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babydipper · 4 years ago

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Love potion

hi again it's me and some kind of sirius fluff to angst. have fun

Sirius didn't particularly hate the Potions class.

He didn't like it, either.

Most of the time, he just flowed through, wishing for it to end while listening to James' bickering about some ridiculously easy mixtures to make. Sirius wouldn't call brewing potions ridiculously easy to do, but as long as Prongs was doing almost everything, he didn't care.

That day, Sirius was at the point of falling asleep, when somebody knocked on the door.

"Come in," Slughorn called, and the entrance burst open.

A small girl went in smiling shyly. She looked absurdly tiny in her loose jumper and jeans. Sirius was bored enough to stare, especially when he saw the good, old Sluggy beam in excitement as if Christmas came earlier that year.

"You've sent for me, professor?" she focused her sight directly on Slughorn. "Is there something wrong with my last essay?".

"No, no, on contrary, the calculations were brilliant," he shrugged her off. Sirius raised his brows. So that's who she was. The teacher's pet and a massive Potions' nerd. "I called because I have a letter for you".

Sirius watched her move to the teacher with wide eyes, and judged. Comically small, as some kind of magical fairy. He wondered, if under short, brown hair she hid pointy ears and whether the excitement came from her receiving the letter from some kind of fairy Hogwart. She looked eleven, after all.

"You didn't open it?" she squealed.

Slughorn shook his head. He was glowing. Sirius pitied the rest of the class who was too focused on the assignment to bother. They were losing such a show.

The fairy opened her letter breaking the seal and Sirius couldn't help but be curious whether she got into the other Hogwart with her pointy ears or not.

"Oh, Merlin," she mumbled giving Slughorn the paper with shaky hands. "I got in, professor".

Slughorn read it once, then twice, and smiled proudly, "You got in".

"I got in," she repeated absent-mindedly. "I got in with my essay about the Wolfsbane Potion that was mostly built on my calculations and that I was so insecure about-".

"You were insecure about it?" Slughorn shook his head again, this time with disbelief. "I don't want to argue with you when you're confident, then".

Sirius felt a single string of happiness for the random fairy. At least her life was going well. Even though he only cared for her for a brief moment and would forget the face that seemed to be just like the rest of the faces seconds after the fairy would walk out of the room, it was nice to hear some good news for once.

She giggled in answer to the professor's words. But then, the realization hit her hard and she stopped, covering her mouth with tiny hands.

"Do you know what it means?" she mumbly asked Slughorn.

"Fifty points for the Slytherin House!".

The string cracked. Sirius cringed. Of course, she was a snake. A snake, a fairy, a nerd, and the Sluggy's pet.

"No, no. It means I have to brew it. My potion. The upgraded Wolfsbane Potion. I need to brew it during the Olympics. And it has to work".

Slughorn's face tensed, but he smiled, eventually.

"You will figure it out," he patted her shoulder. "Now, go back to whatever shenanigans you were up to".

She took the letter keeping it close to her chest and said her goodbyes, then left. Slughorn seemed sadder, suddenly, almost as if she was the only light in his life. The thought made Sirius smirk.

The Wolfsbane Potion. He was sure he had heard the name before. He focused himself on Remus, who now was looking absent-mindedly at the door probably having heard the conversation as well, and it clicked. The Wolfsbane Potion. The one they wanted to brew for Moony last year and couldn't.

Abruptly, Sirius wished he could remember the face of the fairy. Because he had a plan. And she was a huge part of it.

It started the same day when he bumped into her calling it an accident but having himself looking for her for hours. His friends called him out with laughter about picking on younger girls and he played along, played with her.

Her name was Arete, she was two years beneath them, and, apparently, had a huge thing for Potions. She was cringy, had acne scars almost everywhere that caused Sirius to look away every now and then.

And she was a Slytherin.

He claimed, he remembered her from entering the classroom and made small talk. She went along as if she didn't know his name. Sirius found out she didn't. It was nice for once to be unknown.

He gritted his teeth when whispers started to reach his ears and said nothing. He kept his mouth shut, never telling anyone anything bad about their growing relationship.

He was raised to be cunning, to pay every price for what he wants. They called him stubborn as if it was a trait, but Sirius was not born with the conviction that he deserved all he wished for. He was fed it. It was learned, a belief that the whole world belonged to him. That he could do anything because he always got what he wanted.

And he wanted everything good for his friends.

So he kept his mouth shut, smiled at nerdy Slytherin, and went along with the plan for weeks. Arete was oblivious to gossip in the focus on her own ambition, Sirius was grateful for that. Her scrappy body in too big clothes slipped into his routine as well as his athletic one into hers.

And, somehow, the well-calculated idea went to shit.

"Come on, Black," Arete laughed softly, trying to keep a pencil in the perfect balance on her nose, "you can't beat me!".

He giggled, too. They were goofing for some time now and, how much he didn't want to admit it, Arete was fun to be around. She never made him talk about anything, always waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to share. Her childish humor didn't seem so immature, once he got to know her.

She made him feel safe to the point when he forgot she was a Slytherin.

"How do you keep your marks so high when all you do while studying is this?" he teased leaning his head onto a hand. Sirius watched Arete with a smirk.

The pencil toppled over with a tap and she whined in disbelief.

"I am just bright," she stated trying to place her current interest again onto her nose. "That's what Sluggy's saying".

She was smart, indeed. Sirius saw that in the way she understood concepts in the brief of time. If Arete considered something worth studying, she would get it. No matter what.

He laughed at her cockiness.

She still was trying to play. In that position, her freckles were showing and long lashes cast a shadow over her cheeks. The green sweater smelled like a forest and candy. Somehow, in her soft looks and playful attitude he found some strange need, and blurted:

"Would you go out with me?".

"Yeah, sure".

"I meant it as a date".

The pencil fell once again and she sighed, "Doesn't change a thing," Arete responded, finally giving up on playing, and looked at him. "I still don't mind going out with you".

Sirius' gaze met her deeply disturbing green eyes that he used to think of as not interesting, and smiled.

It was the beginning of the end.

"We need to break up," Sirius announced in a whisper when Arete met him to deliver the promised potion. "I was...".

What was he doing, actually? Sirius lost his words. Shutting his mouth, he tried to look away from her, but couldn't. It needed to be done. She was too pure, too good, too kind. He just couldn't lie to her for eternity. Whatever they had, it was all built on an illusion. She deserved something true.

What was the truth, anyway? Did he really despise her? Was she so annoying and cringy? Whether her jokes were cute or childish? Were her freckles and scares he traced gently with fingertips so many times simply ugly or what painted her image golden in his mind? Was she so human and raw with every breath she took as he thought?

Maybe he needed time. Maybe he could think it over, and over. Maybe Sirius would find pretty words to tell her about the storm she caused in his head.

He wished for months, suddenly. He got seconds.

It was done.

"You were using me. Yeah, I know," she moistened her lips awkwardly. "I have known for quite some time, being honest".

Sirius froze. Her hair put in place with a green clip looked soft. He wanted to reach for it, place it between his fingers, and feel its texture, but he couldn't.

Because she knew.

Sirius laughed nervously.

"Love, what are you saying?" he started, but she shook her head and gave out a sigh.

"Stop fooling around, okay? I know you probably don't even like me, Sirius. I am not stupid," she stated. The potion in his hands suddenly felt heavier. "I was naive to believe that maybe... maybe what they've told me was wrong. And that maybe you like me. But I knew that, at some point, you are going to leave with what you wanted from me".

She knew the gossip. She knew everything.

He dared to look into her leafy eyes that reminded him of Forbbiden Forest's moss. They were alike dangerous. If he stared for too long, they would absorb him and never let go.

Funny how time changes everything. He used to think of her as something common, no threat. It did not take much time for him to become enslaved by her adoration.

He wanted to breathe her love.

But he lied to her using his silver tongue, not even flinching. He had his goal and he wanted to reach it no matter what. So he used her, got the advantage of unfamiliar Slytherin kindness and constellations built of freckles on her cheeks. They brightened whenever he came by.

He grew to be charmed by them but acted like he never saw.

"I just wondered what you wanted, Sirius," she spoke truthfully. "It has never crossed my mind that all you needed from me was a potion". He heard something dark in her voice and shivered. There was hurt in it, a deep one. He felt as if his heart was about to explode. "You could have just asked".

"Who you were talking to about me, Arete?" his voice cracked at the question. "Who told you I'd use you?".

"Does it matter? I have my finals soon, so just take this bloody potion and hand it to the werewolf for Merlin's sake!" she cried out finally, showing him how much she believed he would never hurt her. "Just give it to Remus and leave!".

He took a step back.

"What are you talking about?".

"Oh, come on, it's so obvious! Stop playing dumb," she crossed her arms trying hard not to cry in front of him. It looked heart-breaking to him. She was petite. "There's only five people you would do it for, Pettigrew, Lupin, Potter, yourself and, possibly, your brother. I know Regulus personally, we got drunk on the full moon. Crossing out Reg, it leaves me only with the infamous Marauders, and you can do the rest of the math".

Sirius panicked. She knew all of his secrets, all of his lies. And he could do nothing about it. His heart pounded fastly in the chest.

"I can stay with you, I promise, just don't tell anyone. I beg you," he cried, causing her eyes to widen.

"Is this what you think of me?" she whispered. "That I would expose him to the whole school? That I am so desperate to blackmail you into dating me?".

"No, of course not!" he tried to call it back, but the damage was done and the eyes he loved to look into were teary now.

Arete didn't know when she started to cry, but the tears were rolling down her cheeks. She knew Sirius was going to do this, eventually. So why did it hurt so much? Why was she asking herself what possibly she could have done to be enough?

"Tell Remus, I will brew it every month, and that his secret is safe," she blurted out quietly. "And go away. Please, just go away," she collapsed on the chair and Sirius wished for nothing but having her enfolded with his arms.

He couldn't. He couldn't just go and leave her, a sobbing mess he had created. It all started innocently. Sirius would find her freckles and acne pretty, even though he despised them before. He would stare at her a little longer than necessary and look for her in the crowd she used to blend in.

And now, he belonged to her.

She gave a home to the stray in her soft looks and witty attitude. In her rawness, he found a place for his doubts and wishes. She took every part of him without a second thought. She enjoyed him for who he was. She gave him everything he needed.

In return, he broke her heart.

Sirius shook his head, then run out of the Potions' classroom keeping that bloody Wolfsbane Potion close to the chest. The guilt was too much, consuming with the teary looks she gave him. He got drunk on her tears. They poisoned his body as much as his heart, and he felt them running in the veins, burning them from the inside.

He found out he loved her.

He couldn't go, but he had to. She asked him to.

So he left.

Maybe Romeo was right to kill himself in response to not being able to marry Julie. Or maybe Paris of the Troy was sane in the slaughter he had done out of love. Sirius thought, how much it ruined everything, to be young and in love, and understood every creature that in its short reign on Earth had decided to laugh into God's face and do something human to the core for once.

He understood why they had decided to fall.

#james & peter & remus & sirius #sirius x reader #sirius black #marauders fanfiction #young marauders #marauders imagine #hp marauders #marauders #love #gxb #bxg #sirius angst #sirius fluff

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avery-allyss · 3 years ago

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I guess this could be worse.

The assignment was to create a design based off of one or more creation myths. I have little hints of several because copying something too closely seems redundant. Yes it a bit of a confusing jumble and you need to stretch a lil to pick up all the references, but I like it that way.

Egg shape is from several myths, mainly because my favorite myth is the Finnish creation myth, which is also the source of the duck. I'll get more into that further down in the reflective portion of this post.

The yin/yang base for the devision of the egg is from Asia. The concept is more into the description of the energies, the yang being masculine firey intenseness of light, and the yin being the quite coolness of darkness.

The volcano ang glacier are derived from Norse mythology, and I played with the idea of making some sort of root system in the line separating the two to represent the beginning of yggdrasil.

The reeds and cat are from the native American myth. Something about a Reed carrying the founders through worlds, and loosing a war to cat people? It stuck in my mind.

This is the second time I've ever done print making, the first was over ten years ago and stamping a smaller design on an extra large Tshirt I still use as pjs.

The entire process was a mess.

We had one linoleum panel to work with. We had to carve away each color we wanted to keep.

I started slow because the white and yellow layers were so complicated.

I miss measured the paper size so the back of all four copies are a mess.

I made four copies, and every one had a different mystake. The one showed was the only one that the cat showed up on.

I fucked up carving alot, I just got good at covering it up.

The duck has no bill. I tried to make up for it by giving them an intentional halo, it didn't quite work.

The reeds are too short. This actually gives off a slightly more organic vibe than I was going for. I'm not quite sure if I like it.

One of the sun swirls is broken up a bit because my hand sliped.

The blue layer was off and ended up giving the volcano some highlight. It pops a little until you realize it's out of place, so I don't like it.

Printed red through black in one day, my entire arm hates me still. I had my entire arm tensed to prevent slip ups. It's not so bad right now because my mom told me which med to take today, but I couldn't sleep on that side or my back very well last night. At least I didn't break skin when I stabed myself! I need to lay off crocheting, but that's how I decompress...

I will repost with individual pictures of each copy and the drawing on Monday, that's when the crit is anyway.

What I would do differently

Smaller egg, let the corners interact with each other a bit.

I would play with the idea of white clouds, or white with black highlights.

I would make the sun swirls part of the red gradient. I would also simplify their shape to make them easier to carve.

I would look at different ways to portray the cat. Maybe I would play with the idea of red eyes on the cat. Red claws to represent violence? Cause I'm not going to ever go all in on a horrific portrayal, hints have to do for kitty.

Multi colored and more consistent pebble bed. Maybe mossy rocks or sand with grasses growing in? Seeds? Arthropods to pull in yet another creation myth?

Duck would have a bill and a halo or some sort. There plenty of methods to imitate and explore.

I would play with the idea of defining individual rock structure on the volcano and the small waterfall.

Gemstones on the volcano?

Maybe not even do a volcano, and just make a black dragon on a mountain? Chinese style to keep up with the theme of creation?

Shade the reeds in gradients, maybe make thin red lines to imitate their texture?

Dragonflies by the reeds?

Green layer to add moss and lichen, as well as springtime pigments for the reeds as opposed to fall, can you even marble shades effectively in print making? Green detailing on the cat would start getting Erie.

Yggdrasil roots in the division, multi color highlights on yellow, tiny branch coming around to poke out by the sun?

Grey to black gradient instead of straight black for the outline?

Use a digital painting software instead of actualy carving it all. That's the only way I will play with this image again.

The Finnish Godess of Creaton

Luonnotar

Once the universe was comprised of three things.

There was nothingness, a vast unmeasurable abyss where not even a single star shone. The power of stillness was held in the dark expanse.

There was a river, a mysterious flow of swirling posability. The power and movement of the universe was held in the 'waters'.

And lastly, there was a girl. Luonntar was the daughter of the stillness of the abyss and the power of movement. She was alone, and there was nothing for her to do, no way to express herself, or to release energy, or even just simply enrich her life. She did not know companionship, so she did not know to be lonely. She did not sleep, nor did she truly live. She only felt emptiness. There was no pain to be felt, nor was there joy to be had.

Something changed. Something tightened in Luonntar's chest, as though her heart was hurting. Over another eternity she came to recognize the pain as desire. Into her emptiness had flowed a blind longing. She wanted something but she did not know what there even was to want. She wanted change, but because she never experienced anything but the same river and the same darkness, she had no idea what it was she wanted.

Slowly (as everything so far had), an idea budded in Luonntar's mind, the first idea ever in the universe. She jumped into the river and swam. She did not sink, but floated on the surface, looking back up to the darkness she had left from. This action permanently altered the universe, though seeing how took some more time (of corse). In the meantime the girl relaxed as she drifted through the river.

Then came a duck ((grapes are not involved in this myth stahp)) swimming up to Luonntar. A duck, in a universe where there had only ever been one being, now there were two! With Luonntar's change and wish, she changed the entire universe and a new world was created in which the duck could exist too.

The curious bird swam around the girl looking at the strange other being, the girl laying very still as she did the same. The duck climbed up onto Luonntar's warm knee and sat. Then something else happened, something so beautiful that Luonntar could not believe her eyes.

The duck layed three eggs there upon the goddess' knee because it was the only warm dry place in the entire universe, and the only place the future could hatch.

Luonntar kept so very still, anxious of the fragile life prched upon her knee. The duck warmed her clutch as they grew hotter and hotter as the future drew near.

Luonntar yearned for that future like she had never yearned before, bringing back the dull pain from before. She ignored it.

The eggs grew uncomfortably hot, the ducks featherstickled her, and the bebed feet left tiny scratches on her. She ignored it all.

Suddenly the duck shifted, her feathers tickling Luonntar and she couldn't help but to twitch reflexively. She did not mean to but it was enough. She watched horrified as the eggs tumbled into the river. She berated herself, fearing for the eggs. Would they sink forever out of sight? Would the future be lost?

Instead the eggs broke open. Marvels poured forth. The yolks joined into the sun and rose up into the abyss. The whites became a silver moon, rising as well. The tiny bits of the shells became the stars, scattered disjointed with the rest of the remains of the three eggs. In a world where only darkness had existed, light was born. It was magic.

Luonntar was changed by the magic, as she dove beneath the surface. Something was calling to her from the depths. It was the mud at the bottom. She grabbed handfuls and swam back to the surface. She molded a cone from the mud upon her belly and placed it on the surface of the river. It rose into the sky and became a mountain.

She dived again and again, returning to the surface to mold more new landscapes. She carved veins of rivers through the land, scooping out lakes. The stars watched in fascination. Inspired, they rearranged themselves into designs. The moon learned out to show its changing face to the earth.

As Luonntar built the land, life burst forth. Plants grew, creatures came to be. All life was the children of the new earth. When the goddess rested at long last and looked at the bright sky, the green foliage, and the lively children, she knew it was good.

((Adlibed from "Wild Girls" by Patricia Monaghan))

#crafts #art #myths

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

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A New Arrangement [Part 6/9][NSFW]

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Voyeurism

<- Part 5 | Part 7 ->

Summary: Dr. Chilton does not want your weekly in-home visits to come to an end, so he proposes hiring you for a different service.

(For @thatesqcrush‘s kink bingo. If you’re just here for Kinktober smut, feel free to start with this chapter! It should have all the exposition necessary.)

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

3,389 words

The sturdy rectangular gray headboard supported your weight, along with a mountain of soft eider-down pillows, as you sat back against it. One hand typed financial figures into a laptop. The other gently ran its fingers through the thick hair of the head resting in your lap.

This had all started as a fairly standard work arrangement.

Frederick Chilton had been through several near-death experiences, and had reached out to your agency to ensure his affairs were in order. You handled end-of-life arrangements: advanced directives, living wills, estate planning, funerals—your business was the one-stop-shop for a worry-free death.

He was only recently out of the hospital since being severely burned over ninety percent of his body, and was shy about it. He was also wealthy enough to cloister himself away from the world. And so you had been visiting him at his home for the past few weeks to conduct business.

Your fingers stopped their lazy crawl through his hair, and he let out a soft whine. Clearing your throat, you pointed out something on the screen that required his attention, and he pushed himself off your lap with a disappointed groan. Once he managed to get into a sufficiently upright sitting position against the headboard, he settled back into you, leaning against your shoulder. He idly laid his hand on your leg, and you covered it with your own, stroking the scarred skin with your thumb.

Because he was so frequently exhausted, you had gotten into the habit of… well, cuddling. Platonically. Professionally. Eventually you grew so comfortable together that you started working from his bed, where he could fall asleep if he needed and not have to drag himself from the study (a short but insurmountable distance when one is in great pain and too tired to even sit up).

It felt nice to be so close with someone, even if you were never allowed to see his face.

As relaxed as you had grown together, he was always covered completely from head to toe. The only indication to the extent of his burns was the scarring that peeked underneath the white chin of his mask, covered his throat, dipped below the collar of his dress shirt, and covered his hands like a gnarled glove.

You closed down your computer after he had finished reviewing and signing all of the necessary digital forms you needed for that day.

Not just for that day, in fact. Those were the last ones. That was it. His end-of-life planning was complete. You could only hope he wouldn’t need it for a long time. The thought of him in a hospital on life support sent an uncontrollable pang through your heart.

Extricating yourself from his clinging limbs, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and packed the laptop in a messenger bag. His hand chased after you, gingerly grasping your hand. A soft, familiar gesture, silently pleading you to stay.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Chilton.” You gave a coy smile. “Sorry. Doctor.”

His pretty eyes narrowed inside the mask, and his shoulders heaved with a short breath of laughter. He had corrected you so harshly the first day that you were sure he was going to cancel your services then and there. He had only been kind to you since. Particular, but kind. “It’s a shame this is our last meeting,” you sighed, and you meant it.

You were going to miss him. He was an unusual client, and you enjoyed getting to know him.

“It does not have to be the last,” he blurted, desperation tinging his muffled voice. “I could continue paying for your time.”

You cocked your head. “Everything is set up. The only thing we’re waiting on is confirmation from the—”

“I could pay you for… other services.” His thumb brushed sensuously over your wrist.

Oh. Oh.

Your eyes widened and you felt a shameful twitch between your thighs. You tried to hold your composure but your cheeks were burning and your face revealed every sinful thought whirling through your mind.

“I do not mean anything untoward,” he said quickly. “Nothing you do not wish to do. I enjoy your company and would like to keep it, that is all.”

Nothing untoward? You deflated. Something untoward happening had been a thought you’d been pushing down into a box with a tight lid for weeks now, and the moment he said that—the millisecond you thought he might want you that way—the lid sprang off like a pressurized cannon, and it would take ages to gather up all the licentious images scattered in your mind and contain them again. But he just wanted company. Any company. Even some random accountant.

A new wave of sympathy welled up in your chest. “You really don’t have anybody, do you?”

He let go your wrist quite suddenly to cross his arms over his chest, and his placid mask turned away sharply. Underneath the expressionless porcelain, you had a feeling the prickly psychiatrist was anything but calm.

“You believe I am lonely?” he scoffed. “My last book topped the New York Times Best Seller list. If I wish for company I can have it. I was merely being sentimental, as I have grown accustomed to you and find you tolerable. It seemed simpler than finding somebody new if we continued with… another arrangement.”

The shyness with which he said arrangement, pronouncing it with stretched syllables to give it weight, made you certain he did intend something untoward until he misread your look of surprise as rejection.

What you should have said was there was no need to pay you to spend time with him—that you were happy enough to do that on your own. That you found it surprising how a man so charming and cuddly could believe he needed to pay for anyone’s company. But the idea of being paid for “services” titillated you, sending an electric jolt straight to your core.

So instead you said, “All right.”

The mask swung back to face you. “All right?”

“What kind of arrangement do you have in mind?” you purred, crawling back onto the bed toward him.

He swallowed sharply. The strip of exposed neck beneath the mask’s chin was red and had the texture of kneaded bread dough, but the bob of his Adam’s apple was pronounced enough for you to see his undisguised arousal.

Since you had been sitting close to each other near the edge of the bed, you were almost immediately on top of him, smoothing the silky fabric of his shirt down his chest. He smelled of spices and a hint of something clean and floral. “Well?” you pouted expectantly. His muscles were stiff as rocks. All you could see through the mask were two pale eyes the color of autumn moss staring in panic from a white sea of sclera.

“I didn’t necessarily mean… i-if you don’t want to…” he stammered, words losing their controlled diction. Apparently he had not anticipated you agreeing so readily, but a stirring in the front of his slacks suggested this was precisely the outcome he had hoped for. You took a chance and ran your palm over the growing bulge, and were rewarded with a gasp, his fingers clenching the sheets. “Yes, that—that is wonderful. Keep going,” he croaked.

He shifted, opening his legs to give you better access, and you turned so your thigh rested over his, skirt riding up, as you rubbed him through his pants. His hands wandered over your hips and back, muscular arms pulling you in closer. Seeking more contact, you buried your face against the kneaded skin his neck where you could feel warm puffs of breath escaping from the sides of the mask. You wondered if he would take it off, now that you were being intimate. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t. The anonymity added to the thrill, to the wrongness of what you were doing. You agreed to let a man you’d never even seen have his way with you for money.

His breath grew ragged as his cock hardened, lengthening under your palm. His hands withdrew from their exploration of your body to clumsily unbutton his slacks, which were tenting under the strain of his growing erection. It sprang free and he stroked himself a few times, but your hand was right there to take over the job. His muscles tensed, prepared to flinch away when you released him in disgust, but you bit your lip, lids fluttering closed as you tried and failed to hold in a lewd noise of pleasure.

He stared at you like you were the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Then he let out a breathy moan, head falling back against the headboard. “You are… quite eager,” he teased.

“I’ve been waiting a long time.”

He wondered if that was true, or if it was just something you said, but he let himself be excited by it anyway, pretending you wanted him.

His cock felt incredible in your hand—heavy, throbbingly hot, like holding a heartbeat, and textured with a mesh of grafts and thin, stiff ridges of surgical scars zigzagging down the shaft to allow it to expand to its full, exquisite length. You wondered if you were the first person he’d been with since his burn, and a weight of importance settled onto your shoulders.

“Am I doing all right?” you whispered, trying to gauge his reaction from an unforthcoming mask. “Tell me what you want.”

“Take off all of your clothing,” he said thickly. “All of it.”

You tugged at your shirt, in a hurry to obey, but he stopped you, and had you get up and stand beside the bed where he could see all of you.

He wanted to watch.

The cold white mask was unreadable, even Chilton’s green eyes disappearing into the shadows, as you began unbuttoning your blouse.

“The skirt first,” he instructed. Your heart skipped a beat. Self-consciously, fingers trembling at the clasp, you zipped down the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle around your ankles. You looked to him for approval.

His cock was in his hand and he was stroking himself slowly as he called out the next article of clothing for you to remove. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your cunt drip with anticipation. A wealthy eccentric who had essentially bought you was sitting there in control while you were exposed and vulnerable, not showing any emotion but clearly getting off to you.

Trembling breath shuddered in his throat, strained. As he allowed you to undo your blouse, button by button, his pace built urgency, hand beating up and down in his lap. You could imagine how his face looked beneath that calm mask—how clouded with lust, helpless and falling apart.

God, you wanted to see him. But not knowing was such a turn-on.

At last he guided you to slip off your panties, and you stood naked before him. He stopped stroking himself.

“Come here,” he beckoned with his finger.

You climbed onto the bed, skin prickling with goosebumps, and settled yourself next to him in a familiar cuddling position. His arm easily snaked around your back, supporting and drawing you closer.

“How are you doing?” he asked, ducking his mask close to whisper like it was a secret.

“Nervous,” you admitted, whispering back.

His fingers circled your wrist, calloused with scars but the fingernails polished and manicured, and press into the soft underside. “Your pulse is racing,” he said as if you were a patient. “We can stop.”

The needy whine in your throat cleared up any uncertainty before you could form words. “I don’t want to stop. If you need to stop, we can. But I…” your eyes drifted unconsciously to his cock, thick and covered in distinctive surgical details, and you sucked your lower lip between your teeth. You wondered how he would feel sliding into your entrance.

Pressing your shoulders, he began by having you lie on your back on top of the blankets, exposed for him. Then he asked you to spread your legs so he could kneel between them. You thought he was going to fuck you, but he just hovered above you, watching.

He had taken off his suit jacket before getting into bed, but the end of his blue-patterned tie dangled dangerously above his stiff cock, which emerged from the opening in his dark slacks. He was very well dressed, only revealing what little flesh was necessary. He loosened the knot around his neck, and pulled it off, tossing it haphazardly aside.

Soft green eyes bored into you from their protected porcelain fortress, heating your skin like a fire as they took in the curves and dips and perfect imperfections of your body.

Finally he moved.

Bracing himself on one arm, he leaned above you, hand roving intimately over the same curves of your body his eyes had just navigated. You were so worked up already, your back arched and you moaned the moment he made contact with your skin. You were ready, writhing and straining for him to fuck you, but he only touched you.

He didn’t rush for the obvious areas you expected, but took his time. Instead of going directly for your tits, he caressed the length of your collarbone delicately with just his thumb and two fingers. Then he dipped lower, and you sucked an expectant breath, but he drew a line down your sternum, between your breasts, and splayed his scarred fingers out over the soft of your belly.

You were so ready to explode from anticipation, even the slightest graze of his fingertips sent sparks tickling across your skin wherever they went. You thought about him touching himself while he watched you strip.

It was so hard to know what he was thinking. The mask removed facial expression from the equation, and when he went silent for so long like this, you trembled with how blindfolded you felt, just focusing on his touch..

He traced one finger delicately down your arm, ghosting just over the skin in a wandering, unhurried path that raised a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The pink head of his cock glistened with precum, waiting just as anxiously as you to bury itself inside you. You wanted to take control, grasp it, and plunge him between your thighs, but you didn’t want to spook him. If this was the first time he was intimate with someone since being scarred, it was a big step. You didn’t mind him taking his time. You were hypnotized by his delicate touches, every inch of your skin vibrating like the air during a lightning storm.

Leaning down closer, he curled his fingers around your neck. You gasped as the throbbing weight of his erection pressed into your stomach—but he was only studying your face. Still, he was much closer now, the heat of his body inches from yours, and being able to feel his cock was almost too much. You reached up to wrap your arm around his back, pulling him even harder against you.

God you were beautiful. And sweet, and intelligent. He wanted to keep you. Maybe it was just how tender he was from his latest life-altering trauma, but he had never wanted anything quite as much as he wanted you.

Your skin was warm and smooth, so unlike his, but you did not mind—or you were skilled at concealing your distaste. He observed with pleasure how you shuddered and sighed and leaned into his touch. How you gasped and moaned and wanted him. It was just for the money, of course. He knew that. Wealth could buy all kinds of love from the sort of person with the proper priorities—though he had not expected you to be one of them. It was a desperate final effort to make you stay. But some surprises were good ones.

He trailed his fingertips along your jaw, over your cheek. You whined as his fingers brushed across your lips, and you parted them, tasting a salty pad with the tip of your tongue. You felt his cock jerk against your stomach. So you licked him again, satisfied to achieve the same reaction, as well as pull a low whimper from deep in the back of his throat. His fingers curled around your chin, thumb still teasing the tender inner flesh of your lower lip, letting your tongue draw him in deeper, pinching the manicured digit between your teeth, and finally sucking on it, pretending it was his exquisite cock in your mouth.

It drove him crazy. With every swirl of your tongue, his cock twitched and grew harder, and a strangled sob would force its way shaking out of him. The contrast between the impassive mask and the lustful noises muffled within its porcelain shell sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you rocked your hips against his pant leg. He lowered himself to your ear and nuzzled your neck. His noises were even louder, intensifying your greed for him. Your hand snaked its way up to the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair, and tugged his head down.

He stiffened, every muscle going rigid. Grunting disapprovingly, he knocked your hand away, but to your gasping delight, continued to drag the mask down your body.

He felt sick deceiving you. No matter how much money he had to offer, you would never agree to be with him if you knew what was under the mask. He couldn’t risk you tugging at it. It was terrifying and confusing enough that you were touching him at all—the incredible, gorgeous way your body moved beneath him—and if you knew, you would be gone. It would all go away. This dream would end as a nightmare. He felt awful, but unbridled lust overwhelmed every bit of logic and tenuous scrap of decency he had. He deserved something good, just this once. He was going to make you scream for him in pleasure, not horror.

Hard, expressionless porcelain traveled down your soft skin, its cold lips following the swell of your breast. It brushed your nipple, and you arched your back, moaning around the thumb in your mouth. Your body started shaking with so many sensations—the cold smooth porcelain rolling your hardening peak under its sculpted ridges, his cock pressing into you, and his warm, rough, salty thumb, dripping with saliva as you took out your frustrations on it, swirling your tongue over the pad, bobbing your head, hoping to drive him mad enough to fuck you already.

His movements were jerkier and less patient, you noticed—he was falling apart, too.

He continued moving lower, his thumb escaping your mouth with a wet pop and trailing down your chin as the mask’s pointed nose traced a ticklish path over your stomach, and down, between your thighs. The mask’s nose just barely grazed your clit, but you were so ready for release it made you whimper loudly and grab at his hair, almost coming just from one touch. You wanted to push his head between your legs and let you grind your swollen clit against that nose until you broke, but he brushed your hand off again and you relented. You had an unspoken language built on weeks of cuddling—He was sensitive about certain things. He set a boundary and you knew not to push it.

Though he didn’t let you ride his mask, he stayed between your legs. He pressed the broad flat of his palms against your outer thighs as he deeply breathed in your scent, and you shuddered at the lewd act. He let out the breath with a long, intoxicated sigh.

“P-please,” you whimpered, knowing just how pathetic you sounded. “Please fuck me.” Every muscle in your body was on fire from this agonizingly slow foreplay, straining for some kind of release. A satisfied chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“So impatient,” he teased, voice low and soft. “I want to savor every second. Every inch of you.”

You swallowed hungrily.

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Hannibal #raul esparza #Kinktober #female reader #thatesqcrush kink bingo #my writing

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myhusbandsasemni · 3 years ago

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Imps and a Rusted Car

This one is fluff inspired by Ghibli music.

WC:1244

.....................

The moss was cool and damp, Anisha’s favorite texture to feel on her bare feet. She flicked her wings and grinned at the trees above. She took deep breaths and kept laughing softly to herself as she couldn’t keep her absolute rapture with the environment to herself. The others followed behind her, Souka being the only other one who wasn’t wearing shoes. His amulet protected his feet from harm, just as Anisha’s scales protected her.

“Nisha,” Kiera said, looking up from an arrow she had been reworking, “Could you find a place to stop? I need a moment to fix this.”

“Yeah,” Anisha said cheerfully. She waved to Laurance and he grinned. The two of them lightly flitted through the trees, leaping from root to root and shining in the sun rays coming down between the leaves.

Laurance got ahead of her and spun. She danced around them and they chased each other around in the green coolness of the trees. Laurance looked so much younger in this setting. His scars seemed almost non existent.

Anisha danced around him, the light sparkling on her scales. She turned and dashed across the mossy roots and boulders and landed lightly on what remained of a rusted car. It’s frame was all that was left. Clovers grew out of the tape player, a bird had made a nest in one of the cupholders. No eggs yet, but it was a lovely little home. Anisha flexed her toes against the cool metal as Laurance took his place by her.

“We can all fit on here, right?” she asked, looking at the space on top of the car and jumping a little to test the strength of the forgotten frame.

“I’d say so,” Laurance said, crouching to look into the backseat. There were some mice scrambling around in the guts of the chair. He smiled and stood up. “Looks good to me. Now Kara can’t complain about not having a flat surface.”

Anisha laughed, remembering how annoyed Kiera had gotten with the slanted boulder she had been forced to work on earlier. “Indeed. Come on, let’s go back and get the others.”

The run back was quick and easy. Anisha landed in front of Rin, startling him as he’d been distracted with fishing a rock out of his boot. “We found a spot,” she declared, tail flicking happily.

“No need to scare me, Dragon Breath.”

“Whatever, Shark Face.”

The group was off again, this time quicker than the pace they’d been going at all day.

They got to the car and Anisha landed on the roof, stretching her wings and arms. “Ta da!” she sang. Laurance laughed at his wife and she grinned.

They took their places on the car. Kiera sat and started working on an arrow that had been messed up during the last time she’d shot it. Souka and Rin sat on the hood and played a gambling game. The young boy was winning and grinning wide at Rin every time they showed their hands to each other. Anisha sat with Laurance’s head in her lap. With one hand she stroked his forehead and played with his hair, and with the other hand she held out snacks for the imps that traveled with the group. The imps recorded their adventurers in case anything got out of hand and if they needed footage for legal reasons. They were invisible most of the time, though they weren’t at the moment. They were flitting around Anisha, putting tiny flower petals and leaf crowns on her fingers and scooping up snacks to eat while sitting on the Adventurer’s heads or in their laps.

Anisha smiled at each, eyeing each one for injuries and doing a check to make sure they were all healthy. They seemed to be, and were in a playful mood. Two of the fuzzy creatures were chasing each other across Laurance’s face. Laurance let them and tried not to laugh or blow at their fuzzy feet and soft, moth-like wings.

Anisha narrowed her eyes at one normally rambunctious young impling. He was still fairly new, but was the bravest of all the imps. He was one of three that dared go on the extremely dangerous missions where the tiny creatures were more likely to die. Now, though, he just sat quietly in her palm and ate a treat, scratching his prosthetic wing that he’d needed after the accident he had several months ago when he accidentally got in between Souka and an attacking knife. It was easy to tell the prosthetic was bothering him as fluff was being chaffed off his back and he was being very still and mopey.

Anisha carefully slid him and his snacks to her left hand, ignoring Laurance’s complaint when her hand left his hair. She then examined the imp closer.

“Bark, are you okay?” she asked him.

The tiny imp looked up at her with his big black eyes. He nodded and Anisha rolled her eyes.

“No you’re not,” she said, her eyes easily adjusting to focus on his wings to pick out more details. She carefully reached out and touched the wing. She narrowed her eyes and delicately pinched and straightened it. She let go and he stood up, shaking the wing out with several quick flaps.

“That’s better,” Anisha smiled. Bark nodded and stomped his feet on her hand as thanks. She grinned and blew on him in response. He took to the air again and flitted around her head, back to flying now that it was comfortable again.

Anisha grinned and put the treats in her right hand again so she could stroke Laurance’s head again and gently scratch at his scalp. He smiled, his eyes closed as she returned to playing with his hair. Anisha snorted out a little laugh at the expression on his face.

“That’s it,” Rin said, throwing his hands up in disgust. “I can’t win.”

He twisted to glare at Anisha. “You taught him to cheat, didn’t you?”

Anisha giggled. “Maybe. But I’m sure he has enough luck and skill to beat you without needing my tricks.”

Souka grinned and leaned back on his hands. “You heard her,” he chirped jauntily. Anisha smiled at him softly. That was a tone he only ever used when the five of them were alone and she never got over hearing it.

“Pup,” Rin whined to Kiera. “You need to come over here and beat this punk in a game.”

“Can’t,” Kiera replied, twitching her ear at him. “I’m working on something.”

“Awwww, come ooonn.”

“I’m busy!”

Laurance laughed at them and sat up, his hair ruffled and speckled with tiny leaves and clovers the imps had been putting there. “Rin, stop being such a sore loser.”

The healer pouted and ruffled Souka’s hair as a small measure of revenge. Souka laughed again, shaking Rin off.

Anisha looked up at the trees, listening to the birds. She gave a satisfied sigh. “This is nice,” she said softly and warmly. “Best trip ever.”

Laurance nodded his agreement, tiny leaves falling from his hair.

Rin and Kiera smiled and Souka cradled three imps, grinning at his family. It was hard to remember he had been a skinny and scared slave boy just a year ago.

They’d all grown, though. Who knew where they’d be next year, how they would react to things, what new scars they’d have. Anisha closed her eyes and laid back. One day at a time.

The Adventurers tag list: @dowings @writeblrfantasy @artrayasnow93 @doubi-ixi @extraisthmus @thethistlegirlwrites @thepotatowriter

#writing #wip the adventurers #ghibli #forest #imps

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chaletnz · 3 years ago

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Eastern Hokkaido Day 4: Shiretoko 5 Lakes Trek

Our tour group consisted of our guide Kanako-san, myself, a girl from Osaka and a couple from Sapporo. During the walk Kanako-san pointed out some interesting features of the National Park such as claw marks on trees from bears climbing them. I didn’t know bears could climb trees, and my plan of escape was suddenly ruined! They usually climb in the fall when there are grapes growing at the tops of the trees, surprisingly the bears in Shiretoko survive on a 90% plant-based diet as they only catch fish in the salmon season. 4 of the 5 lakes have fish inside but they are small and not worth the effort to catch apparently! Kanako-san explained that Shiretoko has the highest population density of brown bears in the world with around 300 living in the National Park area. There were several points along our trek when we had to make noise, call out, or clap our hands loudly as a deterrent – mostly points where there was thick bush, or a bit of a walk uphill that we couldn’t see the top of. Along the trail we also stopped a few times to discover other quirks of the national park, a whole deer antler was passed around the group to touch, we used our binoculars to spot some ducks and birds on the lakes, and played another quiz game about a small tree. Usually when a tree is destroyed in a storm and falls over, efforts would be made to relocate it somewhere else but in Shiretoko it simply lays as it fell and is reclaimed by the forest. It eventually gets covered in moss and begins to sprout new trees from the dead one. We were asked to guess the age of a tiny sprout growing from a dead tree, I had guessed about 3 months, assuming it had emerged after the snow had ended. The correct answer was 15 years! Each year these tiny trees form a knot on their trunks so we could count together how many knots were on it and guess the age this way. At each lake we paused to take photos and have a rest from walking, by the third lake storm clouds had rolled in and the sky was getting dark – we even heard thunder in the distance which prompted Kanako-san to move us along faster fearing it would rain. Our group managed to get through all 5 lakes and arrive back to the electric fenced boardwalk (for protection from bears) at sunset. There was no rain and the sunset was spectacular both overlooking the largest lake and off into the distance of the National Park and the ocean. We treaded slowly back through the boardwalk, stopping to take magnificent photos every few metres. There were several different birds that came out to play too so we watched them singing through our binoculars and listened to Kanako-san’s stories. The trek had taken about 3 hours all up although it had not felt that long at all! I began my drive towards Asahikawa on the coastal road as the sunset continued to burn out over the water. It was a thrilling end to the day and I guess it was an impressive sunset even for the locals because everywhere I passed there were crowds of people taking photos and admiring the view – even while under state of emergency! I missed a turn off for a viewpoint I had wanted to visit in Shari but it was too late to go back so I kept driving to reach the roadside rest stop at Onneyu Onsen where I spent the night. I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich for dinner and then settled in to bed. Around 3am a bright red sunrise woke me up so I tried to take a photo (which ended up blurry as my eyes weren’t fully open!) and then went back to sleep for a few more hours. When I was ready to get up it was still early and I was one of the first to rise in the carpark full of campers. I drove about 20 minutes out of town and visited a 24 hour onsen for a shower, it was unmanned so I bought a ticket at the machine and then found my own way inside. I had it all to myself! It was great to have a proper shower and a soak although the Google reviews were very correct that the water felt ‘slimy’. It was clean water, the minerals just gave it a strange texture... My drive home took me through Taisetsu Gorge which I had much higher expectations for, I’m glad it was on the way because if I had made the special trip as I had intended last year I may have been a little disappointed as it paled in comparison to the lakes of Eastern Hokkaido! On the main highway back there had been an accident so I was forced to turn around and take a different route to get through which unfortunately added about an hour or so to my driving time. I stopped for one last McDonald’s in Chitose and then hit the final two hours back home where I fell exhausted into bed for an early night!

#Japan #Hokkaido #Shiretoko

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multishipperlove · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Fjord Characters: Caduceus Clay, Fjord Additional Tags: Unrequited Crush, First Dates, Except Caduceus doesn't know it's a date, And also Fjord is a terrible cook, Food, Miscommunication, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Aromantic Character, Happy Ending Summary:

Fjord tries to impress Caduceus with a home cooked dinner on their first date, but quickly has to realise that more often then not, things do not go as planned. And as it turns out, almost setting his kitchen on fire is not the worst part of the evening. Or is it?

_________________________

Fjord checked his hair for the third time in the last twenty minutes, nervously bustling back and forth between his kitchen and the living room and somehow getting stuck in front of the mirror every single time. The table was set, most of the food was done, the breadsticks were still in the oven, there wasn't anything left for him to do, and yet he couldn't get himself to just sit down and wait. Caduceus would arrive any minute now, any minute, and his nerves were definitely getting the better of him.

His phone buzzed, but instead of the “almost there” he'd been hoping for his screen greeted him with a message from Beau, a simple “hey, you can do it” followed by a thumbs up emoji, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes a little as he put it back in his pocket. He needed more patience, Fjord told himself, not dignifying Beau's message with a response for now, and instead checking on the breadsticks again.

Not ready yet. Were they rising at all? He wasn't sure.

When the doorbell finally rang it was the only thing saving him from answering Beau after all, and in less than a second he'd cleared his apartment and was already ripping open the door, not quite able to hide the dorky grin on his face when he saw Caduceus in his usual relaxed attire. Gray pants stained from the cemetery, the long sleeves of his shirt still bearing the marks of being around fresh soil and moss and flowers all day, and the smell of the Savalier Woods seemingly following him everywhere. Perfect, in Fjord's eyes.

“Did you work overtime again?” he asked, offering to take Caduceus' jacket as he let the firbolg step inside and carefully hanging it up beside his own. “I thought Clarabelle was taking your shift today.” “Ah, you know how it is,” Caduceus hummed in answer. “Sometimes there is more work than expected, and I didn't want to leave her alone with all of it. But I'm here now, so that's nice.” Fjord chuckled softly, leading him through the living room and to the table. “It is. I got almost everything done, too, so you can just sit down and I'll join you in a second.”

“Oh, well, thank you. That's very nice,” Caduceus agreed again, and continued talking while Fjord disappeared into the kitchen once more. “You know, I'm still a bit surprised you offered to cook dinner, I know you don't do this a lot. I would have been happy to help, too.”

Blushing a dark green and rubbing his neck a little, glad that Caduceus couldn't see him at the moment, Fjord had to admit he was right. “Well, no, I don't. But I, uh... wanted to do this properly, you know?” He picked up the first two plates he'd prepared, noticing with a grimace that the food had gone cold by now. But maybe cold didn't have to mean inedible, so he took it out to the table anyway. “I stuck to the recipes, mostly, so we should be good.”

He put both plates down and settled in his chair across from Caduceus, cheeks still feeling warm, and the calm smile Cad was giving him didn't help the matter. After a moment he realised he was staring, and also that the candles on the table were still unlit, making the dim light in the room seem more awkward than the romantic vibe he had been trying to go for.

“Oh, shoot, lemme fix this real quick,” he muttered, fishing a lighter out of his pocket that had once probably belonged to either Yasha or Beau, he wasn't sure, and quickly remedied that. “There, that's better...”

“Oh, yes, much better. Now I can see what I'm eating,” Caduceus agreed, sounding amused. As he picked up his fork and was about to dig in though, Fjord could see a brief frown cross his face. He looked confused. “Actually, what are we eating? This doesn't... I'm not sure what this is.”

Fjord winced a little, feeling his ears grow hot in embarrassment. “It's, uh. It's some sweet potato appetizer thing, I... alright, yeah, the veggies might have gotten a bit mushy, but I'm sure it's still good, so-”

Before he could make it any worse Caduceus already nodded, his tone reassuring as he answered. “Of course, I'm sure it is! I was not trying to imply anything else, my apologies.”

“No, don't apologise, it was a fair question. It turned out a little gray, I suppose.” Already resisting the urge to retreat to the kitchen, maybe under the guise of checking on the breadsticks again, Fjord picked up his knife and fork as well and cut a piece off the... thing, on his plate. At least there was food to focus on.

But as they both tried the first bite he got the next unpleasant surprise. The texture was awful, the taste non-existent, and he could see Caduceus pausing for a second before actually swallowing it down.

“Well, maybe with some salt-”

Fjord waved him off, deciding he wasn't as brave and spitting it back into his napkin. “Nope, this is horrible, you can say it.”

“No salt then,” Caduceus agreed, somehow still looking amused while Fjord was starting to regret ever inviting him in the first place. “But you said this was an appetizer, right? We can just move on to the main dish, it's all good.”

“Right, right... sure, let me just put this away then,” Fjord sighed, still giving Caduceus a smile though as he took the plates back to the kitchen. Some optimism couldn't hurt, and so far Cad didn't seem to mind the chaos all that much. He was willing to take that as a good sign.

Disposing of the appetizer in the trash can with a sigh he then put together new plates, taking the vegan fish out of the covered pan (a little darker than intended), getting the rice out of it's pot (was it supposed to be that soggy?) and just forgoing the veggies completely because those had already been part of the appetizer. The lemon sauce was the only thing he had actually taste tested though, and he knew that one was okay. It was edible.

Coming back to Caduceus he placed it down with a little flourish, smiling again as it got a laugh out of his friend. “Here you go. Something salmon adjacent, with lemon butter sauce, bedded on wild rice. I hope it's better than the last try.”

“It can only go up from here,” Caduceus replied with a smile, and Fjord settled down again. And while he wasn't wrong, it didn't necessarily make the main dish taste any better.

What was true for the sauce could also be said for the dish in general. Edible, but not great. The dry salmon substitute seemed to be in a competition with the soggy rice about which texture was worse, and the sauce was unremarkable enough to count as the best part of it all. Still, they managed some bits of not-awkward conversation while they picked at their food, and Fjord was starting to feel hope again, when Caduceus suddenly stopped mid sentence and sniffed the air.

“Do you smell that?”

It took him a moment, but then he realised it too. Smoke.

“The breadsticks! Shit-” Jumping up from his chair Fjord hurried back into the kitchen, having to tug his shirt over his nose almost immediately as the air got thick and his eyes watered from the soot that had gathered in the small room. But he found his way to the oven and turned it off, glad to see that they weren't any flames at least. Caduceus, who'd been trailing after him, had enough sense to check in with him on that first before he pushed the little window in the kitchen wide open, making it easier again to breath.

Still kneeling in front of the oven Fjord grabbed for a dish towel and pulled the rack out, seeing the blackened, miserable remains of what had once been bread dough. With a long suffering sigh he rested his head against the open oven door. “Damn it. I'm so sorry, Cad. This is all going horribly wrong.”

At this point he should have offered to drive his friend home, or just let him leave, anything that put him out of the danger of Fjord's own cooking, but he was hoping against his better judgement that maybe Caduceus hadn't given up on him yet, especially as the firbolg waved his apology off.

“Don't be, mistakes happen all the time,” Cad assured him, somehow still smiling throughout this whole disaster. “But I'm starting to think you could really use some help in the kitchen.”

He almost sounded amused, and Fjord would have been offended had it been anyone else. But with their situation being what it was he just scoffed and shook his head a little. “I'd say so, yeah. But since there's no saving this, and I know the fish tastes like shit too, how about we just order some take out?” he offered. “I'll pay, of course, and you can choose whatever you want.”

Caduceus considered it for a moment, looking around the kitchen, but then shook his head to Fjord's surprise. “No, you already paid for all these ingredients, and there's no sense in wasting them, is there.”

“Well, no,” he started, “but you can't honestly tell me you want to eat-” And he gestured to everything around them. The burned charcoal sticks of bread, the soggy rice still in it's pot, the mushy veggies. “This.”

“No,” Caduceus agreed, pulling a face as well. “But I'm sure there are enough of the original ingredients left to do something else with it, and this time we'll do it together.” Looking over to Fjord he saw his sceptical expression, and just smiled. “You'll see, good food isn't all that difficult. You were trying to make bread there, right?”

“Yeah, trying being the key word here,” Fjord muttered, finally picking the blackened dough off the baking paper with a fork to dispose of it as well. “But alright Houdini, teach me how to cook. What do we need?”

Caduceus smile grew and he reached for the discarded apron hanging over the door, tying it behind his back with practised ease. The sight finally made Fjord's frown disappear as well, and his heart lightened a little with his friend's willingness to take the situation in stride. Maybe a cooking lesson wasn't such a bad first date either.

“Alright then,” Caduceus hummed, “first of all we need a mixing bowl. Do you have any leftover yeast?” Fjord checked his drawer but came up short, not that it seemed to matter though. “That's alright. How about butter milk and baking soda?”

“Baking soda's the stuff you put in cakes and cookies, right?” Fjord muttered, brows drawing together as he checked his little stash of baking ingredients. “Yeah, I have that. And buttermilk's in the fridge.”

Seeming very pleased with that Caduceus then asked for an egg, some flour, and a little bit of butter and sugar to complete the dough. As he put it all together he told Fjord exactly how the buttermilk and baking soda would interact to let the dough rise, and why, unlike yeasted dough, this one didn't have to to be set aside and rest. But all those things went over Fjord's head almost completely as he watched Caduceus' finger knead the dough in an almost mesmerising pattern.

He wasn't done after that, either. Fjord expected the lesson to be over as the bread went into the oven (and boy did it already look better than his poor attempt at breadsticks), but Caduceus just turned to him with a cheerful smile and briefly wiped his hands on one of the towels. “Time for the main dish then.”

“Wait, really?” Fjord asked. “I don't have anymore of the vegan fish, Cad, and the rest... I don't know, I don't really know of any other recipes we could use.”

“We already agreed that's what I'm here for, did we not,” Caduceus reminded him happily. “Get me whatever vegetables you have left please, and we'll see what we can do.”

With a slight shrug Fjord did as he'd asked, coming back from the fridge with some bell pepper, red beet, and a handful of mushrooms. “This is what I got. Do you think the rice can be saved?”

“Honest answer? No. But cooking new rice would take too long, so we'll use what we have even if it's going to make the texture a little weird,” Cad told him, looking surprisingly pleased with the assortment of vegetables he'd brought though. “I'll show you one of my family's favourites, wild fried rice. The improvised version, but the next time you come over I can show you how to do it properly.” Fjord blushed again, rubbing the back of his neck a little. “Oh, sure, I'd- I would really love that, Cad. Here, let me help with the prep.”

With the two of them working together, cutting everything up didn't take more than a few minutes, and afterwards Fjord was once more happy to stand by and listen as Caduceus took care of the actual cooking part. It didn't take long for the kitchen to take on a rather pleasant smell again, driving the last few remnants of smoke and misery out, and while Fjord finished his last few tasks he looked back to Caduceus with a smile.

“Hey, Cad? Really, thank you, this has already been a way better evening than I expected.”

“It's nice,” Caduceus agreed, sounding just as pleased. “Again, I'm not sure why you insisted on cooking all alone, but I'd be happy to teach you more things in the future.” Fjord chuckled. “Hey, I already told you. I wanted to do it properly, this being our first date and all. I just wanted you to have a nice evening without having to work for once.”

“Yes, yes, our- wait, our what now?”

Fjord stopped what he was doing and looked up, seeing that Caduceus had paused as well, that confused look on his face again. “Our first date,” he repeated, slowly. “I... I asked you if you wanted to go out with me, Cad, remember? I asked you out for dinner, and then suggested I cook instead. And you said yes... remember?” The confused look didn't go away, and Fjord wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“Oh.” Slowly though, understanding seemed to dawn on his friend, and the confusion made way for embarrassment. “Oh. No, I didn't- that’s not really- I’m sorry if I somehow lead you on?” he stammered, and Fjord wasn't sure if he had ever heard Caduceus stammer before.

“No! God, no, I'm just-” Great, now he was stammering too, and his face felt hot again, and surely this couldn't get any worse. “I just thought, you know, all the time at the temple, and at the diner, and... God, Cad, I'm so fucking stupid.” Fjord groaned softly, putting the spices he'd been getting ready aside and rubbing his face for a moment, trying to catch a clear thought. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. Or made things more clear, or... or something. This is on me.”

“Hey now, don't,” Caduceus replied, his tone gentle again, and at least not sounding as embarrassed anymore. “Don't do that. This is just a little misunderstanding, right? But if you would prefer for me to leave now-”

“No, please, stay,” Fjord replied quickly, not even letting him finish that sentence. He finally turned to face him again, leaning against the counter a little. “There's no reason for you to leave. I mean, the bread's in the oven, we actually got some decent food now, so... no hurt feelings, right?”

Caduceus was still frowning, but before he could speak up Fjord stopped him. “Alright, hey, I might be... a little disappointed. I can admit that. But I'm a big boy, Cad, I can deal with it, I promise. And besides, your friendship means way more to me. We're still friends... right?”

Eyes softening a little Caduceus stepped forward, placing his hand over Fjord's. “Of course we are. I never wanted it to be anything else, and again, my deepest apology if-”

“No, come on, we need to stop apologizing at some point,” Fjord chuckled, lifting his other hand to give Caduceus a gentle pat on the shoulder before he pulled back a little, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes as he ran a hand down his face again. “Both of us. As you said, it was a misunderstanding. Maybe in a few weeks we can already think back to this and laugh about it.”

“Maybe. But it's alright if you need some time for that,” Caduceus assured him, and Fjord just sighed this time.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” he muttered, giving Caduceus another smile in an attempt to seem reassuring. “But for now, let's eat. I do want to try that family favourite recipe of yours.”

Humming softly in reply Caduceus picked up the spices he'd been mixing, adding them to the pan and stirring it all in before he lowered the heat. “According to my mother, you would be in luck,” he told him, his tone still gentle. “This is supposed to work quite well against all kinds of heartaches and disappointment.”

“Oh yeah?” Fjord asked, his smile turning a little more genuine. “Next time you really gotta show me how to do it properly then.”

“Next time,” Caduceus promised, which was really all Fjord had needed to hear. As long as they stayed friends, as long as there was a next time to get together, to cook, or watch stupid movies, or something, it would be okay. He could deal with the rest. And as they settled down to eat, with the still warm, home-made bread, and the fried rice that was every bit as good as Caduceus had promised him, Fjord was glad to see most of the awkwardness between them leave again.

If a good meal could really help with smoothing things over this easily, Fjord thought to himself, he needed to learn to be a better cook.

#critical role #cr2 #fjord #caduceus clay #cr fanfic #fanfiction #writing #mine #ace!Caduceus #aro!Caduceus #first date #food

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aquaticalay · 5 years ago

Text

Centurion .Chapter Eight.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sequel to For Something Greater

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever become a SEAL. After successfully stopping a genocide with the help of the Avengers, she becomes a bridge between the military and the earth's mightiest heroes. But even as her relationship with Bucky grows, she decides not to tell him about the nightmares and trauma that haunt her. Both their secrets begin to unravel when Bucky accidentally stumbles upon a piece of dangerous information about (Y/n) that she must never find out about.

Genre: Action, Drama, Romance

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, death, eventual smut, PTSD

Warning/s for the chapter: nothing, just… brace yourself :)

Word count: 2.1k

Note: The plot is heavily inspired by the song 'in the dark' by Bring Me The Horizon, and 'Mercy' by Muse. So yeah, go listen to it if you want to :))) I'll post a new chapter every two days.

Let me know if you want to be in the taglist!

(Taglist will be reblogged)

THIS IS A SEQUEL TO 'FOR SOMETHING GREATER.' IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT, THE MASTERLIST IS IN MY BIO.

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS SERIES REVOLVES AROUND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. (Including, but not limited to: anxiety/panic attacks, extreme mood swings , nightmares, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, irritability, hypervigilance, and hyperarousal)

You had to detach yourself from your guilt, at least for now. You and Bucky had taken a quinjet to Lithuania this morning without authorization from the Avengers. Bucky even carelessly made an excuse to Friday, telling the AI he was going to accompany you to Seattle for the day.

As soon as you were in the air, Bucky had deactivated tracking and activated cloaking, so you wouldn't get caught or detected, but that also meant that if there was some sort of emergency, you were on your own.

Bucky was on the pilot seat, entering the exact coordinates based off the data you had filtered down. You, on the other hand, stood near the center table, checking your weapons and ammunitions, making sure they were reliable.

"We're good," Bucky announced, standing up from the seat, "we should be there in 3 to 4 hours." He walked towards you, donning his zipped-up tactical suit, the gold of his vibranium arm gleaming in the soft glow of the lights. Under his shirt pressed into the center of his chest was your dog tags, and you were wearing his, too.

You breathed out, minimally reacting to what he said. There were so many things on your mind, and Bucky could see that. He understood.

He stood next to you, pushing a strand of hair off your face. He gently placed his flesh hand under your chin, lifting and turning it until your eyes locked with his intense blue orbs.

"You alright, doll?" He asked worriedly.

"Sure." Your voice was hesitant, and it did not convince Bucky.

He opened his mouth, but shut it again. He wanted to talk to you about what you mentioned yesterday, about not being able to rest. But he knew this was not the time. He knew that chances are, you'll push him away before he could ask. He will talk to you about it, but not now. He'll find the right time, somehow. He always did.

He cupped your cheeks, rubbing circles on your soft skin. "We're gonna be alright, okay?"

You sighed, placing your hand over his. You loved his hands, delicate fingers under calloused skin. "Okay," you finally said.

You let him kiss your lips, knocking all the air out of your lungs.

The kiss started slow, but soon picked up its pace. Bucky dragged his tongue on your lips, and you let him bite your mouth open.

You put your hand around his arm, holding on to him as he melts further into you.

Bucky felt dizzy, and it was not airsickness. He was almost high on the taste of you, the scent of you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help himself but spiral down into the thought of you.

He pushed you back gently, your waist tightly pressed to the table behind you, your right hand steadying yourself on the edge of the table. He pulled away from the kiss before it got too heated pressing his forehead against yours.

"I love—" he started to say, but you beat him to it.

"I love you," you say quickly, making sure it sounded as genuine as you meant it to be.

"Mhmm," Bucky pecked your lips, "I was gonna say that, too."

"Then say it," you urged him, almost teasing, but you had a hint of desperation in your voice.

"I love you," he peppered loving kisses on your face, "and I will never, ever let anything happen to you."

You believed him, because you know you'd do the same too.

Four hours went by faster that you'd expected. Before you knew it, the quinjet touched down in an abandoned heliport in Kaunas, Lithuania at four in the afternoon.

The sun sets in Kaunas at about 4:30, so you only had to wait thirty minutes for the complete cover of night. Bucky sat on the pilot's seat of the quinjet, you on the co-pilot's seat. The two of you stared out the orange sunset over the red-brick European city, a beam of light streaming through the jet's window.

Since you were on higher ground, the city lay before you like a living painting, civilians turning on the city lights. If you blink fast enough, they flash like dying stars. "Beautiful," you sighed, admiring the view. You looked at Bucky, but his eyes were locked on you.

The sunset hue reflected on you made you look like you glow golden, and Bucky's eyes were fixed on you, unwavering. "Mmhmm," he agreed, but you were not so sure if he was talking about the same thing as you.

You smiled at him sincerely before getting up. You dragged an arm light across his shoulder on your way to the back of the quinjet. You zipped up your kevlar suit, securing two glocks on both of you thigh holster. You made sure you took off the trident pin and left it behind. This wasn't a SEAL operation. You respected them too much to drag them into this mess.

Bucky walked to the opposite of you, stocking up his ammunitions and slinging his rifle to his back.

"Let's go," Bucky urged, opening the hatch of the quinjet.

The two of you walked out of the quinjet, but didn't spend much time outside. You descended to the sewers, walking down the narrow path next to the stream of smelly sewage. Bucky followed your lead.

Bucky turned on a flashlight, and you attentively look at the GPS on your armband so you know where to go. Within fifteen minutes, you hit a red brick wall. "Here," you told Bucky.

You pressed a palm to feel the texture the aged red brick, some of it covered in thick moss because of its humidity. You pressed into it and felt a slight pressure change.

"I think this is a door," you said, "But I don't know how to open it."

Bucky looked around for anything that might be used as some sort of lock. He squinted when he saw a suspiciously large box, a metal circuit breaker in a place where it wasn't needed. He tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. He opened the metal plates forcefully. Sure enough, it was a numerical set of buttons and a small screen. "Found something," he said, "and I think I can bypass it."

You turned to him, nodding in approval

He pressed a few numbers, but he was denied. After a few more tries, the thick brick door opened slightly. It would open fully because it was rusted, so you had to pull it apart until it was big enough for the two of you to fit in. Once you got inside, you turned your own flashlight on. There was a staircase that lead upstairs.

"How did you know the passcode?" You asked, tilting your head.

"I remembered," he replied flatly. He remembered Petrov from when he was the Winter Soldier, and he vaguely remembered seeing him enter his passwords.

You stepped up the stairs as carefully as you could, trying not to make a sound, Bucky just a few steps behind.

Once on the top of the staircase, you were faced with a metal door. Before you pushed it open, you pulled out your gun and held it in front of you, just in case.

Opening the door, you entered the dark room, and it seemed eerily similar to the lab you raided in Ukraine.

This lab consisted of two levels above ground in an abandoned part of Kaunas. The glass window were covered up with card boards, old lab equipments covered in white translucent sheets. Like the lab in Ukraine, this one was filled with stainless steel, glass tubes, and filthy grey floors that haven't been swept in years, with the addition of a whole wall of filing cabinets. It looked just as abandoned.

"I'll take first floor," said Bucky, "You take upstairs. Sam might be there."

Nodding, you did as he told you to. You moved to the open staircase on the other side of the room.

As you disappeared out of his sight, Bucky swept the room quickly, looking for anything that caught his eye. Unfortunately, nothing did.

Nothing was suspicious at all, everything was abandoned, cold, and empty.

He sighed, then glanced at the only thing he hadn't touched.

The silver filing cabinets.

Out of curiosity, he looked at the whole wall filled with cabinets. There were worn out labels with the alphabet written on it, and his hand directly ran to the letter 'M.'

He tried to open the drawer, but it was locked. He yanked it open with his human arm, a display of just how strong he was without having to use his bionic limb.

Sure enough, there were so many papers inside it. Most of them were reports, but a few were research files. He delicately ran his finger on the paper, one thing on his mind.

"Come on, Petrov," he whispered to himself, "where did you put it?"

"Mercy, mercy, mercy…" Bucky trailed off, and stopped when he found the file with the right name. In the file wasn't pages of a profile like he'd expected. Instead it was a gold key.

Jesus fucking christ, why did Petrov always have to make everything more complicated than it already is?

Bucky took the key and scanned the room once more. He spotted a loose ceramic floor near the cabinets.

Could it be…?

He hastily took it out, and sure enough, there was a wooden box under there. It was degrading, but only by a little. He picked it up and unlocked it, and he finally had the files to Mercy One and Two's profile.

Finally.

Mercy Two's profile was the first piece of paper he picked up.

His profile was closer the the wood that was breaking down. The photo that came with his profile was the picture of a growing baby inside a medium-sized pod, being kept alive by cables flowing oozing green liquid. The pod functioned as a womb to the growing child. Bucky scanned the profile.

Status: Successful

Supersoldier: Negative

Name: Nolan T—

Bucky squinted. There were a few letters after the letter 'T', but it was too faded. Bucky couldn't read it.

He scanned down again and read.

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Black

Gender: Male

Observed and assigned to: Sarah Marin and Abraham Harden

There were photos of Marin and Harden attached, too. These were Hydra agents given a mission to pretend to be Mercy Two's parents. Nolan's false parents. Their mission was to report back any unusual activities Mercy Two might do in his childhood. That was everything on the paper. He wished there had been more information, but he had to work with what he got.

Bucky set Nolan's papers aside, and grabbed Mercy One's profile. He was greeted with a similar photo of a baby in a tube. As he read through it, his heart suddenly sank.

Status: Successful

Supersoldier: Negative

Name: (Y/n) (L/n)

What? Bucky thought to himself. This can't be true. (Y/n) had parents. She told Bucky about them. They both worked in the UN anti-terrorism committee.

Unless they were double agents. Unless the reason they were in the UN in the first place was to infiltrate them.

Bucky didn't want to believe it, but the more he read about Mercy One, the more it confirmed that it was you.

Eyes: (E/c)

Hair: (H/c)

Gender: Female

Observed and assigned to: Marcel Lowry and Ria Safin

He studied Lowry's and Safin's photograph. Bucky had seen you childhood photos before, some of them even with your 'parents.' And there was no doubt that Lowry and Safin was them. The resemblance was too striking for him to be wrong.

Fuck.

He had to accept it. He had to accept the you are Mercy One.

Bucky read again to make sure he read everything right.

Suddenly, Bucky's cogs in his brain started turning. Everything finally made sense.

You were supposed to be a supersoldier. You were engineered to be one, but you did not show any signs of it. You must've had dormant supersoldier genes. That's why, when Bucky gave his blood to you for the transfusion, you became a supersoldier. It woke your genes up.

Bucky's blood was not the cause, but rather the trigger of your supersoldier abilities.

What was he supposed to do now?

He wasn't going to tell you. He couldn't. He didn't have the heart to. At your mental state, finding out that you were hunting yourself would only add to the already piling problems. He knew how self-destructive you were, or how you can be. He had to keep this a secret, for your sake.

As he quickly tried to stash the files under his tactical suit, he heard a gunshot from upstairs.

His heart plunged into a freefall. You were upstairs.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky imagines #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagines #sebastian stan x reader

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skia-oura · 5 years ago

Text

For the Want of a (non-magical, relatively inexpensive) Bedside Table

A/N: I wrote this over the course of, like, two or three months, so be kind please.

(ao3)

________________________________________________________________

The first thing Torako did when they officially moved in was spend a solid day integrating new security wards into the ceilings, around the outside of the house where the walls joined with the roof, and along the edges of every window and doorframe. The second thing she did was enlist Dipper’s help to bring all the furniture they didn’t want or need to the recycling center, where a very nice satyr wearing a baseball cap tried to charge them an exorbitant amount of money to take care of their belongings. Dipper managed to convince him to go down, seeing as the satyr was very nice, but he refused to budge past a certain point because of what he said were “handling fees.” Torako, very cognizant of the fact that they had just paid a gross amount of money for a house, reluctantly pulled out her wallet and paid the money. Bentley was thankfully not around. Otherwise, he actually might have accepted Dipper’s deal to just get rid of it for them. Even then, when he came home and Torako showed him the receipt, his first instinct was to say, “We could have used the bedside tables anyways, you know, they weren’t that old—” “Don’t even try selling it to me, they were bad,” Torako said. “One of them fell apart when we dropped it off. Besides, now we can get new ones!” Unfortunately, as they soon rediscovered, extra-dimensional storage spaces were all the rage, and new furniture without those specs was…nonexistent, to say the least. And while Bentley could use tools and such for short periods of time with his glasses… “I guess we don’t need them?” Bentley said, blinking furiously as he set his magic-cancelling eyeglasses back on the bridge of his nose. His vision swum a little, the glimmering of magics and extra-dimensional spaces burning into phosphenes in the back of his left eyelid. Even he wasn’t ready to consider the possibility of living with something like that in the room he slept in. “We can just, I don’t know, use the floor. For now. Until we find a better solution.” Torako put one hand on her hip. In the other, she held a store tablet, on which was their virtual shopping cart. In it was one new desk chair, an old-fashioned air-drying dishrack, and approximately thirty-seven picture frames of various shapes and sizes and non-magical for the most part. He certainly wasn’t telling her that the holding pins in several of them had minor enchantments to promote longevity. They didn’t bother him too much anyways. “Unbelievable,” Torako said. She scowled at the example bedside table display before them like the pieces had offended her, personally, for the sake of offending her alone. “Terrible. What a disgrace. You can’t have a home without bedside tables! KEIA, esteemed furniture store to serve the people, should know this. And yet! Here we are!” “Esteemed?” Bentley asked, raising an eyebrow at Torako. “The furniture is good, but it’s not exactly a posh place.” “It’s better than it used to be,” Dipper said from behind them, where he was appraising floor lamps even though they didn’t need any, really, one was still functioning and the other two had found very good homes elsewhere. Bentley didn’t understand why either of them couldn’t listen to reason. “It’s still affordable, but at least they aren’t accepting illegally forested lumber from protected lands in Hungary.” “From where?” asked Bentley, twisting around to look at Dipper. “Hungary, I don’t—is this another one of those really old countries that doesn’t exist under that name any more?” Dipper nodded and hummed absentmindedly. “The faux-metal is kind of weak on this one, though, it’s probably not the best choice…” Torako ignored both of them. “I thought KEIA was a furniture store for ‘Every person, no matter who,’ but no, clearly not, not with those customization options.” “You’re telling me,” Dipper groused. He flicked the wide, elegant hood of one lamp and made a disgruntled noise. “They wouldn’t let me custom-build furniture for Toby that included the Nightmare Sheep because the sheep were ‘clearly demonic’ and it ‘went against company guidelines for appropriate alterations.’ Sucks to be them, though, because I just did it myself, and you know what? Toby loved it. So did the sheep, actually; they wouldn’t stop hounding me about being included in future pieces.” Bentley, half-turned around, saw an older man frown in their direction. “Uh,” he said, “You mean, Tyrone, you did it with your excellent carving skills, and only because KEIA wouldn’t honor your creative differences, and the sheep were part of a dream and okay that’s enough let’s go home, clearly we aren’t finding anything here.” They didn’t get anything at KEIA. In fact, they didn’t even get anything moved into the new house at first, because Torako was seized by the mad idea that if they were going to make this house their own, they needed to redecorate all the walls first. Bentley stared at her, blank-faced in the middle of the night when she came to this realization, before she sheepishly tucked him back in and said that they could talk about it after he came back from work the next day.

Upon doing so, he was hustled to the new house by Torako and Dipper, who had procured paint and paintbrushes courtesy of Dipper’s house in the nightmare realm. Bentley looked at the paint cans, set down in the middle of a thin but sturdy tarp covering the entirety of the house floors (it glimmered, just a little, to his uncovered left eye), and pursed his lips. “Um,” he said, pointing at one which—while new-looking, was covered in an archaic form of English that made his head hurt to try to decipher—“does that say, by chance, that it expires in May of 2152?” Dipper hummed and lifted the can in question. “Close, that actually says March.” Even Torako, whose judgment was not always to be trusted on these matters, squinted at the paint can. Distrust crinkled into the corners of her eyes. “But he got the year right?” “Yeah, 2152. Not that long ago, I’m sure it’ll be fine! It was in the Nightmare Realm anyways. That place preserves stuff like nothing else.” “Dipper,” Bentley said. He tried to ignore the one paint tin he couldn’t make heads or tails of. He suspected it was in an entirely different language from any that currently existed. “Saying things like ‘oh, it was in the nightmare realm’ doesn’t exactly instill a sense of relief in me.” Dipper stuck out his tongue. Torako set down the pthalo green she was holding. “I hate to ask,” she said, “But will there be any bad…side effects from using this paint? Is it—is it even up to modern code?” “Ah,” Dipper said. He went slightly cross-eyed. Golden ichor brimmed up from under his eyes until they overflowed, trickling sluggishly over the slight swell of his cheeks. A scent not dissimilar to smoldering peat rose faint into the air. Bentley felt the hair on the back of his neck and along his arms rise on end. Torako shifted her weight as Dipper’s hair rose in a wind that affected him alone. They waited. Moments later, he blinked. His hair fell back to its normal flouncy poofiness. “Oh wow, gross,” he said, and used his gloved claws to wipe away the golden—blood tears?—from off his cheeks and out of his eyes. His nose curled up. “That’s a sensation—hey, wanna feel it? It’s a wild texture.” “Haha, no thanks, I’ll pass,” said Torako, who had learned many things since having her arm accidentally broken when they were college babies. “Anyways—did you find out if the paint was up to modern code?” “Um, so the can you’re holding is fine, and so is 2152! They hadn’t tried to introduce petrichorite to paint, yet. By the way, petrichorite is in Baby Mint #295 from 2799, so we should figure out how to dispose of that—but not with Tad, because he charged us an arm and a leg for our trash last time.” Torako’s brow furrowed. “Tad—do you mean Felix, the satyr at the recycling center? Where we dropped off those bedside tables that were in very bad condition?” Bentley ignored her side-eye-accompanied pointed comment, put his hands on his hips and counted the paint cans in front of them. “So, back on topic—out of the twenty-three paint cans here, which ones aren’t viable?” In the end, they pulled eight cans that would guarantee nasty side-effects from the collection, then the colors ‘Purple Olive’ and ‘Peat Moss’ because they weren’t personal favorites. Bentley took Torako’s pthalo green and a container each of black, gold, and what Dipper assured him was a ‘non-haunted glow-in-the-dark white’ to the bedroom while Dipper and Torako haggled over whether to use a deep red or an ultramarine as the accent wall color in the living room. Bentley set down the paint cans, then retrieved and prepared brushes of varying sizes and widths. He had to pop open the lid of the pthalo green with the end of one paintbrush, but the others opened easy enough when he pressed and held his thumbs to the (antiquated) locking systems on opposite sides of the rim. The somewhat suffocating smell of paint was quick to fill the room, and it drove him to opening a window. It had started drizzling, actually. Bentley stood there a moment and let the fresh rainwater air waft in, hands flat against the sill, head against the bottom edge of the frame he’d just moved out of the way. If he closed his eyes and just listened, he could hear the light tapping of rain against the leaves of the Sweetbay Mongolia tree growing only a few meters away. He took a deep breath, then ducked back inside. Time passed. Three of the walls were slowly painted in the pthalo green. Between coats of that color, he worked on covering the ceiling, the trimmings, and the wall across from the door with black, glasses on and a PaintKnight shield over his head to keep the worst of the paint off his face and clothes. He rolled the paint on until his shoulders ached and he couldn’t quite get the wet sound of the roller out of his head, even when he paused to work out the kinks in his arms. The rain outside dropped heavier, echoing against the roof and in through the open windows in a way that settled something in Bentley. Eventually, he finished the final coat of black on the ceiling. Setting down the roller across the paint well, Bentley set his hands on his hips and arched his back. His spine popped and cracked a little. He winced, then leaned forward to touch his toes. There was a knock at the door before it slid open into the wall. “Hey, Bentley. Dips and I were thinking of finishing for the day.” Bentley straightened up from his stretch slowly, arching a little past the twinge in his lower back. He blinked at Torako, then asked, “Did any paint actually get on the walls, or did you plaster it all over each other?” “Harr harr harr,” Torako said. She pouted at him, face almost entirely red from what Bentley assumed from the texture was a paint roller. Her bangs on the left side were clumped together and spiking up a little. “So funny, Bentley. Yes, we managed to get the living room done, though I still think that the ultramarine would have looked better.” “We can touch up the bathroom with it,” Bentley said. He bent down to pick up the roller. “So we clean up and start making dinner back at the apartment?” Torako wrinkled her nose. “I guess we have to wait a day for the paint to dry before moving anything in, don’t we.” “And I’m not done,” Bentley said. He twisted the handheld portion of the roller off so that it would be easier to carry. Paint-smell wafted up and overwhelmed the clear scent of rain from outside. “So the earliest we could be in here would be the day after tomorrow—honestly, though, we should plan on a week.” A rustle of cloth; Bentley turned his head to catch Dipper sticking his very colorful fingers down the side of Torako’s neck. She squealed, then cocked her elbow and slammed it into Dipper’s gut. Bentley laughed at the expressions on both of their faces. “Could be worse,” Dipper wheezed, even though he didn’t actually need the air. What a drama king, Bentley thought to himself. “It used to take like, a week to safely dry, not just a day.” “Still,” Torako said. She put her fingers to the paint smeared across her neck and scrunched her nose up at the sensation. “It’s a long time, now that we finally own the house. Nothing else is stopping us from moving in and it makes me itch. ” “Well,” Bentley said, pointing the still-black roller at her and grinning a little to take the bite out of his words, “the end is at least in sight, now.” She stuck out her tongue at him, then gacked when the dark red smeared on her lips came in contact with it. “Uuuugghhhhh, ewwww,” she said, and disappeared to the bathroom to the sound of Dipper cackling. Bentley raised his eyebrow at Dipper. Dipper looked back at him. They both shared a grin, shook hands, and Dipper made off with Bentley’s freely-given roller still saturated with black paint. Bentley looked down at the non-haunted glow-in-the-dark white and the ‘Guaranteed to Glimmer!’ gold. He remembered that he still had some old brushes back in his desk at the apartment. Torako screeched, and then Dipper did, their voices echoing through the mostly-empty house in a way that filled it. Bentley thought about what they would best like for dinner tonight. He turned, closed the window, and brought the trays out of the room to wash them. As he paused to try to remember where the bathroom was, he was smacked in the face with the very roller he’d just lent to Dipper for nefarious purposes, and well, that just meant that payback was due, right? They ended up ordering pizza. - Bentley had an early shift the next day so that he could be home in time for lunch at one. He’d dragged himself through about three hours of work on nightmare-riddled sleep before Karl Svinhish took one look at him and made Bentley sleep in the break room for ninety minutes. Even then, once Bentley woke up, he sent Bentley packing home with orders to ‘not try to explode us all through lack of sleep, don’t worry, we’re still paying you.’ Once back in the apartment, Bentley managed to crash on their (unfortunately, permanently magical) couch for a couple hours before he woke up from fear-anxiety-pain. In all, he managed to eat, pack up, and be out to the house by about 1:30. With Dipper out visiting somebody he vaguely knew in Europe, and with Torako having snagged a small case in the area to find a missing cat, he was alone. If he’d been alone in that apartment, it would have been one terrible thing. Being alone in the house—where the wards were freshly installed, the layout was completely different, and the only items that really glimmered to his left eye were temporary parts of their life—was another thing entirely. After he opened the window, Bentley slid on his glasses, activated the PaintKnight shield, and flipped through the music in his phone before settling on Comeback Kid’s Greatest Hits. Torako had introduced him to them, ages ago when they were both fourteen and not-studying in Bentley’s room. It seemed fitting, considering that he was going to paint parts of his childhood bedroom into this place. He lay back on the EZ-Liftr Lite they’d rented from a nearby library and thumbed at the controls until he was comfortably near the ceiling. After a moment of contemplation, he angled himself just a little bit up. Pulling a brush out of his apron pocket, he slid it into the glow-in-the-dark white and began to paint. It had been so long that the first stars turned out a little lopsided, edges a bit wonky where he still struggled to re-adjust to painting with a brush. The angle didn’t help; any time he’d painted in the past, it was either upright on a canvas or flat on a desk, not several meters above the ground and on his back. So they were a bit odd, bigger than he’d initially planned as he tried to mask the mistakes, less neat than he knew he was capable of. It would have frustrated him to tears just months ago. It still kind of did. But now, he breathed through the frustration and settled himself with the knowledge that he would adjust—it would just take time. It was a not-bad day, so the reminder worked. It was around the fourth song that things started to finally click. Using an extra-long paintbrush handle to steady his painting hand, Bentley drew a small seven-pronged star to the brassy trumpets of Comeback Kid’s “Horse in a Hospital” and didn’t wobble at all. His lines were clean and clear, the shape was even, and filling it in wasn’t nearly the exercise in concentration that the first few had been. Outlining in gold was just as easy. Bentley smiled a little to himself, refilled the brush, and continued. Over time, the light coming in from the bedroom windows shifted into the deeper warmer tones of evening, shadows from the overgrown garden stretching further into the room as it set. The bedroom was set on the north-western side of the house, just enough to be warmed in the evening without facing the glare of the sun head-on. Bentley sighed, stretched over the back of the EZ-Liftr Lite, and almost fell off when the door slid open. Thankfully, it was only Torako. Unfortunately, she had noticed. “Haha, got you and I wasn’t even trying,” she said, grinning. She had twigs in her hair and a couple scrapes on her face. “And hot damn you’ve been busy—wait, is that Comeback Kid? Talk about nostalgic.” “That’s a lot all at once,” Bentley said, shifting the EZ-Liftr Lite so that he wasn’t halfway to a concussion via headfirst fall to the floor. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, nobody got me at anything.” Torako snorted and entered the room to better peer at the corner Bentley was working on. He only had a little more to go before the ceiling was done, but then there was the rest of the detailing. “Keep deluding yourself, I know the truth. And that is Comeback Kid! Wait wait wait—is this ‘Mr. Bittenbinder’? It’s gotta be ‘Mr. Bittenbinder.’ Is this the top tracks playlist?” “Yes,” Bentley said. He turned his attention to the current space ahead of him, hummed, then added a few more dots in aesthetically pleasing places. “Why?” Torako flicked a finger at his socked foot. Bentley twitched it back before scowling down at her. She grinned, unapologetic. “It’s been ages. Like, since high school.” “You listened plenty in college, I remember you blasting it whenever I brought you stuff in the gym,” Bentley said. He pointed the paintbrush in his hand at her—gold, just enough left in the bristles that he could leave a mark if he wanted to. “But yeah, I was thinking about home. With—Dad.” “Oh,” Torako said. Her face softened. “Yeah, now that you say it, I can see the similarity to your bedroom. Back then, I mean.” He smiled at her, then turned his attention back to the ceiling. After a few strokes, a few quiet moments filled with the discordant keys of “Mr. Bittenbinder,” Bentley let out an ‘ah’ as he came to a realization. “If you—sorry for taking over things and making this my childhood—I mean, you had a childhood bedroom too, you know, and—” “Aw, lighten up, buddy,” Torako said. She patted his leg. “I’m not angry or upset or anything. Your bedroom was cool. Just let me put up some old hurling photos or stash my stick on the wall as some kind of deco and it’ll bring enough of me in. I like the stars, anyways. It’ll be nice to have them up at night.” Bentley reached over with his free hand and ruffled her hair. A couple twigs and half of a leaf were dislodged and fell to the ground. “Thanks,” he said. He thought a moment. “What about Dipper?” “We’ll see if he has anything he wants here in particular that aren’t too, you know. It’ll work out. It’ll be all of ours,” she said. Then, tilting her head so his hand was more on her forehead than in her hair (and how odd it was for her to be looking up at him), she grinned. “Need any help painting?” “Uh,” Bentley said. The memory of their college fridge, covered in drawings of Korato and Alcor, flashed through his mind. “I, uh, that’s very nice of you but, how do I say it—” “Your drawings suck,” Dipper said from over Bentley’s shoulder. Even feeling him tesser in wasn’t enough to stop Bentley from startling. This time, it took both Dipper and Torako reaching in to steady the Liftr and pushing him back onto it in order to keep Bentley from falling off. His glasses were still knocked askew from the jostling. “Look what you did!" Torako said, wiggling her index and middle fingers together at Dipper, mock scowl on her face. “You nearly made him fall—what if he’d hit his head?” “Even if he had fallen, he would’ve been fine,” Dipper said. He narrowed his eyes at her fingers. Bentley nudged his glasses back into place. In the background, “Mr. Bittenbinder” finally drew to its eight-minute close. “I would have caught him. You’re just mad that I said you suck at drawing.” Torako rolled her eyes. “I know I suck, I just thought I’d lighten the mood, you doofus. Anyways—the reason I came in here in the first place was to see if Bentley wanted dinner. It’s a bit early, but I’m hungry and we’ve all been working hard today. How was whosit over in Europe?” “Oh, Olla?” Dipper flipped upside down and drew his legs together, criss-crossed, as the song track changed to “Then I Didn’t”. His gaze remained fixed on Torako’s outstretched fingers. “She’s doing great, working hard at school and all that. Had to skedaddle before her mom came home and ripped me apart, but it was a good visit overall.” “Rip you apart?” Bentley said. He lifted his brush and picked up where he left off painting. “If she can do that, I think you’ve lost your position as most powerful being in existence.” “Did he have it in the first pla—ow, what the fuck Dipper, my fingers!” “Serves you right,” Dipper said. His voice crackled with half-realized laughter. “Stick your fingers in my face and get bit.” “I’ll bite you, you little—” Dipper’s voice got all low and purr-y. Some half-forgotten instinct in Bentley tensed. “Where you gonna bite me huh, sugar?” There was a pause. Bentley pulled his paintbrush away from the ceiling. Not a second later, Torako said, “Where you want me to bite, honey? Here, or here, or…here?” “If I look down,” Bentley said, “and you two are playing het chicken in front of me, at this moment in time, while I have paint and you don’t, we are going to have yesterday happen again except I am going to win. Hands-down. I will decimate you.” Bentley gave them three seconds before he looked down. When he did, they were staring up at him, Torako’s outstretched finger brushing against one of Dipper’s collarbones, his shirt collar unbuttoned just enough to give her access. They blinked—at the same time, eerily enough at the exact time Jonathan from The Comeback Kid crooned after a long piano solo, ‘Oh, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t stop myself, the pages were calling but the party’s calling louder…’ He pointed his paintbrush at them. “Don’t.” Torako laughed, and what tension there was in the room dissipated. She papped Dipper’s cheek, looking into his eyes, and said, “Well, looks like we’ll have to save this for another time. His Majesty commands us.” “Well, if it’s His Majesty’s edict…” Dipper grinned and swung himself back upright to lay on thin air, his chin propped on an open palm. “Would you also like food, your Majesty? We could go back and get it started while you finish here.” Bentley narrowed his eyes. “This is a very sudden change of topic.” “True,” Torako agreed. “But it’s like, five, and if we divide and conquer, we can get stuff done. I’ll paint tomorrow, and I’m sure Dipper could get a room done right now if we throw him a bag of Peach Wheels.” “Make it a bag of Peach Wheels and a TimTom Bar, and we have a deal,” Dipper said. Without looking, Torako slid her hand out. “Kitchen in royal blue with gold trim and switch out the cabinets and countertops for that Eggshell White we saw in HomeReno Catalogue #539 Issue twenty…three, yeah, sure, deal.” “Ugh, fine,” Dipper said. There was a flash of blue flames. He frowned and patted his stomach. His stomach. Bentley’s turned at the thought, cold nothingness tickling at the back of his mind before he bit at the side of his mouth to bring his attention back into the present. “—hard bargain, now. When did you even learn that trick? Tacking on specifics in the seconds you go for the handshake.” “I live with you, dumbass,” Torako said. She ruffled his hair and ignored the way Dipper hissed and patted it back into place. “Also, I have a degree in this shit. Practice makes perfect—anyways, Dipper, Bentley, how do we feel about fried rice tonight? Lettuce wraps?” “Sounds good,” Bentley said. He pushed the thought of—that—out of mind and resolved to bring it up with his therapist the next time they met. Lifting his paintbrush back up, he added, “I’ll try to be back by six or six-thirty, okay?” Torako nodded. “Call us when you leave, okay? And if anything happens on the way back, it doesn’t matter who’s around, just summon Dips—” Bentley paused, turned his head, and stared at Torako. “I’m not going to summon Alcor the Dreambender in the middle of the street,” he said. “Ok,” Torako said. “Just—be careful, okay?” “Yeah, I promise,” Bentley said. It was easy to—the streets were well lit, and it would be early enough when he left that anybody involved in Norfolk’s relatively low crime rate was unlikely to be active. Also, Fantino was dead and nobody else had any hare-brained ideas about Bentley being a Mizar or something like that. Torako grinned. It was a little strained. Bentley narrowed his eyes when he remembered that Torako still hadn’t started looking for a therapist they could all bully into signing a ridiculous NDA. Bentley still thought that Dr. Anikulapo-Kuti would be a good fit, but Torako kept avoiding the topic. He sighed, then reached out his hand. “Nothing is going to happen,” he said, threading his fingers through her hair. “And if it does, I’ll be prepared. I promise.” “Yeah,” Dipper said. He patted her shoulders with both hands and hooked his chin over one of them. “Ben’s tough, he can take care of himself—and just in case anything does happen, I’ll keep an extra close eye on the bond, okay? Torako closed her eyes. She tipped her head to rest against Dipper’s. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re right.” “Besides,” Dipper said, giving Bentley a sly look before tilting his head to whisper in her ear. She grinned and giggled a little, eyes cutting over to Dipper and then to Bentley and back again. Bentley’s suspicions resurfaced. He narrowed his eyes. From his phone on the ground, the ‘15% battery left’ alarm chirped a whistly little tune over the final stanza of “Then I Didn’t”. “You want me to pass you your phone so you can charge it?” Torako asked, already leaning over to pick the phone up from off the ground. The sound quality wobbled a bit as the speakers adjusted from reverbing off a solid surface and to sounding through the open air. “Sure,” Bentley said, switching his brush to the opposite hand so that he could receive the phone more easily. He held his hand out and wiggled his fingers. Dipper threaded his fingers through Bentley’s. “Um,” Bentley said. He blinked across at Dipper. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I was actually going for my phone?” Dipper grinned, wide and a little soft. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I did it.” Then, Torako jammed his cold phone down the front of his sweater. Bentley yelped, jerked, and they all went down in a tangle of limbs. Somehow Bentley managed to be sandwiched between Dipper and Torako, whose arm was still stuck down his sweater. “Torako!” Bentley screeched, his hand still comfortably in Dipper’s. They both burst into cackles, one cut through with bursts of static, the other clear and resounding. Bentley scowled up at Torako and the line of gold that slid wet down the curve of her cheek. Seconds later, a grin fought its way past the façade and he couldn’t help but laugh along. This really could be home, he thought. - “I can’t stand it,” Torako groaned from where she was sprawled face-down on the floor. “I can’t do it, Bentley.” “Yes you can,” he said from his seat at the kitchen table that they had found in an antique store. It was a little inconvenient in that it didn’t have functions to store and consequently automatically drape tablecloths, but it also wasn’t an eyesore first thing in the morning without his glasses, so everybody considered it a win. “Bentley, it’s not a proper home yet,” she said into the floorboards. Dipper rolled his eyes and sipped at the overly sweetened coffee he’d exchanged for dragging Torako from where she’d been languishing on the bed. “Torako, we don’t even have a couch yet,” Bentley said. “Or mirrors other than the one in the bathroom. How do bedside tables even make a home in the first place?” “It’s a place to put all your stuff,” Torako said. “That you need when you’re sleeping but don’t want to get up to get and I’ve fallen out of bed five times this week reaching for my water bottle.” “I keep saying that I have furniture at my house,” Dipper said. Bentley eyed the scratches in the rim of the mug—even after millennia of being a demon, Dipper kept forgetting to watch his teeth around the dishware. “But you guys are all nooo, what if it’s haunted, nooo, what if the demonic energy, nooooooo.” “I had enough problems dealing with your ambient energy affecting things like security sensors when I first started working at the company,” Bentley drawled, hands curled around his own cup of tea. “And now? With this incomprehensible body? I don’t need even more exposure. Besides, everything we’ve vetted hasn’t passed Torako’s ‘Bentley Safe’ test.” “Except the coffee table,” Dipper pointed out. “Except the coffee table,” Bentley ceded. It was the ugliest coffee table he’d seen, but it was solid wood and was void of any enchantments or extra tech, unlike everything else they had been able to find. Any demonic energy that had lingered on it had dissipated in hours without a supernatural handhold. “Unfortunately,” Torako groaned, “Bentley makes sense. I hate it, but Bentley makes sense. Bentley, stop making sense. I want bedside tables.” Dipper sipped at his coffee extra loud. Bentley raised his eyebrows in Torako’s direction, even if she couldn’t see them. “Well,” he said. “I seem to recall that we did have bedside tables that weren’t very magical except around the hinges, and you could barely see those anyways. I wonder what happened to them?” Torako groaned extra loud. She turned her head just so that she could glare at him past the hair in her face. “One of them fell apart when we dropped it off,” Torako said. “Like, legitimately, we put it down and it collapsed.” “But you could have had one,” Dipper pointed out. He drummed his claws against the tabletop. Bentley squinted at the little pricks that started forming in the surface and realized that he was going to have to figure out how to non-magically reinforce the surface. Somehow, he didn’t think that Dipper would react well to claw-caps. “Then just Bentley would have to suffer.” “And I’m okay with that,” Bentley said, still staring at the claw dents. There was a pause. Bentley blinked, then registered what he said and started waving his hands. “Wait—no, I meant, like, I don’t mind not having a bedside table for a little longer, Torako’s the one who keeps falling out of bed, not me, she needs the table, it’s not that—” “Hey,” Dipper said, frowning. He reached over and slid his hand over Bentley’s, eyebrows serious over his dark eyes. “Being the masochist is my job.” After a beat, Torako burst into laughter. Bentley considered the ramifications of threatening Dipper bodily harm, and dismissed them very quickly on the grounds of ‘this will never end if I do.’ “Anyways,” Bentley said in a voice just loud enough to be clearly heard over Torako’s giggling, “We’ll figure out the bedside table thing. In the meantime, Torako, you could always take one of the chairs and use it.” His chair shuddered a little and there was a smacking noise. Bentley looked down to see Torako’s hand wrapped around the chair leg, her hair tangled between her eyes. “This chair?” she asked. Then she looked at Dipper and wheezed. “I think I don’t need to answer that,” Bentley said. “Why do you keep laughing, anyways? It wasn’t even that funny?” “Rude,” Dipper said. “Is…” Torako choked out. “Is because he—oh gosh, he’s unemployed, Bentley!” Dipper scowled at her. “Am too employed,” he said. “As a maSOCHIST!” Torako screeched out the last word and started smacking her feet against the ground and howling in laughter. Then she squealed when Dipper leapt over the table (and Bentley) to get at her. Bentley shifted his teacup in his hands and felt himself settle further. His phone pinged a notification as Torako and Dipper began to actually wrestle on the floor. He took one look at the phone, winced a little at how sparkly it was, and slid his glasses on to check the notification. At first, it didn’t make sense. He couldn’t remember having any business with Celestial Spaces Storage Services. That branch didn’t even exist out in Norfolk, that was strictly a Federation thing. The only ties he had there were Torako’s parents and his dad’s urn in the City Ancestral Home. The apartment had long been leased to…wait. The apartment. Bentley opened the message. Dear Customer, We hope this message finds you well. We write to inform you that your lease on Unit 4968 is set to expire approximately one month from now, on October 24th, 4042. Please indicate to us whether or not you would like to renew your lease or change the terms. We are accessible by phone, message, or in person at the facility you rented space from. Thank you for your time, L’lanee Etchen Celestial Spaces Storage Services “Oh,” he said out loud. In his bare hands, the battery ticked up from 88% to 89%. “I forgot.” “Forgot what?” Dipper asked. Bentley looked up from his phone to see him laying on the floor, Torako’s heel in the small of his back and both his arms wrenched up and behind him. Bentley winced at the thought of him in that position, but of course Dipper was nonplussed. His wings were relaxed and everything. Torako, on the other hand, was panting a little, cheeks dark and hair even wilder than it already had been. “Forgot what?” she asked. “How awesome I am at wrestling?” “Dad’s…stuff,” he said. Torako blinked and let go of Dipper’s wrists. “The stuff from our apartment, the lease on storage is expiring.” “Oh,” said Torako. She sat down on Dipper’s back. He let out a soft whoof of air that was more for fun than because Torako was pressing down on his non-existent lungs. “I forgot too.” Dipper reached back and jabbed at Torako’s sides until she squirmed far enough off of him that he could sit up. “It sounds familiar,” he said, peering up at Bentley from where he was nestled under Torako’s chin. “What do you want to do, then? For the right price, I can always blip it all here.” Bentley opened his mouth to refuse. Then he closed it, tapped his forefingers against the face of the still-warm teacup, and considered Dipper. “Our living room is pretty empty,” he said. “No sofa or bookshelves yet. All our stuff there is still in boxes.” “And it would be very economical,” Dipper wheedled. There was a glint in his eye that never failed to set some very deep, animal part of Bentley’s brain on edge. He was good at pushing past it by now, though. “In one sense of the word,” Bentley said. He pulled one hand off his teacup and set his chin in the heart of his palm. “But what would you want in exchange for this little chore?” Torako lifted an eyebrow. Her eyes flicked momentarily down to Dipper before she met Bentley’s eyes again. Bentley closed his eyes and shook his head a little; he could handle a deal like this. Alcor intertwined his fingers together in such a way that only his index fingers were free, flush against each other as he pressed the tips of them to his chin. He suddenly had gloves on. “Good question,” he said. The reverb in his voice had grown stronger, a little deeper. He sounded like he knew the answers to all your questions, had the power to fulfill every desire you had, and would never sink his fingers into your chest to pull out your soul. Not that, you know, that part actually mattered to Bentley, what with his soul not even being his to begin with. Dipper’s actual sister had given it up millennia ago. Bentley hummed. “I agree, it was,” he said. “So what would you say is a fair price?” Alcor’s face was relaxed even as he draped an arm over Torako’s bent knee. “Usually I’d ask for a couple of teeth, an eye, maybe your left pinky—something noticeable for all these priceless, sentimental items I’d have to transport out of an extra-dimensional plane into this very well warded house. But it’s your lucky day! For you and just you, I’ll do it for the low, low price of one treasured memory of your father!” Bentley swallowed and tried to not let the grief well back up. He closed his eyes, considered the deal for half a second, and then dismissed it completely. Memories with his dad were priceless. He wasn’t going to be able to make any new ones. “Dipper, what the fuck,” Torako said. Bentley opened his eyes to see her leaning back a bit. Dipper flinched, and something about his face shifted. He leaned forward, towards Bentley, his cheeks softening to something less twenty-five and more sixteen. “Bentley, I—” “You’re right,” Bentley said. He looked Dipper right in his wide, childish eyes. “That is a lot of work. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you for something so big you can’t resist crossing lines.” “I shouldn’t have asked anyways,” Dipper said. He twined his fingers together and worried them against each other. “That was wrong, I know it was wrong and I did it anyways because it was right there and it seemed—it was just. Tempting.” “I understand,” said Bentley. He rubbed at his temples. “I’ll call the company and ask what it would cost to ship everything here.” “That would be so expensive,” Torako said. She leaned back forward, smoothed her hands over Dippers, and tucked his head under her chin again. It was easier than it had been before. “The Federation is so far, and then there’s customs to go through, and we’d have to choose an option that didn’t rely on shipping things with exdim spaces.” Bentley inhaled and then exhaled, deep. “I’ll call the company,” he said, again. That night, Torako dragged a chair from the dining room and set it up by her side of the bed. She still, somehow, managed to fall out by reaching out too far for her water bottle. - What ended up happening was this: Bentley called the company to extend the lease. Then he called the company again, after a couple days of first arguing and then discussing the details with Torako, to ask if actually they could arrange a video tour of everything in the unit. After the company explained that they didn’t have the time or resources to devote to that (which was utter bull, but Bentley wasn’t willing to shell money out for the Perk Plan Copper Edition), Torako took time to physically travel to them, visited her parents, and used her phone to show Bentley around the place. It was nostalgic, but the level of magical interference was faintly visible even through the screen and his glasses. Bentley was glad that he let Torako argue him out of going himself. When he made soft eyes at the long, old dresser from his father’s bedroom, Torako slapped a ‘removal’ sticker on it without hesitation (“We can put it in the living room or by the entrance or whatever, there’s definitely a place for it somewhere!”). When Torako started cackling over the ugliest coat rack in existence, awkwardly heavy and brassy at the ends of each hook, Bentley didn’t protest too much over her demands to bring it back (“It’ll go with that awful coffee table Dips brought back, I love it so much.”) When Dipper showed up halfway through the call and interrupted their discussion over the merits of bringing or leaving the sofa with its simple seat-warming enchantments, Bentley cackled at Torako’s initial screech of surprise and then Dipper’s squawk as she wrestled him down to ruffle his hair (“Sea’s mercy, don’t sneak up on me like that—say, what do you think about this couch, it’s got enchantments but I think my dads can hook me up with somebody who can strip it off…”) When discussion turned to a possible matching (mostly) set of lamps that Dipper had stashed somewhere, Bentley set his chin on his hand and watched his family go back and forth about logistics and re-wiring and oh, wasn’t that a really nice bookshelf, wouldn’t that look good in the house too. In the end, they found nearly everything they wanted, arranged to have the whole lot of it shipped by non-magical means (paid for by Torako’s dads, who were apparently side-eyeing Dipper with less fear and apprehension than they had initially), and came home. It would take a month for everything to arrive but until then— “It’s come to this,” Torako said, laced fingers under her nose, elbows set to the sides of her empty dinner plate. “We need to search harder than ever for the final, most vital piece of our home.” “The bedside tables?” Dipper asked sullenly. He scowled down at the vibrant claw tips Torako had slipped on him while he was napping earlier. “You don’t deserve them, you heathen.” “Even heathens deserve bedside tables,” Torako countered, eyes bright with something Bentley couldn’t name. “It’s a basic right of Personhood.” “You violated my Personhood,” Dipper hissed, eyes narrowed in mock-betrayal as he wiggled his capped claws at her. “You don’t deserve a bedside table. Besides, I don’t even get a bedside table, so why should you?” “I keep telling you,” Bentley said after taking a sip of his water, “if you want a shelf above the bed, we can put one up there for things you wanted to put up there that weren’t, like, eyeballs or the shriveled dismembered fingers of that one dude who tried to enslave you when you were a baby demon.” “I also veto the cursed paperweight that croons the regretful thoughts of all office workers ever into your dreams,” Torako said with a shudder. “For more than just the fact that it might be a pain to Bentley. It’s just super, super disturbing.” “You have no taste,” Dipper sniffed. He gnawed a little at the rubber claw caps and then made a face. “Also, these are disgusting.” Bentley couldn’t stop himself from laughing a little. He avoided Dipper’s wide betrayed eyes and looked out the kitchen window instead. It faced the front, where there was a little pathway leading up to the house and there was a stone wall that was covered with aesthetically pleasing moss. Dipper had said it was installed a couple centuries ago, when everybody had their ‘ye olde cottage in the woods’ phase. Bentley liked it, at least. He watched as a small songbird, dark brown back over light brown belly interrupted by a dull crest of yellow, fluttered down to perch on top of it. It cocked its head this way and that, then trilled out a few notes. “Sucks to be you; you keep putting holes in our super hard-to-find dining table, we take preventative measures,” Torako said. Outside, the bird hopped forward a couple steps. “Could have just told me,” Dipper groused. “Woulda stopped.” “Not nearly as much fun,” Torako said. “Now—the bedside tables. The Quest to end all Quests. The most honorable, invaluable, unbelievably necessary endeavor yet on our long journey towards houseownership.” The songbird pecked down once, twice, and picked up a twig. Bentley watched it fly off with its prize. Weird, he thought, that a bird might make its nest in fall. He blinked. “Why not make our own bedside tables?” When he turned to look at them again, Torako was blinking in mild confusion. Dipper had stopped chewing at the rubber caps that he could absolutely take off himself but didn’t for whatever reason. “I thought you didn’t have power tools?” Bentley frowned. “Power tools? I’m not going to…I don’t have any magical tools, remember? We got rid of everything overly magical.” Even the wards could have been a pain to deal with if Torako hadn’t researched and then integrated the time-consuming, archaic, and possibly illegal additions that rendered the wards magical signature null. Dipper sighed. “Mechanical saws that go buzzity buzz through wood and stuff to make it the size you want. Or things to screw in screws without agitating your wrist. Machines.” “Oh,” Bentley said. “Yeah, Tristools. The library has a workshop; we could find the right materials and make our own with their resident Carpenter?” Without warning, Torako stood up and slammed the table. The dishes clanged and clattered as they were jostled, and Bentley only barely saved his water from spilling everywhere. Dipper screeched, his hair fluffing up and out in momentary alarm. “Bentley!” Torako yelled. “You’re a genius.” Bentley blinked at her rapidly. His fingers curled around his glass protectively. “I…thank you? I guess?” “I am going to make,” Torako said, a terrifying grin on her face, “the biggest, baddest, most amazing bedside tables ever.” “Oh,” Bentley said. He tugged the glass closer, as if he could stop Torako’s enthusiasm from bubbling over and making everything more complicated than any of them could handle just by protecting his water. “Oh, no, Torako, we just need—we just need function. We just need something we can put things like pain medication in and water bottles on.” “That’s boring,” Dipper said. He was floating off his chair, a matching grin on his face. “And we’re not boring, we need exciting furniture. Personalized furniture. Furniture with as many non-magical bells and whistles as we can manage.” Neither of them, as far as Bentley knew, had built anything in their lives. Dipper tended towards destruction anyways—and thinking of Torako’s several collisions with opposing hurling players that ended in somebody with fractured ribs or concussions or, in one memorable case, a flattened nose that needed emergency on-site reconstruction, so did Torako. “Guys,” he said weakly. “Think—manageable projects?” “I want a carved dragon in mine,” Torako said. Then she gasped. “No, wait—Korato holding Alcor in her arms as they’re flying off on a carved dragon—oh I have to write everything down.” “Mine is going to have so many hidden drawers,” Dipper said, in spite of the fact that he wasn’t going to use a bedroom table. “So many traps to dissuade thieving fingers. You won’t be able to open anything without first solving the initial puzzle lock. I can’t wait, I have so many ideas.” “Just…a drawer?” Bentley offered out, loudly so that Torako could hear him from where she had burst into the master bedroom. “Maybe a couple shelves? A flat surface? Maybe a fancy handle for the drawer if they have them?” “It’s gonna be A WORK OF ART,” screeched Torako from across the house. Dipper had dissolved into muttering about which traps and tricks would be best for its size, and they could mount it on the wall so it could have a secret bottom that held all the best things. Bentley looked down at his water, and could only think about the poor resident Carpenter who would be dealing with them all. - “I’m so sorry,” he said to Mx. Tchaikovsky, resident Carpenter at their nearest expanded Library, as zi looked first at their plans, then at the materials they had sourced and brought with them. Zir nameplate, which displayed zir name and pronouns, fritzed a couple times before steadying out. “I tried to talk them out of it, but…” Mx. Tchaikovsky looked at him. Then, zi grinned wide and said, “Are you kidding? These are the greatest things I’ve ever seen!” Behind Mx. Tchaikovsky’s back, Torako and Dipper high-fived each other. Bentley made the mistake of making incredulous eye contact with them. In response, Dipper put his thumb on his nose, crossed his eyes, and wiggled his fingers at Bentley. The gesture was unfamiliar; the childish, gloating triumph on his face was not. “I…” Bentley said, slowly, “I thought that they would be too…complicated for our skill level. Those two, at least,” He said, tapping the plans that he knew weren’t his. “Oh, for sure,” Mx. Tchaikovsky said. Zi half-turned to Torako and Dipper, and asked, “You two don’t have any carpentry experience, do you?” Dipper opened his mouth. “I made a custom bedroom set for my—for a child, once,” he said. Bentley, who had not seen Dipper do anything without using supernatural powers ever, widened his eyes at him. Dipper clearly saw, but elected to say nothing. “Oh wow,” Mx. Tchaikovsky said. “That’s really cool! Do you have any pics? How many pieces was it? Were there any custom decorations? What tools did you use? I want to know what you’re familiar with in here.” This time, it was Bentley who felt that cathartic burst of childish triumph. Dipper laughed and started scratching at the back of his neck. “Oh, sorry, I—it’s a running joke we have after somebody misheard me say that I had commissioned a custom bedroom set for a child, nobody’s child in particular, just a child that I thought needed a custom bedroom set with appropriate thematic imagery, I haven’t used any of these tools, but that’s fine because you, a professional, a professional carpenter employed by the Library, is here to help us and I think that’s just great, don’t you? Say, Torako, what experience do you have??” Torako grinned. “Nothing and you know it, dweebus.” Mx. Tchaikovsky returned the smile, long, thin hands on zir hips. “Okay, great to hear! Thanks for being honest, I really appreciate it. What about you, Mr…Farkas, right? You got any experience?” Bentley repressed the urge to stick out his tongue at Dipper and turned his attention to Mx. Tchaikovsky. “I took a couple sculpture classes in undergrad and used some tools there—a 3D printer, a pattern cutter, and a handheld rotary tool, if I remember right—but it’s been several years.” Mx. Tchaikovsky nodded, then stroked zir chin. “Okay, I see what’s happened—you know how hard it’s going to be and how much time it’s going to take, whereas these two—” Zi gestured at Torako and Dipper “—don’t have an idea of what they’re getting into. But, like, if you guys are willing to spend a significant amount of time on these custom bedside tables…why not go for something you want in your life for a long time?” Bentley blinked at zir. He looked around the room, machinery piled against the walls, spare materials organized (mostly) into shelves and containers. The thin light from an overcast sky filtered in through the windows and highlighted lazily floating dust motes. “Huh,” he said, a little quietly. He looked back at Mx. Tchaikovsky. “You sure that wouldn’t be too much work for you?” “It would be a challenge,” Zi admitted, still grinning a little, lopsided, and zir boot scuffed against the concrete flooring. “For everybody, really. But I like teaching, and if things get too difficult to manage partway through, we can improvise and level down.” A glance at both Torako and Dipper told Bentley everything he needed to know about what they thought of levelling down. To be fair, he thought, he was also feeling…competitive. “Okay,” he said, holding a hand out for his previous proposal application. “I can change it up.” Torako and Dipper high-fived again. Mx. Tchaikovsky said, “That’s the spirit!” and handed over the proposal. Bentley took the holographic file in his gloved hand and looked down at it, before smiling over at Torako and Dipper. His design was going to crush theirs. - In late November, they were finally able to take their monstrous creations home. Monstrous, in Dipper’s case, meant that he’d made an almost seamless shelving unit that they installed above the bed for a package of shrimp chips. Even if anybody were to figure out how to get into the hidden drawers in each wide span of wood framing the open shelves, they would be very hard pressed to not lose any fingers (or noses) in the process. In Torako’s case, it meant that her bulky, stupidly heavy bedside table that was more sculpture than functional furniture was so dense that it took bribing Dipper with a pint of ice cream and a bag of anatomically correct gummy hearts (scaled down) to get it from the workshop and into the bedroom. Torako had gleefully chucked the dining room chair out into the garden the morning they went to pick up their pieces—and then promptly was made to go outside into the snow to get the chair because “Those were a bitch to find, Torako, and if you’ve broken it you get to fix it.” In Bentley’s case, it was simply shaped, fairly light-weight. The overall shape was rather boxy, as opposed to Torako’s (hourglass) or Dipper’s (in a word: aerodynamic). There was a single drawer above an empty space at the bottom for any larger things he might need. The biggest visual difference, however were the flowers carved into the sides and carved into the top of the table—spider lilies, vibrant reds and yellows and greens standing out from a dark-varnished background. They had been painstakingly carved, and recurved, and glued back together when the support was too weak and he went too far. Then they had been painted, shaded, dusted here and there with shimmering gold powder, and on the underside of one petal near the bottom-right corner, Bentley had very carefully inscribed his name as small as he could. He set the bedside table down, took a step back, and looked the room over. Torako was sprawled across the bed to take up as much space as possible. Dipper was floating upside-down in the corner. Their tables—new, custom made—matched even less than the rest of the furniture in the house, cobbled together from several sources and time periods. Bentley appreciated matching furniture and themes as much as anybody but somehow this just…suited them. He rubbed at his mismatched hands, and smiled a little. “So,” Dipper asked, hair unbound and floating around him in a way he probably thought was cool but just made him look even dorkier than usual. “Why spider lilies?” Bentley thought about it for two seconds, then said, “Because they’re the most stupid difficult flower I could think of to render in three dimensions?” Muffled by the pillow she had her face pressed into, Torako said, “I knew it, you competitive little shit! You couldn’t just let me have my figure of the three of us, you had to outdo me!” “Three of us?” Bentley asked. He looked at the flying dragon (that resembled more of a badger than anything else) and the two figures on its back that made up the support for the top of her table and narrowed his eyes. He knew the one in something resembling armor was Korato, and the figure with too-long arms draped across Korato’s back was Alcor, but he didn’t see anything like… Dipper started cackling. “He’s the dragon?? The dragon!!” “A talking dragon,” Torako said, rolling over so that she could speak easier. “I decided it halfway through the project—it just. Made more sense if it was all three of us, you know?” With a sigh, Bentley stepped forward and flopped onto the bed, half-on Torako’s legs. “Goddammit,” he said. “If it’s all three of us, I guess you win.” She laughed. Dipper sputtered. “But—but look at how smooth and seamless mine is! How perfectly hair-trigger the traps are! It’s even and sleek and beautiful and I can’t believe you’re saying Torako won!” “Torako’s may be ridiculously heavy and technically unrefined,” Bentley said, curling over onto his side so he could look Dipper better in the eyes, “but she made me a dragon. She wins.” “Also you hella cheated,” Torako said, pointing a finger up at Dipper. “Even Mx Tchaikovsky was baffled as to how you managed a couple of those traps, and zi held our hands all the way through this mess. You definitely used a couple tricks to get things to work.” Dipper flushed all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. “So what?? I used the tools at my disposal, and I made the perfect trap furniture.” “Bentley got second place,” Torako said. She reached down to scrunch her fingers into Bentley’s hair. He sighed and tipped his head back a little, eyes sliding shut as she began to lightly massage his scalp. “What the heck!” Dipper said. The air itself bristled a little. Bentley inhaled deep, counted to three, and exhaled slow. “The heck,” Dipper said, the air loosening up again. “You two are—you’re in cahoots! You have to be!” “So take some pics and show them to other people,” Torako drawled. Her leg shifted underneath Bentley, and he obligingly lifted his weight so that she could rearrange herself into a more comfortable position. “Or, instead, you could join our ‘the house is finally a home’ victory snuggles.” “That’s what these are?” Bentley asked, draping an arm over Torako’s waist. “Yes,” she said, her fingers moving out of the way so that she could press a kiss to the crown of his head. “That’s exactly what these are. Yo, Dipper, you going to sulk or you going to cuddle?” “Both,” Dipper grumbled before settling in on Bentley’s other side, an arm sliding over his side and curling around his chest. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten this injustice.” Bentley hummed. “Okay,” he said, and shifted himself further up the bed. “You do that, buddy.” After a moment, warm between their bodies and under the soft cover of sunlight coming in the window, Bentley heard Dipper whisper to Torako, “So—you happy with everything?” “Yeah,” Torako said, after a moment. Her long fingers stilled on his head. “Yeah, this is good. This is—really, really good.” A heartbeat, and then Dipper, soft: “I’m glad.”

#bentley #dipper pines #torako #tau #tau fic #transcendence au #my fic

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years ago

Text

Hearth Fires 11: Keeping Score

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary: Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 5467

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the unmatched pandabearer

FROM: Zayaan Derici <email redacted>

TO: Lorel Maddox <email redacted>

October 12, 2083 2:30PM

Subject: SweetCheeks Bakery Account 66274

Dear Ms. Maddox,

You are hereby notified that on October, RainFire Inc. did acquire the fixed rate loan account #66274 filed under SweetCheeks Bakery on July 15, 2083.

Effective November 1, your monthly payments are to be made directly to RainFire Inc. as per the attached form.

Sincerely,

Zayaan Derici

Lorel strode into the lobby with a sheaf of papers in hand and murder on her mind. Behind her, the door shut on a whisper, sharpening her ire. She wanted it to slam, the disturbed air would shift her curls, announcing her presence in a terribly dramatic fashion. Then it would have been easier to hold onto her usually short-lived temper. As it was, nerves made her more likely to giggle at the absurd mental image.

The surge of outrage Lorel rode died a little more to give way to awe at the ultra-modern design of the office. To the left, a bank of windows overlooked the river below. Bright green sofas and chairs were laid out at precise angles to maximize the sleek lines of the furniture and to provide the best views of the water.

A stream of smooth rocks flowed between the seating arrangements and along the window. Grasses, ferns, and other plants of varying heights and colours sprang up from the meandering path to soften the austere effect of the furniture and lend an air of privacy.

The entire place was obviously designed for people accustomed to roaming the mountains and woods, not sitting behind a desk for eight hours a day. Her scuffed and flour-dusted black canvas sneakers on the mottled wood floor sounded loud and out of place in the open space.

The woman at the front desk was as sleek and modern as the rest of the office. On the wall behind her, succulents formed a living mosaic of colours and textures that seemed to serve as a frame for her stunning features. Thick wiry hair was pulled into a large puff on the top of her head, which accentuated her high cheekbones and willowy build; its texture and shape reminded Lorel of a fluffy, black cloud. The bateau neckline of her ice-white sheath dress showcased collarbones sharp enough to cut. If Lorel tried to wear anything like that, she’d look like a marshmallow on legs.

Her own dress with its pumpkins, bats, ghosts, and candy corn felt woefully out of place. Oh well, it was too late to run home and change into something more professional; the elegant woman behind the desk already spotted her, not that, that was a difficult feat considering her fanciful outfit stood out like a sore thumb.

“Hi, how can I help you?” she greeted Lorel with a small, polite smile that flashed a hint of perfect, brilliant white teeth in fascinating contrast to her deep cool-brown skin.

“Please tell Alpha Denier that Lorel Maddox is here to see him.” Lorel tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the bite out of her tone; the woman wasn’t to blame for Lorel’s mood.

“I’ll see if he’s available.” She didn’t bat an eye at the hard edge in Lorel’s voice. She was a leopard, Lorel could tell by her scent, and obviously accustomed to working with cranky, predatory changelings.

“It’s all right, Shantanna. I’ll see Miss Lorelei.” A shiver ran down her spine, like it always did, at the way he drawled her name as if it was something delectable that he wanted to savour.

The RainFire alpha stood in a doorway off to the left, practically filling it, with his hands in the pockets of his grey wool slacks. His black leather shoes with perforated embellishments reflected the ambient light and probably cost more than her entire outfit combined. A sky blue shirt set off his sun-bronzed skin and brought out the amber of his brilliant topaz eyes that threatened to take her breath away every time she met them. The sleeves were rolled up to expose chiselled forearms brushed with sandy hair. It was all camouflage to hide the lethal predator under the trappings of civilization and lull the unwary into a false sense of complacency. She knew well the need to appear human.

With that reminder as to her purpose, she strode past his arm outstretched to welcome her inside and he shut the door behind them.

Muted grey light filled the room thanks to the floor to ceiling windows along the back and left walls. Graceful glass terrariums of succulents hung in a curtain across the right-hand wall; the globes were strung, several to a strand, from clear plastic tubing that appeared to act as a watering system. A square, grass-green rug took up the centre of the floor and showcased his desk. She wanted to take off her shoes and dig her toes into the short, dense pile that mimicked a patch of moss, maybe even stretch out on it to nap in a sunbeam. The silly urge snapped her out of it and back into reality.

“What is this?” She spun towards Remi and thrust the document she'd been clutching in his face. It was a bit worse for wear from the way she'd clenched it in her fist on the way over to the building that served as headquarters for RainFire's commercial enterprises.

“It appears to be a notification of service transferral, specifically a commercial loan.” Most people tended to instinctively flinch when someone yelled and flung something in their face. He did not. Brows the colour of burnt butterscotch rose. “If you don't understand, I’d be glad to go over with-”

“I know that!” she snapped. “What I want to know is why?”

“It’s a common business practice that allows financial institutions to-”

“Really?” Folding her arms, the paper further crumpling in her fist, she glared up at him. It was really difficult to glare imperiously at someone taller. “RainFire coincidentally buys my debt less than a month after your ultimatum?”

“You must think rather highly of yourself to assume that we’d go through that much trouble for a small business loan.”

The fire in her eyes went out so suddenly that they looked dead. Merde, even her spray of curls seemed to wilt. The jibe was meant to get her dander up, not destroy her confidence. The mistake was his for treating her like a dominant predatory female, like someone who could hold their own against him. A series of faces flickered through his mind like a movie, each one as hurt and as closed off as the one in front of him, a veritable parade of submissives who’d been crushed by indifferent dominants.

By a heartless alpha.

He could act as if he hadn’t just bruised her sense of self and avoid admitting fault, thereby preserving his pride. Or he could admit he fucked up and try to repair the damage he’d done. Female pride was important, no matter their position in the hierarchy. And yet an alpha had to be respected and whose strength was unquestioned. Without that, the natural aggression of dominants would tear a pack apart.

When faced with situations like the one in which he found himself in now, he asked himself what his father would have done. Then he did the exact opposite. That decision-making process hadn’t steered him wrong thus far.

“Any leverage, no matter how small, can be used against you. RainFire won’t exploit that, even if you decide against us.” Light returned to her eyes as she mulled over his words. He just wished they lit up that way when she looked at him instead of darkening with irritation.

He leaned against his desk so as not to loom over her. She barely came up to his shoulder, the perfect height to tuck her into his side. Kissing her, long and deep like he wanted to, would probably give him a crick in the neck, but the globes of her ass would be perfect to haul her up. Her curves were like a backcountry road, one that he’d like to explore by moonlight, and would be a soft cushion for a hard male body. And she could wrap silky thighs around his hips…

“This isn’t about me as much as it is having an unknown element in your territory with a weakness that leaves me vulnerable to your enemies. By removing that, it lessens the chance that I’m coerced into espionage or otherwise manipulated into acting against RainFire’s interests.” Her scowl smoothed as she followed the ramifications in her head to their logical conclusions.

Mais, he wouldn’t have thought she was devious enough to come to that conclusion.

“Being blindsided like this makes me less amenable to cooperating with RainFire, let alone acquiesce to your proposal. If you have any other concerns, please air them now, Alpha Denier.” She went to brace her hands on her hips, remembered that she clasped the paper in one hand when it crinkled, and shoved it into a pocket in her voluminous skirt.

“I told you not to call me that,” he growled.

“You asked me not to call you ‘Mr. Denier,’” she corrected, her eyes laughing at him. His own cat laughed with her, amused by the characteristically feline logic.

“And to call me Remi.” He tapped her nose with a finger just as he would if she were a misbehaving cub. Nose wrinkling and eyes crossing, she shook her head slightly as if she’d never been tapped on the nose before. Come to think of it, she probably couldn’t remember such a fond gesture from her parents. By the way the ocelot glared out at him, it understood and wanted to take a swipe at him for the audacity.

He watched the woman smother the cat until he almost couldn’t sense the animal anymore in her smoky blue eyes.

“You might want to take a seat,” he scrubbed a hand through his hair and gestured to the pair of slate grey armchairs that faced his desk. Perhaps he should’ve suggested she remain standing instead because that was exactly what she did, folding her arms and settling her weight more evenly in her stance. The semi-feral kitten gave him a hard stare. It wasn’t half-bad, kind of cute, actually. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘rogue’?”

“It happened to RedRock,” she nodded. Few people whose lives were shattered by rogues could be so matter-of-fact when speaking of it. Those affected by rogues, no matter how tangentially, tended to feel the wounds for years. Then again, she had been quite young at the time, her parents were probably little more than scents and impressions in her memories.

“You weren’t much older than Jojo when RedRock disbanded, were you? You were away visiting your grandparents. Did they ever tell you what happened? Or did you look into it when you were older?”

“Everyone went rogue and slaughtered each other, my father killed my mother.”

There was so much bullshit in that impassive statement packed around a grain of truth that he didn’t know where to start. He was too blunt and direct. He had no idea how to gently destroy the lie she’d been told her entire life. Not that she was likely to trust him if he was oblique about it, anyway.

“We’re taught control as cubs, how to balance the animal with our humanity because we are neither one nor the other, but both.” He held his hands in front of him, palms up, raising one and lowering the other, then reversing until they became even again to mimic balanced scales. “Without that foundation there’d be more rogues, those of us who become mindless with bloodlust. They’re fast, cunning, and will slaughter anything that moves. The number of changelings who go rogue is less than one percent. It’s not a virus or bacteria, so it’s not contagious. The chances of an entire pack going rogue are astronomical, you’d have better odds of winning the lottery and being struck by lightning on the same day.” He couldn’t calculate the probability in his head, but the metaphor was apt enough.

“Your father was a sentinel, he died protecting your mother. She was protecting the ten-year-old son of the rogue from his father. See, when a changeling goes rogue, they attack their loved ones first, some say it’s to sever their last ties to humanity. Animals will kill for three things: food, mates, and territory, which is really an extension of the first two. Humans are the only ones who kill for emotional reasons like anger or pleasure.”

“I don’t believe you.” She sank into a chair, hands folded so tightly together the bones pressed white against her already pale skin. Despite the shock, she focused on one of the succulents, eyes flicking back and forth as if she was reading rapidly or flipping through memories in search of something.

“I expected as much.” Going behind his desk, he fished something from a drawer.

“What happened to the boy?”

“He’s alive and well, with a mate and kids of his own now.” Circling back around, he handed her a slip of paper with a name and phone number on it. “He’s looking forward to hearing from you.”

Accepting it with a trembling hand, she tucked it into a pocket, still not looking at him. Ignoring the leopard, who was pushing at him to take her in his arms and comfort her, he stepped backward to give her space.

“Is that what’s happening to me? Am I losing control of my animal and going rogue?” Her voice was thin and brittle, sending his protectiveness surging to the fore. Hands tipped with short, blunt nails smoothed the fanciful fabric of her dress over her knees. He didn’t like the way she was avoiding his eyes, not due to the hierarchy, but because she was afraid. Only the knowledge that she was scared of the answer and not him kept him civilized.

Crouching, he took her hands in his. They were cool and faintly damp with a speck of what looked like indigo frosting dried in a cuticle. By contrast, his were too big, rough, and bore the marks of a lifetime working with his hands. He gently pried her cold, stiff fingers open to reveal four fresh puncture wounds on each palm. The leopard brushed against the inside of his skin, wanting to lick the wounds clean, to soothe her. It didn’t care that such an animalistic act would likely send her running for the hills, or at least it would if those hills weren’t full of changelings.

“I won’t lie, you’re on the edge.” An ashen tinge spread in stark contrast to the constellation of her freckles. “Sometimes they can be brought back before they kill, but once they cross that line execution’s the only option.”

“You’d kill me if it came down to it?” Grey-blue eyes fixed on him with an intensity that struck him with a palpable force.

“I would hate you for forcing me into it, but yes, I would. So do us both a favour and behave.” Her rigid posture eased a fraction. What kind of person felt relief at the prospect of being put down like a rabid dog? And what kind of alpha would threaten someone so far down the hierarchy? “We can help you find your balance.” Satiny wrists warmed under his stroking thumbs and he thought that her pulse might have kicked up a notch.

“No thank you, I wouldn’t want to catch your fleas.” She pulled her hands from his grasp. Apparently, she was feeling more herself again if she was hiding behind jabs.

The leopard sneered. It did not have fleas.

“Ever heard of the words cut, nose, spite, and face?” He rose to his full height and folded his arms. “Tien can help you with remedial lessons. She’s used to teaching the cubs and juveniles and she should have no problem with a mule-headed ocelot. Or, if you’re afraid she has fleas- and I’d love to see you tell her that, I’ll make popcorn- Jojo might do it. After all, she does have better control than you do and even though she still shifts sometimes while clothed.” The change disintegrated everything one wore and children had difficulty remembering to remove their clothes, especially while excited.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she said primly and rose to her feet, somehow looking down her nose at him despite their disparate heights.

“You’re not driving anywhere.” He didn’t step back out of her personal space, she was close enough that her body heat arched up against him like a housecat.

“Excuse me?” A red-gold brow arched. The response was so frosty it would have done a psy credit.

“You’re upset, distracted, the cat’s fighting you for control, and there are open wounds on your palms. What if you hit someone because you’re too proud to accept help?” Automatic sensors dotted the main roads, but not all of them. And there were plenty of pedestrians and children about at this time of day. “I’ll drive you home, where’s your car?”

“Even if I let you drive my car, how will you get home?” She folded her arms.

“I’ll have someone pick me up.” Remi held out an open hand.

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, she sighed and slapped a ring with a couple of keys into his hand, a tiny knitted chocolate brown cupcake dangled from it; multicoloured beads dotted the frosted, mint green top like sprinkles. The sight of the cutesy decoration made his lips twitch. Fresh blood tinted the air and she winced, the punctures no doubt aggravate by the sudden movement. He selected the car fob and motioned for her to precede him out of the office.

“Shantanna, I’m headed out for the day,” he announced, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t forget you got a meeting tomorrow at the sheriff’s office at ten,” his office manager reminded him without looking up from her computer screen. Although she could be amiable and make visitors feel welcome, she preferred not to disturb her workflow with unnecessary social interactions. Dealing with visitors wasn’t her favourite task, but one she performed well. That was fine by him, he didn’t need chirpy greetings and a smile every time he walked through the office. “And those contracts needing signed.”

“Thank you, have a good night.”

Still absorbed in the project she was working on, she made a noise that he’d learned over time meant “you, too.” Lorelei looked perplexed, no doubt having met Shantanna’s public-facing persona on her way in. Since she was a potential packmate and he was escorting her out, in Shantanna’s mind, that meant it was acceptable to dispense with the pleasantries that didn’t come naturally to her.

Their footsteps echoed around the empty stairs that wound through the centre of the building. Light spilled from the dome skylight above and onto the mustard coloured leaves of the birch tree that staircase spiralled around. In the vestibule, she paused to admire the wall of moss and gnarled wood and he took the opportunity to send a text. With a small smile on her lips and wonder in her eyes, she reached out to gently stroke the living sculpture; like most visitors, she was fascinated by the integration of green spaces into RainFire’s headquarters.

“This is amazing,” she breathed.

“Biophilic design is one of RainFire’s specialties,” he explained, holding the outer door to the parkade open for her. “Rain and greywater are filtered and recycled, reducing our dependency on municipal water. Where are you parked?” She pointed to an older midnight blue sedan down the row on the left and he suppressed a grimace. The best quality that particular model was known for was its paint job. He cocked a brow at her. “You drive this deathtrap? Is it even hover capable?”

“Of course it is, just not currently. Plus I can fit a three-tier wedding cake, groom cake, and six dozen cupcakes in the back. What do you drive, this example of a desperate need to prove one’s superiority via more horsepower than a single person could possibly use?” She gestured to his car.

“At least my car’s battery isn’t known to spontaneously catch fire, unlike yours.” He opened the passenger door for her and she slipped in as graciously as a queen, ignoring him entirely.

Crossing to the other side, he frowned at the driver’s seat. Obviously, he couldn’t fit with the seat positioned for her much shorter height. Even after resetting it, he still felt a tad claustrophobic behind the wheel. Her scent, honeyed with a hidden bite, filled the enclosed space and his body tightened in response as sexual hunger sank its teeth into him and refused to let go. Ignoring the pulsing heat in his veins, he guided the POS out of the parkade.

“Your meeting with the sheriff, that’s not about what happened the other day, is it?”

“No.” The habit of covering a potential weakness, one ingrained in him at an early age, and the driving need to protect those most at risk of abuse, which had developed later in life, warred with each other. In the end, the latter won out. That she should come to harm when he could have warned her was unthinkable. “One of ours was attacked, we believe it’s because he was dating a human.”

“Oh my god, I heard about that, but I didn’t know he was a leopard. Who was it? Is he ok?” She brushed his arm with a hand as if instinctively wanting to comfort him, but snatched it back as if burned, the ocelot probably warning her that he hadn’t given her skin privileges yet.

More importantly, she’d just intimated that she’d be open to skin privileges and probably didn’t realize it. The leopard grinned in a decidedly wolfish way.

“Stian, he sore, yeah, but he’s healin’ good. What I hear, his ex's good, too.” Now that he was out of the office and driving, even if it was a disaster on wheels, he relaxed and slipped into the Cajun accent like an old, comfortable sweater. Although she probably wouldn’t understand a word if he slipped fully into his native dialect.

“Blond, beard, looks like a Viking and a surfer had a baby?” Hands moving like they often did when she spoke, she gestured to indicate Stian’s artfully tousled hair.

“That’s the one,” he chuckled at her description. He'd have to tease Stian with it later when he wasn’t hurting emotionally. Braking as they approached a red light, his heart skipped into his heart when the car didn’t slow. They came to a hard stop a second later when the pads caught. “Did you know your brakes are slipping?”

“Yeah, there’s a hiccup sometimes, just lightly tap the brake pedal,” she waved dismissively, ignoring his incredulous stare to smile at some Halloween decorations in a storefront. “You said they targeted him because he was with a human?”

“They were pretty clear on that point.” Not that he was about to repeat any of that filth where she could hear. The light turned green and the car rolled into the intersection despite the pressure he applied to the pedal, then jerked forward a moment later when the transmission decided to get with the program.

“Huh.” From out of the corner of his eye, he could see her chewing on her lip. Whatever was on her mind, it most likely wasn’t her ticking time bomb of a car.

“What?”

“Something Irena was telling me.” Pink lips twisted to find a new spot to nibble on. The safety alert beeped to warn that he was exceeding the speed limit. Snapping his eyes to the road, he dismissed the alarm with a swipe of his thumb across the pad on the steering wheel. While his biometrics weren’t programmed into the main system to allow him to unlock the doors or start the ignition without the fob, that sensor was capacitive.

“She and another crow from StormWillow were shopping at that makeup boutique a few blocks up the street from me. The owner was the only one working at the time and she asked them to leave their purses at the front counter, said it was store policy. Chloe and my aunt have been in there before and there were never asked to do that, I asked them. If that wasn’t enough, she watched them the entire time like they were going to steal something. Then she followed them outside and took down their license plate as they drove away. A cop pulled them over on their way home because the owner reported them as shoplifters. Of course, he didn’t find anything.”

“Were they municipal or county?”

“Um, county sheriff, I believe. Doesn’t that mean they’re out of their jurisdiction by responding within city limits?”

“You know about the psy Enforcement scandal?”

Scandal was a mild term for the abuses of power psy brass inflicted on human officers and civilians. The ones who believed themselves superior to humans manipulated evidence and minds alike with impunity to achieve their goals, which were usually more power and wealth for them individually and as a race. Along with emotions, the psy were re-discovering things like morals and conscience. Those reluctant to do so were held in check by their kin.

“Of course I have.”

“A federal task force set up teams at the state level, and they’re working from the top down. They’re starting with the most densely populated areas and working their way through the state, North Carolina’s currently working on Fayetteville. Some branches have already started to clean their own house. The chief of the BCPD was strongly encouraged to resign before his skeletons were dragged out of the closet for all to see. The sheriff was recently elected on an anti-psy platform and he’s taking advantage of the power vacuum to expand his influence.”

“Are there any changelings in local Enforcement to balance the situation?”

“RainFire doesn’t have enough dominants to spare, even if they were of a mind to,” he shrugged.

“Have any of the non-dominants expressed an interest?”

“They’re not trained and they don’t have the instincts.”

“Did you even ask? Or consider the fact that they might know what your views are and don’t want to be dismissed out of hand? I’m pretty sure that Enforcement provides training," she said sarcastically. "And instincts aren’t always a good thing, sometimes they’re really just subconscious bias. Look at what happened at the bakery; their lizard brains probably told them I was dangerous because I was an angry changeling, but they didn’t act on those survival instincts. Non-aggressive personalities can be beneficial when it comes to de-escalation. If the sheriff hadn’t been there, the entire incident would’ve been resolved in twenty minutes.”

Lorelei was right in that he hadn’t discussed it with the pack as a whole, it had only been a brief discussion during a meeting with soldiers and sentinels. Had he discredited anyone who wasn’t at least a junior soldier? Submissives tended to fight only as a last resort, serving as the final line of defense for the cubs; just because violence didn't come as naturally to them as dominants didn't mean that they weren't capable.

Some of his disgruntlement must’ve shown on his face because she patted his shoulder with a reassuring smile. It was a visceral example of a submissive's calming nature. She could be rather sweet when she forgot to hiss at him. Too bad he was anything but calm around her.

Remi’s presence filled the space, brushing up against her like a housecat. See, I’m harmless, my claws are sheathed and my teeth are put away. He was unbelievably dangerous, but for now, the beast wasn’t interested in hunting.

“You’re looking at it from an alpha’s perspective, not a human one. In the human world, they don’t have roles like soldiers and they’re not born with healing abilities like M-psy. They study and train for years, instead, who’s to say a changeling can’t do the same? Besides, even I can handle an unharmed human or psy and I have no training whatsoever.”

“Hard enough telepathic blow could still kill you.” The muscles of his forearms shifted tantalizingly as he guided her old hatchback through a turn. The intensity that always lurked beneath the surface translated into a passion for driving. It was obvious in the smooth way he maneuvered through traffic, an unhurried focus on the road, and the faint smile on his lips.

“So could a gun. And either could kill you, too, all they’d need in your case is the element of surprise.”

The edges of the woods peered over the houses on the left where they turned into her sleepy suburban neighbourhood on the outskirts of town. Halfway to her house, they paused for a game of street hockey to make way for them, the teams consisted of all three races. Some of them she recognized and she waved, they waved back. Her heart clenched at the thought of harm coming to any of the children.

The bungalow she shared with her aunt was a two-story nestled in the arms of the forest, its patchwork of brilliant colours glowing with the setting sun. They pulled into her driveway and she fumbled with the seatbelt. Manner, which had been drilled into her from a young age, dictated that she invite him inside to wait. He probably would feel as comfortable in her home as he did behind the wheel of her car, which was to say not at all. She'd had to hide a smile at his obvious discomfiture in her car; the hatchback had never felt small until he'd practically had to fold his massive frame into it.

Would he read something more into an offer of coffee? She didn’t know if she hoped he would, or dreaded it.

They got out of the vehicle and he met her in front of the car to walk her the short distance to her front door. The cupcake keychain Chloe made for her looked positively diminutive in his palm, which was warm and slightly rough with callouses under her fingers despite her attempts to avoid touching him when she took it from him.

“Thank you for making sure I got home safely, Mr. Denier.” What did one say to a man who'd decreed an ultimatum, bought her loan out from under her, then promised to kill her if she went on a murderous rampage? She fell back on the safe familiarity of etiquette.

Stepping towards her, he held her widening eyes.

She found herself pasted up against the closed door. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood in innate awareness of the big, dangerous leopard in human skin pressing up against her. They were alone and he could probably hurt her in ways she couldn’t even imagine before she could blink, but the fever in her blood was from anticipation and not fear. She felt small and intrinsically feminine as he braced his hands on either side of her head and bent until their breaths mingled.

“Don’t thank me for doing my job,” his voice bordered on a growl, thick with the leopard. “And I told you not to call me that. I’ll have to keep a running tally.”

“Of what?”

“Your transgressions.” His eyes went half-mast, letting her know that the threat was sensual and not punitive.

Slowly, so slowly, he closed the distance between them. At any time, she could have said no, or ducked underneath his arm to get away; instead, she held still as though she might startle him. He slanted his mouth over hers and she was glad the door was at her back because swooning was a real possibility. It wasn’t due to butterflies or fireworks, although those were definitely happening. The warmth of his lips on hers, his tongue coaxing her to open for him, the taste of him filled the howling void within her. Her hands rose unbidden to his chest, needing more contact, there was too much air, too many clothes between them. She wanted to gorge on him until she was no longer empty inside.

Remi pulled away and she wanted to growl and haul him back down to her, but movement in the driveway caught her attention. A rugged vehicle designed for rough roads such as the ones on RainFire land pulled up.

“Il faut je m'en vas, cher.”

And with a sinful smile, he stroked a thumb over her cheek, turned, and walked towards the car, leaving her staring after him, speechless.

Il faut je m'en vas, cher - I have to go, dear

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franklyshipping · 5 years ago

Text

Day 11 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

WOOOP DAY 11 BABY LET'S DO THIS LET'S GET SOME FESTIVE COOKING UP IN HERE PEOPLE YAAASSSS LET'S DO THIIIIIS!

Cooking. Cooking is fun as hell, but cooking for other people? Now that is just a seriously fun time. Especially in this household, there was a lot of people being catered for, and I know for some people that can make the entire process of cooking and testing recipes all the more fun. That’s how the sweetest butler of all time, Benjamin, felt right now. He inhaled over an experimental pot of stuffing happily, humming with delight as the herby aromas washed over him. However….Benjamin was not alone in the kitchen. It was agreed that no tasks would be set to one person alone, and ah….well, let’s just say that Benjamin and Mad Mike had some different opinions when it came to the culinary arts.

‘It looks like bird seed mushed up with moss.’

Benjamin gritted his teeth, letting out a huff at the man who was leaning in over his shoulder with his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the pan’s contents. Benjamin muttered as he stirred it about, trying not to feel insulted by Mike’s comment.

‘It does not! And just because the texture is different from other foods doesn’t make it any less delicious!’

Mike let out a disbelieving grumble, wrinkling his nose a tad, to him it was WAY too herby and just looked like dumpster mush. Don’t get Mike wrong, he liked working on all of this with Benjamin, he was a real classy gent who was fun to talk to and had a ton of good ideas….but his mind just wasn’t open to the fun of culinary stuff! Sure, everything had to be done right, but it wasn’t like this was Christmas Day, this was the time for experimentation and fun and trying wackier ideas! However, and Mike meant this in the kindest way possible, Benjamin kinda had a stick up his butt.

‘C’mon now, this is a time for experimenting and shit! Can’t we at least add a couple things to your mixture to see what happens?’

Benjamin huffed, his stirring of the stuffing getting a little faster as he pursed his lips. Now, don’t get him wrong, Benjamin had a serious respect for Mad Mike. Benjamin secretly felt inspired by all his unique recipes and ideas (especially pertaining to ice cream), and the fact that he was so enthusiastic about everything made Benjamin feel so overjoyed. However, to Benjamin, getting everything spot on and perfect for Christmas was the most important thing here; to Benjamin, that meant sticking to recipes that were tried and tested.

‘This recipe is tried and tested and has been deemed perfect, I will not make any changes, and that’s my final word on the matter Mike!’

Mike blinked a few times, feeling a bit taken aback at how close Benjamin got to nearly….snapping at him. He went quiet and stepped away for a moment, leaning against one of the nearby counters. Before he could get too disheartened though, a certain adorable, globular being nudged his hand. Mike developed a soft, crooked smile.

‘Heya bud, what’s up?’

Mike cooed softly, which made Gooper yip and roll across the counter by a few inches, where Mike now noticed he’d organised all of the kitchen’s spices….in the order of a rainbow. Mike snickered gently and shook his head, damn he was a cute enigma.

‘Thahat’s beautiful buddy, has anyone ever told ya you’re an organisation master?’

Gooper wiggled and ended up letting out some bashful, giggling noises at the compliments; he also eagerly nuzzled against Mike’s fingers when he offered then. Mike wasn’t sure what it was, maybe Gooper’s affections, but he felt his disheartened state start to leave him in favour of a clearer brain.

‘Dang cutie….’

Mike whispered, coaxing out some more happy giggly gurgles, before Gooper shuffled off to go and organise more stuff. Mike let out a soft sigh as he rubbed his forehead, before glancing at Benjamin in his peripheral. The guy looked so…tense. Also, now Mike was thinking about it….one of the things Benjamin had said really started to stick out to him. Mike nibbled the inside of his cheek, before making his internal decision, and shuffling back over to the butler. Mike gently placed a hand on one of his upper arms as he cleared his throat and muttered.

‘Hey uh….c-could ya take that off the heat and turn the gas off for a minute? I want to ask you something…’

Mike had a theory in his head on why Benjamin was so adamant and why he was acting the way he was acting, but he had to be sure. Benjamin furrowed his eyebrows at Mike, particularly when he saw the concerned look on his face, but turned off the gas safely and moved the stuffing away carefully as he replied.

‘What is it?’

Mike took a deep breath, here goes nothing.

‘When you said that this recipe had uh…been “deemed perfect”…uh, deemed perfect by who?’

Mike’s suspicion, his theory…it was a pretty horrible one, and he was really hoping he was wrong…but when Benjamin exhibited a tremble and bowed his head, Mike knew he’d hit the nail right on the head.

‘M-My mas-…uh, f-former master…’

Mike’s eyes softened. He’d heard a lot about this previous master from the other egos, and frankly he sounded like an absolute shit stain. Mike sighed as he realised that, even after time and a new home and new company, Benjamin still hadn’t quite moved on. He hadn’t moved on from working to someone else’s high standards and being afraid to deviate for fear of reprimandment.

‘Benjamin…’

‘I-I’m s-sorry I just…I-I still think about h-how he wanted things, how h-he asked for things to be done. Soon, with everything, it just felt like th-there was only one method, one way, a-and anything other than that…’

Benjamin gulped and shuddered…he tried not to think of him, he always tried so hard, but sometimes the memories just wouldn’t stay tucked away, the fear wouldn’t stay tucked away.

‘…i-it just wasn’t an option.’

Mike clenched his jaw before pulling Benjamin into a tight hug, making his voice as strong and steady as he could as he spoke.

‘Now you listen to me. He’s gone. You don’t have anyone to answer to anyone, ever. You can do things however you want, and I swear to you, nothing bad is going to happen if you decide to do things differently. I promise.’

The butler’s eyes widened as he let out a shaky breath, but immediately wrapped his arms around Mike and nestled his face into his shouder….to be held like this was exactly what he needed. He stuttered softly as he nodded, replying to Mike softly.

‘I-I know, I-I do…I-I’m so sorry M-Mike, thank you…’

‘Shhhh shh it’s okay, it’s all okay.’

Mike rubbed the man’s back as they hugged for a few minutes, Mike relishing in how he felt the tension leaving Benjamin’s body gradually the longer he had the butler in his arms. When they finally did part, Mike smiled up at him broadly.

‘Now, will you say something for me?’

Benjamin nodded, wiping one of his eyes residually as he nodded. Mike then cleared his throat.

‘Okay, repeat after me: I, Benjamin…’

Mike grinned and paused, which spurred Benjamin to smile and mumble.

‘I-I Benjamin…’

Mike’s eyes gleamed playfully as he continued…with the most beautiful, sassy demeanour known to man.

‘…am a strong independent butler who don’t need no master!’

Benjamin spluttered and hid his mouth with his hand as he burst into giddy giggles, before clearing his throat and bowing his head….his smile not dying down for even a second as his voice gained strength with every new word.

‘A-Am a s-strong independent butler wh-who don’t need no master!’

Benjamin then carried on giggling, he generally wasn’t a sassy person, he was usually very measured with the way he spoke….but he had to admit he loved talking with that added drama. Mike cocked his head at the giggling man, and his grin became very fond.

‘Y’know you’ve got some cute giggles there.’

Mike mused as he playfully elbowed the butler in his side, since Benjamin’s giggles were very gorgeous with how unrefined and giddy they seemed. Benjamin of course smiled bashfully and went to thank Mike for the sweet compliment….and he’d have gotten through it coherently too, if it weren’t for that elbow.

‘O-Oh, well thank you I-EEP!’

There was silence. Eye contact. Gulping. Smirking.

‘…uh oh…’

Mike gasped with evil glee at his discovery, and felt particularly giddy when Benjamin started to instinctively back away from him, spluttering frantically.

‘U-Uh, w-we should r-really focus on the stuffing! O-Or in f-fact a new stuffing, y-you can t-take the lead if you like!’

He had to change the subject. Benjamin had to change the subject, he was too ticklish for words and with Mike’s wild demeanour he dreaded to think of how evil a tickler he’d be! However, he wouldn’t have to theorise for long. Mike was chuckling as he shook his head fondly at the butler; his number one priority, right now, was to coax out more giggles from the cute butler.

‘Fuck the stuffing, you’re all I can focus on now.’

Mike darted forwards with a cackle, wasting no time in delivering tickly scratches to Benjamin’s sides. Of course, Benjamin let out a series of squeaks before attempting to scamper away from the evil digits, nervous giggles pouring from him all the while.

‘D-Dohohon’t doho thahat! Mihike! Dohon’t tihickle!’

Mike only snickered, keeping up with Benjamin easily as he started essentially chasing him around the room, his fingers still scratching and tickling haphazardly.

‘Oh but you look so sweet! Sweeter than the strawberriest strawberry ice cream!’

Benjamin’s cheeks flushed as he pushed at Mike’s hands, stuttering indignantly at that frankly unnecessary teasing.

‘N-Nohoho I-Ihihi juhust lohook sihilly!’

Benjamin was trying not to let himself get distracted by the teasing, he was already stumbling enough as it is but god forbid what would happen if Mike managed to trap him in any way. Meanwhile, Mike had started strategically tickling Benjamin towards the nearest wall as he cooed.

‘So? Silly is cute! Silliness looks particularly cute on you I have to say.’

Benjamin’s jaw dropped as his blush creep down his neck, he was so unused to such teasy kindness that it was just flustering to no end! Then…he suddenly found Mike pinning him to the wall with a smirk on his face as he dug into his sides, making him cry out with mirth.

‘NOHOHOHOHAHA MEHEHERCY OHOHO!’

Mike snickered, relishing as Benjamin writhed between him and the wall whilst laughing his heart out. Mike had to admit, Benjamin looked pretty damn cute like this all mirthful and dishevelled. Mike purred as he leaned in close to the sweet butler.

‘Ahahaaaww, you just can’t take it can you? You’re just a ticklish little dear aren’t you?’

Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut as he batted at Mike weakly, bending almost double as Mike’s wiggling fingers just broke him apart; with the never ending teasing too, it made the poor man more and more desperate.

‘PLEHEHEASE MIHIHIKE! IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES!’

Mike cocked his head at Benjamin fondly, before crooning.

‘Awww I’m sorry, does it tickle too much here? Did you want me to go somewhere else? Why I’d be happy to!’

Mike chuckled, and let his fingers glide to Benjamin’s tummy where they scratched speedily. As soon as those tickles reached his tummy, Benjamin let out quite the squeal before crumpling to the floor like his entire system had just shut down on him.

‘EEEE NAHA NAHAT THEHEHERE!’

Benjamin had a frightfully ticklish tummy, and since it was on the leaner side Mike had no trouble in tickling every inch of it at high speed. Benjamin had his eyes squeezed shut and a grin across his face as he tried to curl up, but Mike was quick to follow him down to the floor….and lie on top of him. He was not giving up on this tickling so easily, he just thought Benjamin was so cute.

‘Aww but why not? I mean, since you’re laughing so much I figured you were loving the tickles!’

Mike crooned as he continued his scratching, and Benjamin just flushed beet red. He was overwhelmed with flusteredness as he shook his head, Mike’s suggestion was entirely uncalled for and had no real factual basis for it to possibly be accurate! Benjamin absolutely wouldn’t say that he was loving this…although…he didn’t dislike it, he wasn’t going articulate that though.

‘TH-THAHAHAT’S PREHEPOHOHOSTEROHOUS!!’

Benjamin cried as he threw his head back with his mirth, the corners of his mouth crinkling up with his wide smile. Mike snickered down at him fondly, before musing in a teasy tone in reply.

‘My goodness that’s a big word there! I must not be tickling you properly!’

Benjamin’s eyes snapped open and went wide as he looked up at Mike, who was smirking evilly; honestly he was just trying to grasp any excuse possible to carry on tickling the guy. Before Benjamin could even try to ask for mercy, Mike let all ten of his fingers vibrate against the butler’s lean belly, which made him cry out cutely.

‘AHAHAHA NOHOHO NOHO NOHAHAHAHA!!’

Benjamin was writhing as his laughter boomed out from him, and tears started to build in his eyes as his poor nerves were tormented. Currently he was wondering what on earth he did to deserve this and why Mike was so intent on continuing to tickle him, I mean, the whole thing was just beyond embarrassing! Mike meanwhile, as he tickled, was actually becoming quite….enthralled. Mike found himself looking at Benjamin with a hint of awe at how lovely he looked, especially with his wide, handsome smile.

‘Awwww who’s a ticklish little Benjabooo?’

Mike couldn’t help but coo down at Benjamin with a giggle, wanting to draw out more sweet smiles and reactions from the ticklish man…and he was well rewarded. Benjamin’s arms and legs flailed haphazardly as the man let out a rather dramatic, flustered wail.

‘DOHOHON’T CAHALL MEHE THAHAHAAAT!!’

Mike’s eyes lit up…so he was flustered by nicknames huh? Mike chuckled to himself, and decided to ease up on the tummy tickling. Not only did he do this to let Benjamin breathe….but this was also so that he could ramp up the teasing to maximum.

‘Don’t call you Benjaboo? Hmm, what about Benjabub? Oooor Benjabubby, or Benjabumpkin? What about Bennyboop?’

Benjamin whined as Mike got right into his face as he crooned, spurring him to hide his own face in his hands out of embarrassment from all the teasy, cutesy taunting. Benjamin always found that nicknames flustered him, especially if they were silly or playful, nicknames just sent him into a tizzy.

‘N-Nohone ohof thohohooose! Th-They’re soho embarrassing!’

Mike merely snickered fondly.

‘Well duh that’s the point! If you don’t pick one, then I guess I’ll just have to use all of them….in front of everyone…’

Benjamin let out a flustered squeak into his hands as he peeked up Mike…looking at him with his smirking and chuckling told the butler that Mike would certainly make good on his word if he didn’t pick a nickname. Benjamin whined as he hurried to think to himself, but all the options were just so embarrassing and gave him so many flustery butterflies! Benjamin nibbled his bottom lip for a few moments as his mind raced….then settled. It still made him blush, but one nickname was better than an infinity of them. He cleared his throat, and replied bashfully.

‘W-Well…I-Ihi suppose….Benjabooisn’ttooawful…’

Mike grinned broadly, practically lighting up with joy as he exclaimed.

‘Benjaboo it is! Cutesy and sweet, just like you!’

Mike booped Benjamin’s nose with a smug little giggle, making the butler scrunch up his face and lightly pout up at his teaser.

‘Why must you t-tease me?’

Benjamin’s voice was meek and flustered, which made Mike smile less evilly and more genuinely as he gazed down at him. Truthfully, there was only one resonating thought in Mike’s mind. The thought that had made him carry on teasing and carry on tickling….Benjamin was at his most beautiful, when he was happy. Mike cleared his throat softly, he couldn’t say his raw thought of course, so he stuck to being teasy.

‘Because you’re a cutie when you get blushy and all smiley, and especially since that sweet smile of yours is so rarely seen…’

Benjamin’s blush was practically creeping down his neck by this point…but now that the tickling had completely ended, his was gaining a glimmer of confidence back, as well as some coherency of thought. As he looked up at him, Benjamin found himself feeling quite taken by Mike’s broad grin and playfulness. So, Benjamin figured he’d bite back a tad.

‘I-I could say the same about you, you have a pretty darling smile…’

Mike froze, blinking a few times in surprise. All of a sudden, that domineering demeanour faltered and made way for a far more bashful Mad Mike. He ran a hand through his hair as he let out a light laugh, the compliment had definitely caught him off guard…and his cheeks had gone a pretty pink too.

‘Oh….heh….well uh, th-thanks…’

He muttered quietly, which made Benjamin develop a gleaming, cheeky grin as he murmured cheekily.

‘Who’s the blushy one now?’

Mike’s eyes widened, and he felt the heat growing on his face, he couldn’t have that! He was the tickler, the flusterer, the teaser! He narrowed his eyes down at the butler and leant down nose to nose with him, growling.

‘Y-You shut up!’

‘Why don’t you make me?’

Benjamin purred in reply, his heart racing as he felt Mike’s warm breath on his face; Benjamin nibbled his lip as the sweet scent of vanilla ice cream filled his senses. Benjamin’s breaths were shaky as they both went quiet, locking eyes with one another. Mike was frozen in place as he looked down at Benjamin, who was just so bold and beautiful and…perfect. Neither of them were sure what spurred them both to lean in, but the results made them both very, very happy. They kissed. It began haphazardly of course and a tad fast, but they soon slowed it down into a connection that was soft and warm and made them both smile. After a few moments they parted to catch their breath, and Mike whispered with a giggle.

‘Mmmm, maybe we should have you for Christmas dinner-’

‘Oh sh-shush!’

Mike chuckled warmly at Benjamin, who had his lips pursed cutely. Mike pecked them, once, twice, three times, four times.

‘I think you like my teasing though…’

Benjamin let out a whine, before breaking into a smile and muttering.

‘Mayhaps, but if you keep teasing me with pecked kisses alone then I may lose my marbles…’

Mike snorted, and happily obliged. This new flaming connection was glorious of course, though instead of it being hot it was more like a tender warmth. Also, I think we can all surmise that from then on there were far fewer conflicts in the kitchen…and infinitely more freedom.

WOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS NEXT FIC LEME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

#crankgameplays #crankgameplays egos #mad mike #benjamin the butler #benjamin #sfw #romantic #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #day 11 #christmas 2019

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indelwen-of-mirkwood · 6 years ago

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He Can Still Love: Part 3

A/N: It’s been a while, so here’s another chapter. Thanks for all the support. Trying to get rid of the hated writers block.

The gentle glow of light danced on your skin, it’s warm wrapping you. You let out a small sigh, relaxing your body one more time before having to get up from your comfortable bed. One of your eyes opened as you heard the sound of feet shuffling through the now open door of your room. One of the servants had brought in a food tray, the scent of warm pastries filling the air.

You slowly lifted yourself up to sit with your back on the plush pillows, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why are we not having breakfast in the dining room?” You ask as your eyes follow the tray, until it was set down on your night table.

The servant curtsied, her simple green dress clasped in her hands, “My lady, they said that you will be riding out to Mirkwood earlier than expected,” she began to say, “you are to meet your family at the front gates in two hours.”

When she walked away you cracked your neck in annoyance, you were not at all ready you leave 3 days earlier. You didn’t have the time to say goodbye to the friendly servants, not get one more stroll through the kingdom. When you reached for the tray you almost let it slip from your hands, adding more frustration to your brow.

Once you had wiped off all of the flakes from your fingers, and cleaned off your bed, you were slightly calmer. You were at least glad to know that your parents would stay at Mirkwood for a week.

After setting up the bath yourself, you dipped into the warm water. Lush scents of bath oils filled your senses. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, enjoying every second of it.

Once you were done you stood in front of the mirror, hands tracing the newly tailored riding outfit. Your fingers gently felt over the sturdy breeches, the silk-like texture of the tunic satisfying to the touch.

As you fixed your hair you walked around the room, feeling the cool breeze enter your room from the balcony. You went outside to get one more view, below it were the gardens, green mixed with all sort of colors dotted the earth there. You could hear the melodious sound of birds chirping, their voices making you smile. To the right you were able to hear people talking in the distance, some of the stablehands were already bringing out the horses, your parents carriage was already polished and waiting.

When you saw a tall silver haired elf walk down the marble front stairs, you heart leaped a tiny bit. Your teeth clenched in your bottom lip, you knew what this meant. And you couldn’t believe that it had coke down to this, honestly it was no surprise, Thranduil was tall, handsome, and you didn’t know much about him. For now you pushed the feelings aside, they couldn’t get in the way of things.

Then you walked out of the room, giving it one last survey. You would miss it’s painted walls, the view, all the memories you got when you were a mere child. As you made your way down the halls, you could hear servants following in behind you, retrieving the chests of packed clothes and necessities from your room.

Your head was held high, face still and calm, although this want necessarily the way you felt inside. Your heart was aching a little, you had known you would leave your home for a long time, but it seems your don’t really understand the conditions until you experience them.

When you reached outside, you took one last glance at the entryway. You would miss every little crack in the marble, every stain of moss that covered the bottom of the steps. With your eyes closed you allowed a faint smile to play on your face, it was that of sadness, but you knew you would be happy with your new home. With all due respect you could tell Thranduil was a strict ruler, therefore his halls must be perfectly clean and decorated.

You turned around, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the gentle breeze not giving up to untuck it. In front of you all the horses we already saddled, you spotted your mount in the front, sanding in front of the simple carriage.

Your feet carried you across the dewy grass, new boots crunching whatever leaves were falling. You turned to the left beside the carriage.

“Ooof”, you said as the air was pushed from your lungs, your head quickly went up to see with who you collided. Your face turning red when you meet the icy blue eyes of Thranduil. You seemed to lose your tongue as you scrambled to say something. “I am very sorry, my lord,” you begin to say, “I should have watched where I was going.” The whole time he watched you like a hawk, his eyes glaring into your soul.

After staring at each other for a moment he finally said, “Yes, Indeed you should have.” With this he walked away, you didn’t dare look back, more matter how much you were temped to. You walked over to your horse, wringing out your hands of frustration. This day just couldn’t get better, could it?

You walked up to the front of your horse, reaching out to gently pat it’s face. He leaned into your touch, enjoying the way your gently scratched his neck, “Don’t throw me off today, please,” you say to him, “I can’t handle any more embarrassment.” He gently threw up his head with a snort, you could only hope that he understood.

You turned your head to the sound of metal clanging, about a dozen of guards mounted on war horses arrived, they were Thranduil’s men, clad in silver armour. Followed by them was another dozen of guards, wearing a contrasting gold armour, your families most trusted guards. You gave them all a nod or welcome.

Over the next minutes the rest of the servants arrived, and then your parents, accompanied by Thranduil. You let out a puff of air as you went to greet your parents, relief filling you when you saw Thranduil walk the other way, toward his giant elk that was brought out.

You gave them a warm smile, all the previous issues instantly wiping away. “A lovely morning dear,” said your mother as she placed her hand on your shoulder. You father gave you a nod before he walked off to speak to the guards. “It is,” you say to her, “may I ask why we are leaving today?”

You saw her fix her posture, letting out a small sigh. “There has been an orc army spotted making their way down the valleys that seperate our realms,” She says slightly distracted by the movement around you. “If we leave today we can get pass in front of them, any other day would be too late.” You gave her an understanding nod.

Hearing footsteps beside you, you head turned, you father came back and said, “We should be off now.” You smiled and gave a small gesture from your heart, “I will see you then.”

You spun around on your heels and made your way back to your mount. From the corner of your eyes you spotted Thranduil, looking as regal as ever atop his elk, even your bulky horse was nowhere near its size.

You mounted your horse in a graceful manner, taking a perfect position in the saddle. You checked to make sure your traveling pack was secure on the saddle, your sword safely attached to the side too. The travelers formed a train, several guards in front, sides, and back. There was a large gap to allow you some privacy. As you all began to move, the sound of hooves stomping against the ground filled your ears.

You saw the heavy figure of Thranduil’s elk come into view, he brought himself to trot next to you. It took you a short moment to fix your face into a calm manner, trying not to think about your last interaction.

You almost cringed when you heard his voice say, “Lady (Y/N), would you rather ride in the carriage? It is quite a rough terrain we will passing over soon.”

You shot him a death glare, almost regretting it until you noticed he wasn’t even looking at you. “I am quite fine, my lord, I am a capable rider.” You tried to say politely. It was a moment of silence as you tried to think of something interesting to ask him.

“May I ask why you ride an elk?” You said in honesty curiosity, it was indeed a strange mount, but seemed suitable for him. It made him seem in touch with the nature of his home realm.

His head turned to look at you for a brief moment, a small smile twitching on the corners of his lips. It made you feel warm inside, glad that you were able to make the ever so stiotic king smile.

“I found him when he was just a calf,” he said as he looked ahead, the green leaves if trees fanning around you. “Both of his parents had been killed, his mothers body was shielding him.”

You tried to image what he said, the poor baby orphaned, his parents protecting him until their dying breath. “I had been riding out with some guards, I myself was still a prince, and found him.” He gave a sigh as he gently patted the elks hide, “I took him in, raised him, and here we are, still caring for each other.”

For once his eyes expressed emotion as he spoke about his deed, you smiled warmly, catching his eyes, “That was very considerate of you,” you saw him nod, his face returning to its neautral expression.

After another hour of peaceful trotting, you finally reached the first open valley, a vast area of land, covered with green like moss. There were few trees scattered there, birds flying overheard. This would be the first resting place, take a small break from the riding.

Before you were given the chance to dismount you heard Thranduil finally speak, his silver hair moving with the breeze. “Would you care to see whose mount if faster?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment, then your eyes glowed with realization. Thranduil too managed another slight smile, speaking with his eyes to show that he was amused. You replied, “You mean gallop through this beautiful field?”

He said nothing as he turned his elk around, you let out a chuckle. It was said that Thranduil’s idea of fun was throwing parties and getting drunk of wine, but it seemed it wasn’t the only one. You were glad that he was attempting to spend time with you, the butterflies went to flight again in your stomach, not sure if it was because you were nervous.

Tag List:

@gespirida

@lilith15000

@sapphireduck

@bvckys-doll

@nijiru

#thranduil #thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #imagine #mirkwood #the hobbit #thrandy #thranduil story #x reader

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aria-i-adagio · 5 years ago

Text

Hear the Birds on the Summer Breeze

Masterpost. Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: T

Eight years ago.

“Where are we going?” I scrambled over a fallen log. My foot feel through a rotten portion, and I cursed as the rough bark of nearby muscadine vine scraped my hands when I grabbed it in another failed attempt to steady myself. I tried my best to follow Asra’s meandering path through the forest, his body lithe over the unruly ground - a sprite or a fae - his unruly white hair glowing in the dappled light. “At this point we’ll never make it back into town before dark.”

Asra paused and turned back to me, that easy, enigmatic smile on his lips. “Were you planning on sleeping tonight?”

“Well, I mean, maybe.” I would love to sleep tonight, but it was only midway through the afternoon, and I could already tell that the gods of sleep would once again fail to cooperate with me. Or maybe I was the one would fail - yet again - to cooperate with them. My mind whirled and flew along a new tangent each moment. I should keep my eye out for some of shade loving herbs while we were out here. The supplies of skullcap and betony were running low. My fault. I had drunk through most of those stocks trying to calm myself. But the herbs hadn't helped. Even if they should have.

Last night had been whittled away in a bar, and then, when they finally showed me the door to close up, reorganizing the herb stores in my aunt’s shop. Anna, my aunt, wasn’t very happy with my reorganizing, but she had acknowledged that I had gotten a couple years worth of dust cleaned off the upper shelves. So that was something, at least. The wakefulness hadn’t been entirely wasted. Versus, say, the prior night - day - that I had spent passed out after being awake for three days in a row.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling around us, and falling to rest on the ground. And maybe, maybe I could become the rays of light, to drown in them. If I was good enough, meek enough, they'd console me, consume me. Or maybe I didn't want to be the light dappling the ground folding in on itself, soft and cool and warm and all the same time. Folds, depressions in the ground. Fold in on myself until I can rest falling warm in the sunlight -

“Dema.” Asra folded his hands around mine, and Faust stretched herself toward me, tonguing at my cheek. “Come back to me.”

I took a deep breath, trying - and mostly failing - to pay attention to the sensation of the air passing through my mouth and sinuses, then shook my head and rock back and forth on my feet. “Sorry. I got lost."

“It’s okay.” He let go of one hand and touched my jaw, my face, one thumb brushing along my cheekbone. "Where did you go this time?"

"The sunlight, then the ground. No, not the ground. The places where it ripples like waves breaking against the light."

His eyes were solemn, but there was no judgment, no discomfort in them. I heard the words in my head, leaving my mouth, so uncomfortably pausing on my tongue. I don't blame people who take a step back, not when I start making so precious little sense. But Asra doesn't draw back from the thoughts, from the words, from me. He doesn't abandon me to the swirl of odd, inconsistent thoughts that have bedeviled me for days. He turned my hand so that our palms were touching and wove his fingers through mine.

He was going to teach me to read palms at some point, he promised, but somehow we had always been too busy. If anyone would teach me, it had to be him. Anna didn’t dabble in fortunes; said she had no knack for it. He tugged me forward; his fingers around mine were comforting, grounding. “Come on. ��You’ll like where we're going. I promise.”

I would have asked him how he knew, but then, Asra has a knack for fortunes.

Asra followed the path of small stream back to its source in a hollow between two steeply sloping wall of limestone, jagged from where the water had been nibbling away at them for years, creating stone formations that cut into the air. Asra extends his arm, allowing Faust to wind herself around a low hanging branch and pushed aside some overhanging vines, revealing a cave opening out from the side of hill. I smiled. I do like caves. The air is always perfectly cool inside. I don’t even have to duck down to enter; Asra, does - at least a bit.

Inside the air was cool and moist. The quartz rich granite walls glimmered in the limited sunlight. I tapped my fingertips together and took my time to weave my will into an orb of iridescent light - the dazzling reflections of sparks on the tiny crystals were delightful to watch as they danced in the air like fairies carrying fragments of memories. Beyond the humidity, I felt a sort of thrumming in the cave itself, one that complemented - canceled - the buzzing of my own mind. For a moment I felt like the cave was waiting for me - somehow meant for me.

“I do like this, Asra.”

He laughed and summoned his own ball of light. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part. Take my hand again. I don’t want to lose you in here.”

I didn’t think I’d mind losing myself in here, or rather, getting lost among the flecks of light and cool, still, so very, very still air. But I also didn’t mind curling my fingers into his warm hand.

The chambers he led me through twist and turn, high ceilings and low. As we get deeper into the cave, patterns are marked on the walls. Some scar the stone in smooth, deliberate grooves, others are nothing more than a faint trace of magic. In some of the taller chambers, faint rays of light cut through the darkness, falling down from vents into the cave system. The thrumming, humming, not quite singing, of the magic that I felt grew stronger as we proceed, but it soothed instead of overwhelming me. If I could have sunk myself entirely into stone, into the humid air itself, I would have happily done so.

Eventually, the cave opened up into a massive chamber lit from overhead by a shaft of sunlight. Enough that plants grew in and around the pool of water at the middle. Ferns and mosses crept up the rocky walls softening their jagged edges. The water pulsed along with the vibrations of the magic - a rapid and steady heartbeat for the cave itself.

“Oh!” I dropped Asra’s hand and knelt beside the pool, fingertips hovering over the surface. “Can I touch it?”

“You can. You can swim in it if you like. Sometimes the water does strange things, but it’s safe enough as long as you don’t panic.”

I dipped my hand in. The water was surprisingly warm around my fingers. And soothing. I laughed, dragging my fingers along the bottom. The sand spiraled around my fingertips and drifted softly back down, golden in the light. Then, I stripped out of my shirt and trousers, tossing them aside before wading into the pool. Within three steps, the water is past my waist.

“Careful - it gets deep quickly.”

“I see that.” I dug my toes into the sandy bottom. The gritty texture felt absolutely divine against the bottom of my feet. Turning back, I waved to Asra. He seemed further away than I would have expected, but my sense of time and space had been getting a bit confused over the past few days. Asra’s grinning and had already pulled off his shoes. “Come with me.” Asra shrugged off his shirt and the complicatedly pleated skirt he was wearing today, while I sank into the water, letting it take most of weight and watching the sunlight filter down. Silent in the water, he managed to sneak beside me and surprise me with a splash. When I turn to retaliate, he’s out of range, swimming toward the middle of the pool and then disappearing below the surface with a kick of feet.

The bottom of the pond fell away almost immediately. I ducked my head below the water. The sand sparkled in the dappled sunlight, and tiny plants competed for control of the patches of light left by the giant lily pads overhead. In the shaded spots, something else grew - pale, glowing, and lavender. I dove beneath the surface, kicking down toward the strange plant. Reaching it took longer than I expected; depth was hard to gauge in the clear water. But, as I got closer to the plant - its leaves are plump and curved like a succulent - I didn’t feel pressure building in my ears or the burning feeling of lungs demanding a fresh breath of air. I spun and caught sight of Asra, hovering nearby. He gestured to his chest and mouth, and I remembered what he said about the water doing strange things. Apparently negating the need to breath was one of those things.

If one or the other of us moved, I didn’t notice it, but Asra was close enough to take my hand. I wrapped my fingers around his and let him pull me deeper into this curious, weightless place. The sunlight wavers, competing with glowing patterns from the rock formations in the water; it was unclear whether they are drawn by a hand or part of the natural magic of the place. Whichever, both, or something else entirely, it’s gorgeous.

The thrum of the cave’s magic remained constant, fading from the top of my awareness into a steady hum. As I spun and tumbled in the water, savoring the sensation of neutral buoyancy, another pitch takes over, lower, stuttering and uneven. I twisted around, trying to find the source of the drone. A crevice opened in the side of the stone walls. Unlike the rest of the pool, which was caught in an interplay of filtered sunlight and the glow of magic, the absence of light defined this crevice. I spin toward slow in the water. The drone from it was a dissonant, but familiar, polyphony, drawing me - dragging me - toward it. I pulled away from Asra’s hand and kicked toward the crevice eager to know what created such an immersive, secondary sensation. Something that I could maybe, just maybe I could lose myself in.

Something wrapped tightly around my waist, and I struggled for a moment before realizing that Asra had thrown his arms around me. He pulled me back, and we’re suddenly back in the shallows, standing in water that barely reaches my waist and breathing the cool cave air.

“Are you okay?”

“What? Yes. I was only curious.”

Asra shook his head. “I’ve never seen that crevice before. It’s dangerous. Or at least, could be dangerous. I don’t think you would drown, but there are a lot of convoluted passages. You could get lost.”

“Yeah, okay.” I thought about the ominous drone and wonder just how deep my curiosity would have pulled me. It was gone now. All I could hear is the cave humming that same comfortable pitch as before. “Thanks.”

He pulls me tight against him, cheek pressed to mine. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Well above us, the light had darkened leaving the cavern lit by the soft glow of the luminescent plants and the ensorcelled marks on the wall. Asra stood, dripping wet, and offers me a hand up. I took it. When he pulled me up, I overbalanced and fell forward, catching myself against his shoulders. He laughed as I straighten up.

“I know a good trick.” I gestured between us with my hands and a wave of warmth passed over us, pulling the water from our hair and turning what little clothing we had left on - skin tight and translucent with water a moment before - opaque and dry again.

Asra turned and picked his skirt up from the pile of clothes we had left on the bank and wrapped it back around his waist. “You’ll have to teach me that one. Where’d you learn it?” “Figured it myself after a few too many times walking home drenched and cold in the dark post skinny dipping.” I pulled my trousers back on and shrug into my shirt, wrapping my arms around my chest. The cave air seemed chillier than before, even it I knew that the temperature should remain constant.

“Cold?”

“A bit.”

Asra dug in his bag and retrieved a blanket that he had somehow managed to pack in a bag half its size. He shook it out and wrapped it around my shoulders, bending down to kiss my nose playfully. We were both still for a moment, foreheads pressed together. I could feel his breath, inhale and exhale, passing across my face.

“Aren’t you chilly too?”

“Maybe a little.”

I sat down on the sandy bank and stretched one arm out. Asra settled down next to me and smiled when I tuck half of the blanket around his shoulders. He waited for a minute, arms folded across his knees, then he looked at me and slid one arm around my waist.

“Is this okay?”

“Very much so.”

He pulled me closer to him and ran his fingers through my hair. “I’ve wanted to bring you here for awhile. The magic here is mostly benevolent. And peaceful.”

“I like it.” I curled into his embrace, leaning my head against his shoulder. “This is the quietest I’ve felt in . . .” My voice trailed off as I can’t narrow down a timeframe.

“I’m glad.” Pulling me with him, he laid back on the sand. He tucked one arm behind his head, leaving the other one tight around my shoulders. I rested my head on his chest and pulled the blanket as far around us as I can manage. Closing my eyes, I listen to his heart beat beneath my ear. His hand slid into my hair, twirling the locks around his fingers. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

I shifted, lifting my head enough to see his face. There’s just enough light left to make out his eyes, soft and violet. “Lose me?”

“Sometimes I worry that you won’t actually come back. That you’ll get lost in the tangle of your own thoughts, chasing some alluring apparition.” His hand trailed down my back to my waist. “I don’t like that there’s nothing much I can do.”

“You don’t run away from me. That’s what matters.”

He head turned slightly to the side, looking away from me. “Is that enough?”

I pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s enough.”

He was silent for a moment, then turned his face back to me, returning my kiss slowly, lips over mine, other arm unfolding from behind his head and wrapping around me. It’s sweet and slow kiss, sufficient in itself, heading nowhere in particular. I tucked my head back under his chin, warm and quiet and content to be pressed against him, and closed my eyes

When I opened my eyes again, the full moon had risen in the sky, casting its cool light down to the pool. Asra’s breathing was deep and steady. One hand is gripping my arm, the other is tangled in my hair. I touched my fingers to his lips, and he smiles without waking. He can somehow sleep anywhere. I envy him that. Settling back against him, I closed my eyes, falling asleep without a battle against myself for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Four

AN: Chapter title from Lana Del Rey, “Ride”

#the arcana #the arcana fanfiction #lime #asra #asra alnazar #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #fan apprentice #whatever i've done #my writing #dema #hypomania #insomnia

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