough to outshine his smile. His smile, how assuring it made her feel. All of him….perfect.

Well that’s just unfair, she thought as her mouth went dry, trying to gain some semblance of composure. Cat cleared her throat, smoothing out her dress hiding the reddening of her cheeks as he walked closer. “Just like that? I could take whatever I wanted,” he asked, Cat nodding in response, “However much I wanted?”

She started to nod again, stopping, “Erm, well within reason. Wouldn’t be really fair if you took all of a supply that was needed by everyone, you know?”

He gave a small nod, “So you run this place based on trust and merit,” he leaned on the counter, Cat taking a step back, “Seems a little bold in a place like this.” She gave a shrug, “Looks like you’re running a bit low though,” he gestured to the store around him.

“I know,” she let out a sigh, “My trucks have been getting snatched up.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“I mean, yes it's bad for me and the center but I can’t blame him for taking them,” she stammered out, “He’s been giving them to those that need the supplies, so in the end it’s serving their purposes. I just wish he’d have thought to ask or target the other trucks.”

“The deputy?” Cat nodded in response, “He’s been taking your trucks?”

“Yeah,” she waved, “but it doesn’t matter if the supplies are serving those that need them.”

“But if he asked, you’d just give them to him,” Cat found herself locked in his gaze once more, They feel so much like his eyes. How’s possible?, “Why do that?”

Cat looked down stuffing the memories back into their box, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “It’s the right thing to do. There’s a lot of people willing to fight and defend their homes, but what about the people that didn’t ask to be a part of any of this?” She met his eyes, “I know it's hard to believe but there are people on both sides that just wanted to live in peace. Some just want to worship a faith without the violence and not to mention the locals that never sold their homes but couldn’t afford the means to leave. A sort of stubborn pride in its own right.” Cat looked around the center, smiling, “This place is for them. It's for anyone really, I fight hard to keep this place a sanctuary for anyone that needs it, no matter where they come from.” She met his eyes rolling her shoulders back, nothing that his posture had never changed, “Everyone is worth saving and helping when in need.”

His face unreadable he studied her, standing straighter, “Guess what they say about you and this place is true,” Cat tilted her head, brow furrowing, “The signs though,” he jerked a thumb to the front of the building, “well that kind of makes it hard to believe.”

Her shoulders sagged, “I know,” rolling her eyes letting out a breath, “It was either those or some audio played on the speakers. I’m contractually obligated to have one or the other.” He laughed, startling her before she felt herself loosen up, laughing along with him, “You think I’m kidding?”

“Yeah I do a bit,” she smirked, pulling out the copy of her outreach center contract with John, dropping it in front of him. His laughter stopping, the smile remaining as he looked it over, “Never mind, guess I was wrong,” he flipped through the pages, “Even got it notarized I see.”

“Mhm,” he passed the papers back to her, “I had to make it as official as possible. If I’ve learned anything it's that the best way to beat a lawyer is using their own tricks against them.”

“Clever,” he gave a light bang of his hand against the wood of the counter, “So tell me, what would one owe for these items,” he pulled out a slip of paper, “They got left with a friend of mine and I want to make sure I’m not in debt.”

Cat’s eyes went wide as she looked over the list, each item one that she left on Deputy Wes’ doorstep. It’s him. It’s really him. He came by and I….feel unprepared. Her hands started to shake, trying to refocus her brain on what was happening. “Oh right uhm, noth-nothing,” her words tumbled out, “Nothing. First one is uhm, first one’s free.”

“What if I want to give a little something for it,” he had his wallet out, “It is a pay what you can center as you said.”

“I- I uh, I did. I said that,” she cleared her throat, “Besides the point. I think I heard mention that it was a gift and you don’t pay for gifts, that’s just rude.”

“Then a donation?” He placed a few bills in her hands, Cat pushing them back over into his, electricity coursing through her with each touch, shaking her head. He was so easy to talk to, why does this feel so normal and so scary? Am I dreaming it? Probably. “We’re not getting anywhere with this are we,” he laughed, Did he just have to be so charming? He has to be this way with everyone.

“No. It’s because I insist,” she took a deep breath, “It was a gift. You don’t owe me anything.” Cat snapped her jaw closed, wincing at revealing herself to be the gift giver.

He stopped, “So it was you? You’re the one that gave me the basket.” Cat’s cheeks burned, nodding slowly, “You didn’t leave a name on the note. Why is that?”

“I-,” Cat stopped, she didn’t really have much of an answer, “Names are complicated and besides I didn’t need to be thanked for doing something nice.”

“Well I’m going to thank you,” he held his hand out to her, Cat taking it gingerly, “You made my meals feel decent for once.”

“Oh did you use everything already,” her hand shaking his still, “I can get some more on the list for you, for next time you come around.”

He shook his head, “No I’m okay for now. I will, however, keep you in mind when I want to indulge.” He let go of her hand humming in thought, “You don’t get a lot of people from the Whitetails do you?”

She shook her head, “No, that seems to be the hardest place to make a dent in anything getting up there. And if I’m being honest I think people are scared to leave their homes.”

“I tend to do a bit of work up there, maybe I can help and be a sort of liaison. If you’d like,” her heart fluttered at the idea of seeing him more and talking to him and working with him. Just the idea of him.

“I assume you and the militia up there will help in distribution,” he gave a curt nod, Cat looking at Lance who just gave a shrug in return, “Only if you promise that it just be you guys giving it out, that it’s done fairly, and maybe put the word out to some of the locals that this really is a place they won’t be harmed.” She took a breath, her rambling stopping before she could make it worse.

“Sounds like we’re making a tentative partnership,” he smirked, some curls falling out of place, “Should I get the local public notary?”

Cat laughed, shaking her head as she looked down to the old wood, “No. I think we can settle this on our own….for now at least.” She stood straighter, holding her hand out to him, “So what do you say mister….?”

“Rafael,” he clasped his hand around hers, “or Raf as some people call me.”

“Raf,” she repeated, “Unique name nowadays.”

He nodded, giving her a pointed look, “And what shall I call you, Mrs. Seed?”

Catlina’s face turned in disgust, “Anything but that really.”

“Well I can certainly call you Mary if you like,” he smirked, “though something tells me you don’t like that name either.”

“It’s not the worst name out there,” she mumbled picking at the wood, “It’s just-.” How does he feel so easy to talk to?, she thought looking over at Lance. He gave a slight shake of his head, “You know why don’t I let you just decide what to call me.” Cat gave Lance a small shrug, “I don’t think you’ll give me something I’ll hate to be called,” Raf’s dark eyes regarded her, “Just don’t use my height as a nickname please if you decide to go a nickname route. That’s my only rule.”

Raf chuckled, “Might need a little time to come up with that. For now, why don’t I just call you,” she braced herself at his pause regretting his offer to just call her Mary, “conejito.”

Cat blinked back in surprise, “Conejito,” she repeated the word sounding familiar. The recollections she could muster never put the word in a bad light, many in her family always calling others by that name with affection, even though she never really bothered to ever ask what it meant. And she wasn’t going to start now. It sounded sweet and the flutter in her chest brought about the feeling of normal she’d been missing, or the flutter came from the way the evening sun hit his eyes just so, paired with the smile he gave. “It’s acceptable for a temporary name Rafael,” Catlina returned his smile, cheeks burning. Her heart thumped in her chest only managing to focus on his eyes, she looked away clearing her throat, “So, uhm, when will I see you again to discuss more details of our partnership?”

“Few days,” his eyes glanced outside the window, “I have to talk to some people up there, see what they need and want from this partnership.”

“Oh,” Cat’s heart fell, “I mean, well that makes sense. I should uhm, well I should prepare and look into what I can offer, so we can get to a middle ground,” she stammered, stopping herself as she twisted the tips of her fingers.

“That sounds like a good plan. How late are you normally open?”

“I’m pretty flexible,” she said, Lance giving a snort, “Well uhm, I mean whenever you need me I can be there however you need me,” Cat shut her eyes letting out a breath, Raf laughing softly, “Well you get what I mean.”

“I do, Conejito, I do,” Raf shook his head, running a hand through his hair, “I’ll try to come later in the day, but I’ll try to give you a bit of a warning.”

“Yeah, yeah. That works,” Cat bounced on her toes, “I’m sure you have to be uh going I assume. Do you need a ride? Cause we can give you one?”

He pointed to the car still parked outside the building, “I brought my own ride,” Cat gave a slow nod, “Thank you for the offer though.” Raf took a few steps back, raising his hand, waving, “I’ll see you in a few days, Conejito.”

Cat waved back, “See you.” She watched as he made his way out of the building and into the car, looking back inside of the building once it was out of sight.

Cat groaned, lying her head against the counter, “Not as scrawny anymore,” Lance said standing from his chair, “Guess you were right.”

Cat looked up, narrowing her eyes, “That your way of telling me I told you so?”

Lance smiled, “No,” he chuckled before his face grew serious, “You should be careful though.”

“What do you mean?” Cat asked, raising a brow.

“He’s not just the deputy’s friend,” Lance moved locking up the windows, “He’s pretty well known in the mountains, call him the Saint.” Cat stood straighter, crossing her arms as she looked at the ground, “He’s got a target on his back, pretty big one if I’m not mistaken. Might be a little dangerous to work too close to him.”

“I have the sway to keep this place and my work in the middle, not on either side.”

Lance hummed, “Hm, I just wouldn’t count on that staying for very long. Just in case.” He turned to her, holding his hand out for the keys as Cat tossed them his way, “Don’t want to see you get hurt, is all.”

“I won’t be. I got you here,” Cat moved to stand next to him, bumping his arm, “and he seems trustworthy enough.” Lance put an arm around her, “Who knows this might be the best thing for us. We could do more good around here, get this whole war ended sooner.”

“Get you out sooner,” Lance whispered, “I’ll look into him more see where he stands on things. Just to be on the safe side.” He rubbed her arm, patting it as he moved to lock the front door, “Let’s get back to the ranch shall we?”

Cat nodded, grabbing her sweater, “Yeah, let’s go. I have to distract myself anyway.”

“Not gonna be able to get his eyes out of your mind for awhile are ya?” Lance laughed, leading them to the car, Cat giving him a shove, “Hey you were the one that was kind of obvious in your drooling over him.”

Cat rolled her eyes, “You were real popular with Sage when she was in high school, weren’t you?” Lance laughed in response as the two pulled out onto the road to drive them back. He was right, and that didn’t make it any less appealing to Cat to want to get to know Raf and hopefully become close to him. No matter how their relationship played out, part of her just knew she wanted him in her life and that nothing was going to be the same now.

#x: top chefs #commissions and gifts #captain xwing #brains and disaster #I just absolutly love them so much!!!! like it's just so perfect!!!!#and yes we be knowin that counter has a little step for her to see over it #I just love it so much oh my god!!!#So happy to share it with you all after all this time!!!!

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mamahersh · 3 years ago

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The Road to Hell (is Paved with Good Intentions) Chapter 4

“Season 8 was well underway, and the server’s first conflict is bubbling just under the surface. But BDoubleO can’t worry about that right now because he has an Etho to find so they can work on the Horse Course together. However when Xisuma calls a surprise server meeting on behalf of EvilXisuma, BDubs gets his answers about where Etho’s been in the worst way possible.”

(CW: angst, blood, gore, torture, implied suicide (kinda. as much as one can with infinite respawns anyways))

Chapter rating: M

And we get to sit with Etho on this one! Thank you all again for your interest in this bit of Etho angst. As before, if you like this, I was heavily inspired by this oneshot on AO3, so go give them some love if you haven’t already!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Despite Etho zoning out pretty hard after getting stabbed in the leg, he was able to at least gather that help was on the way, and he wasn’t going to be alone while the rest went looking for him. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted the company while he waited for rescue to show up, particularly if he was going to have to deal with the same level of violence he had been since he had awoken here. Honestly, he was surprised EvilXisuma hadn’t capitalized on the distraction and chaos he could hear through the speakers that EvilXisuma had installed somewhere in the room to pick up the feedback from the otherside of the camera. But now that it sounded like there was a significant decrease in activity from the opposite end of the stream, Evil Xisuma seemed to want to get the show on the road. ‘Ah well, the break was nice while it lasted I guess,’ he thought.

“Well, now that you seem to have divided yourselves accordingly, and I have had sufficient time to devise a suitable punishment for Etho, let us begin.” EvilXisuma pulled out another knife.

“Oh, bet I can guess which limb that’s going in,” joked Etho, too far gone to really care at the moment if what he was doing was antagonizing EvilXisuma or not. Plus, it’s not like he would hold back if Etho was on good behavior. Might as well get his jollies off where he could.

“Really?” asked EvilXisuma, his tone indicating a large amount of derision. However, before Etho could reply, EvilXisuma gripped Etho’s hair and slammed the back of his head against the back of the chair. Then he took the knife, aimed it at Etho’s eye, and slammed it into place.

Etho stopped smiling when his hair was grabbed, and screamed the loudest he thinks he’s ever screamed as the knife cut into the scar already on his eye, and then even further in. ‘At least,’ thought Etho distantly, ‘he went for the eye that had already been damaged.’ He could also vaguely hear the distressed cries of some of his friends, but all he could focus on was the feeling of mind-boggling pain and wrongness of having something sharp embedded in his eye. Honestly, he was surprised he wasn’t dead yet.

“You’re such a durable guy, aren’t you Ethoslab? The fact you haven’t died yet speaks of your strength.” Oh hey, EvilXisuma agreed with him! ….EvilXisuma agreed with him. Fuck.

“However, I would appreciate a demonstration of the new respawn mechanics I have devised, so goodbye Ethoslab. See you in a moment,” stated EvilXisuma. With surprisingly little fanfare, he pulled a final knife out of his inventory and stabbed Etho in the chest. Etho gargled in pain, and with the usual flash of red, poofed out of existence, the knives that had been embedded in him dropping to the seat of the chair and the floor. With a quick flick of the wrist, EvilXisuma swept the knives on the chair off onto the floor, and just in time removed his hand as Etho poofed back into existence back onto the chair. While he was no longer bleeding from a chest wound and his eye seemed to be partially healed, the rest of his wounds were still as they had been when he had died. Etho could hear the ding of EvilXisuma’s communicator go off, and he could only assume the message was, “Ethoslab was slain by EvilXisuma”. “Good to see you again Etho. And the remaining audience can attest, we are going to be in for a very long night.” EvilXisuma chuckled, Etho betting it because he was imagining the looks on the Hermits’ faces. Etho also wondered where EvilXisuma could even go from here, though he bet wherever it was, he was going to end in a world of pain. Which admittedly he already was. He was still somewhat breathless from the respawn, and the subconscious belief that he would be safe upon respawn being completely destroyed hurt more that he was willing to admit.

“So what shall we do with you? Hmmmm…” EvilXisuma stood before Etho twirling one of the knives he had picked up from the floor.

“You could try to see how far I can make it after letting me go from this chair.”

Etho could feel the quiet frustration from EvilXisuma. He knew it was a terrible idea to antagonize him, but at this point, since he knew there was help on the way, he might as well make life as difficult as possible for EvilXisuma. Plus,if he played his cards right, he *might* be able to escape his binds using the respawn mechanics. He had noticed an extra pain and immobility of his right wrist, which briefly glancing down showed that it had partially clipped into the cuff. All he could hope was that EvilXisuma wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

“Well Ethoslab, I think I know what we’ll be doing with you. I hope you have enjoyed your talking privileges thus far, but it is time for them to be revoked.”

Etho chuckled nervously, knowing he was about to be in for a bad time. “What are you going to do, put me in time out?”

Instead of saying anything, EvilXisuma slammed Etho’s head against the back of the chair.

“You know, if you keep doing this, there’s more chance of paralyzing me from the shoulders down, and where’s the fun in that?”

EvilXisuma finally growled in frustration. “I am going to make this as painful as inhumanly possible just for you Ethoslab. And you will not be allowed to die or pass out. While I wish I could hear you beg, this will be just as sweet.” With that, and somehow still making sure that everything he was doing was visible to the camera, he forced Etho’s head back at an angle. Now the spikes were puncturing the front of Etho’s throat, just missing all the important parts so he was not at risk of bleeding to death. With his other hand, he forced Etho’s mouth open and pulled out his tongue as far as it would go. Etho sputtered around the hand and tongue, unintelligible gibberish flooding out as panic consumed him. No, nononononononono, this couldn’t be happening. He knew it was going to be bad, but this? He struggled in futility, his hands grabbing at the armrests as he struggled against the stakes still embedded in his arms, how had he not noticed those still there after he respawned? He wanted to kick out, but both legs were solidly connected to the chair legs with matching spiked manacles, but if he could just wiggle one of his legs right, he could live without a foot…

Keeping Etho’s head immobile once he had Etho’s tongue was easy. So, freeing his hand that had been gripping Etho’s hair, EvilXisuma pulled a knife out of his inventory and sawed off Etho’s tongue. Etho couldn’t stop screaming, even as he began to choke on blood. His world blacked out for but a moment, and then was he back with startling clarity as something with flame aspect set his mouth ablaze as it cauterized what was left of his tongue.

Blearily, Etho stared up at his captor, finally at the end of his rope. Even if he still would have been able to say something, he no longer had words to say. Instead, he spit some of the excessive amounts of blood in the back of his throat at Evil Xisuma’s face. Etho could vaguely hear the other hermits cheering him on in the background, and while he knew he should feel something positive, he only felt empty with a flavor of vaguely horrified.

Evil Xisuma stilled when Etho’s blood splattered across his faceplate. After a moment, he slowly wiped the blood off with his thumb. Then, without any warning, he punched Etho in his injured eye. However, Etho barely reacted, his body jolting and remaining blood pooling out of his mouth. In fact, he was so past pain at this point, he was able to rip one of his wrists apart, along with pulling his forearm around the spike embedded in it and managed to get a sideways middle finger out of the deal. Plus, his sight quickly faded out, and he knew he managed to kill himself before EvilXisuma was able to kill him himself.

With another message heard across the server, EvilXisuma was tempted to throw his communicator across the room as the message popped up. “Ethoslab was slain by Ethoslab whilst trying to escape EvilXisuma”. Instead he turned off the speakers he was using to listen to the Hermits. He didn’t want them distracting him as he continued to do his work.

#ethoslab #etho #hc fanfiction #evil xisuma #the hermits #hermitcraft #gore #blood #torture #angst #suicide #or at least as much as one can when respawns are infinite

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obeymeluv · 5 years ago

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Underwear (Pt. 1) - Lucifer and Mammon

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

Underwear was never a good conversation starter but it left everyone talking.

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

SFW. Just mentions of underwear.

I was going to do a reaction with all 7 brothers but I have a really bad allergy/sinus headache and can’t look at the screen. It’s been on and off for the past two days. I’ll work on the others as I feel better.

I managed to get Lucifer and Mammon done before I couldn’t look at the screen anymore.

Enjoy awkward bros :)

Lucifer

He’d had his fair share of embarrassing moments but he couldn’t recall one quite like this. His right calf itched terribly and his subtle attempts at rubbing a polished shoe along the space hadn’t given any reprieve. Ignoring it wouldn’t do, and the slide of his shoe along the floor seemed deafening. Lucifer repositioned himself as casually as he could in the meeting—hiding the stretch and shake of his legs under the rustling of papers, snuggling back into the seat as he brought them up to his face—but felt he was being watched too closely to do anything helpful.

With great amusement, Diavolo’s face indicated. He cursed his sin, all that he was, because this situation would resolve itself if he just got up. That pause—a mere three seconds at best—felt like failure to the eldest. Barbatos took pity on him, ‘accidentally’ sending some papers to the floor. “Allow me,” Lucifer scooped up the pages—budget revisions and inventory for brewing materials—while dragging one towards his right foot.

He wouldn’t put it past Satan or Mammon to sabotage his socks. Porcupine quills again? Scales? Itching nettle extract? Lucifer acted like the paper was caught underfoot, patting around his sock to see if it had folded in on itself. No folding, but something else. Fingernails of one hand scraping the papers from stone grooves, he tugged the mystery lump loose.

Out dropped a pair of underwear that no one in the house would wear. Ones capable of making the ex-angel blush. In red, too! Lucifer thought it might be one of Asmo’s trophies but something in his gut said otherwise.

That meant—!

He gripped them tightly, balling them up and stuffing them into his uniform sleeve. The buttoned cuff would probably be enough to hold them there. Lucifer hissed as he smacked his head on the underside of the fancy table, brushing his hair back into place as he popped up with a mess of pages. “Please excuse me, Lord Diavolo.” suddenly Lucifer didn’t know how to work his satchel or how to put papers in it. “I have to go.”

“So soon?” Lord Diavolo gave a mock pout, his eyes shining curiously and teasingly. “But I do so enjoy your company and all that you do for me…” he gave a heavy sigh.

“Older brother’s intuition.” was all Lucifer managed before excusing himself again and walking swiftly—stiffly—to the front door. Lucifer kept the arm pressed to his chest, terrified the fabric would fall out and send the rumor mill spinning into next year. He made it to the House of Lamentation, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Or maybe he was catching his breath. His chest hurt and the sound of his own breathing was all he could hear. His heart hurt more than his lungs (if that was possible). Lucifer found you, drawing upon you in a way that would make demons flinch (and had). “I believe these are yours,” his face was as red as the fabric as he pushed them into your hands.

You were embarrassed but not as much as he thought you’d be. “Static cling?” you guessed, unanswered as the eldest slithered down the hall absolutely mortified.

Mammon

Mammon wasn’t the most organized brother but he made sure to have clean clothes and cover the basics lest he be overlooked for a modeling session. He was the kind of guy that took his clothes out of the dryer and left the laundry basket for someone else. This was only doable with a little ‘stuffing system’ he’d created—fit smaller clothes inside bigger clothes and carry it all back like a knapsack. No muss, no fuss, and easy to carry in a backpack!

It served him well on the days he had Majolish shoots. Today was one of those days, and it was a good day! Wardrobe had given him some new clothes as compensation for reducing his pay last minute (and 15% of the issue’s sales when it launched). Humming to himself about that sweet, sweet Grimm and Asmo’s impending meltdown, Mammon undid his little knapsack to rearrange the clothes by size. Clothes spread out on a bench by the visitor’s desk, Mammon sorted through them.

He was so glad the receptionist had gone home for the night! There, mixed in with all his clothes, were your underwear. They had to be, they smelled like human! Mammon smothered the shock squawk, hand rubbing furiously at his mouth as he tried to look and…not look. “Why would you even wear something like that?!” he snapped, tanned skin burning against his yellow shades.

They were cute, though. They complimented your skin tone. Majolish would definitely snap them up as a feature in the next issue, a look into the resident human’s life (they’d only been bugging Diavolo and Lucifer about you for forever)! All for fashion, right? “No way, not my human!” Mammon shook his head as he threw sleeves to the inside and created a knot he’d regret later.

He booked it home, so embarrassed by the little secret in his backpack that he didn’t even stop to brag. You’d been living at the House of Lamentation for a month or two so they’d all started to smell like you. The familiar, delicate note wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Mammon knew he had nothing to worry about—he was your first man, after all! He’s supposed to smell like you since you’re so close!—but he couldn’t help but sweat as he hunted you down.

The Avatar of Greed dropped his bag at your feet, tossing out notebooks, pens, and a pair of pants. “Here, human!” he didn’t want to look you in the face. Mammon was so red—so not cool!—he could melt through the floor. SAY SOMETHING, SAY ANYTHING! his brain screamed as you snatched the panties away with a nervous laugh. “No finder’s fee required!” he gave his usual boisterous laugh, hands on his hips as he flashed that big smile.

Mammon yelped as you swatted him in the face. The hit didn’t sting and he’d definitely felt worse but his face kindled red all the same. “H-hey! You dare smack the GREAT MAMMON?!”

You were already down the hall and around the corner.

#Obey Me!#Obey Me! x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader

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thoseofgreatambition · 4 years ago

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Dear George || Gred and Feorge

pt 1 || pt 2

description: Though he didn’t like to speak of it, George struggled after the war. He’d let himself lose step of things in the comfort of soft bodies and the hope of forever. Sleep escaped him. Worry consumed him. A spark of hope came from the cunning Gwendolyn. George tries hard to squash any thoughts down, to escape the cycle of mistakes.

a/n: I am so shocked y’all liked the last chapter! I hope y’all keep liking it. I’ve been hoping to convey my intention through this fanfic well, and I hope my messages about different types of health start to come through.

warnings: anxiety

Pairing: George x OC

Wordcount: 1.6K

“Hey Gred!” Fred was smiling brightly at his brother as George came through the fireplace. Fred was standing in their kitchen in front of a series of potions that he was going through dose by dose. His cane sat atop the counter next to a pile of product prototype sketches.

The elder of the twins hadn’t had too much to drink, seeing as it had been so long since he’d been able to, but it was just enough to keep him quite happy. He forced another potion down his throat, wincing at the taste. He’d complain about how many he had to take, but he was simply happy that the number was going down. “Where’d you go off to with Gwen?” If it had been a few months earlier, Fred would be quite confident with the answer to that question, but now he wasn’t quite sure.

They hadn’t really talked about George’s behavior after the war, but Fred was happy his brother seemed back to himself. George, for a short while after the war, had thrust himself into a series of ill advised relationships. The girls had all been a tad off their rocker but then again, George had been the same. Fred knew his brother was seeking companionship instead of actually dealing with the after effects of the war.

Really, Fred was much less worried about him nowadays, though the fact George couldn’t sleep was cause for concern.

He was curious about what had happened with Gwen though. He hadn’t seen her since before the battle, and tonight he hadn’t really gotten to talk with her. Hopefully she’d start coming back to London more often.

George raised the bottle of potion and the satchel of tea he’d been given as he walked towards the kitchen. “I told her that I can’t sleep and she helped me out.” There was a bit of hope in his chest that had gone away several months before when his other routes of relief had petered out. He’d sat with Gwen during potions. He knew she was good at this, and had faith in her.

He frowned as he noticed Fred all ready for bed and already working on his medicines. George wouldn’t say he coddled his twin, but after the war he’d been the largest caretaker in Fred’s life. More so than anyone else in the family. “You need any help there mate?”

With a shake of his head, Fred downed the rest of his potions. “Nah, I’ve got it.” He gave George a smile, quite certain as to what his partner was thinking. “You can take a break now.” As much as he appreciated all the help George had given him, it was nice to be a bit more independent now, and Fred wanted to start taking more care of himself.

Unsure of what to do with himself, without the task of taking care of his brother, George nodded and took the potion Gwen had given him. “I’m going to try and sleep.” Fixing the tea was next on his list, and he was hopeful that this might work. He situated himself next to Fred in the kitchen, leaning against a counter across from the stove as he flicked his wand to start the tea.

“Let’s try and work more on the Concentrating Candies tomorrow. I’m pretty confident we can get the recipe right with a little more tweaking.” Maybe they could get Ron or Lee to help out. Testing the candies on themselves time after time wasn’t always much fun. “We ought to get more test subjects this time, it’ll help out our sample size.”

Last time they’d made the candies too strong, and had spent the day hyperfocused on the shop. At least everything had gotten cleaned, George mused.

Fred nodded as he chugged the contents of a water glass. After taking those potions for so long you’d think he’d be used to the taste, but that wasn’t the case. He tried not to shudder as he focused on what George was saying. “That’s a good idea.” He knew what test subjects George was thinking of. “Let’s ask Ron. I think Lee’s busy tomorrow.”

Ron was more likely. He’d been quite helpful after the battle. When the twins had returned to their shop, it had been ransacked. Their inventory was all over the floor, shelves were broken, and there was enough soot to suggest that several small fires had taken place somehow. Fred had reckoned there’d been some misplaced spells when they’d left. The twins and Ron had been able to fix up the shop itself, and it looked almost as good as new. The problem they had now was replacing lost inventory. It was like starting from square one.

“I’ll pop over to his place in the morning and ask him to come over and help.” George stretched as he moved away from the counter. He was in a strange grey area at the moment, where his body felt tired from a long day, but his mind was far too awake to let him rest. “G’night Forge. Call for me if you need anything.” He clapped Fred on the back before walking out of their small kitchen, down the hallway and into his room.

Part of him was tempted to just head to bed and hope for the best. He took a sip of his tea, and decided against the idea. It hadn’t really worked for him in the past, and after all he’d promised Gwen a letter written tonight. With a flick of his wand he moved all of the clutter off of his desk, and sat down with a piece of parchment.

Gwendolyn, Gwen, Dear Gwen,

It’s about 1 a.m. I just took the potion that you gave me tonight, or yesterday, depending on how technical you want to get, and I’m drinking the tea. I hope you know that the potion tastes like piss. The tea is quite nice though, seems like something Mum would like. If everything works I won’t complain, and I’ll be sure to visit and pay you back somehow. If this works we aren’t even anymore, I’ll definitely owe you. Start thinking about what you want, alright?

Turns out I didn’t need to rush home back to Fred, he was quite alright without me, got all ready by himself. I shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s gotten loads better. It’s been almost a year since the battle after all.

George frowned and re-read what he had written. It was quite a frank telling of what was going on, but at the moment he was just tipsy enough to not really care if he was getting too personal.

It was weird. I haven’t minded taking care of him in the least, I know he’d do the same for me in a second, but it was almost disappointing that I couldn’t help this time. I’m happy, I’m very happy, but I don’t know quite what to do with myself at the moment. Have you got a potion for mixed feelings? I’d like to buy that one.

You wanted a joke didn’t you? One that isn’t an ear pun?

My friends say I say too many skeleton jokes. I suppose I ought to put more backbone in them.

Still a pun, but you ought to like it. I can’t exactly turn a phrase in a letter after all.

Fred and I are going to be working on our Concentrating Candies tomorrow. Those school aides I told you about. It’s a tricky recipe so far. First batch made us more distracted. Second batch made us sick. Third made us too focused. We did get quite a lot done on that last one though, so at least it was closer. We’re hoping to just get something done that will help students focus enough to not get easily distracted during a test or while studying, but it’s easy to get to too much or too little.

We’ll be doing the next batch tomorrow. I’m going to see if Ron or Lee can help us, it’s a bit better indicator if something works if more people can test it.

It’s actually really nice talking to you again, even if it’s just been tonight and through letters.

You ought to come by London more. Your old friends miss you here.

Don’t you want to open a shop up in Diagon Alley? There’s a lot of empty places now, that are going for pretty cheap. You ought to look into it. We could be neighbors. That would be nice. We don’t know a lot of people who live here. Fred and I are the youngest ones here.

I hope your Dad didn’t mind me popping over. From what you told me though he was probably happy to get another customer.

If this potion works I’ll be buying them from now on. It’s only fair.

George finished off the last of his tea, and felt himself growing more and more drowsy as time passed. Still, he wanted to finish the letter before he went to bed. He’d promised after all.   A lot of us that used to be on the Quidditch team, or at least on the Gryffindor one, are talking about doing a small game together. I’ll let you know when it’ll be. I expect you to come to it and play with us.

No more hiding away in Wales.

I was actually really happy when Fred suggested we do a reunion tonight. It was all slapped together, but it was really nice to see him well enough to go out and excited to see all his old friends together. I think it’s been hard seeing people visit him just because he’s been unwell.

I’m glad you came, it was fun talking to you.

I’m actually getting pretty beat now, so I guess you were right, relaxing before bed works pretty well. I think your potion is helping too.

I’ve got to go to bed now, so I’ll send this with an owl to you. I expect a response as soon as you can. I’m not letting you go so long without talking to anyone again.

From George From Gred Sincerely George George

George did a quick read over of what he had written before shrugging. It was a pretty personal one, but he trusted Gwen enough with all of this, and he was too tired to rewrite the damn thing.

Quick as he could, he folded the letter into an envelope, sealed it with a bit of wax, and handed it to the owl he and Fred shared. “Take this to Gwen, alright Peeves?” There was a muffled hoot in response, before the barn owl took off out of the window.

The redhead stretched and let out a yawn. He could already feel the fact that he was going to sleep quite well tonight. That was certainly going to be a pleasant change of pace.

Climbing into bed, George expected to be hit by the typical wave of concerns and busy thoughts that kept him awake all too often. Tonight though, he felt much more at ease. It wasn’t as if he thought Gwen was wrong when she said writing a letter would help, but he hadn’t exactly thought that writing down his thoughts would have such a big impact. Turning over onto his side, he shrugged the blankets on top of himself and closed his eyes.

For the first time in a very long while, George Weasley slept well.

taglist: @harrysweasleys @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld @shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @ickle-ronniekins @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester

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fallen-gravity · 4 years ago

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Fightin’ Back

That’s why I’m so tough on Dipper. So when the world fights, he fights back.

or,

five times that Stan helped Dipper recover after an encounter with the supernatural, and one time Dipper returned the favor.

Here’s my first attempt at a 5 + 1! My ideas and notes for this ended up getting super long, so I decided to break it up into different chapters instead of posting it all at once!

AO3

Stan can tell it’s the kids coming in through the gift shop door without even looking up from the stash of earnings he’d been counting. The height of tourism wouldn’t come until next month, and sitting around in the gift shop waiting for tourists to come by when he could always just close early to watch TV tended to get very boring very quickly.

He glances upward to greet them, and he’s surprised to find that they’re covered head to toe in cuts and scratches, and there’s twigs and leaves stuck in their hair.

“Yeesh, you two get hit by a bus or something?” he jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t stick. The young twins just blink at him in eerie synchrony, and he can’t help but notice as they make their way to the living room that they’ve both got a slight limp in their step, and...come to think of it, hadn’t Dipper been wearing a cap when he left?

“Hey, uh, hold on a second”

Both twins freeze, and turn back around to face them with their soft brown eyes tinted with exhaustion. Stan clears his throat. “W-wouldn’t you know, I uh, accidentally overstocked on some inventory, so, uh, how’s about each of you take one item from the gift shop? On the house”

The grin that spreads across Mabel’s face is bright enough that it could put any electrician within a ten mile radius out of business. Her brother seems less convinced, and raises his eyebrows at Stan in an expression that nearly mirrors one of his own.

“What’s the catch?”

“The catch is do it before I change my mind, now pick something”.

The answer seems to pacify the kid. Mabel excitedly sprints off to the opposite side of the store as something shiny seems to catch her eye, and as much as the kid’s trying to hide it, Stan can’t help but notice how much slower Dipper’s moving without his sister’s arm wrapped around his shoulder for support. It seems he’s gotten the worse beating between the two of them from...whatever it is those kids have been up to all afternoon, and even from where he’s standing at the register Stan can see the dark purple ring of a bruise sitting just below his eye.

He’d always bruised much easier than his sister.

Even when they were the tiniest of kids, and he’d take the eight hour drive down from Gravity Falls to babysit them in California, Dipper would always end up with bruises all over his arms and legs from the smallest of falls. For the longest time, he’d chalked it up to being a terrible babysitter, and it was only a matter of time before Mabel would end up the same way, until one day when he witnessed them trip over the same dent in the rug within ten minutes of each other. Where Mabel had been able to get right back up and be on her merry way, Dipper had cried about the scraped knee the short fall gave him for at least ten minutes.

Stan clears his throat. “Hey, uh...kid?”

Dipper turns from where he’d been admiring his new hat in the small shelf-side mirror. “Yeah?”

Stan fidgets anxiously with the collar of his suit. There’s gotta be something the kid’s not telling him, right? There’s only one other person Stan knows who could wander off on his own for half an hour and come back looking like he’d been fending himself off from wildlife for the past month, and it didn’t take much to notice the kid took after him in a lot more ways than one. “I…”

“GRAPPLING HOOK!” Mabel suddenly shouts from the other side of the room, startling his train of thought away. When he and Dipper turn to her, she’s dangling from the ceiling.

“Uh…” Stan blinks. “Wouldn’t you rather have a doll, or something?”

Her grin only grows wider, and she pulls the trigger again to loosen herself from the ceiling. She lands to the ground with a heavy thump. “Nope!” She aims her grappling hook towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, and flings herself towards it. She smacks against the door, but with a quick “I’m okay!,” she stands to her feet and disappears through the door with it.

Beside Stan, Dipper chuckles, and it’s light and genuine. “Good luck getting that back from her ever again. Mom and Dad bought her a bedazzler for our twelfth birthday and she slept with the thing under her pillow for six months. She’s never giving that thing back”.

Stan shrugs, amused. “Heh, well, least now I know she’ll be able to defend herself if the goat turns on her.”

Dipper laughs. “After she got banned from the petting zoo I doubt she’d even need the grappling hook in that kind of situation”

...That’s a story he’s going to need to hear for sure.

But no, he’s getting off-track. Might as well bite the bullet before the kid heads to bed and he loses his nerve to ask. There’s a brief moment of silence between them, like Stan’s waiting for Dipper to speak up first, but then…

“Kid, are you sure you’re doing okay?”

Dipper tenses, and that should probably be enough of an answer for Stan, but Stan knows the kid, and he knows a white lie when he sees one, even if it’s just in the way Dipper carries himself. Stan’s had a lot of practice undermining how he’s feeling for the sake of other people. After you’ve been doing it for so long it becomes pretty easy to recognize in other people.

“Yeah!” Dipper’s voice squeaks, the way it does when he’s lying. “What makes you think that I’m not?”

Stan raises an eyebrow at him. “You and your sister come in looking like you’ve been mauled by a bear, and you’ve got a huge bruise on your face that your sister doesn’t” he gently taps at his own cheek to indicate its location. He sighs, shaking his head. “Look, you don’t gotta disclose to me how it happened, if it’s scary, or embarrassing, or whatever, but I want you to be honest about how you’re feeling. Your parents are trusting me to take care of you for the summer and I can’t exactly do that well if you hide things from me”.

Dipper frowns, his gaze turning away from Stan and down towards the cuts and scrapes on his arms. He looks as though his mind’s racing at a hundred miles per hour, and Stan almost wishes he had the power to read minds just to make this whole ordeal easier.

He settles for a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, you know me.” His voice is more controlled than it had been a moment ago, but he’s still not making direct eye contact with him. “I’ve always been clumsier than Mabel. Must’ve gotten it when I tripped over that tree root sticking out of the ground.” He tries to dismiss the thought with a wave of his hand, but it’s as if he’s trying to demonstrate what he means, because his elbow bumps against the edge of the counter and he hisses in pain. He rubs at it tenderly, and when he stops and moves his hand away his fingers are lightly caked with blood.

Stan’s mouth forms to a tight, straight line. He punches the cash register to open it and put the rest of the day’s earnings inside. “Alright, that’s it. Come with me”

Dipper looks horrified. “You’re not taking me to the hospital, are you?” A quick glance to his hands, and he finally notices the blood. “I don’t need stitches, do I? Am I gonna get some weird, gross infection, or-”

Stan kneels to his level. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy there, kiddo” he says, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I’m not taking you to the hospital. Doesn’t look like nearly enough blood to need stitches anyway. We’re just gonna go into the kitchen and get the first aid kit, okay?”

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay”.

He follows Stan into the kitchen like he’s his shadow, gripping onto his elbow like his life depends on it. He hops into a chair at the kitchen table and watches Stan’s every move, tight grip on his elbow not lightening up. Stan takes the seat besides Dipper, placing the first aid kit on the table beside a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“Alright,” Stan clicks the first aid kit open. “Show me what the damage is”

Dipper flinches at the use of the word damage, but he finally loosens his death grip on his elbow. It’s caked with dry blood, but Stan’s relieved to find that it doesn’t look like it’s gushing. He’d been right in assuming that he must’ve reopened the cut banging his elbow on the gift shop counter. Stan hums a noise of acknowledgement as he stands to wordlessly tell Dipper he’ll be right back, and pulls a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink. He runs it under cool water for a moment before he squeezes out the excess water and offers it to Dipper.

“Clean that off with this” Stan scrunches his nose. “Last thing you need is dry blood blocking the thing’s airway, and I can’t see how bad it actually is ‘til you clean it out. I’d help you with it, but, uh, I tend to have a hard time being gentle”

There’s a quiet laugh as Dipper takes it from him. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan”, he says with a smile, and Stan ruffles his hair as he sits back down beside him.

“Yeah, well don’t go telling anyone that I’m going soft. I owe too many people too much money for word to get around that I’m a good guy, or something”

Dipper stares blankly at him for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if he’s joking or if he means that statement completely seriously, but then he rolls his eyes as he wipes the cut clean. Once he’s sure that he’s finished, he holds his elbow up towards Stan so he can check to see how it looks. It’s bigger than Stan expected it to be, but he’s relieved that it doesn’t seem very deep. He takes a tube of triple antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit, and squints as a shaky hand moves to keep Dipper’s arm still.

“Alright, this is gonna sting a lot while I rub this stuff all over the cut, but I’m gonna need you to stay still.” With his free hand, he grabs for the miniature box of bandages and offers it to Dipper. “Take one of these. I’m gonna need you to put it on while I check over everything else”.

Dipper doesn’t reply with anything other than a nod of acknowledgement, though the look in his eyes is something reaching admiration. Stan can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips at the sight.

Once that’s taken care of, he gives the kid a one-over to make sure his other injuries don’t need as much attention. He still doesn’t know what the kid’s been up to all day, but if his brother’s first journal is anything to go by then he knows there’s no such thing as being too careful. He doesn’t look like he encountered any huge monsters, as there doesn’t seem to be any significant bite marks anywhere on his skin, and Stan’s relieved to find that the majority of Dipper’s scratches are already in the process of fading.

Just to be safe, for the scratches around his cheeks that had gathered small patches of dirt, Stan dabs a gauze into the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and gently wipes at the scratches with it until the dirt clears away. Without standing from his chair he tosses the gauze towards the trash can, but it bounces off the rim and lands to the floor beside it.

Dipper snorts in barely-contained laughter, and the sound of it has Stan smiling again.

“See? Good as new” Stan says, gesturing vaguely towards Dipper. He blushes, smiling towards the floor, before he stands from his chair and rushes forward to give Stan a hug that’s over as quick as it starts.

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan”, he murmurs, and he’s running towards the staircase before Stan’s even finished processing the hug. He’s just about to reach the top of the staircase when something finally comes to Stan, and he rushes towards the stairs just before his nephew can disappear around the corner.

“Hey, Dipper?”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“Just…” Stan taps at the hand railing with his fingers. “Just promise me you and your sister’ll try to stay safe, okay?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but eventually Dipper nods his head. “I promise”.

#gravity falls #my writing #stan pines #dipper pines #pines family #team brawn #stan & dipper bonding

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i-am-megalodonna · 3 years ago

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I Broke Into Someone's House, AITA? (Part 1)

Dream thought he was home alone. As luck would have it, he wasn't, he just so happened to be in the company of a very heavy sleeper.

[[AN: They blocked AO3 on the school-provided laptops but Tumblr managed to evade the district's watchful eye. We win these. Also I make a few allusions to my headcanon design of Dream, you can just ignore them.]]

Dream didn’t know where he was. All he knew was that it was cold, and it was wet. He’d found a forest, one with thick tree trunks crowding him and a canopy that blocked out all the rain, but he’d only happened upon it within the last few minutes. In the time that he’d been wandering around through miles of grassy, uncovered hills, the pouring rain had managed to soak through his cloak, and it was starting to saturate his plumage, weighing him down. His feet hurt from hours and hours of nothing but walking, and the occasional mad sprint to get away from the many monsters that plagued this land. Even after almost a hundred years he didn’t understand how the mortals did it, all the walking. At least some of them had wings, but a lot of them didn’t. He was tired and hungry and sore in ways he’d never imagined he would be, in ways he’d never known were possible. He wanted to do nothing more than just collapse. Accept his fate, whatever it may be. Perhaps a creeper would come and blow him to shreds, or maybe the cold would freeze him until he couldn’t move anymore. Maybe it would be painless. He’d simply go to sleep and never wake up. That sounded nice… But he knew a painless death was something he would never have. He’d been allowed to keep his immortality, just not his invulnerability. He could be killed by sword or claw or tooth, but he would never die peacefully. It was less of a blessing and more of taunt, if you asked him.

But despite the conditions, he kept going. One foot in front of the other, repeating and repeating. He was still cold, and still hungry, but at least the trees kept the rain off his back. And every now and then, the monotony of the dark bark was broken up with white and red from giant mushrooms. That was two things he had going for him, at least. He would find something eventually, something that could help him. He just had to keep going.

The forest stretched on as the temperature plummeted. Even though he could only see the sky in brief flashes through the leaves, he could tell that night was falling. A chill ran up his spine as he heard the first call of a zombie echo through the trees. He summoned a torch from his inventory (it was still such a strange sensation, having a limited inventory). This was a bad place to be. Well, any place without sturdy walls and a door was a bad place to be at night, but at least in an open field you could see the monsters coming long before they got to you. Here he knew he might not see them until they were right on top of him. And in his state, he couldn’t put up much of a fight if he started attracting too much attention. He tried to soften his steps.

Just as the sky finally transitioned to inky darkness, he found himself entering into a small clearing in the trees. The rain had slowed from a downpour to a good, steady pace, and he could see the stars peeking out between the thick, grey clouds. In the middle of the clearing was a house. A small, simple home surrounded by mushrooms of all different sizes and illuminated by a few lanterns. The house blended in with the surrounding foliage, being primarily white and red. Whoever was living there clearly had a theme going.

Now that was something.

He heard bones rattling, but he couldn’t tell from where. It sounded pretty close, though. Dream ran up to the front door of the house, knocking quickly. He knew that kind of sound would attract attention and he hopped from foot to foot nervously. There was no answer. Not even a sound from inside the house to indicate that anyone was home. He knocked again. Still nothing. He looked around at the forest. Night was now in full swing, and the shadows in the trees felt like they were getting closer.

Fuck it.

Without a second thought, Dream opened the door and slipped inside the house. He shut the door behind him, and the rain ambiance that he’d grown accustomed to became nearly silent. The inside was lit, so he put away his torch. He noticed his hands were shaking. All of him was shaking. He couldn’t stop. Was it just the cold? Was it fear? He shook his head vigorously, flinging droplets of water everywhere. He was safe now. Safe and warm.

He was also in someone else’s house without their knowledge. That probably wasn’t good. It wasn’t very polite, barging into the home of someone you didn’t know. But nobody was home right now. If they had been, they would have answered the door, right? And it wasn’t like he was breaking in to steal something, he just wanted a place to rest. Surely if he was found they wouldn’t just throw him to the zombies, that would be plain cruel.

Whatever the case, he’d cross that bridge when he got there. He took a gander at his new surroundings. The inside was like the outside in its simplicity. But it was homey. The room he was in had a few furnaces, a large chest, and a table and a chair seated by a window in the back. There were also a few shelves placed around that held plants of various kinds. On one of the shelves there was a lantern that illuminated the room with it’s dim, honey-colored light. There was another lantern hanging from the ceiling, but it was unlit. On either side of the room were two doors, one on each wall. Tentatively, he began to explore. He peeked into the furnace and spotted a few loaves of bread. They were cold, so they’d clearly been sitting in there a little while. The temperature didn’t matter to him though, all that mattered was that he was ravenously hungry and he wasn’t about to make any complaints about what was laid down in front of him. Yes, maybe eating someone else’s food after entering their house without their permission wasn’t exactly the best move, but c’mon, it was just a few bits of bread. Who would really miss that? And this person probably had tons of bread, what was a few loaves in the grand scheme of things?

He came up to the left-hand door. He considered that exploring in this way might’ve been crossing a line. He also considered that he probably crossed the line a few miles back. And he was curious. He nudged open the door and saw a bunch of chests. So it was your standard storage room, reasonable. He didn’t need to know what was in all the chests (he wasn’t about to go that deep), so he walked over to the door across the room and pushed that one open too, allowing the light from the lantern to spill into the dark space. This room was dark and, from what he could see, much more furnished, with a crafting table, a chest, and a bed, among other things. Obviously, this was the bedroom. Another depth he probably shouldn’t enter. He was about to leave when he noticed a flicker of movement and heard a small rustling. He froze. His eyes darted around for what could’ve been the source, and fell on the bed. There was something about it he hadn’t noticed before. When he realized what he was looking at, his stomach sank.

There was someone in the bed.

Dream’s limbs felt like ice and he dared not move as the figure lying in the bed shifted around a few more times before once again going still. Now that Dream knew they were there, he could’ve sworn he heard them breathing. He stood there, stock-still, for how long he couldn’t say, watching the figure from the doorway. He greatly regretted pushing the door open so recklessly.

Finally, after a few more moments of utter silence and stillness, Dream was satisfied that whoever he was apparently sharing this space with was still asleep. As gently as he could he pulled the door shut, wincing whenever the hinges made even the slightest sound. He heard the latch click and took a full breath for the first time in a few minutes.

So this was a conundrum, he thought. It was one thing if no one was currently using the place, he felt less bad about barging in then. But someone was asleep in the next room, and here he was standing like an idiot in their living room, still holding their bread. As his brain started working double time he began to pace back and forth, a nervous habit, his claws clicking faintly on the floorboards. He felt he had to leave; no, he knew he had to leave. He couldn’t stay here, he was an intruder, it was wrong. But if he left, where the hell would he go? He could hear the rain pattering on the roof, and he knew that there were monsters in the woods waiting for him. Needless to say, going outside was something he was also pretty opposed to. He paused his pacing and looked back towards the bedroom door. Not so much as a snore came from it. That person was asleep, they had no idea he was here. And maybe they’d never have to know. Maybe he could just… wait the night out here. Yeah, he could do that. Before the person in the room even stirred, he’d be out the front door. Near dawn, when the monsters started to burn. It would be like he was never there. Sure, it wasn’t exactly an airtight plan, there was always the chance that this person woke up before sunrise or something, but he didn’t really have many other options at his disposal.

Even if I’m caught, better by an angry homeowner than by a zombie.

So it was settled, then. Well, if that was the plan, he had some time to burn. He walked over and sat in the chair by the window, keeping a careful watch on the sky. He pulled out one of the loaves of bread and started picking away at it. Eating this person’s food may have been a bit of a violation of his “leave no trace” idea, but he was so hungry. And really, who would miss a few stray loaves of bread. They probably had hundreds.

#dsmp #dream smp #dream #georgenotfound #gnf #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #dsmp fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #megalodonwrites

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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years ago

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Logan Anker: Duties

Logan Chapter 1: an end and a beginning

Logan settles into his new house, his new neighborhood and comes to terms with his new responsibilities.

The house was probably far nicer than someone who’d caused as much damage as he had deserved. But Logan was not about to argue with Thomas on any of those things.

Thomas was Manifestor. He still had to get used to that revelation. Thomas has sworn that he only found out when he looked up the address he was supposed to meet him at to escort him to his new home. And Logan believed him.

“If you want, I can come shopping with you for some new things for him,” his old friend and new boss offered as he put down one of the boxes they had packed from Helena’s place.

“Thank you. I will first unpack and then make a list of necessities,” Logan assured him as he gently lowered the child to the couch. “Thanks again for finalizing the adoption so fast…”

“Well it wasn’t all me and it wasn't that hard. You are his blood. And you are actually her sole benefactor other than the little guy and she willed you to be his guardian unless you’d refuse so she made it really easy.”

Logan nodded, feeling guilty as he thought of how much trust she’d had in him.

“Call me if you need help unpacking. Or do you need me to watch him for a bit while you get everything ready?”

Logan shook his head. He was not ready to let the boy too far from his sight yet.

“That won’t be necessary. I will be in touch,” he stated as he took in a deep breath to force his emotions in line. He would manage.

Thomas sighed and handed him a card. “He’s a friend of mine and a good doctor. If you need to talk,” was all he said before leaving.

Logan looked at the card and then put it in his wallet. He’d call once he was properly settled in. It was only logical to make an inventory of his current mental state considering that the physical side of his power… It was in everyone’s best interest if he had his mental and emotional state under control.

He started to sort through Helena’s things. The house was already mostly furnished for him, considering he’d only had the barest necessities while hiding from the law the past few years. And most of Helena’s furniture was due for replacement. The nicest things she owned belonged to the child. And even those weren't new.

Thomas was too kind. He might have a generous reformation budget, but all this was still much more effort than Logan deserved.

He picked up a framed photograph of Helena and her late husband. The boy’s father.

They would’ve been amazing parents. Logan had fond memories of Caleb…

The boy on the couch stirred and sat up rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“Momma?” he muttered confused and disoriented. That was the hardest. How to make it clear to a 2 year old that his mother was gone and that this was his home now?

Logan walked over to the couch and sat down next to the boy who looked up to him with a confused frown.

“It’s okay. You are safe. Do you want something to eat?” Logan asked. He didn’t have the strength to try to explain what happened again.

The boy nodded. “Yes please,” he said softly, a little sad. Maybe he did remember being told that his mother was never going to come back. It was possible that he simply had been dreaming and was disoriented by reality. It happened sometimes. Logan would most likely forget she was gone on occasion too. Grief played cruel tricks on your mind like that.

“Very well.”

After their meal Logan sat the child down with a Disney movie and continued unpacking.

Then the doorbell rang. Was Thomas checking up on him already?

Logan looked over at the boy to make sure he was okay before leaving the room. He opened the door to find a young couple with a toddler greeting him.

“Hi!” The woman smiled with a wave. “My name is Celine, this is my husband David and our son Janus,” she introduced herself and her family. Janus was hiding half his face in his mother’s skirt.

“We are your next door neighbors and we thought we’d come and say hi and welcome to the neighborhood.”

Logan nodded. “I see. Thank you very much. I am doctor Logan Anker. I will be teaching biochemistry at the university starting this fall,” he explained as he shook the adults’ hands. He knelt down and addressed Janus. “It is a pleasure to meet you too Janus,” he informed the small boy who just hid away more. He rose again to address the adults, accepting that Janus simply was not comfortable around a stranger and then he felt a figure behind him. He stepped to the side and looked down to find the boy. He was looking at the strangers with curious but wary eyes.

“Oh, and what is your name?” Celine asked kindly bowing down a little.

“Vigi Aner, ma” he mumbled.

“Oh, your son is so polite,” she complemented.

“Nephew actually,” Logan corrected.

“Oh… oh,” Celine looked to her husband, unsure what to do.

“Our apologies, we didn’t mean to assume,” he offered calmly.

“It is quite alright. Your assumption was not without reason. We recently lost his mother.”

Murderer… No those thoughts were not helpful or correct. Yes I am to blame, but there was no ill intent.

“I am his legal guardian.”

The couple nodded. “Well if you ever need a babysit. I design websites and work from home mostly, so I’m always available,” David explained.

“And of course he is always welcome for a playdate,” Celine added. “Right Janus?” she asked as she looked down.

The child didn’t move for a moment but then stepped forward revealing his face. Logan didn’t miss the tensing of the parents shoulders. He could understand why. The left half of the boy’s face and neck were covered in birthmarks. He could imagine this got him a lot of stares in public.

His nephew stepped forward too and when Logan looked down he saw him smile and point at the freckles underneath his eyes. “Sun kisses,” he said and the parents relaxed. Janus smiled too and then was pulled inside. “Stitch,” was the only explanation.

Logan could only assume that he wanted to continue his movie and had decided that the other boy might as well join.

The Bullards turned out to be extremely helpful. They made sure he knew to find his way around the neighborhood and Janus and Virgil kept each other entertained.

So after a month, he trusted them enough to leave him with them for a few hours.

“I will be back soon. I promise,” he told the child who nodded and held onto his blankie and stitch plushie. Gifts from Logan in hopes that they would help soothe the stress of all these unexpected changes. The boy had nightmares and seemed easily spooked. Logan did his best to make him feel safe and cared for. He felt terribly unqualified for the job, but he tried to understand and provide in his needs.

Then the door opened and the nervous boy was pulled inside by an excited Janus. Their youngest neighbor had certainly opened up more during the month they’d been here.

His nephew looked back and waved him goodbye. Logan tried to smile encouragingly and waved back before handing the bag with necessities over to David. “Once more, my gratitude,” he offered.

“I should thank you actually. Janus… It’s terrible but he already knows he is different from other kids. Your boy has come as a blessing, truly.”

Logan felt something tug inside him in a way that felt both pleasant and painful. A bittersweet feeling. He’s Helena’s son alright. “Well, in that case, call us even,” he offered before bidding his goodbyes, ensuring David had his number down and leaving. He had an appointment with the therapist Thomas recommended.

“Why do you think you don’t use his name?”

Logan’s head snapped up. What?

The end of his first session was nearing and he’d had half a mind to call Thomas and ask him what made him think this would be a funny joke.

Picani was eccentric to say the least. All cartoon references and terrible jokes.

And now…

“Virgil. You haven’t called him by his name, though we’ve talked about him more than anything else. Even when talking about your sister, your stated reason to come here, you talk about him. Yet somehow you avoid saying his name. If not for your paper work I would have no clue. Why?”

Logan was about to object, but then he realized that he was right. Ever since first meeting him he hadn’t referred to him by name once, not even in his head. Even now the name…

“I… Don’t know,” he muttered astonished.

“I wouldn’t want to draw conclusions based on this one conversation of course, but is it alright if I suggest some possible explanations?” Logan nodded intrigued. Maybe Thomas hadn’t been playing a prank after all…

“It could be out of fear to grow attached to him. Or maybe you don’t think you deserve to be close to him. Does that sound like I’m in the right direction?”

Logan went over that in his head. It… wasn’t rational. But the feeling of guilt he felt every time he found himself enjoying the boy’s presence in his life even a little… That wasn’t rational either.

Just the night before he’d given him a bath and when he splashed at the water squealing with laughter he had found himself chuckling as well only to have the wind knocked out of him when he realized that Helena would never get to see this again.

“I guess… It’s just… Helena should be doing these things with him. Not me. I’m not fit…”

“Now I hate to interrupt you, but I have to disagree. You have everything you need to be a good father. You are responsible, attentive and have even indicated yourself that Virgil’s needs take priority. That is an excellent foundation to build from.”

Logan nodded. Rationally the doctor made sense.

“That is our time I’m afraid. But I think we can work with this. I’d like you to reflect on your relationship and interactions with Virgil over the coming week, even if you don’t plan on coming back. You’ll be starting at the university tomorrow, right?”

Logan nodded. “First as the new professor, and in the evening I’ll meet the team I’ll be working alongside with as Brainstorm.” It had seemed pointless to hide that part of his situation. And as it turned out, Picani knew of Thomas' secret too. Which was probably why Thomas recommended him. And Logan had to admit, despite his odd behavior the ,man was clever and observant.

“And… I’ll let you know how things go next week,” he assured the doctor who smiled relieved.

“They wore themselves out in the garden,” Celine explained with a fond whisper as she led Logan to the living room where David was sitting on the couch next to the boys who were holding onto each other in their sleep. Logan felt his heart swell with emotion and this time, as an experiment, he didn’t try to push it down. He let himself feel how the little boy on that couch had quickly claimed a place in his heart and was making it his home.

“Hi…” David greeted before gently nudging his nephew awake.

“Look who’s here buddy?” he asked.

The boy… Virgil, blinked blearily before focusing on Logan who’d accepted the supply bag from Celine. Virgil reached for him, grabbing with his arms, clearly asking to be picked up.

Logan chuckled and lifted him up in his arms, allowing himself to feel how glad he was to have him there, safe and sound.

“Hi papa.” That made Logan freeze. Virgil never called him… He called him Lo… Not…

“He heard Janus call me daddy and papa and today he asked what it was. I said it was like a mom but a boy. I guess he decided that means you for him,” David explains as he lifted his own son up in his arms.

“Ah…”

Logan didn’t say anything more after that. He went home and put Virgil in his bed so he could finish his nap there. He watched over him and stroked at his hair.

Funny, what seemed like a monumental task only minutes ago, was now accomplished for him it seemed. Virgil had decided that Logan was a parental figure. He had compared him to Helena and decided he measured up. Logan could not argue with that.

Logan sighed and went downstairs to dig through the last box that was still not unpacked.

It was filled with pictures and memento’s of Helena and Caleb. He looked at a picture of the last birthday Logan had spent with both of them. “I’ll look after him Helena. I’ll be the best father I possibly can be.”

“Papa?” Logan put the picture away and walked up the stairs to see to his son.

@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043

3)Allies

Masterlist

#sanders sides #ts sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #fic #hero au

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inorganicone2230 · 5 years ago

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Aos Sí (Part 1) Yandere!Erasermic x Fem!Reader

TBC in Part 2

Summary: You've just moved to a small, quiet town to with hope of getting some peace and quiet, unbeknownst to you, you've attracted the attention of two individuals who have no intention of letting their newest interest go unaware of them for too long. It’s been so long since they found someone they can agree on and they are willing to do what ever it takes to keep it.

Warnings: Not meany for this chapter, just some light stalking/chasing, and some suggestive implications.

As always, a huge thank you to @talpup for all the brainstorming and for just being an awesome friend in general! I know how much you've been looking forward to this one. lol

Grams shop sat wedged between a cheap liquor store and a small rundown café. Chipped red brick and stain glass windows in colors of blue, green and purple gave the place a warm glow on the inside, the colors reflected off the shelves and made anyone who entered the shop believe as if there was real magic being woven into all the items showcased inside. The store was small and dimly lit, it’s shelves and walls lined with items that were purchased online or special ordered from people Grams had met during her early years traveling the world. Sometimes she would even put out items that she had handmade herself, though that was a rare occurrence. These days, if someone wanted one of her personal items, they had to know to ask her and pay a little more for the extra care and work that went into them.

Working in a novelty shop was a rather interesting experience and like with all jobs, it has it’s pros and cons. There were days when it took every ounce of your willpower not to roll your eyes at the love struck schoolgirls that came in asking about charms to get their crushes attention and other days where you were happy to talk to a customer about the interesting myths surrounding the use of tarot cards. It was all about attitude with you and how your mood affected your work ethic for the day.

Grams was under the firm belief that one need only believe in magic to make it real, which, while a perfectly charming notion, was not one you yourself held. Grams had every excuse in the book to believe in all that hocus-pocus nonsense, she was the one who owned the shop after all, it would be strange if she didn’t believe in it at least a little bit. You on the other hand, you had no such tendencies. As much as you loved her, you only worked here because of how well she paid you and if the pay wasn’t good, then family or no family, you would have been employed elsewhere.

You still had your own expenses to pay after all, even if they were relatively small ones.

Today was a Sunday though, which meant that the shop was as quiet as a graveyard, it also meant that with the lack of traffic in the place today, you were free to close up a bit early and head home. Grams insisting that you take the next few days off.

“Are you sure Grams? I can come back tomorrow and help you with inventory, I really don’t mind.” You said, shrugging on your jacket and grabbing your purse while Grams went around checking the windows and locking the doors.

“Nonsense! I may be old (Y/N), but I’m still capable of running my own business without help. I live here, but there’s no reason for you to spend all your free time in this place. Enjoy your youth while you still have it, lord knows you’ll wish you had when you get to be my age.”

Your shoulders shook as you let out a hearty laugh. The old bat was barely into her 50’s, as far as you were concerned, she was still young and spry. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted.” You said, waving as you walked out the door. “Have a good night, love you!”

“I Love you too Sweetheart, be safe on your way home.”

—————

The walk home was a quiet one for you tonight in the small tourist town you now called home and you took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air while you bask in the peaceful silence. It was quiet now, but in just a few weeks, the streets would be packed with city goers wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of their busy lives in exchange for a taste of the peaceful countryside. Winter was only just now ending, the snow had only just finished melting and the evening air still had a bite to it, but you didn’t mind, it was just another reason why you were so happy about your decision to move out here.

When Grams had called you, explaining that she would like to have some help around her shop for pretty decent pay, you had jumped at the opportunity, especially when you were told that there was already a place available for you to move into, a small cabin that a friend of hers owned. It only took a few short days to pack up your worldly possessions and before you knew it, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a moving truck and on your way to the next chapter of your life.

Three weeks later and you were feeling pretty good about this spur of the moment decision.

But if you had to be honest, it did all seem to be too good to be true, you kept looking over your shoulder half expecting someone to jump out and yell “Psych!” at any given moment. But so far everything had been fine, the only thing you were expecting to cause you any kind of inconvenience wasn’t even due to start until the weather warmed up.

The owner of the cabin let you live there rent free on the condition that you keep an eye on the high fence that surrounded a small patch of privately owned forest, it was a habitat for a few rare species of bird and apparently there was a rather large pond out there that the local kids liked to try and sneak off to party at. All you we’re supposed to do is call the cops if you noticed anything suspicious going on.

Easy peezy lemon squeezy, right?!

The cabin was on the edge of town and surrounded by a grove of maple trees, away from any neighbors and the owner was getting up there in age, so being closer to town was better for him, which is why he was now letting you live there. You had tried to offer him some payment regardless but he refused to take it, said that any family of Grams was family to him and family never pays.

“I really need to buy a bike. This trek will be much easier with a bike.” You mumbled to yourself as you approached the front door, glancing around the quiet area nervously, half expecting a serial killer to jump out and start waving a knife at you. “Note to self, include a flashlight and pepper spray with that bike.” You said as you quickly slipped inside and promptly locked the door.

You breathed a sigh of relief now that you were in the safe confines of your new home and proceeded to go about your nightly ritual of slipping into some soft spandex and a tank top before making yourself a quick dinner. You still had a bit of unpacking to do, but since Grams had given you the next few days off, you figured you could procrastinate for one more night and relax with a cheesy horror movie.

—————

Sometime later, you awoke to a strange sound in the otherwise silent room. At first, you thought it might be the TV, but the room was dark, indicating that the device had automatically shut off on it’s own.

Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you realized that the sound was coming from outside. It was faint, but it almost sounded like a flute. Stumbling towards the door, you cracked it open just a bit to try and make out the sound a bit better.

But…

As soon as you open the door, the sound was louder than before, almost like it was right next to your ear. Your mind goes blank and you can’t think or feel anything, all you know is that this melody is so sweet and so entrancing, that you could listen to it forever and never tire of it.

Before you knew it, your feet are carrying you through the gate and into the forest. You didn’t feel the cold, nor the branches that left the occasional bloody scratches on your exposed skin, all you could do was follow that wondrous sound straight to its source.

On and on you walked, further and further into the dense trees until at last you came to a clearing. The same clearing that held the aforementioned pond, a body of smooth, crystal clear water that perfectly reflected the full moon in all its glory, surrounded by lush green grass and patches of wildflowers with scattered petals fluttering in the warm breeze.

It was only when the lovely sound faded away into silence that your mind suddenly snapped back into reality and you felt a sudden onslaught of terror despite your picturesque, and very out of season, surroundings.

Your mind swam with so many questions and the sheer force of emotions overtaking you at that moment threatened to make you pass out at any moment.

How had you gotten here?!

When had you gotten here?!

What was going on?!

Fear seized hold of you as you realized that you couldn’t remember how you had reached this place or how long you had been walking. You couldn’t even remember what direction you had come from when you entered the glade.

Snap!

The sharp sound of a snapping branch and two deep chuckles immediately snapped you back to the present and you spun around, a frightened yelp slipping past your lips, only to come face to face with two men. At least, they looked like men, they were still relatively hidden by the dark shadows, having not stepped into the bright moonlight just yet.

“W-Who are y-you? This is p-private property, you need to l-leave now before I-I call the cops.” You wished that your voice sounded stronger, but you were still so confused and scared, that weak threat was all you could muster.

The two men chuckled again and looked at each other before turning back to you and, was it your imagination or were their eyes glowing? That had to be your imagination or a strange trick of the light… right…

The one on the left spoke first.

“I think you’re mistaken Little Dove, we’re not the ones trespassing here, you are.”

Before you could speak, the one on the right spoke next.

“You’re the one that’s wandered into our territory Kitten. If anything, I think you should be the one getting punished. What do you think Zashi?”

Something about his tone unnerved you and you weren’t sure if it was a conscious decision or some primal muscle memory, but you turned to run. You didn’t care what direction you were going or where it would lead you, all you cared about was getting away. Something in the back of your mind and in your gut was telling you that you had to get away from these two. No matter what.

You had made it maybe 10ft away from them when you felt yourself collide with what felt like a wall made of solid flesh, the force of your collision sending you flying back and when you opened your eyes to see what it was, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

Somehow, they had managed to get in front of you without making a sound and now that they were standing in the moons light, you were able to get your first real look at them.

And what you saw both horrified and fascinated you all at once.

Both were absolutely gorgeous and dressed in normal clothes, jeans and t-shirts, but it was the rest of their appearance that had truly caught your eye.

One had long blond hair that fell down to the middle of his back, and swirling green eyes that glowed eerily in the dark and his ears, his ears were tall and pointed, like an elf in some fantasy movie. His smile was large and twisted, sharp canines were clearly visible and they flashed dangerously when he tilted his head to the side as he regarded you thoughtfully.

The second was as dark as the other was light. His black hair fell in messy waves around his shoulders and neck, a face full of stubble and the same pointed ears. His eyes glowed as well but red, like the color of fresh blood and whereas his partner could pass for human if not for the ears, he could not, not with the dark, spiraling ram horns that jutted out on either side of his head.

“What are you?” You managed to squeak out as you began to crawl backwards, only to be halted as vines slithered out of the grass like snakes and constricted around your wrists and ankles. No matter how much you struggled and pulled though, they would not break.

“That’s a very good question Little Dove. But before we answer that, I think we should introduce ourselves first. You can call me Hizashi.” The blond says, his voice is soft and melodic and you feel yourself relax just a little bit before catching yourself and putting up your guard again.

The dark haired one gives you a different feeling all together when he flashes you a sultry smile and introduces himself as Shouta. His voice is deep and echoes in your ears and you are ashamed when you let out the tiniest of whimpers as you clench your thighs together.

They both smirk at that, as if they know exactly how your body is reacting.

“Now, what’s your name? We gave you ours, I think it’s only fair we receive yours in return.” One of them says, their voice dripping with honeyed words.

But when you go to open your mouth, the only sound to escape is an ear piercing scream as the fear you’d been feeling finally bubbles over and and consumes you.

The sound rings out for a split second before more vines erupt from the ground and wrap around your face, covering your mouth muffling anymore sounds you tried to make as you thrashed and struggled and cried for release.

“That certainly wasn’t very nice. And here we were being so cordial with you.” Shouta says as both he and Hizashi tower over you, their eyes racking up and down your form in a way that does nothing to hide what they are thinking about.

“I mean, we already know who you are and what your name is, but you still could have been polite enough to introduce yourself before you screamed like a banshee.” Hizashi says, his words doing little to soothe your already racing heart.

“But,” Shouta continues, his red eyes locking with yours. “if you can avoid screaming again and speak like a good girl, we’ll uncover your mouth. Can you do that for us? If not, then we’ll just leave you like this for however long we want.”

You nod your head frantically, you’re willing to do anything at this point to get out of this situation and you feel the vines immediately retract. You steel your nerves and do your best to control your voice when you speak next.

“P-Please l-let me go. I won’t come b-back, I s-swear, I d-don’t even know h-how I got here.” You sobbed quietly.

Your plea went completely ignored,

“Oh, my apologies.” Says Hizashi and you look up to see him holding a set of pan pipes. “That was my doing. We were eager to finally meet you so I just decided to get your attention with this. Did you enjoy the song (Y/N)? I composed it just special, just for you.”

“How do you know my n-name?”

Shouta knelt down and reached out to stroke your face, uncaring for how you turned your head and fought to get away from his touch.

“We’ve been watching you since you first moved here, it’s been so long since anyone interesting has lived in that cabin and we have been waiting for a chance to finally talk to you.” He smiled and again, you felt your libido spike as you clench your thighs together when a sudden wave of arousal clouded your senses.

“Ease up on the compulsion Shou, Save that shit for later.”

“Says the one that couldn’t wait to get her out here.”

They went back and forth like this for a bit before your fearful crying brought their attention back on you and they regarded you with more gentle expressions.

“It’s been a rather long night, so why don’t we just cut to the chase.” Hizashi said as he to, knelt down on your other side to join his counterpart. “We’re willing to let you go back to the cabin safe and sound Little Dove, but only if you’re willing to give us something in return.”

Something about his voice calms you down and you find yourself speaking before your brain has a chance to register what your mouth is saying, you’re so sleepy and all you want is to go back to bed and forget this craziness.

“Anything. Say it and it’s yours, just let me go.” Your tired eyes are wide and look back and forth between the two smirking creatures as you try and figure out what just happened, even as your mind becomes cloudy with sleep and you feel yourself drifting off against your will.

“Perfect.” They all but purr as both reach out, each taking a lock of your hair from the nape of your neck to braid and cut off with a knife that each passes to the other so they can retrieve their prize.

You don’t even have the energy anymore to feel frightened by the weapon or to ask why they took your hair of all things. All you can do is close your eyes and let their voices carry you deeper into a dreamless slumber.

“We’ll see you again very soon Kitten, there’s no getting away from us now.”

“We’re going to have so much fun, just you wait and see. We’ll take such good care of you.”

First chapter is done and out of the way! Hopefully the rest will come to me a bit easier. lol

I hope you all enjoy this newest story!

#yandere!erasermic #yandere!erasermic x reader #yandere!aizawa #yandere!hizashi #yandere!aizawa x reader #yandere!hizashi x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #aizawa x hizashi #yandere bnha #fey #fairies #light stalking #suggestive themes

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tothelasthoursofmylife · 4 years ago

Text

“To bring order to a disordered world was the detective’s job.”

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cedric~

The rain howled unforgivingly outside, scratched against the stone and glass beneath a steel grey sky. Cedric tensed whenever they passed a window with its curtains drawn back and his eyes darted to Milton. Thankfully, after his episode in the library, he seemed to be doing better, though he still looked deathly pale. Nonetheless, Cedric wished his chessboard was only half as heavy as it was so that he could go and cover all windows, damping the storm with the thick curtains.

They had decided to go to Cedric’s room first to put away the bothersome chessboard before continuing to the kitchen, and Cedric did his best to divert Milton’s thoughts from the rainstorm by constantly enquiring where they were now and how long it would still take to get to their destination. This seemed to work fine, and without Milton suddenly stopping and staring into who-knew-where and with his notebook navigating the château’s puzzling corridors went surprisingly easy. Still, Cedric let out a relieved sigh when they finally arrived at his room.

“Wait here,” he said to Milton. “I’ll quickly put away the chessboard and be right back.”

Milton nodded, and Cedric hurried into his room.

With Milton waiting outside, there was no time to lose. Just in and out. Even the few seconds it took to drop the board on a bureau and hurry out of the room unnerved me.

“I’m back!” Cedric announced and pulled his door into its lock. “You’re still fine, Milton?”

Milton smiled at him. “Yes, I am, Kristopher.”

“Good. For a moment, I feared you had a breakdown and recovered from it in the thirty-six seconds I was away and now have more ‘underlying’ pain because of it.” Cedric paused. “This did not happen, did it?”

“I assure you it didn’t, Kristopher. I have no reason to lie to you.”

Cedric looked at Milton and a sudden wave of exhaustion came over him, but he ignored it. He could not go to sleep right now. “That’s good. How do we get to the kitchen from here?”

Skilfully, Milton thumbed through his notebook without any loose papers tumbling out and planned their route.

“I wondered,” said Cedric while he was watching Milton going through his intelligible notes, “How do you cope with the rain when you’re travelling, by the way?”

Milton looked up. “Hm?”

“As you are travelling that often – haven’t you said you were on the road for over a year? – I wondered how you manage your ‘phantom pain’ then.”

“I… I have actually learned to endure rain fairly well,” Milton replied, looking at the notebook in his hands and fumbling with the edge of a page. “Normally, I cope fairly well, though the ‘pain’ has become a little more intense a few years ago… Still, it only becomes hard when the rain lasts as long as it does now. Bram then insists to leave and travel to a place where it doesn’t rain – as long as it does not disrupt any of our plans, of course, though Bram often insists to move regardless.”

“So, it’s like you’re being chased by the rain?”

Milton tilted his head. “I have never thought of it like that, but I would say yes.”

“Rain really does not seem to like you,” said Cedric half-absentmindedly as his eyes caught sight of a chandelier above him and yawned.

“H-hm,” murmured Milton and turned his own attention back to his preliminary floorplan. “We have to go left to the stairs first,” he said, and Cedric nodded. Of course, he knew the way to the kitchen from here – it was one of the few ways he knew in this wretched place – but he wanted to give Milton something to do and…

From the hall downstairs, Milton surely would not have to consult his notebook anymore, right?

The more time I spent with him the more convinced I became that Milton was indeed innocent. Odd, but innocent. Ideally, neither he nor Wentworth should turn out to be criminals, but if I had to pick one to be the bad one, I would choose Wentworth right now. Still, it was only a tendency, nothing definite set in stone.

I had to be sure it was Wentworth. I had to be sure it wasn’t Milton.

And even if Milton knowing half the way to the kitchen by heart meant nothing but that last night’s events had not been a fragment of my imagination and acute sleep deprivation, I had to consider everything I got, no matter how scarce it was.

Cedric smiled. “Then let’s get to those stairs, shall we?”

***

~Cloudia~

Nadia Allemand’s tailor shop was nestled between a shoemaker and a coiffeur and stuck out even in the heavy rain because of the fence which had been hastily put together to signal villagers not to enter blocking its entrance. The last time Cloudia had been there, “Crime scene: do not enter” had been written across the fence, but the words had already been washed to unrecognisability. She and Kamden removed the fence and leaned it against the shoemaker shop’s façade. Yvette stepped forward and unlocked the shop and everyone followed her inside.

Carefully tip-toeing around the objects on the ground, Cloudia headed to the closest lamp and ignited it, and with the rising, growing flame, more and more of the shop was revealed and the shadows against the walls grew longer and longer.

Everything was like when she and Cedric had first inspected the tailor shop two days ago: Fabrics had been thrown onto the ground. The pens and papers on the table were in disarray, taken out of their cases and torn from their pads. Scissors and measuring tapes and needles were laying on the ground. Even without the vaguely human-shaped area on the ground where nothing lay, Cloudia knew that the disorder had been created after the murder, not before or during it.

If a thief had broken into the tailor shop, he would not have pulled out the fabrics from their rolls as it was obvious they would not have been hiding anything; rather, if at all, something might have been hidden inside the rod in the middle of the rolls, but the rolls were still secured to their stand. And while the seemingly frantic state of the shop might suggest that the culprit had been in a hurry, had been running against time, the thin fabrics weren’t torn. The old pencils weren’t broken on the ground. The pad containing nothing but sketches and notes might have lain in one piece on the ground, and not systematically shred to pieces. Also, nothing had been taken according to the inventory notes.

Cloudia walked upstairs to the little flat Nadia had shared with her friend Armelle Peletier – to the little flat, touched only by a sheer layer of dust, but vastly untouched by the disorder. Quickly and carefully, Cloudia opened cupboards, wardrobes, drawers, looked under beds and opened and examined jars in the kitchen. She found money and heirloom jewellery far too easily for them to have been overlooked by a thief. After putting everything back, Cloudia headed back down. Halfway down, she stopped on the stairs to look down at the scene beneath her.

The vaguely human-shaped area was like a beacon in her eyes. If the chaos had not been created by a hurried thief trying to find anything of value before being detected, you might suggest that it would have come from a brawl, from Nadia fighting back against her attacker. But no piece of furniture was knocked over. No piece bore any fighting marks or even looked out of place. The paper wouldn’t have been torn from the pads, the fabrics would not have stayed as pristine as they had, and Nadia wouldn’t have perfectly fallen onto the only empty space on the ground.

Whoever had staged the crime scene had done such a poor job with it. Still, it was so very interesting and so very odd: It looked like the work of an amateur, not of a stranger who wandered the lands and regularly murdered people he didn’t know; and it was so different from the other crime scenes which had no signs of disorder and chaos – staged or not. As if the culprit had got bored with trying to cover their marks or had admitted their own incapability of faking a crime scene and decided not to bother anymore.

Or, it was as if this first murder had been committed by one person, and the others by another. The different murder weapon (the needles) and general location (inside) hinted towards that too.

And then there was the other thing that bothered me, something I had noticed at all four crime scenes: Here, despite the disorder, there were no real indications of a fight, and there had been none at the church and in the forest too. The victims hadn’t fought back which meant that they had been surprised.

Or had known their murderer.

But according to Antoine, the only connection between Marius and Dominique was that Dominique had been friends with Gustave. Dominique and Marius had never had a proper talk beyond “hello” and “how are you doing?” And neither Gustave, Marius, nor Dominique had ever been associated with Nadia in any manner.

Cloudia climbed down the rest of the steps. “Grégoire, have you got a clear picture of the crime scene? Maryse?”

Kamden looked up from a drawer he had been inspecting, craned his head to her, and nodded.

“Good. Have you found anything interesting?”

“Mlle Maryse found these,” Kamden said, and gestured to Lisa who was standing at the other end of the room. Catching her cue, she held up a bag that was slightly opened to reveal the needles inside. “Sewing needles,” Kamden continued. “You said Mme Allemand was killed with needles?”

“Yes. Dozens have been run into her body,” Cloudia replied and walked to Lisa. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yvette watching them intently.

“Mlle Maryse found the needles in a cabinet,” said Kamden while Lisa handed the bag to Cloudia. “Do you think they could be the same ones that were used to kill Mme Allemand?”

“The bag doeslook too big to hold only so few items, but I cannot tell if they are the same needles. We would have to compare them later when we inspect the bodies.”

Kamden glanced at Lisa. “If… if they are the same ones… Mlle Maryse found the bag in a cabinet, but inside a box which, judging from its décor, must have originally contained tea. It wasn’t an easy find, and she had to open the box with a picklock.”

“A picklock?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was a locked box. A locked tea box.”

“Not a place anyone would expect a bag of sewing needles to be,” said Cloudia with sparkling eyes and handed the bag back to Lisa.

“What does this mean?” Yvette asked.

Kamden and Cloudia looked at each other, and she grinned. “This means that I would love to talk to Mme Peletier next.”

***

~Cedric~

Milton did need his notebook all the way to the kitchen.

This was a relief, of course. But then… what if he usually knew his way there and was only temporarily disoriented because of the rain? What if he was only pretending not to know?

Cedric shook his head and opened the kitchen door. His tiredness and hunger were starting to mess with his head, and he hoped to find anyone in the kitchen he could ask – or rather, could ask through Milton – if they could prepare them some food. But when he stepped inside, Cedric had to notice with a sinking heart that no one was there.

Typical. Maybe there would be some leftovers from lunch somewhere, at least?

“Milton, apparently, we have to get ourselves some food on our own,” said Cedric with a sigh and walked towards the icebox when he saw, from the corner of his eye, Milton putting his notebook on one of the counters and heading to a cupboard.

Cedric turned around and hurried to prevent Milton from opening the cupboard. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Uh… helping to find something to eat?” Milton replied and let down his hand.

“Oh, no, no, no. I will get us something. You will sit down and rest,” said Cedric and gently took Milton’s arm to lead him to a small stool.

“But I want to help, and you said ‘we have to get ourselves some food on our own.’”

“I did, but I did not mean that youwould have to rummage around and chop something or so. I meant ‘we’ in ‘oh, we need to get food,’ not in ‘oh, we both have to prepare something.’” Carefully, Cedric made Milton sit down on the stool.

“I could still help though,” protested Milton, but Cedric only shook his head. “Just let me do this. What did you say earlier? It’s a ‘remnant from the time before I became a duke.’ I was once a commoner, after all. Before becoming a baron, you were a lord. That’s the title of a baron’s child, isn’t it, my pampered friend?”

“No… no, it isn’t,” Milton said, and Cedric let go of his arm. “The children of a baron have no title. They are only styled ‘The Honourable’ as a courtesy. Father was the younger son of a baron and, thus, styled ‘The Honourable.’ I was only ever a ‘Mr’ though until Father became Baron. And I was certainly never pampered.”

Cedric groaned. “All this is unnecessarily confusing. Anyway, whether you grew up pampered or not, you’re unwell todayand I won’t, by all Heavens, let you go anywhere near a knife. Or, to be very frank with you, Milton, I am not even sure if I would ever let you go near a knife.”

Milton fumbled with his sleeves. “Yes... that would be the most sensible decision. I will just sit here then.”

“Perfect,” said Cedric and went to the icebox, wishing for leftovers, but was only met with single ingredients.

Cooking from scratch it was then.

“Any lunch wishes, Milton?” Cedric asked and started to look through the kitchen to see what was there.

“I… I think it would be best to look first what ingredients are available and what you can cook from them. I do not want to make a wish, you make it your goal to fulfil it, and then get disappointed or frustrated when you cannot do it,” Milton replied, smiling.

“You are consideration personified I forgot,” said Cedric, and Milton turned red. He got flustered so easily, it was almost endearing, but mostly it was amusing.

Much to Cedric’s relief, the kitchen had basically everything. He was not a terrible cook, but if Denis wasn’t restocking the kitchen’s inventory so diligently and there were only a few ingredients available, the number of dishes Cedric was able to cook would fall dramatically; and he didn’t want to resort to throwing everything into a stew. He wanted to cook something a little more elaborate. Something with a fancy name. Something to impress Milton.

On the small but fine list of dishes Cedric could cook, there was only one that fulfilled all three criteria. He could only hope it would turn out well today.

There was usually a fifty-fifty probability of me ruining the dish, but that was mostly because I often lost track of time and left it on the stove for too long. This time, I would be especially attentive though, so all should go well.

“How about kedgeree?” asked Cedric.

“Oh! I haven’t had it in years,” Milton said, tightly clenched his hands together, and smiled brightly. There was a shine in his eyes that Cedric knew all too well – though he usually knew it from someone else.

“That’s perfect then,” Cedric replied happily and headed to where he saw the rice being stored.

“But, Kristopher, don’t you think it will take too long to cook? You are hungry – wouldn’t it be better to prepare something quick? Or you’ll have to wait an hour or more until you can finally eat.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Milton. I want to eat, but I would rather eat something ‘proper’ before the Lady gives me a lecture later.” Cedric filled two cups of rice into a pot he had found in a cupboard and carried it to a countertop. “Oh, and, by the way, Milton, if it’s itching you to tell me all the things you know about kedgeree, go ahead.”

Milton chuckled. “Did I give myself away?”

“You forget I spent a lot of time with someone like you,” Cedric said and stopped in his movement for a moment before he picked up his pace again. Quickly, quickly. Gathering the fish, milk, water, a pan…

“Oh, where to start?” began Milton. “The history of kedgeree is a very interesting one as it’s not simply an Indian dish. It is the British adaptation or version of khichdi which is a traditional Indian dish, though it is also very popular amongst Muslims and attracted the attention and curiosity of Europeans and North Africans after the Silk Road was ‘reopened’ in the 13th, 14th century. Back then, Europeans were fairly eager to learn about Indian traditions and customs. This changed with the Age of Discovery. The West began to look down on India. In regards to khichdi, Afanasy Nikitin, one of the first Europeans to travel to India, compared the dish to horse feed in his book A Journey Beyond the Three Seas. While the East India Company still possesses this attitude, it also knows that handling affairs in a different country is easier when you are familiar with its customs.”

“That’s interesting,” Cedric said absentmindedly while he added a few cups of water to the pot with the rice before transferring it from the countertop to the stove. His focus had to be on cooking after all, not on Milton’s story.

“The so-called ‘nabobs’ – a Hindustani word which was used to refer to officials or governors under the Mughal Empire before – from the East India Company…,” Milton continued, but then he abruptly halted when Cedric put the lid on the pot, turned on the stove, and then casually proceeded to prepare the fish for poaching. “Kristopher?”

“Yes, Milton?”

“Uhm, I don’t want to offend you or overstep, not only but especially because you are the one who is putting effort into cooking, so I ask this as kindly as possible and hope not to hurt your feelings, and if I do, I sincerely apologise in advance and afterwards I will apologise again even if you said I should not, but I do believe it would be appropriate in this context and…” Milton took a deep breath. “Kristopher… could it be that you forgot to wash the rice?”

Cedric turned away from the fish and blinked at Milton in bewilderment. “You wash rice?”

They looked at each other for one long moment before Milton said, astonishingly succeeding to sound both close to tears and perfectly polite at once, “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe… Maybe if you are too tired or too hungry yourself, Kristopher, to prepare something… I… I would be fine with sandwiches, Kristopher.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed just to eat a sandwich or a dozen,” meant Cedric. “However, there’s still the Lady… Us eating sandwiches – and, I suggest, healthy portions of biscuits as well, perhaps even cake if we can find some – would require you to lie to her if she asks.”

“I don’t like to lie, Kristopher.”

Cedric looked at Milton, and his next words were only a moment too late, only a second too hesitant. “I won’t force you to do something you don’t want to do, Milton.”

“That is very kind of you, but…” A little shaky smile appeared on Milton’s lips. “But it’s not a lie when I simply mention your kitchen skills, not what we have eaten today,” he said, and Cedric automatically looked at him in surprise.

“Wonderful!” Cedric quickly exclaimed and turned off the stove, hoping that Milton had not caught him. “I will go ahead and make some sandwiches now,” he added and ran off to find some bread – and, hopefully, some pastries on the way as well.

Coming to think of it… I could not remember having anything sweet after Anaïs’ tea party. No wonder I was so tired.

“Any preferences, Milton?” Cedric called before he pedalled back. “Right. ‘Let’s see first what’s there!’ I’ll let you know and ask then.”

Cedric rummaged in a cupboard and found, to his delight, some bread and a box of biscuits. Humming, he put his findings on a countertop and then headed to the icebox to get some toppings. And while he gathered all he needed, he saw from the corner of his eye Milton fumbling nervously with his sleeves as if he wanted to say something, but still weighted out if he should. Cedric was just about to ask him what was bothering him – could it be that he had forgotten something crucial again? – when Milton’s pent-up words burst out of him on his own. “Do you really believe that Lady Cloudia would be upset if she were to learn that you did not have a ‘proper’ meal for lunch?”

Cedric turned to Milton, staring at him. “Huh?”

“We had a similar conversation before,” it tumbled out of Milton who had turned red in embarrassment. “When we played chess, and you wanted me to tell Lady Cloudia that you were able to deduce that I use people as anchors when it rains because you thought she wouldn’t believe you if you told her yourself.” He looked down at his hands. “And now lunch. I mean she would definitely be glad that you have eaten anything at all. So, uh… I mean… I myself am thoroughly… uh… But you, eh… You cannot possibly think that she truly…” Milton buried his face in his hands. “I am so sorry, Kristopher. I did not intend to offend. Please forget that I’ve even talked at all.”

Cedric scrutinised Milton before he said, “It’s all right, Milton.”

Still, part of me could only wonder what he had wanted to say. “You cannot possibly think that she truly” – what?

***

~Cloudia~

Armelle Peletier had been visiting a friend the night Nadia died. She and the friend had talked over tea and biscuits and had promptly forgotten the time. One hour had turned into two, and before they had known it, it had been night. That was a common occurrence as Armelle and her friend often met up to have conversations that would stretch out into the night, though every other time, Armelle could return to a warm home and be greeted by Nadia.

This time, however, when Armelle had returned home, Nadia was already dead.

From what Yvette had told me, the two women had been very close. They had lived together for decades and had never got married to anyone. I could only wonder how hard it must be for Armelle to have lost someone so dear to her. Knowing this, it was even more awe-striking that she had been able to act so calmly and appropriately.

As the tailor’s shop was closed off, Armelle was staying with the friend she had been with that night, Sylvie Fabron, and her family. The house of the Fabron family was quite small and currently inhabited by eight, and on another day, it would have been easy for only Cloudia to go inside to speak to Armelle, but the rain showed no sign to stop soon or, at least, to become weaker. Having no other options, Cloudia, Yvette, Kamden, and Lisa had to squeeze into the already overstuffed building.

And we had thought that it had been bad at the Duhamel apartment or in Denis’ wagon.

“I’m sorry. It’s not an ideal situation, Détective Gauthier,” said Sylvie, a tall woman with a friendly face and flaxen hair.

“There’s not much anyone can do. Still, thanks for welcoming us,” Cloudia replied and glanced over at Sylvie’s curious children who could barely be restrained by their father. There was not much distance between her and them, and Cloudia was not in the mood to be hounded by children today, so she was quite grateful for the husband’s gallant efforts. Lisa huffed behind her, apparently not as grateful about it as she was. “And it’s simply ‘M Gauthier.’ I am not a detective, only the assistant of one,” Cloudia told Sylvie.

“Right, right.” Sylvie looked over to her family. “Margot,” she called. “Stop jumping on the sofa.” With an apologetic smile, she turned back to Cloudia and the others.

“Don’t worry about that. We will try to keep this quick. We don’t want to impose on you for too long. Where’s Mme Peletier?”

“In the children’s bedroom. She thought it would be better if you and she could talk in private.”

“That’s very sensible of her. Where is this bedroom?”

“I’ll show you to it,” said Sylvie and squeezed herself in-between Kamden and Cloudia to walk ahead.

“You will stay here,” Cloudia said to Yvette, Kamden, and Lisa who could not understand a single word and just looked darkly ahead. “Don’t get hounded by the children,” she added, whispering, and then went to go after Sylvie when Yvette said, “Wait, M Gauthier.”

Cloudia turned around. “Yes, Mlle Guilloux?”

“May I come with you?” Yvette asked. “I know you said we should stay here and wait, but considering that Mme Armelle is not at her best right now, I think it would be better if I came too. After all, she does not know you, and I believe it would be beneficial if there were someone she does know. As support.”

Cloudia tilted her head, pondering about it for a moment. “Very well. You may come.”

“Thank you,” said Yvette, and together they followed Sylvie into a narrow corridor and then to the children’s bedroom.

“Armelle,” Sylvie said and opened the squeaky door. “M Gauthier and Yvette are here to talk to you about Nadia. It won’t take long.”

Sylvie stepped away from the door, allowing Cloudia and Yvette to go inside, and Cloudia could take a look into the room – a small place furnished almost exclusively with beds – and at Armelle Peletier who sat on one of these beds with perfect posture and no single strand of her grey hair out of place. She looked calm and composed – on the surface at least. Still, looking at Armelle now, Cloudia could not understand why Yvette had called her “scattered” earlier.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting,” Armelle said with a steady voice and looked at Cloudia and Yvette with hard blue eyes. There was a hint of fury in their hardness, and now Cloudia understood what was driving Armelle to be as composed and collected as she was.

Truly, she was far from “scattered.”

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Sylvie told her and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Armelle turned to Cloudia. “M Gauthier, isn’t it? The assistant of the detective from Paris.”

“Indeed.” Cloudia bowed her head. “It is nice to meet you, Mme Peletier. My sincerest condolences.”

The old woman’s face hardened at her words. “You do not have to give me your condolences. It is enough if you find the person who killed Nadia.”

“Mme Armelle,” Yvette suddenly said. “How are you feeling?”

“I am perfectly fine considering the circumstances, Mlle Guilloux,” Armelle answered her, a slight edge to her words that caught Cloudia’s curiosity. Armelle looked intently at Cloudia. “I do not want to hold you up for too long. You have more places to go, I suppose, and this one is a circus packed into a matchbox.”

“At the very least, it is warm,” Cloudia replied with a smile on her lips. “This is always a valuable aspect, especially when the weather is as ghastly as it is now.”

“It is not particularly warm though,” huffed Armelle. “I am a bit cold and uncomfortable right now which could be because I am old or because the warmth that fills this house is mostly generated by the people residing inside it. They are all in the living room. Thus, it is much colder here.”

Cloudia nodded. “Thinking about it, you are right: It does feel colder for me too. I guess it is as ghastly inside as it is outside.”

“I guess so too. Your situation will most likely not improve until you have finished for today and returned to the place where you are currently staying.”

“That seems likely,” said Cloudia and kept her gaze on Armelle, even when she saw from the corner of her eye that Yvette was watching her with a frown on her face. “Now, Mme Peletier, I want to ask you a few questions. Did Mme Nadia Allemand have any enemies here?”

“We are a very close-knit group here. Nadia could be a fairly prickly person – and she could certainly be more than a little hot-headed at times – but I don’t think anyone from here could have made an attempt on her life.”

“Are you sure? The needles used to stab Nadia have been kept in a locked box – a locked tea box to be specific. You must have heard of the stranger that has been sighted in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Do you think a complete stranger would have been able to find it?”

Armelle huffed again. “Didn’t you find it?” she returned, and Cloudia could not help herself but smile at her words. “What else do you want to know?”

“Did you notice anything odd, weird, out of place in one way or another around the time of Mme Allemand’s death? Or possibly at the crime scene after you found her body?”

For a second, Armelle’s eyes softened with sadness before they hardened yet again. “Nothing is ever perfect,” she said. “Our life here was – is – far from perfect, but this is not out of the ordinary. As to the shop… It is not mine, so I cannot tell you what was off there and what was not.”

“I see.” Cloudia sat down on one of the beds and it creaked under her weight. “The other victims,” she began. “Dominique Duhamel, Gustave and Marius Beaubois. Was Mme Allemand connected to any of them? Did she know any of them better? Did you, Mme Peletier?”

“What do you think, M Gauthier?” returned Armelle. “What business could we have with those children? We are fellow villagers and see each other here and there; I was often served by Dominique when I went to his parents’ bakery and he was helping out. There is not much to exchange between them and us. It is not as if we had any common interests. Nadia certainly never cared for woodwork. All she cared for was tailoring and…” She trailed off and briefly looked away.

Cloudia’s gaze softened. “Thank you, Mme Peletier. That would be all.”

***

~Cedric~

He had told Milton to continue his little lecture on kedgeree even if that’s not what they would be eating anymore. And so, Milton talked and talked while Cedric cut bread, buttered slices, arranged different fillings with absurd care. Just because he did not make a “fancy” meal anymore did not mean that he could be lax preparing the sandwiches. Even though he was tired. Even though he usually threw everything he could find between two slices of bread and called it a day.

Milton’s words were white noise to Cedric, but now and then, a word or phrase would reach him clearly: East India Company, Stephana Malcolm, adapting. Milton finished his talk before Cedric could complete his meticulously and artistically arranged sandwiches. For a moment, it was perfectly silent in the kitchen except for the knife’s chopping noises as Cedric quickly cut up a cucumber. All this lasted less than ten minutes, and when Cedric turned around, he let out a joyful, “Voilà!”, hoping for a smile, maybe even an appreciative clap, but Milton did not react to his exclamation at all. Instead, he was staring at his arms like that day when Cedric found him in the library, and Cedric’s heart sank.

Just like then, it rained now. Just like then, Cedric stepped forward and said, “Milton? Are you all right?”

Just like then, Milton flinched. But this time, he could steady himself sooner, could shake himself free sooner from whatever had befallen him. “I am…,” he began and then bit on his lip. “I did not mean to ignore you, Kristopher. I was lost in thought,” Milton continued with an apologetic smile on his lips. He looked a bit paler than before Cedric had turned his attention to the sandwiches. He had been so ghostly pale before, Cedric was surprised Milton had not become translucent.

In fact, I always surprised that he was not translucent. His presence was so faint; he could just as well be an actual ghost.

But he was also so alive – full of bright smiles, shining eyes, and nervous energy – that you only tripped over that thought, never dwelt on it for too long.

And maybe that’s what was unnerving me now: That there seemed nothing “left” of what made Milton Milton. That his life seemed dampened, and he looked so lost and faint that the thought of him as a ghost could catch on and linger.

“What did you say? I was unable to catch your words,” Milton added.

“I’m done with the sandwiches,” said Cedric dully. “But, say, Milton, are you fine?”

“Of course, I am. I am always fine,” he replied and stood up. Briefly, Milton brushed over his trousers, and when he looked up, his gaze gentled at the sight of the expression on Cedric’s face. “I am perfectly well physically, Kristopher. I told you.” He walked to the countertop where the plates of sandwiches rested. “They look delectable, Kristopher. Do you want to eat here or somewhere else?”

“It’s only that you do not seem ‘fine,’” Cedric said before he could contain himself, and Milton stared at him, seeming just as startled and surprised as Cedric was of himself. “I do not want to be inquisitive, but please tell me if something is amiss. Not that I think that you are lying; after all, you said that you do not like to lie. It’s just that I suspect that you may be downplaying the severity of your state not to make me or anyone else worry. The last thing I want is to have you collapse on me as I would have to carry you through this godforsaken château to your room – and it is something I simply cannot do.”

Cedric took a deep breath, and he did not know if the words kept pouring out of him because he was tired or because of something else, “Milton, I do not appreciate it if someone does not tell me about the state of their health.”

Milton looked at him, his eyes wide, and Cedric cursed at himself for having been unable to keep the words from surfacing, to keep them away from Milton. Milton with his current fixation on “reading” people – a fixation Cedric had figured out.

What was wrong with me? I might not always pay the best attention, but I was not that scatter-brained or easy.

I rubbed my eyes. Sleep. I needed sleep. Food and sleep.

“I see,” said Milton finally before Cedric could sort himself out and try to take his words back. “I know you said that I should cease to apologise constantly, but I do believe that I should apologise now: Because you are right.”

Cedric stared at him, and Milton leaned against the countertop. “I reiterate that I am physically fine as I am ‘ailed’ with nothing but simple ‘phantom pain.’ Still, I have to admit that I was not quite truthful when it came to its intensity.” He dug his fingers into the stone. “This will sound silly – I know it does – but the reason why I withheld this from you is that I do not wish her to know. You are doing your best to accommodate my presence, but I know that I am a burden, an outsider here. I know that Lady Cloudia is not quite at peace with the fact that she has brought me into this situation although I had my say in this too. I do not want her to know that I am doing worse than I told her I do so that I will not burden her any further. Not when she seems to be preoccupied with something else. Not after I…” Shakily, Milton ran a hand through his hair. “I do not believe that you will run to tell her all I am telling you now. Still, at the same time, I wanted to keep this with me so that I could ensure that it would never reach her one way or the other, though I now realise how unfair all this is to you, Kristopher, as you have been so friendly to agree to spend the day with me in this miserable state of mine. For this, I apologise.

“The truth is, Kristopher, that my ‘ghost pain’ has been significantly more intense than usual in the last few days. As I told you before, commonly, it is fairly moderate; I have learned to live with it even if I have not overcome it. Now, however, it is different, and I am doing my best to contain myself. It seems that I am not doing a particularly good job at it though.” He put a hand on his chest above his heart and the other still held vice-like onto the countertop. “I feel… heavy in a way I rarely do. Something inside me feels heavy in a way that only happens on days of great distress. The source of this is not always clearly identifiable. This time, it is. I suppose those ‘unforeseen problems’ I have told you about are vexing me more than I want to admit – and this reflects itself in the heightened intensity of my ‘memory pain.’” Milton’s fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt and the expression in his eyes was one Cedric could not quite define, though it still managed to make his heart heavy with empathy. “I only hope that I am not too late,” said Milton which such a low voice that, if had there been a single noise in the kitchen, Cedric would have never been able to hear his words.

Milton shook his head and stepped away from the countertop. His movement was still shaky, though he stood firmly and solidly. “I hope you can forgive me that I have not been fully truthful to you in this case, Kristopher. You shouldn’t have had to lay out your discomfort about this to me like that.” Then, a little smile spread across his lips. “Now, do you want to eat here or somewhere else?”

***

~Cloudia~

After Cloudia and Yvette had said goodbye to Armelle, Cloudia had to help Kamden wrestle free from little Margot, who was apparently the biggest troublemaker of her family and who had jumped at an unwitting Kamden to get a piggyback ride. Then, she, Kamden, Lisa, and Yvette left the little house of the Fabrons and headed to the church where Dominique had been hanged.

According to Yvette, they were halfway there when a figure came running towards them through the pouring rain. Even if this turnout would have been wholly unsatisfying and boring, Cloudia wished for the mysterious runner to be the culprit and was ready to attack them if it was needed. After all, no matter if it was boring or unsatisfying, it would mean that she could finally get out of this damned rain and back to the château to focus on what she had come for in the first place.

All for the sake of this investigation. I just hoped that I – or Kamden or Lisa for that matter – would not get sick afterwards.

The figure halted in front of them and then proceed to gasp for air like a fish on land. When the person had finally caught themselves and straightened up, Cloudia could vaguely make out that it was a man.

“Élève Officier Hector Monteil,” he introduced himself, and Cloudia frowned. Considering the state of the village, she had thought that, for some reason, Nanteuil-la-Forêt had been deemed too unremarkable to need a brigade from the Gendarmerie nationale.

“Officier Monteil, I wondered where you have been,” said Yvette to Cloudia’s surprise.

“M Descombes told me you would be at the inn or the bakery or the Beaubois’ home, but you were always already gone by the time I arrived. I wandered around to try to find you, only this rain makes it very hard to find anything at all…,” Hector replied, and Cloudia had to strain to make out what he was saying against the rain and wind.

“Maybe we should continue talking at the church,” she suggested. To her delight, everyone agreed and they hurried to get to the double chapel which rose darkly from the ground in the heavy rain, a ghastly transformed dark building reaching to the sky.

At the door, they were greeted by a clergyman who told them to wait until the priest would come to them. Then, he ran off to get them some towels and blankets which Cloudia greatly appreciated.

Cloudia pulled off her hood and shook off the rain from her clothes as best as she could, wondering if she could ever feel truly dry again or if the feeling of wetness would follow her from now on. She turned to Hector.

“Élève Officier Monteil,” she said. “Now that we can see each other well and don’t have to yell to understand the other’s words, I would like to introduce myself: Jean Gauthier, assistant of the Parisian detective Alexandre Vidocq. Very pleased to meet you.”

Hector shook his reddish-blond hair in an attempt to dry it, but they only stayed up wildly from his head now. In the candlelight of the church, he looked remarkably young – he seemed to be barely older than Cloudia –, and his messy hair only highlighted his youth. “Élève Officier Hector Monteil,” he returned. “M Descombes told me all about you. I’m sorry that I could not be with you yesterday. Mme Allard’s cat was stuck on a tree, and she asked me for help. Only I’ve never been the best climber, though I am working on it, and the cat was not very cooperative. Then, I went to the townhall to speak to M Descombes, but he was busy and I had to wait for quite some time until I found out that you were already here and when I went to find you, I got lost…”

Cloudia blinked at him in disbelief and then forced a smile on her lips. “Officier Monteil, do not worry about this. Rather, I’m quite surprised that you are stationed here in the first place. Neither Mlle Guilloux nor M Descombes ever mentioned you to me.” She looked at Yvette.

“I am very sorry, M Gauthier,” she said. “I did not think you needed to know of Officier Monteil as he has only come here a week ago and has, to be honest, not contributed much to the situation.”

“Is that true, Officier Monteil?”

“Yes,” Hector said sheepishly. “I haven’t been here for very long and am still getting used to everything.”

The clergyman from earlier returned with the promised and towels and blankets which he distributed to everyone. Cloudia rubbed herself dry as best as she could, but the towel was quickly completely soaked, and she ended up in a half-damp, half-dry state. At least, it was still an improvement.

“There are usually six gendarmes in a village,” Cloudia said to Hector and handed the towel to the clergyman before she wrapped herself in the blanket. “Where are the others?”

Hector smiled uneasily. “The day after I came here, my superiors were called in as reinforcements for a large-scale incident that is going on in a nearby town.”

“And they simply left you here alone?”

“Yes. They said ‘Nothing ever happens here, Hector. You will be fine.’”

Well, at least, this was another indicator that the murderer might not be an outsider at all. It couldn’t be that much of a coincidence for a stranger to come into Nanteuil-la-Forêt to kill its inhabitants a few days after all of the village’s competent police officers had left.

On the other hand, Hector was a stranger to the village. And while it did not seem like he was capable of committing murder and definitely not multiple ones without getting caught immediately, I did not want to rule out this possibility. Even the most outrageous things could be true, and appearances could be deceiving.

“Very well,” said Cloudia slowly. The others handed their towels to the clergyman as well, and as soon as he had all he left. “Officier Monteil, what were you doing when Mme Allemand died? When the others did?”

Hector scratched his head. “Mme Peletier found the corpse and went to the townhall. M Descombes tried to wake me up in the barracks, but I’ve always been a very heavy sleeper and did not find out that anything happened until I went to see M Descombes in the morning. And when M Duhamel’s corpse was found, I was exploring the forest because I wanted to become familiar with my new surroundings and got lost… M Descombes was quite surprised that I was alive by the time I found my way back as he and everyone else assumed that I had been killed as well with the murderer potentially raising their victim count every night or something. And, as I said, I was helping Mme Allard with her cat when M Gustave Beaubois’ body was discovered.”

Cloudia was spared from having to smile through another response when a tall man with brown hair and a beard approached them. He was completely clad in black.

“Good afternoon,” the man said. “I am Marcel Royer, the priest of Nanteuil-la-Forêt’s church. I already know Yvette and Officier Monteil, but who are you?” The question seemed to be directed at Lisa, Kamden, and Cloudia, but Marcel only looked at Kamden who tensed up a bit.

“Grégoire Fouille,” he stammered, and Cloudia stepped forward. “Good afternoon, M l'Abbé. I’m Jean Gauthier, Détective Vidocq’s assistant. My colleague, M Fouille, is also from the Parisian police, and Mlle Ledoux here is his assistant.”

Marcel lowered his head as a greeting. “I welcome you here. I am beyond grateful that you are here and hopeful that you will find the person who killed Dominique and dared to defile this sacred place. If you may follow me.” He walked down the corridor, and Cloudia went to walk beside him, the others following in their wake.

“I cannot show you where Dominique’s body was found because of the rain,” Marcel told Cloudia. “But I will show you the access to the roof.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “While we go there, I have a few questions for you.”

“I am in your service, M Gauthier.”

“Dominique Duhamel, does he have any kind of connection to the church?”

“He and his parents attend church every Sunday, but everyone else does too. His mother was also good friends with my late wife Béatrice, so our families were always close.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Marcel nodded. “My wife and Solange would often help out in the church, and Dominique would accompany his mother now and then. A very nice boy. And so were Gustave and Marius. They regularly assisted their father to deliver wood or to mend a few things here and there.”

“So, does this mean that they spent a lot of time here?”

“Yes,” said Marcel. “Especially Dominique. He would come here whenever he could.”

“Was there someone in this church – a clergyman or a churchgoer – that did not get along with M Duhamel? Or someone he did not get along with?” Cloudia continued as they walked to the ambulatory and, from there, up a narrow staircase, passing by various clergymen on the way down.

“I do not believe that there was anyone he did not get along with.” The priest looked at Cloudia. “Are you insinuating that Dominique was murdered by one of us? I know every single resident of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. They are all good, fine people. I would stake my life for them all. The sinner in our midst is not one of us: It is this man that has come to our village and brought chaos with him.”

“But even friends quarrel,” Cloudia interjected. “You all may get along wonderfully most of the time, but has there been no instance when one of you was upset at another?”

“Not that I recall. Even if there were quarrels, I highly doubt they would have led to such bloodshed,” Marcel stated and came to a halt. Cloudia and the others stopped too. The staircase had led them to the second floor, not to an attic, and did not go any farther, and Cloudia could not spot another. She had no idea how she could reach the roof from here to hang a man.

“Please stay away,” Marcel ordered before he walked to one of the walls of the double chapel and looked at them – or, rather, he talked to them all but only looked at Cloudia. “This church was built in the 12th century, but, in the 17thcentury, when Baron Lambert de Charbonneau let his château be built in this area, he offered to renovate it. My predecessor accepted this generous offer. However, the Baron did not only let the church be cleaned and restored, he also commissioned a few additions to be made.” Marcel raised his hand to a torch holder and turned it. Immediately, a piece of the upper part of the wall moved to the side and created an opening that, though it was situated higher than the windows, could be easily reached by climbing on a chair or table. The opening was also large enough for an adult – or two – to fit through. The howl of the rain that had been kept out relatively well by the stones fully reached them now, filling the church with noise. “The Baron was said to be a paranoid man,” Marcel continued, “and had this mechanism installed as the last escape as, from here, you can reach a small landing and climb down the wall from there. You can also step on the landing and climb upwards to the roof. This is the easiest way to access it.”

Cloudia stepped forward, not caring whether she got hit by stray rain. “Very interesting,” she said, keeping the excitement out of her voice as much as possible. “Who knows of this?”

Marcel turned the torch holder back into its old position and the piece of the wall slid back into place. Only a wet area on the ground indicated that there had ever been an opening. “Not many. I and two more clergymen. This may be the easiest way to get to the roof, but there was never a need to use it. There was never a need to escape from here. And when we have to do repairs on the roof, it is easier to simply use ladders as it is a chore to get the materials through such an opening.”

“When so few people know about this secret opening, why do you think that the culprit used it to hang Dominique Duhamel?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“I live in a house from where I can see the church,” Marcel informed her. “The night Dominique died I could not find sleep and decided to read my Bible and make further preparations for the service that day. This has been a common occurrence since my wife passed two years ago and I have become quite accustomed to being awake at such late hours. I believe them to be very calming hours due to the silence and peace they bring. Only they did not that night, but I would not know that until later. Anyway, I have the best view of the church from my study – and I am always fascinated by its appearance at night: Its outline set aglow by moon- and starlight.

“The night Dominique died, I often looked over to the church, marvelled at its quiet beauty, and not once did I see a person climbing the roof with a ladder. Thus, the culprit must have taken the Baron’s route. It is the only other way to access the roof.”

“Could you not have simply missed the murderer hanging M Duhamel’s body?”

Marcel shook his head. “No, I could not. I… I was the one who spotted Dominique’s body. One moment there was nothing unusual about the church, I turned my attention to my Bible, and when I looked up again and out of the window, he was hanging there. I would have noticed it if there had been a ladder involved. There had been no time for the culprit to set it up and put it away.”

“These two clergymen who also know about the Baron’s route, do you think they could have committed this crime?” asked Cloudia. “Beside them being ‘good, fine people,’ of course.”

The priest looked at her. “They are both elder men. I doubt they would have the strength to carry Dominique’s body up a roof.”

“I see.”

“Also, it may be possible that the stranger found the mechanism by chance. It is not particularly well-hid and easy to handle after all. Only I don’t know when this could have happened,” Marcel said. “I have not seen him at the church at all.”

Cloudia let her eye wander through the second storey of the church, noted everything. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, M l'Abbé. This was all very interesting and insightful.”

***

Marcel guided them back downstairs and just as they passed the altar, the sight of it making Cloudia smile involuntarily, they were approached by a very beautiful girl with auburn hair and a lovely smile. “Papa,” the girl said to Marcel and kissed him on the cheek.

“Mlle Ledoux, M Gauthier, M Fouille,” Marcel said, turning to them but only fixing his eyes on Kamden. “May I introduce you to my daughter Nicolette?”

“Hello, Mlle Nicolette,” said Cloudia, smiling, and Nicolette curtsied to them all. “Good afternoon. I almost thought I missed you,” she said sweetly. “I was very eager to meet you to give you my thanks for helping us when you do not have to and to wish you luck for your investigation.”

“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your luck wishes,” Cloudia replied, and Nicolette beamed at her words. “You’re welcome, M…”

“Gauthier.”

“M Gauthier! I also hope that you all can stay after the storm has passed and the matter has been settled. Nanteuil-la-Forêt is usually such a lovely place, and it would not be right and a shame if you only carried bad memories from here to Paris. No one should be left with bad memories only.”

She smiled at Lisa and Kamden, and Kamden took a small step back, clearly overwhelmed by being watched by both Royers. “We… we will try,” he replied, and Lisa only crossed her arms in front of her.

“I hope you will find the time,” Nicolette said and then turned to Hector. “Officier Hector, how are you? Do you still feel sore after falling down the tree?”

“No, I’m feeling great again,” Hector told her and stood upright.

“That is wonderful to hear!” Nicolette curtsied again. “I apologise for not being able to talk longer, but you must be incredibly busy and I do not wish to delay you – and I promised Antonin to help him with something. Good luck again and until another time,” she said and gave her father another kiss on the cheek before she walked to one of the transepts.

“Your daughter is quite friendly,” Cloudia remarked. “She reminds me a little of someone I know. Is she, by any chance, like this to everyone she meets?”

“Yes, since the day she was born,” Marcel said and led them down the nave. “My wife and I always marvelled where she got that energy from. She has always been a ray of sunshine and never afraid to talk to anyone. Nicolette is friendly to everyone in Nanteuil-la-Forêt; there is no one she dislikes and no one who dislikes her.

“Here, we must say goodbye,” he said when they reached the door where the clergyman that had brought them the blankets took them back. “I wish you the best for your investigation. If you need my help again, please feel free to come to me.”

“Thank you, M l'Abbé,” Cloudia replied. “And goodbye.”

With a nod, the priest walked down the nave again and the clergyman followed him, leaving them alone by the door. At this moment, the bell chimed five, and Cloudia cursed under her breath. “Grégoire, Maryse,” she said, turning her gaze to Kamden and Lisa. “As I said before and as it was agreed on, it is time for us to split up. Mlle Guilloux and I will head to the inn to see whether Maxime has returned to it. In the meantime, you will go on ahead to the hospital to inspect the bodies. Is that still all right with you?”

Cloudia could see that Kamden was a little weary of the thought of leaving her alone, but he nodded anyway and said, “Of course, Jean. Just take care.”

She smiled at him. “I will.” She looked at Hector. “Officier Monteil, do you know how to get to the hospital from here?”

Hector scratched his head. “Hm, yes, I do.”

“Can you bring Maryse and Grégoire there?” He nodded. “Fantastic. Thanks. Let us meet in about two hours at the hospital.”

***

~Cedric~

It had taken me a moment until I had been able to shake myself partially free from the trance-like state I had entered when Milton started to speak. Afterwards, I had told him that a place “with proper chairs and a table” would be good, and we had gone off to find a drawing room.

Now, we were sitting in the salon where he, Cecelia, and I had talked and drunk days before. Milton was praising my sandwiches and I… I was eating silently, nodding now and then, my head too clouded to reply anything, to contribute anything to the conversation.

“Did I upset you?” said Milton, tearing Cedric out of his messy, tangled thoughts. And as he was transported back to the here and now, Cedric realised for the first time that they had already eaten all the sandwiches and that, apparently, Milton had brewed a pot of tea. A cup of it, untouched and certainly cold, was in front of him on the table.

Good Heavens, how deep in thought had I been?!

“Hm?”

Milton tugged on his sleeves. “You have been so silent ever since our conversation in the kitchen. I wondered if I greatly upset you with what I said and…”

“No, it’s not that. I…” Cedric sighed and sacked against the back of his armchair. “I may be more tired than I thought…”

“Oh no,” said Milton and jumped up from his seat. “Come, I’ll bring you back to your room.” He walked to Cedric and held out his hand.

“You’re not doing well yourself either, Milton,” Cedric remarked, blinking at Milton’s hand.

“Well, I have my notebook to navigate us through the château, and I believe I can do it as long as I concentrate on you and don’t let my thoughts wander elsewhere.”

Cedric took Milton’s hand and let himself be helped very carefully out of the armchair. “Oh,” Milton said, and then assisted Cedric to half-sit on the armrest. “I forgot that we need to bring back the crockery.” He shifted from one leg to the other. “I’ll ring Batteux. I guess you are incapable of going back to the kitchen before we head to your room and I don’t want to leave you alone while I bring everything back on my own. Wait here.”

Cedric nodded, not wanting to do anything anymore. Milton went to a row of bells that were placed on one of the salon’s walls and which were directly connected to the servants’ quarters. A few moments later, Batteux appeared, and Milton talked to him before he came and helped Cedric to stand up again. Milton grabbed his notebook, but right in front of the door, he realised that none of his hands was free – with one he held his notebook, with the other he steadied Cedric –, and Batteux had to come to open the door for them.

“What an odd pair we are,” Cedric mused as they walked through the corridors. “We are barely functioning on our own, but still go through it all together.”

Milton smiled at his words. “We surely are.”

“We must look like two drunk, weaving men.”

“Possibly,” replied Milton. “Kristopher, do you mind standing up on your own for a moment? I need to check something.”

“Sure,” Cedric said, and as soon as Milton let go of him, he noticed the full extent of his sleep deprivation. Standing perfectly upright in one moment, nearly falling over in the next. If the wall had not been there to catch him, Cedric would have surely fallen face-first into the ground – and how embarrassing that would have been in front of Milton.

Milton had been on the verge of fainting multiple times today, and even he could still stand properly. Maybe I should have drunk that tea. The caffeine in it would have helped, at least, a bit.

“Give me a few more moments,” said Milton and thumbed through his notes. Cedric pushed himself away from the wall but kept one hand on it. He braced himself from removing it and standing fully on his own when he heard familiar voices in the distance. Familiar children’s voices. And while Cedric did not know what they were saying, it did not sound as if Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gerard were particularly happy.

What could trouble them so much?

Soon, Cedric did not only hear the children’s voices, but could also see them walking in their direction, and the second they spotted Cedric and Milton as well, Anaïs, waving her hands and hurrying towards them, exclaimed, “Duke Kristopher! Baron Milton!”

Milton looked up from his notebook and smiled at the children. “Hello,” he said. “What do you have there?” he added when Arnaud and Gerard joined them. Only then did Cedric notice that Arnaud was carrying a large golden birdcage. It was an intricately manufactured beast of a cage, albeit not one designed for a living animal: Inside the cage resided a bird figure. Or, at least, it would have “resided” in there had it not been lying on the cage’s ground as if it was dead.

Arnaud held up the cage with a sombre look on his face. “We found this clock amongst Baron de Charbonneau’s possessions. It is so beautiful and can even sing, so we were quite fascinated by it and jumped along with the melody… but then we brushed against the clock. It fell and isn’t working anymore. We tried to fix it, but only managed to let the bird fall too…”

Anaïs nodded, and Gerard whimpered. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Our parents will be very cross with us if they find out. This must be a very expensive and valuable piece. I’ve not seen anything like it before.”

“This is a clock?” asked Cedric while he rubbed his eyes and fought back a yawn.

“It is,” Arnaud replied and turned the cage so that Cedric could see the clock-face on one of its sides.

“That’s one weird clock, don’t you think, Milton?” Cedric turned to Milton who was scrutinising the birdcage, his eyes glowing with fascination and excitement.

“A Jaquet-Droz,” sighed Milton and put his notebook under his arm before asking Arnaud, “May I?”

Arnaud nodded and handed Milton the clock. “I’ve read about them,” Milton said without taking his eyes off the cage. “But I have never imagined that, one day, I would hold one of Jaquet-Droz’s singing birdcage clocks.”

Anaïs tilted her head. “Jaquet-Droz?”

“Pierre Jaquet-Droz, a mechanic and watchmaker who built the first singing bird boxes or cages. He and his partner Jean-Frédéric Leschot were pioneers and geniuses in the art of automata and…” A bright smile spread across Milton’s face, a smile that could wipe all shadows away. “And I am holding one of their creations.”

Arnaud and Anaïs exchanged nervous glances. “So you’re saying that it is a very, veryexpensive and important clock?” she said.

“Yes, but it’s not unfixable.” Milton looked up from the clock, and his eyes shone with such vitality that Cedric could not believe that this was the same person as the one who had broken down in the library and had looked so sad and lost in the kitchen. Hell, even that he was the same person as the one he had met at that party and who had travelled with him here from Dover. Then, Milton’s smile became a little shaky, a little sheepish as he asked, “May I try my hand on it?”

Arnaud blinked at him. “Are you saying you can fix it, Lord Milton?”

“I… I…” Milton gazed down at the cage in his hands. “I can try. I have some tools in my room.” He turned to Cedric. “But I have to bring Kristopher to his room first.”

“We can go to your room first, Milton,” Cedric told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I may be sleepy, but I also want to see this curious clock running – if you can do it.”

Milton took a deep breath. “If that’s what you want, Kristopher. Arnaud, may you be so kind and carry the clock again?”

Arnaud nodded and took it from Milton, and Milton went to steady Cedric who was quite thankful not to have to stand on his own anymore even if he did not say so. With the children guiding them through the château, their little journey to Milton’s room went relatively quickly. It might have gone even quicker if Cedric had not been actively fighting not to fall asleep here and now and if his limbs had not felt as heavy as they did. Still, he did not regret that he had not taken Milton’s offer to help him back to his own room first. After all, he did want to see the clock run and hear the bird sing, albeit not as much as he wanted to learn whether Milton could truly repair it.

To satisfy my own curiosity, I told myself. Not Cecelia’s,I kept telling myself.

Gerard and Anaïs walked ahead, and Anaïs told Cedric and Milton about what else they had done today besides accidentally damaging an ornate birdcage clock. Now and then, Arnaud and even Gerard chipped in, and Cedric was grateful they did as it did not only help to distract Milton – though the appearance of a Jaquet-Droz had sufficiently taken his mind off the persevering rain – but also kept Cedric awake.

When they finally reached Milton’s room, Anaïs opened the door and bolted inside, dragging little Gerard after her. Arnaud halted at the doorsill, waited for Cedric and Milton, and only went inside when they caught up. Right after they stepped into the room, Milton loosened his grip on Cedric and asked him something, but Cedric did not hear his question because, as soon as he had taken a look at Milton’s room, his sleepiness had fallen away.

He felt wide awake. His mind was racing, captivated by the fact that Milton’s room was disturbingly untouched.

#Watchdog of the Queen #IT'S HERE #IT IS HERE #main chapters #kuroshitsuji #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker #fanfiction

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