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whxtedreams · 6 months

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Chapter One: The Arrival

The Depths we Devour, a gothic horror detective!joel fic

Summary

Detective Miller arrives at the manor and learns that this case is a lot more complicated that he first thought. A father gone mad, the daughter stuck on the detectives mind.

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags: Joel POV, smoking, alcohol, joel miller is scared of rats, reader is referred to as the girl and she/her, reader has hair that can be braided and reaches her back, reader wears dresses, author! reader, joel miller has inappropriate thoughts about reader, jealous!joel (weak), protective!joel, joel calls reader sweetheart, soft touches. - as always, if i miss any let me know

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The Detective

Day One

3:26pm

The afternoon sky glistens on the wet road, rain pelting on every surface the storm sees beneath it. Poor unfortunate animals scurry through the rattling grass desperate to find shelter from the harsh wind that gusts through the forest floors and the rain that forms small flowing rivers in the mud.

The swift and nimble fox dashes across the road, its feet almost silent upon the hard pavement. The beam of light from oncoming traffic catches its eyes, causing the animal to pause in its erratic travels. It watches in terror as the death-machine races towards it, growing closer with each passing second. The car swerves, tires screeching as they slide on the wet, slick surface.

The fox's movement is sudden and brief, finally spurred into action only as the blaring horn of the car breaks its daze. Within mere seconds, it's back once again hidden from danger, as it sprints into the bushes.

The storm rages on, unrelenting in its intensity. Lightning flashes in the sky, brightening the world for a fraction of a second before fading once again. Thunder rolls across the sky, rumbling through the ground with each booming clap.

And yet, the car keeps moving.

The driver has somewhere to be. Someone to meet. Someone to find.

A crossroad lies ahead, the water having already claimed and devoured a large portion of the path to the left. The detective glances down at his car's navigation system, exhaling in relief as it directs him to take a right-hand turn instead.

He sits hunched over the wheel, a deep frown on his face as he focuses on the road ahead. The rain lashes at the windshield of his car, the windshield wipers working in overdrive to try and clear his line of vision.

The radio sputters, the crackle of static filling his ears. He flinches as his ears are subjected to the harsh sounds, grunting in annoyance at the abuse he's being forced to listen to. He takes a few attempts before managing to find the volume knob, fumbling for it as he continues to focus on the road. Once located, he turns it to zero, taking an audible sigh of relief as the silence returns.

He turns into a driveway, his car following the paved road as it slowly rolls to a stop outside an old manor. The imposing structure stands before him, the ancient architecture a stark contrast to the modern vehicle now resting beside it.

The detective half expects a vampire to turn into a bat and fly into the sky before his eyes. Or an old pipe organ, the deep sound to announce his arrival, like out of one of those old horror movies his daughter liked to watch.

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters under his breath as the building comes into focus. The structure shines even in the dim light, the rain coating the exterior in a thin film of water. The dark grey concrete bricks stand out against the vibrant green surrounding foliage as the water runs down the exterior, dripping from the gutters onto the ground below.

He rummages through the paperwork on the passenger seat, his flask slipping from its spot and hitting the floor with a quiet thunk. He stops in his actions, his hands freezing on the paper as he stares down at the flask. Before he has a chance to reach for it, a loud rumble of thunder shakes the ground beneath the car, a flash of lightning illuminating the interior for just a split second.

He shakes his head, dismissing any thoughts of taking a sip of alcohol from his mind. Taking the printed-out email for the job, he reads over the details once again before exiting the car.

Dear Detective Miller.

I found myself reading an article about you in the paper the other week, the case you solved involving a missing child. The author wrote praises for your efforts, and I unfortunately need your expertise in the dire matter.

My father is a Mycologist, researching and experimenting with all sorts of fungi that peeks his interests. He’s been obsessing over a new discovery in the woods surrounding our manor, gone for days at a time but I’m afraid this is different. No one has heard from him in over a week as I write to you, and I am afraid something has happened to him.

I have contacted the local authorities, but they turned their back on my father, stating he’s just busy at work and he will turn up soon. But I know that not to be true. If he’s lost in his work, he always checks in with either myself or our staff as the woods around can be dangerous.

It’s been almost two weeks and it’s been radio silence.

Please, if you could find my father, I would be forever in your debt.

Joel lifts his eyes from the crumpled paper in his hands, staring up at the manor once more. "All this from just looking at mold and mushrooms?" he mutters to himself, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. With a sigh, he tosses the paper back onto the pile beside him and hunts for his lighter in his jacket pocket. Balancing a cigarette between his lips, he sparks the flame and takes a long drag of the nicotine before exhaling a puff of smoke into the car. “I’m in the wrong damn profession.”

He tucks the lighter back in his pocket as he kills the ignition, stuffing the keys into their rightful spot alongside the lighter. The nicotine surges through his body, the soothing sensation seemingly relaxing his bones as he leans back in his seat with a heavy sigh. He closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of peace before he has to get to work.

He rolls his head to the side, taking in the sight of the fat raindrops smashing against the car's passenger window. The trees sway violently in the wind nearby, the weather conditions worsening with every passing second. He leans over the console, tugging on the glove box until it opens, ignoring the second fallen flask as he continues to dig through the paperwork. His fingers slip past the scattered pages and documents, ultimately gripping onto the handle of his gun.

The gun fits snugly into his shoulder holster, the weight of the weapon a constant and familiar sensation. He adjusts his jacket to cover the weapon once more, the holster hidden from view as he smooths his fingers through his hair. An attempt to fix his appearance that's ultimately hopeless in the face of the terrible weather outside.

Before exiting, he picks up his flash from the floor. Just in case, he tells himself.

He opens the car door with a soft, annoyed hiss, taking in the frosty wind that whooshes into the car. He tosses the cigarette from his mouth and into the mud, stomping on it for extra measure despite the fact the rain had already killed the heat the moment he opened the door.

Uncaring of the rain, the detective quickly jogs up the stairs and reaches the door. He knocks once, then waits patiently before knocking again. This time, he knocks with a bit more volume, hoping that their attention would be drawn to the fact that he had arrived.

The rain covers any sound coming from beyond the door, making listening in difficult. The detective grunts in annoyance, trying to wiggle the handle only to find out that the door is locked.

“Fucking great.” He mutters as he looks up at the sky, as if the storm will help him.

Joel jogs back down the stairs, his eyes catching sight of another set of dark green doors to his left. With a quick motion, he pushes the large, wooden doors open with his hands. A sound of wood against the concrete floor screeches as he manages to force the heavy doors open.

Joel's voice echoes through the darkened room as he steps inside, the sound of his footsteps crunching bits of the hay that coats the floor. "Hello?" he yells out into the empty space, hoping that someone else would respond. His hand continues to explore the area nearest to him, his search for a light switch failing. In a last attempt before completely giving up, he removes the flashlight attached to his holster and repeatedly hits it against the palm of his hand until it finally turns on. The beam of light illuminates the barn in front of him.

Joel startles at the loud, sudden noise of the door slamming behind him. "Fuuuuck me," he lets out a small huff of air, placing a hand over his heart as his breathing becomes quick and agitated.

He’s getting too old for this shit.

The light shines across empty stalls, the once-organized buckets having been knocked over and the scattered hay now covering the floor. Joel frowns at the sight of this mess, using his booted foot to push a large barrel to the side. The sudden movement of the barrel causes a mouse to squeal, dashing across the room after its hiding spot had been compromised.

Joel stumbles back, his yelp filling the room much louder than the small creature's. With a quick glance around, he sighs in relief as he thanks whatever gods there may be that his embarrassing moment was left unnoticed.

“Damn rats” he mutters.

The detective regains his composure, quickly exiting the room before he makes another embarrassing, albeit vocal, expression of his fright.

The flashlight flickers before eventually dying out as he steps into the hallway. Joel scolds himself for his oversight in forgetting to change the batteries, making a disgusted noise as he tosses the useless, flickering flashlight back onto the strap of his holster.

In the absence of any proper lighting, his hands guide him instead as he moves down the dark, eerie hallway. Flashes of lightning illuminate the area through dusty windows, giving brief glimpses of his surroundings as he passes. He reaches the end of the hallway, pushing open a door into a brightly lit room - a conservatory.

The plants here seem to have a mind of their own, growing wherever they may wish and creeping over the garden beds. The various plants spread out in untamed, wild ways, almost as if they were crawling along the ground. They have completely overtaken the statues within the area, their vines and leaves wrapping around the cracked statues, like a python sucking the life out of its prey.

He hears the faint, humming sound coming from deep in the room. His feet carry him across the vine-covered bricks with each step, the stems of the plants snapping under the pressure of his boots as he moves through the room. The rain continues to pelt down on the glass roof above, the constant sound of raindrops hitting the surface of the glass echoing through the room.

He should probably call out, announce his presence to whoever or whatever it is that is humming. But, despite the fact he knows it is most likely the safest course of action, he finds himself entranced by the sound.

The massive tree dominates the corner of the conservatory, its thick trunk taking up the majority of the space as if it were demanding it. Its roots are thick, having already done their fair share of damage to the concrete path that surrounds it, tearing into the surface with reckless abandon. Joel carefully steps over a particularly large root as soon as he spots the end of a dress peeking out from around the side of the tree.

The humming is louder as he walks closer to the gigantic tree, the sound becoming even more beautiful as it mixes with the rain. He stops on the path, pausing to listen for several moments as he enjoys the melody and the ambiance that surrounds him.

He takes another step, a branch crunching under his boot.

The humming suddenly stops, interrupted by a startled gasp as the girl scrambles to her feet. She looks at the detective with wide, terrified eyes, her breath catching in her throat. The book she had been holding falls unceremoniously to the ground beside her, forgotten in her haste and fear. She stares at the detective, wide eyed like the fox he almost killed earlier.

They stare at each other, both wide eyed and frozen.

"Sorry, miss," he begins, his voice gentle as he attempts to puts her at ease. "Didn't mean to scare you," he assures her, shaking his head in genuine regret. He offers his hand for a handshake. "I'm Detective Miller," he introduces himself with a simple, respectful smile.

She relaxes at his reassurance, a warm smile settling on her face as she takes his hand into hers. Their hands fit together well, her hands being soft and delicate in his as he gives them a gentle shake.

“I’m awfully sorry sir, I guess the staff didn’t hear you. The storm is dreadfully loud.” As if to prove her point, thunder erupts through the room, shaking the ground beneath them slightly.

They both look up at the sky through the glass roof, a soft smile on her face.

He quickly lets go of her hand, allowing her to retrieve the book that she had dropped in fright. As she rises to her feet once more, her eyes move across his body, taking note of every little detail. He raises an eyebrow in response to her action, a curious and amused expression lighting his face as he watches her take him in.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re absolutely drenched. We’ll have to get you dry before I let you in the main house. Eliza will have your neck if you dirty her precious floors.”

He takes a moment to look down at his clothes as well, taking note of the way that the damp fabric drips onto the bricks beneath him, a small puddle slowly forming and slowly oozing its way through the cracks.

“Oh, right. Of course. Sorry.”

"Follow me," she says with a wave of her hand, causing him to trail behind her as he follows her closely. Her braided hair flows softly down her back, the delicate bow sitting unevenly at the end. It calls out to him, his hand twitching with an urge to reach out and straighten the ribbon. But, he refrains from doing so, realising the action would indeed be weird. He knows that.

She leads the detective through a door, stepping into a room that is completely void of any source of light until she pulls on a string that's dangling from the ceiling, a single bulb that dangles above. She chuckles at his expression of annoyance as he eyes the old light, frowning at the way it flickers as it sways.

Was there a string light in the stables?

"It's a rather old house," she says with just the smallest hint of amusement, gesturing around the room to make her point. "You're going to find it operates like one," she continues, her words proving to be true. She turns around gracefully, her dress swirls and his eyes follow the movement of her figure as she walks away.

He liked the way she called him detective.

He's been referred to as a detective countless time over decades on the job, however, something about the way she said it, the tone she used, and the slight glimpse of amusement that danced upon her features when she said it made him feel almost...flustered.

He follows her through the room and into the kitchen, his nostrils immediately assaulted by the aroma of home-cooked food as he walks through the doorway. The smell causes his stomach to rumble slightly, a reminder that he hasn't had a home-cooked meal in a while. Having lived off greasy fast food and diner meals for far too long, he finds it hard to recall the last time he has had a meal that wasn’t drenched in oil or salt.

Freshly baked bread and pastries lay unattended on the island in the middle of the room, their scent wafting through the air as the large room fills with the aroma of baked goods. A pot full of what he assumes to be pumpkin soup sits on the stove top, the heat from the pot making the liquid simmer softly as an appetizing smell wafts forth.

He was just about to reach for a croissant, his fingers just about to pluck it from its plate when her words stop him in his tracks. "Alexander is a wonderful cook, but I wouldn't touch his pastry if I were you," she says with a light chuckle, making him freeze. He then clenches his hand into a fist and lowers it back down to his side, his fingers curling against his palm.

She pushes the door open, guiding him inside a dark, dirty hallway. A thick veil of cobwebs has taken over the space between the ceiling and the wall, blanketing the area in a spidery web of filth. The girl pauses at the entrance to the laundry room, quickly ushering him in with a brief gesture.

The room features a mixture of modern and old forms of laundry, the contrast between the two creating a unique atmosphere. She pulls out a stool for him to sit upon in front of the lit fire, which provides a welcome warmth to the chilly air. He doesn't hesitate to do as he's directed, shrugging off the water-soaked jacket before she quickly drapes it over a rack beside the fire.

He takes his sodden shoes off as the water sloshes around inside. She grabs the boots from his hands, quickly emptying the accumulated water out into the sink before placing them in front of the fire to dry them out.

He settles in front of the warm flames, adjusting the way his damp socks are positioned to soak in the heat. However, he doesn't linger on that activity for too long. "So, your father is missing?" he asks, falling into his typical line of questioning.

She sighs and nods her head, the sudden movement causing her shoulders to slump. Sitting on the back of her heels, her pale-yellow dress falls to the dirty floor, collecting on the grungy tiles as she settles down in front of the fire herself.

The detective watches the dirt from the grimy floors of the laundry room begin to pollute the pristine pale yellow of her dress, his frowning expression growing deeper at the sight. He stands from the stool and offers his hand to her. She tilts her head at him, a soft frown filling her features as she seemingly questions his actions. She does, however, take his hand without verbal questioning, allowing him to effortlessly lift her from the ground and gently guide her onto the stool. He then presses gently against her shoulders to encourage her to sit.

Joel doesn’t mind the dirty floor; he’s accustomed to it. But the girl? No, she deserves better.

He lowers himself to the ground, grunting as his knees crack from the act. He would have missed her giggle or smile; had he not been paying attention. It's this small noise that catches his attention, forcing him to look up at her with a faint, amused smile filling his expression.

Too sweet, too innocent.

He rolls his sleeves up before leaning back on his hands, his knees bent as he looks up at her. "You mentioned in your email that your father isn't known for disappearing without any contact," he repeats, referring to the words she had used when requesting his assistance. "How sure are you that he's not just out of range or just busy?"

Her smile disappears and the detective finds himself mourning the loss, an upset frown replacing it. “He wouldn’t just leave me for this long, detective. Somethings not right. He’s been so obsessed with this place since we moved here not that long ago.”

She continues to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she keeps her gaze firmly down at the ground, her fingers playing with and gently twirling the fabric around her fingers. He catches himself, noticing his eyes trailing down her bare legs to her white frilly socks, and promptly scolds himself for such an action.

Too soft, too innocent.

Her voice becomes softer as she continues to speak, a hint of sorrow permeating throughout her tone. "I've been dishonest with you detective," she says, expressing her shame and her apology. "And I’m sorry, I truly am,” she adds on with an emphasis on her sincerity, making it clear that the words she speaks are a genuine admission of fault. He finds himself wanting to reach out to her, to run his hands down her arms and let her know that whatever it is she may be ashamed of, he can assure her he's done worse. Much worse.

"That's alright, sweetheart," he reassures her in a calm and honest tone, his voice oozing with a mixture of comfort and confidence as he speaks to her. "As long as you're honest with me now, I need to know everything if I'm going to bring your daddy home safe," he continues, making it clear that he needs all the information he can get if he's going to succeed in locating her missing father.

She looks down at him, wide eyed and he feels as if he’s said something wrong.

“My father,” She corrects him before looking back down at her hands. “He hasn’t been the same since coming here. I’m afraid he’s gone mad, detective.”

“Mad?”

“He’s delusional, erratic almost. He talks about some big science company wanting to take his research away. How he won’t let them. He talks about how people have tried to kill him and how he’s created monsters in the woods that shouldn’t be alive. It’s insane sir, there hasn’t been anyone on our land since we got here. Besides you, of course.”

The detective listens to her statement intently, rubbing his hand over his stubble and scratching it against his chin as he does so. A brief thought crosses his mind that perhaps he should have trimmed the stubble before traveling the four hours to reach this isolated location, but he quickly shoves that line of thought to the side as he focuses on the task at hand - locating the girl's, insane sounding father.

“So, you think he’s running around in the forest naked, yelling at things that aren’t there?”

“No, of course not. He’s certainty clothed.” She stops, a wave of disgust covering her face. “Well, I hope so at least.”

A surprised chuckle escapes from him, the noise sounding more foreign to him than he realises as he's momentarily stunned by his own behaviour. The laugh seems to come from someplace deep within him, a forgotten aspect of his personality that seems to have disappeared along with most of his joy in life.

It's an unexpected, bittersweet surprise.

5:15pm

The manor is indeed far bigger than he would have suspected, as its winding, brightly lit corridors stretch on for what seems like miles, leading into rooms of various lengths and sizes. The lower, underground levels bear a stark contrast to the rest of the mansion, the lack of use evident in the dirty walls and the dust that has accumulated over time. The change in the appearance and level of cleanliness from one floor to the next hints at the lesser use the lower levels receive when compared to the upstairs.

His boots echo loudly on the clean tiles, each step he takes filling the space with the sound of his footsteps. His jacket is draped over his arm as he holds it tightly to his chest, keeping it closely to his body as he walks through the manor.

The girl leads him up the stairs and to her father's study, where she stops dead in her tracks upon entering. A surprised gasp escapes from her mouth as she covers it with her hand, shock, and surprise evident in her expression as she takes in the sight before her.

Without pause to consider his actions, his hand instinctively grasps her arm and tugs her behind him, his body reacting to the possibility of danger as his hand quickly reaches for his weapon. A deep scowl forms on his face as he swiftly surveys the room with his eyes in search of any potential threat. However, he finds the room to be completely devoid of danger, yet with a clear sight of destruction as it seems as if a tornado had swept through the room. The books and papers are scattered throughout, the furniture overturned as if someone were carelessly searching for something.

He steps over an overturned chair, his gun forgotten once more in his holster as he takes in the state of the room. The girl cautiously follows him through the room.

He watches with interest as she picks up a small statue and places it carefully back on the shelf. “I was in here yesterday; nothing was out of place.” She utters as she adjusts the statue on the shelf, stepping away once she’s satisfied.

Joel quickly turns his head to face the direction of a booming voice, the papers gripped tightly in his hands. He finds himself locked in a gaze with an older woman in her late sixties, her head topped with greying blond hair tied into a tight bun. She is clad in an apron tied around her waist, the fingers of one hand pointed directly at him as she points with disdain in her expression. "What do you think you're doing?" she questions loudly, her tone demanding as she expresses her dissatisfaction with the presence of a man she's unfamiliar with within the confines of the study.

The girl steps into view of the doorway, and for a moment, the woman's expression settles upon seeing her, seemingly softening her demeanour temporarily. However, her gaze settles back onto Joel in a moment, her glare quickly returning as her eyes study him.

"Did you do this?" she questions, her tone sharp as she places the blame on Joel without a hint of doubt in her voice. He lets out a quick scoff in response, shaking his head before returning his gaze to the desk and the small remnants that remain of the once elegant and put-together study.

"No, of course not, Eliza," the girl says, her voice softer and more subdued compared to the older woman. She attempts to take on a calming and reassuring demeanour in hopes of alleviating the older woman's clear anger at the situation.

Joel watches the scene play out in the corner of his eye as he flicks through papers on the desk, almost enjoying it.

"Why is this man here, what have you done?" Eliza's hushed, stern voice is aimed directly at the girl, who gazes upward at the older woman with a look of frustration and bewilderment in her eyes.

“I hired him.”

"Hired him?" the older woman scoffs, her tone dripping with a mixture of amusement and condescension as she regards the girl as if she were a child. "Why on earth would you hire him?" she questions, her voice carrying on that same attitude of dismissing the girl as if she were making a foolish decision.

“He’s been gone too long, something is wrong.”

“Oh, you foolish girl. Your father is just working, this isn’t one of your stupid little stories in your books. You can’t go hiring some lowlife detective because your father hasn’t talked to you in a few days.”

Her face drops as the words fall from the older woman's lips, her head lowering to the ground as the woman scolds her with a dismissive tone. Joel feels a brief flash of anger flare up within him as he watches the interaction and realises how the older woman is treating the girl. Without hesitation, he casts aside the papers he's holding and quickly traverses the distance between them, placing himself at the younger girl's side.

“Now, I might be some lowlife detective,” Joel grits as he approaches Eliza, unpleased by her tone. “But she has every right to be worried about her father. And from the state of this room alone, I think I’m right to believe her concern. And if you don’t believe her, I ought to believe you had something to do with his disappearance.”

His arm brushes against the girl's shoulder as he stands beside her and makes no move to step away from her. A soft smile forms on her face as she glances downward, her eyes locked on the clean tiles beneath their feet. With a loud scoff, Eliza shows her displeasure at the detective's words, the older woman evidently offended by his words.

"How dare you accuse me of such things!" she counters angrily, her hand rising to her heart with a sudden huff of air.

"Well then, I guess you'll leave us alone then as I look for her father, your boss' whereabouts then?" Joel interjects as he raises his eyebrows, almost daring the older woman to object or to protest his presence within the manor.

Eliza shoots a final hateful gaze at the girl before shaking her head with a hmph! as she leaves, refusing to engage further with the situation. Joel's irritation grows within him, but he manages to tamp down the urge to roll his eyes or to confront the older woman further, restraining himself.

He glances down at the girl as she stands beside him, her head still lowered to the ground. His heart clenches and he stops himself from chasing the women and yelling at her, releasing his temper on her for treating her like that.

Instead, he reaches up with his hand, gently placing it beneath the girl's chin and lifting her head. Her watery eyes lock on his, their gazes becoming locked together as she meets his gaze, and he grits his teeth at the sight.

protectprotectprotectprotectprotect.

"Don't let her talk to you like that," he whispers softly, his voice barely audible as an urge to comfort the girl grows within him. His hand moves slowly as he cups the side of her face, his touch gentle and comforting as he caresses the girl's cheek with his thumb. The girl's breathing grows more laboured as a tear rolls down her face, her eyes closing as the emotional floodgate begins to give way.

His hand twitches slightly where it rests upon her cheek, and he frowns at the lone tear rolling down her cheek. Without warning, he pulls her into a small, comforting embrace, her cheek pressing against his chest as he gently massages the back of her head with one hand and rests the other upon her shoulder blades.

protectprotectprotectprotectprotect.

"I don't like people being upset with me," the young girl mumbles, her voice small and strained as her fingers grip firmly onto his shirt beside her face.

"Nahhhhh," he responds with a teasing tone, dragging it out as he smiles slightly. "Don't listen to her, she seems like a stuck-up bitch," His teasing words elicit a soft, quiet laugh from her. He watches her reaction with a smile, satisfied with her response. However, her mood dampens quickly, and a frown settles back onto her face as she pushes herself away from him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," she quickly apologizes, gesturing towards Joel with a somewhat embarrassed and apologetic look. She quickly pulls her arms around her own body, closing herself off once more and practically clutching onto herself.

He scolds himself, mentally kicking himself. He shouldn't have touched her, shouldn’t have hugged her. She’s a client, a much younger client at that. But he can't help himself. There is something about her, something that draws him in and calls to him, a need to hold her close and protect her, a desire to never let go.

“No, No. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He raises his hands in defence before he sighs and lowers his hands to his hips. “I shouldn’t have done that. You were upset, I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry.”

If he knew what was good for him, he would get right back in his car and drive as far away as he possibly could, get away from this house and this girl and all the strange and unusual events which seemed bound to revolve around the house. And yet...the detective never did what was good for him.

So when she offers to show him the room he would be staying in with a kind gesture, he should have declined and given her a card for a detective much more qualified than him. He would have been better off finding another job, leaving her in better hands.

He follows her to his room.

6pm

Creamy pumpkin soup is placed in front of him, the thick and hearty, delicious-smelling bowl of soup setting his stomach rumbling. Thick, freshly sliced baked bread are stacked on a plate in the middle of the large dining room table. The smell alone causes him to practically drool as he takes in the sight before him.

Candles are lit along the sconces on the walls, providing a soft, dim light throughout the room, the atmosphere made more comforting as the storm rages outside.

He utters a quick thank you, giving a grateful nod towards the man who is pouring a glass of ice-cold water for him. He’s younger, maybe in his early thirties. His thick black curls dance on his head, his beard neatly trimmed as his dark green eyes shine in the candlelight. He’s wearing a dark blue apron, flour dusted on the material. The ice clanks lightly in the glass as he fills it, his movements efficient and precise as he places it in front of the detective before stepping away.

“I hope this is okay. If I had known we were having company, I would have asked for your preferences or any allergies.” The man moves swiftly to a cart at the end of the table, picking up a small plate littered with small slices of - what Joel assumes - different types of freshly made butter.

“This is more than okay, and no, no allergies.”

“Well, in that case detective, I’ll leave tomorrows menu in the kitchen in the adjacent room. If you have any requests, there’s a requests pad on the bench in there and I check that every morning. Little miss over here has requested French Toast for breakfast tomorrow, otherwise I normally tend to have free reign with the menu.” The man warmly smiles at the girl, his hand placing warmly upon her shoulder as she happily smiles back up at him. Joel feels a faint twinge of jealousy course through his veins as he watches the two of them, the girl's smile as genuine as the man’s.

Little miss.

When Joel notices the exchange between the man and the girl, he grinds his teeth slightly, trying to stave off the urge to say anything that he would regret in the heat of the moment. He does, however, glare into the man's head as he leans down to whisper in the girl's ear, his mouth moving too close to her ear for Joel's liking. The girl rolls her eyes with a small giggle, pushing him away with a smile, much to Joel's frustration.

Joel huffs, speaking up as he watches the two of them exchange another look. “I didn’t catch your name,” he says in a harsh, terse tone, and while his voice might have reflected a hint of annoyance, no one in their right mind could mistake that the detective was anything but annoyed in the situation.

“Alexander.” He nods back, his back straightening as he does so and his stance becoming more formal and proper. The detective notes the change in tone.

“And where can I find you, Alexander, If I have any questions?” The detective questions him, the man’s name like poison on his tongue.

“Either in the downstairs kitchen or the gardens, sir.”

Joel nods, his hand smoothing over the napkin on the table before him, a slight fidget of annoyance from the exchange. He is attempting to regain his composure, if only to maintain the image of a proper detective and not the jealous and irritated man he had been moments before.

Alexander excuses himself and leaves the room, leaving Joel alone with the girl, who sits across from him. The two of them sit in the silence that follows for a few moments, the air and tension heavy.

“Alex is a wonderful chef,” she says with a cheerful smile, and Joel makes quick note of just how oblivious she is to his soured mood. He forces his expression to soften somewhat as he nods and offers a faint, polite smile in response.

She leans across the table, picking up a slice of bread from the pile that rests on the center of the table, and he follows her example, taking a slice of bread himself. As he feels the soft, fluffy texture of the bread, he pauses for a moment, he hasn’t had bread this fresh in years.

“Where is everyone? The staff? They don’t eat with you?” He asks as she spreads the flavoured butter on her bread.

She shrugs, dunking the slice of bread into her bowl of soup and taking a bite, the soft crunch of the bite sounding delicious and mouth-watering. She smiles as she chews, her lips curling into a faint, happy smile, her eyes closing as she seems to take enjoyment in the flavours of the meal before her. He watches her, his hand lingering just above the plate of delicious and perfectly made butter as he freezes in place, transfixed by the sight of her across the table, his gaze lingering upon her as he tries not to lose himself completely.

He blinks, shakes his head as he slides his knife through a thick, soft portion of the butter and spreads it on his bread, ignoring her completely. He does not wish to get distracted by her, does not wish to allow himself to get caught up in the moment and get lost in watching her.

As he takes his first bite, his eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a curse, sitting back in his chair as he lets out a soft, expletive-laced murmur in amazement. "Fucking hell," he mutters, his gaze glued to the bowl of soup in front of him as his mouth waters from the delicious creamy texture, trying to understand how something could taste so damn good, how he had been missing out on something as amazing as this.

She laughs, across the table and he looks back up at her. “I told you he’s an amazing chef.”

“You eat like this every day?”

She nods, taking a sip of her water.

“Damn, sweetheart.”

He watches as her eyes widen before she relaxes, her reaction all but confirming his suspicion that the simple term of endearment flusters her. He watches her sink into her chair as she puts her cup down, and then picks up her spoon and resumes eating.

Sweetheart.

8:48pm

He spends the night in the study of Dr. Lewis, taking in his surroundings as he moves through the space, taking note of the countless papers and artifacts filling the room. However, upon searching the area, he comes up empty-handed, realising that whatever might have held the clue to her father’s mysterious disappearance was long gone, most likely alongside the individual who broke into the study.

What he does find, he should have put back and not read. The locks on the filing cabinets are broken, so he feels better about not breaking into the files. Although if he thinks about it, he still is.

Her name is at the top of the document he's holding, and he pauses, his curiosity overcoming any reservation he might have held. He glances behind him and sees that the room is empty, that he is alone with no risk of getting caught. With that reassurance, he begins to read, feeling as if he is delving into forbidden knowledge.

He learns her age, a young twenty-two that makes his old forty-four bones ache. He skims past her brief description and head-shot photo, realising quickly what he’s reading is a copy of her own authors blurb he would find at a back of a novel.

She’s an author?

“Your silly little stories” echoes in his head and he grits his teeth in anger, realising the woman was scrutinizing her own books she’s written, and he shakes his head as he puts the paper back and slams the drawer.

10:04pm

The detective grumbles as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, settling into the armchair in his room. A glass of dark whiskey sits on the small side table before him, and a lit cigarette sits pinched between his fingers. He takes a slow, deep drag of the cigarette, pulling the smoke into his lungs, exhaling slowly through his nostrils as he lets his mind wander, trying to sort out all the conflicting and confusing thoughts that were running through his mind right now.

The window is cracked open, letting fresh air into the room as he exhales smoke into the room, the rain still falling from the night sky in a steady downpour. He takes another drag from his cigarette and settles back in his chair, his mind wandering as he watches the curtains flow in the breeze, raindrops sliding down the windowpane to hit the concrete outside.

His shoulder holster is hung on the back of the desk chair, the gun secured in the bedside table next to the bed. His white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaving the forearms exposed as he takes a drag from his cigarette and his gaze drifts back out to the window. His shoes are placed neatly by the door, his knees spread as he sinks into the chair.

The girl. The damn girl, she's all he can think about. She keeps entering his mind every time he tries to focus on the case, the thought of her distracting him from his duties. He knows he's here for a reason, he's aware that he has something he has to do- someone to find. But he can't stop thinking about her, keep getting lost in the thought of her. He's supposed to keep his mind on the job here, but she keeps slipping in, forcing her way into his train of thought, and distracting him from his purpose.

He closes his eyes, doing his best to think about her father instead, the case.

Last seen? Tuesday morning two weeks ago at the breakfast table. Happy, normal self.

Last contacted? Wednesday night, supposedly five miles west of the manor in a small underground cave he’s been working out of. Short tempered, not his normal self.

His study? Ransacked. Did someone break in? Was it one of the staff? Was it Dr. Lewis himself? The girl mentioned she had been in there the day prior, nothing amiss. They would have been loud from the state of the furniture tossed around. How did no one hear it happen?

The housekeeper seemed very opposed to him being here, he’ll have to keep an eye on her. For the case of course, not to make sure she’s treating the girl right. For the case.

The chef, as much as he wants to throw the man out, cooking seems to take up most of his time. Still, he’ll be keeping a very close eye on him. For the case.

She had also mentioned a grounds keeper that also lives in the manor, yet the detective had seen so signs of the woman she had mentioned. He’ll have to track her down tomorrow.

He hears a soft knock on his door and, with a quick glance towards the door, he calls out, "Come in." The door opens slowly as he watches it, his head tilting slightly to the side with curiosity when the door begins to creep open, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room.

He takes the cigarette still between his lips, extinguishing it in the ashtray on the table beside him, his body tensing as he does so, the small moment of relief he got from inhaling the smoke gone now, replaced with a sense of restlessness.

His hands grip onto the arms of the chair as he watches her enter the room. She’s dressed in a pale blue set of pyjamas with small rabbits, the long pants and button-up shirt making her look quite adorable. Her once braided hair was now loose and untidy, the strands falling against her face and her neck. It takes everything in him to not stand from the chair and throw her on his bed-

"Thought you might like some cookies, they're fresh out of the oven." Her voice is faint, almost shy, and her smile follows suit, causing his eyes to drift downward to the plate of thick chocolate chip cookies she is clutching close to her chest. His gaze moves beyond the cookies to the glass of milk she is holding in one of her hands, his throat growing tight.

“Alexander make them?” He asks and she shakes her head.

“You then?”

She shrugs, a bashful look on her face, as she avoids his gaze and looks around the room as if she's never seen it before.

"Sure, I'll have one sweetheart," he sighs with a slight smile, lifting a hand from the chair and reaching out, motioning her to move closer. He wants her closer, wants her to sit next to him or perhaps even on his lap-

Her closeness is almost intoxicating as he takes a cookie from the plate, taking note of how warm and soft they are, of how the chocolate melts on his fingers. His eyes lock on hers as he takes a bite, his eyebrows furrowing as the sweet mix of chocolate melts on his tongue. A soft, content moan rumbles in his chest as he savours the taste, taking a larger bite from the cookie, he watches as her breath hitches.

“You really make these?” He asks.

She nods softly, her eyes glued to his.

Fuck it.

His hand is slow as it reaches out, as if he is unsure of what he is doing or if he should even do it at all. The fabric of her shirt is smooth on his fingers, soft under the feel of his hand as he places his hand on her hip and gently tugs, feeling her step closer to him and position herself between his spread legs, her shins against the chair. His eyes lock on hers as their bodies are suddenly so close.

“I…” she begins, her voice stuttering as she finds her words hard to come by. She glances down at his hand, which traces her hip slowly and delicately, his fingers lightly pressing into the soft fabric of her shirt.

"Hmm?" he hums in response, his eyes following as his thumb moves the shirt, exposing her delicate, soft skin as the tip of his fingers trail across her hip.

Softsoftsoftsoftsoft.

Her eyes widen as his fingers graze her skin, her body reacting in surprise as his fingers move over her skin. She gasps, quickly taking a step back from him, the unexpected movement sloshing the milk in her glass as she places the plate on the table beside him with the milk, their moment of intimacy cut short before he lowers his hand back to the armrest, watching as she settles herself at a distance.

"I hope you like them," she rushes her words with a faint smile, before she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The suddenness of her leaving makes his jaw clench, his body tense as he stares at the closed door, the sound of her footsteps as she walks away from him the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

He looks over at the cookies, picking one up and taking another bite.

Sweet, soft, delicate, warm - just like her.

His eyes shift from the glass of milk to the untouched whiskey as he takes in the sudden shift in the air, trying to regain his composure. His hand reaches out for the glass of whiskey, drinking it in one go, the warmth of the alcohol burning down his throat as he lets out a sigh, trying to take his mind off her.

Click here for Chapter Two

Notes

so i got this idea after playing Alone in the Dark and getting into a resi evil playthrough. So if you see any similarities or themes, that's why. Also stemed from that joel mod in resi 4 in the chain scene. if you know- you know. (im feral over it) tbh i just needed to write detective joel. also this is just chapter one, it will be a POV switch and there will also be a reader POV

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #joel fanfic #joel x reader #tlou #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #detective!joel #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader

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vase-of-lilies · 1 year

Text

❀ Pairing: Dark!Vampire!Wanda x Vampire Hunter!Reader(F) (Some Wolf!Bucky x Reader x Wanda)

❀ Warnings: Non-con, dubcon, violence, vampire-esque content, dark!Wanda (she’s a warning…), blood and gore, draining of a body, biting for sexual stimulation, overstimulation, fingering, violence, swearing, use of a dagger, knife play, forced to strip, getting bitten by a vampire but not turning into one, bondage (restraints from ceiling), a punishment, pet names (Sweetheart, little one, etc.), slight somnophilia, spanking, and more!

❀ This is my second entry for @eloquentreverie ’s dusk till dawn challenge! The sentence I chose is:

“Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want to watch you.”

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. The pictures go to their rightful owners on Pinterest, and the comic-style pictures belong to the beautiful artist Jenifer Prince.

❀ I hope you like this addition to the collection of Creatures and Foreigners! I would die and be resurrected for vampire!wanda. Literally. This is a re-write, since the original was in 3 parts. To keep this organized, I just made it one post!!

It was time… It was time to catch the creature that was terrorizing the beautiful village you live in. Yorkshire is where you are from, where your beautiful home stands. It's a small cottage with a perfect view of the mountains gracing the East, the sunrises your favorite part of the day. When the sun sets in the west, it's when everyone locks their doors with iron chains, keeps a wooden stake by their beds, a garlic circle around their homes, and prays to the [whichever you believe in] and hopes they survive the night.

You finally had the will to change this. To help the people you love feel a little safer at night who were terrified of the vampire who lived in the castle on the South Hill. The dark bricks and stones towered over the town, casting a large shadow over everyone at dusk. That shadow was the sign that it was time to prepare for the worst, for the creatures of the night to begin hunting for their midnight snacks. And lastly, for the vampire to find her next source of blood.

For Wanda, she always loved human blood but never complained with cow, or sheep blood. It was the blood of a fighting soul that tasted best to her. There was something so satisfying watching the life drain from someone’s eyes once their body is empty of their blood. However, whether it was a man or a woman, she loved to torture them before she killed them. She would keep them locked up for days, weeks even, and keep them on their toes. She would feed them one day, and then break their legs the next. She was a storm that you never want to be stuck in the middle of.

Packing your sash full of what you need was not a challenge at all. Each piece of equipment had a slot that it belonged to. One for your wooden sword, a small chain of iron links, garlic garland, iron cross bow, and last but not least your gun with the solid iron pellets ready to kill any vampire you see. It was not very heavy as one would think, having it around your shoulders made it very easy to access everything as well as keeping it light for you to carry around the woods.

Wanda, being one of the only vampires in Yorkshire, knew she was being hunted. She could sense the tension coming closer to her castle every step you took down the newly stoned and paved pathway. She could smell your villager blood from miles away. It was a scent she could decipher in a split second. Cow blood smelled cold, almost like a winter morning. But human blood smelled like the moon had created it, making it much more appetizing than a mere animal.

~~~~~~~

You could see the dark bricks of the castle from a far, your wooden sword drawn and ready to strike anything in its path. The forest became silent, indicating a predator was near and hungry. Leaves were heard crunching under fast footsteps coming closer and closer by the second. Your head whipped from right to left, not knowing where these footsteps were exactly.

“Show yourself creature!” You shouted into the darkness of the forest.

“Who are you?” A dark voice echoed in your surroundings, not pointing in a certain direction.

Not shying from her, you answer honestly. “Y/n, of Yorkshire.”

She chuckles, “Ah, so townsfolk, hm?” She watches from behind a tree as you struggle to find where her voice is coming from. She senses your fear, so to make matters worse she drags her nails against the trees creating an ear-splitting noise, making you drop your weapon and cover your ears.

“Ah!!” You shout in pain. As you pull your hands from your ears your skin is coated in the sticky, crimson liquid. “Your time has come, y-you evil creature!”

Wanda chuckles at your struggle, “My time will never come… but yours have.”

Your brows furrow and you reach for your iron bar. You smirk as you hear the hissing of the vampire, her power of sounding everywhere fading significantly, pointing in the direction of where she could be. “Don’t fucking come near me!” She growls, hiding behind another tree.

“Oh, so I found your weakness…”

She whimpers in response, “Don’t t-touch me!” Lighting your lantern, your eyes catch movement, and you grab the chainlink and throw it to where you see her.

“Aha! Finally!” You walk over to her, smirking at her as she falls to the ground. “You are going to grant me a fortune…” You say darkly, looking at her with false pity in your eyes. Around you, a growling catches you off guard. Looking around, you don’t see anything immediately, but what Wanda says churns your stomach.

“Y-your in t-tr-trouble.” She stutters, moving away from you slightly. Wanda smirks and you jump back in fear as a large black wolf shields the vampire. Grabbing your dagger, you lunge forward with no fear.

“She’s mine!” You growl, slashing the wolfs shoulder making him whimper but he pushes through and pounces on you, biting your leg and ripping a chunk of skin off. You scream in pain, and scamper back as He rips the chains off of Wandas body.

The last weapon you grab is your gun. You cock it back and point it at both the vampire and the wolf. “Stay back!” A whimper leaves your throat as you scoot back again, your leg dragging against the damp and cold soil below you.

Wanda glares at you her eyes turning red and a red light appearing at her hands. Before you can pull the trigger, she flings the gun from your hands and your head follows it. Like lightning, your sash of tools was cut from your body and you were flung over Wandas shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Your arms and uninjured leg flail as you fight against the strong grip of Wandas arms around you, and as you look down from over her shoulder you see the wolf looking up at you smugly. He was with her all along, he wasn’t trying to take her too… You sighed and continued to struggle, all the way to the castle, down two flights of stairs, and through a door to a dungeon full of cells. She throws you onto a dingy cot in the corner of a cell, cuffs your wrists with metal cuffs that don’t hurt her, and leaned against the bars.

“Let me go you monster!!” You pull the chains connected to the wall hoping to break them. But to no avail were you able to get out of the rings that locked your wrists.

“Not happening.” Wanda states, staring at you from the edge of the cell. She looks at your leg and her hands turn red once again. You were scared as you felt the tingle in your leg, watching in awe as the chuck of skin missing from your leg was miraculously healed with only a few scars. It was just like the townsfolk said, she will torture you one day, and heal you the next. Making you unaware of what is going to happen next.

You growl and shout at her. “What do you want from me??” You look up at her, tugging and pulling against the chains again.

A hard slap across your face shuts you up, and you fall against the cot in surprise. You feel the hand shaped sting and a bruise already starting to form from how hard she hit you. “You tried to kill me and wanted to kill my baby!” She rubs soft circles against the wolfs slick black fur, and he whines softly as she grazes over the cut on his shoulder.

You look at the wolf who is now eye level with me and you glare as you see your blood staining his teeth. “F-fuck you.” You whisper at him, scooting back as you feel blood dripping from your nose, the act of the slap causing trauma to your nose as well.

“Oh don’t listen to her baby,” Wanda says calmly as she kneels next to the wolf beside her. “You’re such a good boy.” She smiles as he lets out a happy ‘arf’ and you roll your eyes at them.

“He’s a dumb dog.” You scoff, leaning against the cool brick wall as you hold a piece of your dress against your nose. To your surprise she slaps you again, making you whimper once again.

“He’s not just a dumb dog!” She shouts, outraged at your utter disrespect towards her loyal friend. As she was about to lunge at you, a gust of wind blows against your body and you look up to see a greek god of a man, who was formerly the wolf. You yelp in astonishment, never thinking that a werwolf and a vampire would ever be on the same team.

“Mistress, she’s not worth it.” The man says, holding Wanda by her hips as she tries to scratch and punch at you. You scoot impossibly further from them, and you see Wanda visibly relax as the man holds her hips in his hands.

“Bucky, she hurt you… she has to pay.” She whispers, ghosting her fingers over the wound on his shoulder.

He only chuckles and cups her cheek. “Hey, it’s ok… it’ll heal up in no time. She’s weak, it barely hurt.” He kisses her lips, and gently runs his fingers through her hair. You growl and you look away from them, telling yourself internally that you are strong and that you almost had the vampire until the stupid dog showed up.

She only sighs, staring up at him. “Such a good boy, protecting your mistress…” You mute them in your head as you look around, trying to find any way of escape. Pulling against the chains keeping you locked to the wall was not an option anymore, and fighting was practically useless against either monsters. Maybe it would be a good idea to cooperate. NO! No, don’t fall for her enchantment. She is evil.

As Wanda sends a final slap to Buckys ass, he leaves the cell and you jump at the door slamming. It was when you were alone with Wanda that your fear really kicked in. “Hmm… look at you all scared.” She saunters over to you, a sadistic smile pulling at her lips. Chills are sent up your spine and a shiver shortly follows. You are vigorously pulling at the chains, whimpering every inch she comes closer to you.

She sits down on the cot next to you, grabbing your newly healed leg and digging her finger nails into the sensitive skin. “Ah!! St-stop! Stop!” You sob, trying to push her away with all your might. She doesn’t budge and chuckles.

“Now why would I do that?” She raises her brows at your reaction, smiling as you writhe against her, your whimpers music to her ears. She is arouse by your writhing and she digs her nails even deeper, tears free-falling down your cheeks. She ignores your pleas, shaking her head in disappointment. “You hurt my love. I certainly won’t stand for that.”

You turn your head, your teary eyes focusing on the lines of the bricks stacked around you in your small cell, trying to ignore the pain in your leg. “What d-do you want f-from me?” You ask in a shaky voice, trembling under Wandas touch. You are confused as you feel warmth on your leg where her fingers had drawn blood.

“You taste so fucking good…” She whispers. You furrow your brows and you realize she had tasted your blood. You pull at the chains, managing to kick her away from you as you struggle. She growls, having none of what you are giving her. She pounces on top of you, making you groan in pain. “Be grateful I didn’t kill you!”

A pained whimper makes you resent her even more, so you gather spit in your mouth and spew it onto Wandas face. She wipes the spit away in disgust and smacks you across the face again, much harder this time. Your vision becomes blurry and your head feels like it is in a daze. “Please, l-let m-me go,” You stutter, whimpering as you feel helpless looking up at her from your position below her.

She ignores you and she runs her nose against your neck and to your ear “No,” she whispers, her fangs barely grazing your neck. With a smirk, she closes her jaw, puncturing your skin with her teeth. You scream in pain, your back arching against her as you struggle underneath her.

It takes everything for Wanda to not drain you, so she pulls back reluctantly. “Shit, you taste like heaven,” she moans at the taste of your blood, smiling as she licks up the puncture wounds adorning your neck. “Mmm, you look better like this…” She says, looking at your writhing and twitching body on the cot. She bites her lip, her pussy starting to form a slick spot on her under garments. Her smirk scares you, and you stare at the ceiling trying to pull at the chains but failing miserably.

“Please, n-n-no mo-more,” you curl against yourself, trying to hide your vulnerable form from your captor. She smacks your thigh, making you turn around on your back again. She chuckles darkly and bites her lip once again.

“Look at you…” She says, not pitying you one ounce. It takes much strength to try and sit up, but you manage to do so with a lot of pain. Bowing your head into her lap, you beg her to make the pain stop.

“Please! Pl-please it hurts s-so b-b-bad!” The bite pulses in pain, my blood pumping to try and close the wound. Sobs and whimpers make your body shake, and Wanda takes notice to her puncture wound on your neck. She sighs and begins to heal it, gently lifting you up.

“It’s ok…” She says, rubbing small circles on your back as she lays you down on the pillow at the top of the cot. You quietly thank her as you feel the wounds on your neck close, the pain ceasing completely.

“Why are you keeping me here?” You ask in a raspy voice, confused as to why she hasn’t killed you yet. She looks at you with a tilt of her head, thinking as to why she is keeping you. She smiles to herself and comes to a conclusion.

“Because I like you. I don’t like that you hurt my baby, but I do like you.” You shook your head. Because she liked you? What is that supposed to mean? Not wanting to be on her bad side, you take the time to apologize.

“I-im sorry I hurt him. I was trying to make my town finally proud of me.” You sigh softly, scooting away from her and pulling at the chains again.

“It’s ok sweetheart, you’re safe with me.” She whispers.

“Dont you understand that Im scared of you?” You whimper, “Y-you bit me, a-and hurt me,” Your eyes meet hers, your confusion making you angry. “What is my purpose? A-am I just a toy? What am I?” You ask her, salty tears rolling in beads down your cheeks. She sighs and wipes the tears from your skin, giving you a soft kiss on the nose, ignoring your questions.

“You’ll get used to me, I promise.” She smiles and pulls away.

Your eyes narrow, as she stands up, leaving you. “What am I? Pl-please tell me!” You ask desperately, standing up with her but only making it so far until the chains pull you back.

“Ill see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” Wanda says with a soft smile on her lips, closing the cell door and locking it. She makes her way up the stairs, ignoring your screams and profanities as she locks the dungeon door behind her and hanging the keys on the hook right next to it.

When the sun rose the next morning, you waited anxiously for Wanda to come back down. Maybe she forgot about you, or doesn’t want to deal with you. What you dreaded most was the fact she may use you as a human blood bag and kill you. You didn’t fear death, you feared the feeling of your blood draining slowly from your body. The blood bubbling at every bite she leaves on you. The fear blocked the fact that it was morning, and she was most likely asleep in the darkness of her chambers above you.

As you waited, you too fell asleep, dreaming of a place where you would rather be. Safe and in your best friends presence. “Steve… I miss you so much,” You whisper before fully dozing off. Deep in sleep, you don’t hear the metal cell door open and Wandas soft footsteps enter the room. You were too focused on staying warm in your shivering state.

Wanda took note of your cold and shaking body, so she waved her hand and a soft, furry blanket appeared around your body. She smiled as you cuddled into the soft material and watched you sleep for a moment. Falling out of her staring trance, she sits down on the cot next to you. She gently rubs your back whispering, “Sweetheart? Sweetheart, wake up.” Instinctively you lean into the soft hand against your back, but the memories bombard their way back into your head making you sit straight up and scoot all the way back.

You stared at Wanda with wide eyes, scared of her further intentions. You are confused as she hands you a bowl of cut up fruit and vegetables, curious as to where she got this food. “Here you go, eat up.” You furrow your brows and look down at the fruit, picking at it. Fishing for some type of sign of poison. Wanda just chuckles and leans against her hand as she watches you. “I promise, its not poisoned. You need to eat, especially after I drank some of your blood yesterday.”

Exhaling the breath you were not aware you were holding, you pick up a ruby, red strawberry. Ripe and firm to the touch. You close your eyes and let out a satisfied hum as you take a bite, the sweet tasting strawberry surrounding your tongue with glorious flavor.

Wanda moves closer to you, sitting right next to you as you eat. She nuzzles her nose against your neck where two little fang marks sit proudly. You don’t take notice of her fully, the delicious fruit distracting you from Wandas intrusions, even lifting your head up in response. She hums a small chuckle and kisses your cheek, “You are so beautiful, little one. So beautiful.” Freezing your chewing, you swallow and look up at her in slight surprise, her comment catching you off guard.

Butterflies flutter in your belly at the closeness between the two of you, her warm breath against your lips and chin. “Do you really think so?” You whisper, not believing what she is saying at first.

She nods, “I do, you’re so pretty…” She whispers back, kissing the soft skin of your neck. “And you smell so good, little one.” She hums as her nose moves up your neck, her lips pressing soft kisses in between soft sniffs. The gentleness of her gestures makes you drop the glass bowl in your hands, causing it to shatter against the stone floor.

Both you and Wanda jump and she pulls away quickly. “Damnit, I can’t get many bowls or plates these days.” She murmurs, starting to collect the broken shards.

“I-im sorry, I-it slipped,” You stutter, kneeling down to help pick up the shards too. You were too quick with the glass, cutting your finger in the process making you pull back with a wince. A small amount of blood oozes from the small cut and Wanda freezes, her pupils blown full at the smell of the exposed blood.

She holds back, grabbing a small cloth from her dress and hands it to you, “Here.” She says curtly, but she is stopped. She tilts her head as you hold your hand out.

“I can see how much you want it,” You say softly, wincing as she gently holds your hand in hers.

“Are you sure?” She asks hesitantly, softly moaning at the smell as she gets closer. You nod and she brings your finger to her lips, licking the wound and emitting a low hum at the taste. Her eyes close and you look at her curiously. She is in a euphoric state, she is vulnerable and not paying attention when she is drinking your blood. Slowly you begin to become dizzy, the amount of blood coming from your finger increasing by the second.

Before you can warn her, you fall against the mattress, fully losing consciousness at the loss of blood. Wanda sighs, laying down beside you on the bed. “It’s ok, I got you…” She whispers, her hand roaming the front of your body softly. Her hands cup your breasts, her finger grazing your pebbling nipple from under the fabric of your dress. Wanting to feel more, she unties the twine keeping the leather vest of your dress on and she smiles as it comes loose, your breasts showing themselves under the thin tunic.

She reaches down your tunic, rubbing your bud softly between her fingers. Her lips kiss your neck, moving slowly down to your slightly exposed back. You feel her as you sleep, but you can’t comprehend anything to stop her. A small whimper exits your mouth and she pulls away for a moment, waiting for you to settle down again. Once your breathing is even, she explores further, lifting your shirt from your tucked in skirt.

Her hand smoothes over your belly and just over the waist band of your undergarments, pushing under the fabric and to your soft curls underneath. She smiles as she buries her face in your neck, her fingers softly opening your petals and gently running her fingers over your slit. As she holds your folds open, she rubs circles over your clit, making you moan quietly in your sleep.

As she pleasures you, she bites your neck softly only sucking a small amount of blood this time. Your gasp makes her smile around the wound on your neck and it makes her want even more of you. Her finger moves faster around your sensitive bud, your back arching against her front. Your legs open even more as you lay your head back against her.

As she moves even faster, a strong and mind numbing orgasm washes over you, pushing you over the edge. Your legs shake in your sleep, and Wanda smirks as she removes her fingers from your undergarments. She brings her fingers to her mouth and hums in delight. “Absolutely delicious, my love.” She whispers in your ear, smirking as your breaths calm down from pants, to a normal rhythm again. Her hand moves to your breasts again, just holding the soft flesh in her hand and palming against them.

She sighs as she senses you waking up, and makes sure everything is back in order; your shirt tucked into your skirt, tunic back in place, and laces on your leather vest tied with a bow at the top. Sitting up, she frowns at the raw skin and dried blood from around your wrists and unlocks the cuffs. She wraps her hands around the raw flesh and heals them in an instant, kissing them softly.

She has hope that when the sun sets and the moon rises, you will no longer be in pain. “Mm, such a beautiful girl…” She whispers before she leaves the cell for the night, not thinking twice of the unlocked chains and completely forgetting to lock the cell and dungeon doors.

~~~~~~~

You were only asleep for a small amount of time, waking up without Wanda anywhere to be seen. You sigh and sit up, feeling quite odd in your lower regions. However, the lack of metal around your wrists made every other thought disappear. Being able to walk around the cell felt nice, but your curiosity took you further. Right to the door. As you pushed, you were even more astonished as it opened.

Pushing your luck even further, you walk up the spiral staircase to the door of the dungeon. With a gentle nudge, it squeaks open to reveal a large corridor, torches lit on each wall and blood red curtains hanging from each tall window. You were trapped and you were finally free, but the first thought you had was, ‘Where is Wanda?’

You wandered through the hallways, finding your way to the great hall, you come across a grand staircase. Alining the stairs was beautiful red and gold carpet and above it was a dark and spider web-covered, crystal chandelier. It shimmered as the fired torches flickered around the hall. You start to make your way upstairs, and as you walked down yet another hallway, you are stopped by a growl behind you and a searing pain in your leg.

You instantly scream in agony, struggling against the iron jaws of the werwolf. He didn’t let up, even after hitting his head as he dragged you down the hall and to a bed room. Wandas bed room. Your eyes widen and you dig your nails into the carpet, only resulting in bleeding fingers. As you entered her room, you look up in fear as the woman towers over you.

“Well, what do we have here?” Wanda tuts, looking down at you.

You sob loudly as the wolf digs his teeth into your freshly healed leg. You yelp and you look up at her, “I- I wasn’t going t-to es-escape! I wa-wa- AHHH!” The wolf bites down even harder and you try your best to hit him, but it doesn’t phase him.

“Buck, stand down…” She says, calling off the dog. She grabs you harshly by your shirt and drags you to her bed, throwing you on the mattress. “Don’t lie to me!” She growls, glaring at you as you push yourself away from her, scooting to the top of the bed.

At this point you weigh out your options: One, you try to escape and get killed by Wanda, “Buck” the dog, or your village when you get back with no vampire. Or two, you stay here and get food, possibly a lover, and a pet dog. The latter sounded more than enjoyable and you break saying, “I- I promise! Th- the chains we-were off me wh-wh-when I woke up! P-please! I- I don't want t-to leave!”

“Are you sure?” She asks with a growl, crawling towards you with a scowl on her face. “If you’re lying, I’ll feed you to him…” She says, pointing to Bucky who falsely lunges at you just to scare you. As you jump back from him, Wanda only chuckles.

“I-I’m not lying! Y-you’re so kind, a-and fed m-me!” You try, and Wanda sits down across from you on the bed. She grabs your ankle and pulls you to her. Her hands glow a bright red and the pain subsides from your leg again. You sigh in relief, hoping that she will forgive you.

As she looks at you, she shakes her head and sighs softly. “I believe you, but there will be consequences.”

Letting out a breath, you nod in understanding. “Y-yes I understand, please forgive me, i-it won’t ever happen again.” You sob, following her gentle movements as she pulls you to her arms. Your head falls onto her chest and she comforts you as you calm down.

“I forgive you, little one,” She whispers, kissing your head softly and tickling the skin of your arm. “Now let’s go, I need to punish you.” She says, sitting up. Suddenly cold as ice again. Her bipolar emotions confuse you, just like the village said, she keeps you on your toes.

She hardly grabs your wrist and pulls you down the flights of stairs to the dungeon again. You swiftly follow her, trying to keep up with her fast walking pace. Once in the dungeon, she pulls you to a different portion of the room, one full of many torture devices now considered controversial to use. You freeze as you take in the new surroundings and you jump as the bars slam closed and lock behind you.

Wanda steps into the far wall of the room and grabs her tools she desires: Rope and a wooden paddle. You stared in horror at the tools as she lays them down on the table next to a long chain connected to the ceiling. From a hidden sheath on the side of her thigh, she pulls out a sharp dagger, pointing it at you.

She stalks towards you, holding the knife at the height of your neck. Backing up, you whimper as your back hits the cold, metal bars, Wanda then putting the tip of the blade against your neck. “Strip.” She says, pulling away from you. Frozen in fear, you don’t account for her command and you stare at her. To make you cooperate, she sends a glowing ball of energy towards you making you duck in response.

“Im going to repeat myself, and you better listen this time…” She says in a dark voice, only warning you once. “Now, Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want to watch you.”

Swallowing your pride, you obey her. Untying the twine holding your vest over your torso, untucking your tunic from your skirt, pulling the string from around the back, and finally the removing of it all. Wanda was in fact a very patient women, and she made that clear. She growls at your speed and makes her hand light up with energy again. “Slower…” She says. Once again, you obey.

One piece of clothing after another, no less than four (4) seconds between each. Finally, you were down to your brazier and pantyhose. Wanda watches at you, a sadistic smile on her face as she saunters towards you with the dagger in hand. She grabs your wrist and pulls you to the middle of the floor. Of course you struggled. Wanda was angry, and you had only seen a sliver of it.

“Good girl… hold your wrists together.” She says, holding the dagger to your neck again. You felt immense fear as you held them together, and sucked in a breath as a tendril of red energy wraps its way around the dagger keeping it against your neck. Wanda moves around you, grabbing the rope from the wooden cart settled near by. She comes to your front again and begins to wrap a few rings of rope around your wrists. Circle by circle of rope, you were rendered unable to move your hands anywhere, only your arms could move up and down.

You whimpered as Wanda wrapped a heavy padlock around the middle of the rope and easily pulled your arms up to the hook hanging above you. She steps away, taking the dagger with her and moves to the far wall. Using her strength, she pulls the chains connected to the ceiling up higher than it was before, pulling you up with them. You arms pulled against your body and when she finished locking the chains in place, you could barely graze the floor with your toes.

Whimpers left your mouth and you could’t hide the fear anymore. Salty tears fell down your cheeks and landed on your chest and the floor. With false pity, Wanda pouted her lip. “Aw, don’t cry little one… It will only hurt a little.” Her voice was full of lies, and you knew this pain would be excruciating.

Tears fell down your cheeks, but Wanda paid no attention to your emotions, only your reactions to the sensations she was going to give you. In an instant, she had cut through the thin material of your brazier leaving your breasts exposed to her. She smiles and leans down, kissing the ample skin of your right breast. Your nipples harden in the cold atmosphere of the room, Wandas mouth and hand going straight to them. She rubs, licks, sucks, rolls, and pleasures your buds, pushing a burning desire in your lower belly. She could sense this and smirks as she runs the knife down your torso.

She turns the knife against your stomach, tilting it and smirking at the small bit of blood pooling at the surface of the small cut. “Mm, I can smell you… my god you smell so fucking good, little one.” She smiles against your breast and kisses along your belly all the way to the small cut just above your belly button. As her lips encase the wound, she moans in delight at the taste of your blood. Her sharp fangs graze against your skin and she nips as she moves lower.

Her dagger is now in the waist band of your underwear, teasing the fabric, slowly tearing it. As she makes it through the elastic, she puts the knife down and rips your underwear in two, tossing the fabric at your feet. As you stand bare in front of her, she stands back, a smirk adorning her face. “So beautiful…” She whispers, starting to circle your hanging body. You cross your legs, trying to cover your most intimate parts, but are quickly stopped as Wandas hand slaps your thigh. “No, keep them open. I want to see what’s mine!” She growls, smoothing her hand over the skin of your legs.

As she stands behind you, she grabs the paddle, spinning it in her hands. “Alright, how many should we do?” She asks to no one in particular. She hums and chuckles, “How about until you bleed?” She whispers in your ear, biting your earlobe. She takes a step back and raises the paddle, swinging it against your ass, hard. You scream in agony, attempting to walk forward, only moving right back to where you were. Wanda admires the red mark on your ass, smiling as she rubs her hand against your burning skin.

Another swat, another scream. More tears fall down your face with each and every hit from the wooden paddle, yet the fiery feeling in your gut gets stronger. It was a confusing feeling, getting aroused from being beaten.

It felt like ages when Wanda finally stopped. Your ass was sore, bloody, and bruised. A dark black and purple spot forming on each cheek. She puts the paddle down and reaches for more rope. You silently groan at the thought of there being anymore to come. Gently, Wanda grabs your knee, wrapping the rope around it and pulling the excess rope to the hook above you. The raises your leg, slowly starting to expose your slick folds to her. She follows by securing your other leg in the same fashion.

Now fulling spread out for her, she hums at her work. “Are you ready for the good part?” She asks.

You shake your head and look at her, “N-nothing g-g-good is going to co-come.” You stutter, your voice scratchy from the previous screaming. She sighs and shakes her head.

“You poor, little thing. There are so many things I can make good, if only you would obey, and submit to me.” She steps closer, her hands holding your hips.

You look down at her, whimpering in response. Your silence is enough of an answer to her, indicating you were not falling for her games just yet. She removes one hand off of your hip and looks down at your pussy. “Look how wet you are,” she says, rubbing her hand over your soaked lips. You struggle to close your legs, the rope rendering you completely un able to move. Her fingers spread your pussy open, your clit revealing its throbbing self.

Your slick covers Wandas fingers as she dips her fingers close to your hole, smirking at your reaction. “You must be so sensitive, huh? Your ass all bruised. Is that what made you so wet?” She tilts her head up, looking for an answer. You shake your head quickly, not wanting to admit that it was the exact reason you were wet.

To your horror, Wanda approaches the chain holding you up again. She raises it until you are much higher than before, your body swaying with her movement. Wrapping the chain around the hook to keep you where you are, she returns to you, your pussy right in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting to taste your delicious nectar all day…” She says, kissing your inner thighs softly.

You hold your breath as she takes her first taste of you, her tongue licking a stripe right between your petals. Her tongue swirled around your clit, the bud inching to be touched. You can’t deny it, the pleasure that she is bestowing upon you is mind-shattering. The moans from your mouth make Wanda smile, her fingers coming to join her mouth.

She sucks on your clit, her lips closing around it, and her fingers poking at your hole. You try to avoid her but it doesn’t work. As she continues to suck on your sensitive clit, two fingers slide into your pussy. You let out a soft sob, an unintended moan slipping out right after. Something inside of Wanda loves the sounds you make, her pussy feeling the same tension as yours.

As she works her fingers in and out of your cunt, you are already close to your first orgasm and Wanda can’t wait to see it. She witnessed one while you were asleep, but she knew it was nothing like when you would be awake. Faster her fingers became, and your moans became louder as they curl inside of you, rubbing against that one good spot.

One soft graze of her teeth against your clit was what sent you over the edge. Your legs shake, your orgasm passing through your whole body. Your mind was empty and seeing white, your chest was heaving, your pussy was throbbing, and your toes curled in pleasure. But Wanda didn’t stop.

An hour went by. She devoured your cunt, not letting you take a break. Five orgasms later, she finally pulled away from your pussy, letting you rest. You were exhausted, your eyes barely able to stay open and your mind unable to comprehend how long you had been tied up. Wanda looked up at you, kissing and rubbing your legs to soothe you. “It’s ok, little one, its all over now.” She says with a soft smile, your head hanging in front of your arms and looking down at her.

She walks to the wall and gently lowers you to the ground. She unties your legs, but keeps the rope around your wrists. Picking you up, she brings you to your cell again, laying down with you. She pulls your tied arms over her head, forcing you to hold her and she hums as she nuzzles into your neck.

You lay silently, sleep taking over your system. Wanda hums a quiet lullaby, knowing deep down you loved every minute you were in that dungeon. Maybe someday she will move you out of the dungeon and into a room of your own. Or even her room. But at this moment in time, she wanted to hold you and tell you everything is going to be ok, because it will be. She will protect you and never let you go despite your desperate attempts to escape. Some days she purposely lets you escape, get halfway into the forest, and have Bucky drag you right back into your cell.

It is laughable what effort you put into it, even though you know she will catch you Every. Single. Time.

And you accepted that. She won no matter what. You even learned that Bucky really likes his chin scratched in his wolf form, but you both have a love-hate relationship. Always calling him a dog, or a mutt, and him calling you a blood bag.

Wanda kept her word and protected you from anything that was thrown your way. In return, you kept her full of nutrients and energy. She used you for dessert, blood and body both. You learned to love it. Everything Wanda did to you, for you, with you, was out of love. Love and of course, lust. Your blood kept her alive, and she looked forward to it after a long night of hunting.

She deserved it. After all, she saved you from your horrible town, right?

#Creatures and Foreigners #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x female reader #dusktilldawnchallenge #wanda maximoff x you #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #dark!fic #Vampire!Wanda x Reader #wolf!bucky barnes x Wanda x Reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maxmoff x y/n #CAF

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madwomansapologist · 10 months

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 8 - A nightingale sang

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

eigth chapter synopsis: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. cried writing this but this is apparently something that will happens with every chapter so... go hear a nightingale sang in berkeley square. look i am just a sensitive girl in a difficult world, this is straight up murdering you with love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆Ellon: Male elf┆

Forests are secrets in themselves. They hide things. That is what they do, their primordial essense. A forest without a secret is a human without a soul, a planet without a star. That is the real language of the woods.

You knew all the meadow’s secrets in Rivendell. You knew where the sprouts flourished, where the clearing started, where the trees fall after storms. You knew all its secrets, until you did not.

Because in kind places a forest hides wisteria and sage sprouts. In cruel ones it hides wargs and warm blood. And for those who are lucky enough it hides suspended gardens.

Stone pillars, embedded on gold, supported all seven floors. It would already be a beautiful sight, light reflecting in waves of warmth through Greenwood, but the ascending series of tiered gardens above each floor turned it into a paradise. Each specimen from the wide variet of trees, flowers and vines were part of this mountain constructed of golden bricks.

“I got goosebumps”, you whispered. It smelled like honey there. “Why did you hide this place from me!?”

Strangers had been born and buried and their lifetime would be nothing compared to all the time the Elvenking spend on the suspended gardens. And still, looking into your moist eyes, Thranduil discovered a new sort of beauty in this place.

The green of the vines, more verdant. The gold of the pillars, more golden. The pink of the flowers, more rosy. The whole world was brighter. Wind whispering against the autumn leaves, birds flocking, river crashing against stones: the world became a song. Such a beautiful, intricate symphony. One that he never noticed before.

It must be fate. That was meant to be. Since the world was first created and the stars were put into place. For what other reason did he survived this far, if not to admire you admiring the world his ancestors build? For what reason did Thranduil endured this far, if not to be alone in this world with you?

The Elvenking gestured towards the gardens. “Shall we, idril?”

Thranduil watched as you prepared a raspberry pie in silence, which was better than when he tried to make you let someone else finish it. As if it was offensive for you to get your hands dirty. Your last job was to take care of horses. What is a pie compared to that?

Cleaning your hands, you almost could not believe your ears when the invitation came. It was strange of him to have free time during the day. He never had before, not once since you first got in his realm. But you were not the one to remind a king of his duties.

Not when that can take him away from you.

“You really should stop doing that”, you continued along the paved way, and Thranduil followed your eager steps. Turning to look at him instead of facing the path, a delicate smile showed you did not meant what you were saying. “Calling me words I do not know.”

“Yet”, Thranduil completed. “Do not know yet.”

On the first floor, you understood that the construction did not matter. Its halls were simple, with long open arches and practically empty except for the occasional sculptures. Anyone there would only have eyes for the gardens, and whoever built it knew that no amount of gold or jewels would ever compete with nature.

Quince flowers draped over the walls, pears were almost to the point of crop. Thranduil showed you almond flowers, his long fingers brushing against the tiny buds. You did not even knew almonds came from flowers.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, you brushed your hands against the rough trunk of a pistachio tree.

Following throught the halls, you could see the garden suspended over the first floor. Butterflies and bees flew around the almond flowers, which made you speed up the pace. You heard Thranduil laughing, but you were too scared to open your mouth to complain only to ended up eating a bee.

A swallow landed on your hair, and you tried your best to not move so Thranduil would see it too. When he stopped in front of you, Thranduil’s eyes seemed so… calm.

You knew he was tired and worried. That he had much to do, to understand, to protect. In Rivendell people believe that Sauron is gone, but here they have more than faith to prove the contrary. But now Thranduil looks so peaceful.

“A little one mistook you by a tree”, Thranduil stretched a finger towards your hair. You felt the swallow moving, pulling your hair along, and saw it on his ring finger. Such a small thing, with greenish down.

Your smile went wider when you looked into his face.

“And you by a flower.” In his wood crown, butterflies found a new home. A smirk spread across your face. “If you pay attention, you really look like a sunflower. Always smiling, never yelling at anyone.”

Thranduil’s response was to roll his eyes.

On the third floor, you passed through ebony, cedar and rosewood. You told Thranduil how most of the trees surrounding Aerin’s inn are ash trees, and how sad it is that most of the stories you read use them as metaphor for dead things. Thranduil shared a poem about a willow tree.

It surprised you how he recited it from memory.

Junipers were new for you. Never before you heard about them. But myrrh was not. You told Thranduil that Luthien gave you a bottle of its oil and practically ordered you to use it on your shoulder. His peacefulness oscilated for a second, but it appeared again.

The floor with fruits were your favorite one. Thranduil split open a pomegranate, revealing clusters of seeds inside it. You both shared it, eating slowly while watching the sun reflecting upon Greenwood. You took a tangerine from its branch, and gave him half of it. With half of a fresh fig on your hands, you were more interest on plum flowers than on its fruit.

There is something about sharing a fruit with someone that just makes it feel holy. The way Thranduil cut the fig in half. How you cleaned the tangerine. Your fingers brushing against one another to take another seed. It just felt better than eating one alone.

You brushed your fingers against ferns and orchids. Cherry blossoms floated, washing you both upon pink petals. A few got stucked on your hair. A few that Thranduil did not warned you about.

On the last floor, there were tables and chairs made of wood, but what really mattered to you was the view. From up there, you could see everything. Greenwood, every floor and its suspended garden, a flowing river on distance.

“A step back,” said Thranduil. He sat down, observing carefully. “Your fall is not worth the landscape.”

“Do not be affraid. That will not happen”, your eyes locked on a bird flying away. You think it was a nightingale. He was so small, and yet he knew a type of freedom you would never. How must it be to fly? It happened for you to fall from places that made you feel like you were flying, until you met the ground. Does it works the other way around? You imagine so. “You do not need to worry about me.”

“How could I not?” replied Thranduil. “You reign in my mind. It is my duty to worry about your safety and happiness.”

Your mouth went dry. “It was never my intention to make you worry about me”, you whispered.

Words, when commonly used, tend to lose their initial meaning. It dissolves, disappears with each repetition, until the word is just a ghost of what it once was. Of what their meaning once was. So many man use love almost as a greeting, but not a ellon. Never a ellon.

“I never said it was.”

The silence pierced your mind. His words… Why Thranduil keep on doing this? Why he keep on saying those sweet, toothaching sweet things? Thranduil is so beautiful, and everytime he opens his mouth you get more sure that his heart is just as pretty. If you could open his skull and study his brain, you would.

“Still”, you licked your lips. “I am not falling.”

Thranduil nodded. You came back to watch the sky, mostly because you did not knew what else to do. It was rosy. A breeze made chills go down your spine, and a petal fell from your hair right into your hands. Your caressed it, and moved it closer to your nose.

“Who created this place?” You sniffed it. “They must be so proud.”

“It was my father.”

That warm feeling spreading into you faded away. He never talked to you about his father before, but you knew that there was only one way for a prince to become a king. What you do not know is how much does it hurt. It must be a lot. Usually things that we love hurt way too much.

You walked towards Thranduil. The way he made your thoughts hazy did not matter anymore. You pulled yourself a chair, and dragged it until it was right beside him. Thranduil chuckled at the act.

“He must have been really creative”, you told him. “How was he?”

That surprised Thranduil. People never ask things about his father. They only say that they are sorry, that they feel so much, that it must be so difficult. They never talk about Oropher. They always remind Thranduil that he is dead, but they never talk about him.

“Wise”, said Thranduil. With just one word, he already felt that it was so easier to breath. Sometimes it feels like Oropher only lives on his memory. Like there is this unsurmountable weight on his shoulders, one that none can see or help to carry. It felt nice to share. “And ruthless. He was the strongest until the very end.”

You tried to picture Oropher. The king who died too soon. The warrior that led his people against Sauron, and saw his knights falling down. You picture someone that knew the weight of a sword dipped in blood, the sound of a last breath, the rotteness of a dying land. You pictured this person, and then imagined him daydreaming about suspended gardens. Architecting a palace, designing irrigation, choosing seeds.

Oropher sounds like someone worth knowing.

Your fingers dipped into your watery dress, and you bit back a smile. You imagine that Thranduil have the same effect on people. That they will heard how he protect his land and his people, and then get amazed about how he can recite poems about a willow tree.

“And how was him to you? Was he good?”

“Not ruthless”, Thranduil smiled at the memories in hindsight. “He was gentle and… When I was just a little ellon, I used to not understand when it was time to shut up. Now I see how awful I was, but he always listened to me. He never made me feel like I should remain silent.”

You held his hand, it was so cold. Stroking his delicate skin, you felt a warmth inside you. Something different from anything you ever felt. You felt… not alone.

“I bet Oropher would be proud of you”, the words escaped your mouth. “You are good. You are also great, but you are good. Gentle.”

Somehow, Thranduil understood exactly what you meant. There are so many great people in this world. So many great poets, great warriors, great rulers. But good… Oh, it appears that the world is always lacking people that are good.

People who will discuss with dragons because their friends deserve their home back. People that will cross a continent to destroy a ring simply because someone needs to. People that will lit beacons without permission, that will use helmets to hide the fact that they are a woman, that will fight even as arrows pierce their chest.

“You think I am good?” Thranduil felt his eyes burning. “You really do?”

“Of course, my king.” You intertwined his fingers with yours. It felt right. Like they were made to complement eachother. A sly smirk replaced your genuine smile. “You think I would put up with you if I did not?

Thranduil looked at the horizon, hoping you would not notice the redness of his eyes. He reciprocated your touch, squeezing your hand lightly. Maybe it was the sunset, maybe it was the autumn leaves, but everything felt golden.

Everything felt just fine.

“You are good”, murmured Thranduil. “Is it because of your parents?”

You let go of his hand, and Thranduil felt the sky getting darker. Your colors also faded, as if it was robbed from your skin. “It is getting late”, you told him. You were quick to get up. Quick to lie. Badly. “I should come back.”

“I am sorry. I really am”, Thranduil ignored everything you said. There was no need for him to pretend to fall for your bad lies. He stand, just as fast as you. “But you are not a good liar, idril. I will not force you to say the truth, nor do I wish for you to speak when you do not want to, but you do not need to lie. Not to me. We are friends.”

You threw yourself onto the chair, without any energy to argue. You watched the horizon, the changing colors of the sky, and tried to ignore the pressure on your chest. “I am sorry.”

“No need to”, Thranduil sat too. He tried to be silent, but something told him that maybe you also had a unsurmountable weight on your shoulders. That maybe you also needed to share it. “Were they not good?”

“Maybe yes, maybe not”, you huffled. You responded right away, so Thranduil assumd he made the right decision. “That is the problem.”

With your eyelids closed, you turned your head to Thranduil. When courage made its way into your chest, you looked at him. Was he going to judge you? To see you as too much of a problem? A part of you feared that he would. The other half thought it was mean to think of him that way.

“I have no memories of them.”

He let you talk. About how you have no memories of parents, of any family, of growing or sharing meals or going to school or learning to read. About how for you it is like you were born during a thunderstorm, then wandered until you found Aerin. You told him everything.

After you rant, his silence came. He breathe in, and you could feel his body getting tense. “No one ever looked for you?” Thranduil finally said something.

You nodded.

For Thranduil, now everything makes sense. The way you tend to pretend not to see when Aerin treated you badly. Or how people insisted on not calling you by your name. Why you would have felt bad if you did nothing. The gentleness of your heart. How your intelligence have a touch of naivety.

But it also made him even more intrigued about why you and Gandalf are friends. Does he have any interest on your memories coming back? Is he the reason why they faded? Can you really see him as a friend?

Thranduil never liked those pilgrim wizards, and Gandalf tend to be the one creating more problems for him. If he is right about who betrayed the free people, then maybe you have something to do with it.

Thranduil licked his lips. “I think you are so unlucky.”

That made you burst into laugh. It was loud and ugly and genuine. “I… I agree.”

When silence came, it was natural. It was welcomed. You stared into his watery eyes, and decided that you would never try to hide things from Thranduil. It is just not worth the effort, now when he reacts this way. A gentle king.

“You still want to go back home?” Thranduil whispered. There was simply no need to, but he wanted to. It felt right to.

You turned your gaze to the sky, and it was on that marvelous moment when it is not day and it is not night. Thranduil did the same as you. “This place feels like a summer dream.”

A nightingale sang that night. Not that you both heard it, since your voices were louder. But it sang, and it still mattered.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #autumn thunderstorm #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil fanfic #thrandaddy #thranduil oropherion #thranduil headcanon #thranduil of mirkwood #oropher #mirkwood #middle earth #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #gandalf

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sseniita · 10 months

Text

hero vs domesticity

(in which hero quits and villain takes them in)

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean, am I sure?”

The villain leaned against the brick wall, twiddling his thumbs as he imagined the hero as a civilian. Her shiny, loud, and awfully tight outfit blurred his vision of her in jeans and a t-shirt. “I mean,” he shrugged, “What’ll you do?”

The hero, hands on her hips and oddly calm about quitting heroism, considered this.

“I don’t know. I’ll probably start off quietly, adjust. Then I’ll get a job to pay for a house. Maybe get a dog.”

“Do you have any savings?” asked the Villain, lifting himself from the wall to get a better look at the hero. “A place to stay? A job set up?”

Hero scoffed, “It can’t be that hard!”

The villain laughed at this. She had no idea. The villain supposed that the hero would never quit, perhaps one day they’ll just lose popularity like the rest before her did. He never considered what happened to other heroes either. “It definitely is. Perhaps even harder.”

The villain pitied the hero when her spirits were crushed. Her shoulders drooped and the world famous grin was quickly replaced by an exaggerated pout. Something in him knew this was her way of asking- no- fishing for help or any sort of comfort. They had gotten closer over the many years fighting each other and many times were each other's only shoulder to lean (albeit awkwardly) on. But never in a million years did the villain ever think they’d be the first to know if the hero quit. After a few doe-eyed side glances at the villain he finally caved, sighing dejectedly, cursing her honey brown eyes.

“Would you like to stay in my guestroom-”

“Oh really?” she practically sang.

“-until you get on your feet?”

“Yes, yes! Oh, you’re a lifesaver!”

“I’m literally not.”

The trip to get the hero's few belongings was quick, the trip to the drugstore for basic necessities took longer. The villain insisted on replacing her Hero Corporation issued… everything, opting to get the hero new toiletries, towels, blankets, pillows and quick bite to eat before heading back to villain’s place. During the car ride, the hero had asked many questions about how to get into a normal life, many of which were almost impossible for the villain to answer, dealing much damage to his ego.

“Well- normal people don’t usually have to ask how to be normal. Most normal people don’t have to pretend to be normal. In fact- that might be an indicator that they’re not normal.” The villain relied on confusing others on the very odd occasion he didn’t know the answer.

“Oh. ok. I get it.” The hero said unconfidently. “How do you start not pretending to be normal then?”

“Great question…” The hero waited for an answer while staring intently. “Do you have any hobbies…?” he said, rather timidly.

“Hobbies? Um, well. I like to work out!”

“Doesn’t count. Something unrelated to heroism.”

“How do you know I don’t do it for fun?”

“Mhm. Sure.” The villain muttered, turning into a street with pleasantly colored row houses adorned with Christmas lights. The hero could see downtown was still very close but the adorable homes were nestled between trees and lined a thin road making it feel safe, cozy and like a home. Because it was dark, the hero could see into the large windows of the houses illuminated by yellow lighted lamps, enclosed in picket fences. Happy families getting dinner ready, some relaxing watching tv, others were out walking dogs with warm drinks in hands, they all had one thing in common, and it was the one thing that made the hero quit.

The villain turned into the stone paved driveway of an old and blue three story house. His christmas lights weren’t hung up yet and his path to the front door was unshoveled, he turned to hero and sarcastically uttered, “Not the castle you were hoping for?”

The hero could only grin. “It’s adorable.” Before the hero fell into the knee deep snow, the villain offered to shovel a path. The hero watched gleefully from inside the warm car until finally the passenger door was opened. “Done. Now let’s get in- it’s freezing out here.”

The interior of the house was even more pleasantly decorated. The Hero didn’t know the exact name of the style but it involved gold accents, warm lights, wallpaper, and dark hardwood floors. The couches were fluffy with pillows coordinated in colors of beige and sage, the fireplace had dark bricks that were seemingly very old and very much the original ones. Art pieces and plants littered the walls and floors respectively and the warm colors from the walls spread like the fire the villain had just started. The hero followed the villain like a duckling to the third floor, passing the villain's room, office and second bathroom as he hurried around making preparations for the hero's stay.

“This is your room, it has its own bathroom and fireplace so obviously, feel free to use those. I only have one tv on the first floor, I don’t really use it, so again, feel free.” The hero never had their own room or bathroom. Always sharing with teammates in rather ugly, white walled boxes, half full with the squeaky metal bunkbeds. This room was more than an upgrade. A comfy bed hero couldn't wait to get into, a nice view of the sparkling lights of the skyscrapers in the near distance, classy decor and two lamps on two nightstands on either side of the bed. The carpet was fuzzy and bathroom was clean and hero was in heaven.

The villain could only stare in amazement of how well she fit in the house. Resembling a character in one of his many framed pieces. He cursed whoever made her be born with superpowers instead of two loving parents. To snap the hero out of it he pointed towards a door across the hallway from the hero's room.

“Library. It's small but it’s got a few good ones. Maybe you can make that your new hobby.” He opened the door, letting the hero in to explore the floor to ceiling bookshelves. There was an armchair in the corner with a end table harboring a few old and dirty mugs. The villain seemed to try to cover it with his body so the hero pretended she didn’t notice.

The villain’s home was everything she thought it wasn’t. Cozy, homey, safe and definitely not hiding a super evil lair. She quickly realized she hit the jackpot of situations in which to start a new life. Although she had tried to stay calm, her body hadn’t stopped shaking since she decided to quit this morning. It all happened so fast and when she made the decision it was clearest she had ever seen. She knew repercussions would arise later, but luckily the villain was here now. Just like he always had been. She could feel herself turning red at the final realization that she would be roommates with her very handsome and evil nemesis.

“You good?” the hero stumbled, not noticing the villain's stare.

“Ya! Ya… I just…” she faltered, fidgeting with her sweater. One that the villain thought looked far better than the spandex suit she wore constantly, of course, it did have the Hero Corporation logo but the villain just kept it in mind to buy the hero new clothes.

“I really don’t want to mess this up.” she admitted. The villain tilted his head, teasingly. A familiar mischievous smile reappeared on his face.

"For starters, you can get a hobby. A very 'totally normal person' thing to have.” He randomly picked a book from his collection and handed it over to the hero, before quickly regretting it when he realized it was a copy of a particularly incriminating book on advanced security systems. Before the hero could lecture him, he yanked it away back to its place.

“How about cooking?”

part 2

#do u guys prefer nb pronouns??#with or without names #pls respond #anyways im making a part two hehe #writing #hero x villain #original fiction #k love u byeeeee #criticism welcome #villain x hero

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grimgoregrimoire · 4 months

Text

Happy pride! 🖤🤎🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Your love

Your light

Your fight

Your plight

An undying flame

Your pain is which the paths are paved

Craved, a savior who would no longer be enslaved to hate

It's all politics

But without that brick?

Without that wrath, we would have no path

After all, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

Yet we were not born void of hardships

Pardon, we continue to fight least we might die for it

In the noon of the year

Each June, may we prune our thanks to you

All our thanks to Marsha P and everyone in between

Blessed be

Please have a happy and safe pride! 🖤

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copperbadge · 2 years

Note

“Breaking into a cemetery”? Sam, dish the tea, please! (And not into Boston Harbour, either). What sort of sightseeing exigency required burglarizing the marble orchard? And how did you evade the gendarmes? This sounds a bit “Leverage”. (Or something a young Steve Rogers might pull.)

Looking back, I'm gonna say like 70% was me being young and stupid and 30% was probably ADHD-fueled impulsivity.

Copp's Hill Burial Ground sits on the flat top of Copp's Hill, with walls all the way around and entrances on opposite sides. The other two sides have houses butted up against the cemetery on one, and a tall wall with a long drop down to the street on the other. Signs posted outside of it say that it opens at sunrise and closes at dusk.

When I got there, which was early but well after sunrise, the main entrance was still locked. I walked around, looking for another one, and on the opposing side (the Charter Street entrance) the gate was also locked, but the wall is very low and so is the fencing. If you look at it on Google Streetview you can see that for a reasonably athletic person it would be fairly easy to get up on the wall and vault the fence.

I thought, well, it's supposed to be open, so probably I won't get into trouble if I climb in. Ah, youth.

So I did, and I had a very nice time; I didn't disturb or vandalize anything, obviously, I just walked around and looked for the gravestones I'd wanted to find (Prince Hall, the Mathers, etc). I still have photos I took that day:

[ID: A scanned film-camera photo of a cemetery, looking east towards the water, the sun barely touching the tops of the trees; the gravestones are laid out in irregular lines, cut through with brick-paved paths.]

Anyway, I spent a lovely hour or so amongst the stones, and then I happened to look up as a large SUV drove past the west entrance. It slowed down and I felt like it was...looking at me, very clearly visible as the only person in the cemetery. So I started strolling back towards the east entrance. Sure enough, not long after, a police car pulled up to the west entrance, lights going, and I took off running.

I cleared the fence pretty much in a single leap and darted down Charter Street, ducking into an alley where I pulled my coat off and stuffed it in my messenger bag, figuring that would make me harder to identify. The messenger bag converted to a backpack so I did that as well, pulling out the straps and shouldering it. I then strolled Incredibly Casually down the next cross-street to the Old North Church, which was open, and ducked inside just as the cop car rolled past again. I settled down in one of the high-walled pews for about half an hour, just to be safe, and I didn't hear the sirens come past again. It's quite a pretty little church anyway and I had a book, so it wasn't a hardship.

Should I have broken into the cemetery? While it was laughably easy and I had good intentions, probably not. But nobody was harmed, so while it's not a good example to set it's still a fun story to tell, especially in person (I do hand gestures).

#boston #copp's hill #sam's criminal youth

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cosmic-blogs · 4 days

Text

HOME SHAPED HEART

I am making a home,

Within myself.

And it is tough.

As I grow older

And winters become rough.

I worry if the foundation,

Is strong enough

To hold up

All versions of

me, from all pasts

If my walls should be

stark and high.

Or have

More windows

To look at the stars

The night casts.

If i will be able to

Withstand impending rain.

Now that I know,

Joy is a momentary flash flood,

Upon a barren desert of pain.

I acknowledge the worry

Hold it close

And tell it to rest.

I want my home

Within me

To be a sanctuary.

A place to rest

When I return

From adventures of life.

I want to walk from room to room

And in the vaults of my heart

With a song upon my lips

For the beauty

That I may find.

I want to welcome

Reluctant love,

Enough,

To feel, finally at home.

I need to clear out spaces

For gardens with butterflies.

I want a waterfall of giggles

To wash away all grime.

I want a heart shaped home

With bricks, of gratitude

And a roof, of everything enough.

I will put soft warm lights

Outside the door.

The kind that make,

The lonely feel safe

From harshness of glare.

I will build my home

Inside the vales of gentleness,

Where the breeze,

On a warm summer afternoon

Will be much needed

Respite for my friends.

I have to be gone for long.

Into the frightening silent,

wilderness of self.

To pick out pieces of beauty

From dangerous woods.

To gather and to rake.

To draw out a map

And a plan for

My home shaped heart,

To house all my goods.

I have the strength,

I have to remind myself

As I pave the path back

To myself.

I will make my home

Within myself,

From silver curtains

Of full moon nights.

And the quietning that comes

From a dawn about to break in love.

Even if takes all my will and

The milk of my bones.

It is the hardest thing

To make,

I know,

Because I have to do it alone.

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bonefall · 1 year

Note

do the clans have any other “loan words”? i think it’s neat :)

They reveal themselves when I sit down to make expansions, so I'm not sure off the top of my head!

But you know what i do have for you? SKYCLAN CAR WORDS LETS GO

SkyClan has various words for human vehicles, based on their danger level! They also don't share the same words with Forest Four Clanmew, preferring the expanded vocabulary from Townmew.

Forest Four Clanmew car words;

Monster = Kichung Refers to all kinds of machines, including saws in a mill and metal tools such as chainsaws.

Car, specifically = Hrroo'o ONLY cars that go down the thunderpath. Nothing else. An onomatopoeia of the doppler effect.

SkyClan: "you are like tiny baby. Watch this."

Car = Urrg

Truck (Like a pick up truck, a very large car) = Groob

Lorry (In American English, this is a semi or a truck) = Braawng

Bus = Yeepyeep Different from a Lorry not in how dangerous it is, but because of the fact that humans get on and off them at regular intervals.

Bike = Bingi A two-legged vehicle that carries a single human.

Motorcycle = Furgugu Louder than it is dangerous, hated for that reason but not feared. It's unheard of to get hit by these.

Remote-control toy car = Fgeer A human pet, usually accompanied by human kittens. Avoided because children are bastards, these are the only 'cars' said to sometimes chase cats.

Street = Pabak Narrow, paved paths with very few cars. Anything that does drive here is usually going very slow. A place that can be hunted in.

Road = Fierro A street where cars are driving fast, usually smooth and made of asphalt instead of cobble or brick. A dangerous place to be; similar to the Forest Four concept of a Thunderpath.

Sidewalk/pavement = Peb A pathway on the side of a road, where cars do not drive but bikes occasionally do. Much, much safer.

Street Light = Shayupeb Any thing that lights up to show humans when it's safe to cross to another pavement. Can be across the road, or suspended in the air.

And, as a final tidbit, Rabbitleap may be scared of heights but he's FEARLESS around cars, even for SkyClan standards. He knows how cars work better than anyone, and ostensibly drills road safety into every one of his apprentices.

I have to fight away the mental image of him wearing a caution tape sash lmao. Funny little guy.

#Clanmew #Skyclanmew

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the-forests-blessing · 9 days

Text

Chapter 1

I’ve always loved the stories where the hero gets the true happy ending they deserve.

To fight so bravely, putting their own life at risk for the sake of others!

And to come out on top each time. No villain could ever surpass the heart of a true hero!

A postcard is gripped by a pale hand. The white edge is gently caressed by a thumb to allow the viewer full view of the picture on the front. Depicted on this postcard is a town. A town full of stunning colors and creative strength, along with builds of all shapes and sizes. The picture shows many vibrant buildings and shops, with people who wear smiles depicting true peace and prosperity walking on the lively streets paved in stone brick. In the middle of the picture is an iconic monument. A structure that acts as not only a fountain to flip coins and make a wish, but the very foundation of what makes this town so world renowned. Glowing beacons cast brilliant pillars of light up into the sky. “BeaconTown,” the post card says in a flashy, eye-catching font.

This is the town that holds the heroes of legend.

The heroes who found their happy ending and wanted to share all their efforts amongst the world around them.

Heroes who fought with all their might against numerous threats. From the ungodly man made entity of horrors, the Witherstorm! Piercing the command block with a mighty final blow. The hero of Order, shattering its influence on the monster with a diamond edged sword. Then there was the sentient supercomputer, PAMA. A complex build of redstone brilliance, turned evil with the intention of making everything and everyone, “useful”, under its own bidding. Going so far as to plan to work its malicious programming into our world and corrupt our people. Not to mention the three Old Builder’s who held an entire town of people hostage, forcing those poor souls to fight against each other solely for the Builder’s entertainment. How vile…

I’ve been waiting years for this moment.

The man tucks his postcard away and grips the handles of his bike tighter. He pedals up a hill full of long grass, his heart racing with exhilaration knowing he’s getting closer and closer. The dirt path he follows ascends a small hill. With a backdrop of cloudy blue skies and a sea of flowing grass, he’s almost to the top. He can’t help the excited smile that forms on his face.

Something finally comes into view. Something, he realizes as he gets further up the hill, that is most definitely out of place for the BeaconTown he’s been looking forward to. His pedaling feet begin to slow… Confusion stirring something within his rapidly beating heart. His bike comes to a skirting stop once he reaches the top. He holds up his postcard once again. A face of rising confusion washes away all the excitement that brought him up this hill. In front of him is the town of heroes. He can tell from the numerous pillars lighting up the sky in the far distance. There is, however, a massive structure that doesn’t show up at all in the postcard he holds. He compares the picture to the real thing in front of him, holding the photograph against the city skyline. His blond brows furrow, looking back and forth between the two before he’s stuffing the postcard back into his inventory.

Odd. Nobody mentioned anything about a massive floating tower right smack in the middle of town. He merely shrugs it off. While it is surprising to see, it is pretty extraordinary to witness. He’s never seen a structure as huge as this in all his years of traveling. It’s almost hard to believe it was built by humans. It’s nearly impossible to look at anything else the town has to offer from this distance with that huge build standing- no, floating in the middle of it.

I thought the beacons were going to be the focal point to this town. Not this ridiculous looking tower.

It is extremely impressive, he’ll admit, although he can’t help but feel like it’s too grand in comparison to everything else.

Maybe it’s the heroes tower. Made to look intimidating so trouble makers and villains know what they’re up against the moment they come into the town’s territory.

“Well… You ready for this, Dewey?” His voice, smooth like silk, rousing a slumbering ocelot from his rest within the bicycles front basket. The jungle cat merely lifts his head, giving it a shake while he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. The man chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He says, reaching down to scratch behind those white polka-dot ears. He draws his eyes up to look back at BeaconTown.

It’s finally happening.

“Oookay Lukas, let’s do this.” He gives himself a small motivational boost, taking a deep breath as he adjusts his footing, pushing his feet against the pedals once again and accelerates forward. He bikes down the hill, riding through the grassy plains towards town. The wind against his face feels entirely new. Fresh, just as this new beginning is.

I wonder what kind of people I’ll meet. I’ve heard people from all over the world have moved here to start their new life in BeaconTown.

As he gets closer, he begins to take more notice of the biomes surrounding the famous town. One of the neighboring biomes looks to be an oak forest. A very common biome that Lukas has been to many times, spending countless hours studying the specks of dirt beneath his feet to the highest shivering leaf on the tallest tree. While he’ll never turn down the idea of checking out another familiar biome, it's the biome on the opposite side of town that is particularly eye-catching.

Very tall evergreen trees point towards the sky. The tree line is dark and compelling compared to the much more welcoming looking oak forest that neighbors it. He gazes upon the coniferous woodland as he bikes down the dirt path, getting closer and closer to BeaconTown. Those woods look very expansive , Lukas finding the inability to see where it starts or where it ends. The bigger the biome, the better.

Gotta make note to begin my studies as soon as possible. A biome that big could take months to fully map out, and there’s no telling what kinds of animals have made their home there. Oh jeez, and the fungi? A coniferous forest like this must get a lot of rain and retain a ton of that moisture. There’s no telling how many species of plants live there.

Lukas returns his gaze to the road ahead. The mouth of the gate coming more and more into view. Excitement surges him forward, pedaling faster, getting closer! In just a few more seconds he’ll be passing right through-!

“Stop right there!”

Lukas slams on the breaks, skirting his bike to a sudden stop.

He’s just been stopped by… Guards? Lukas’ thrill of the moment immediately falls away, replaced by complete confusion. Two guards stand before him, both blocking his entry to town. Their iron armor glints under the sun and their helmets cover most of their facial features, making their faces much harder to memorize. Lukas nervously gets off his bike, and just by doing so, the two guards reach to the scabbards at their hips. Lukas falters, gripping his bike and backing away just a bit.

“What business do you have here?” The guard to Lukas’ left questions.

Lukas’ confusion only strengthens. He tilts his head slightly, attempting to keep his eyes averted from the guard’s weapons. “This… is BeaconTown, right?” He asks.

The iron clad guard scoffs. “Sure is. Now, I repeat, what business do you have here?”

Lukas meets the man’s discourtesy with a scrutinizing glare. “I hardly see how that is any of your concern, but if you must know, I’m a traveling author. I’m currently working on extensive biome research and your town is on my list of destinations to explore.”

The guard laughs mockingly. “Author?”

“Explore?” The other guard simply laughs.

Lukas flicks his eyes between the two men, a prickle of annoyance befalling him. What’s these guys’ problem? What’s so funny?

The guard to his left sneers. “Whatever. Try not to get in anyone's way or we’ll be sending you on your way.”

The guards yield and return to their stations on either side of the gate. Lukas is absolutely baffled by such a ludicrous welcome party. For a town famous for its kindness and generosity, the people keeping it protected are surely doing it no favors. Lukas clutches his bike's handles and moves quickly, making his way through the gate but not without offering one last disappointed glance at the man that spoke with such poison in his tone.

Weirdos. Lukas turns away.

He soon finds himself walking along a cracked, stone brick path of BeaconTown’s main street. The ground here is rough and bumpy, too dangerous to ride his bike along. It must have been a long time since the street has been refurbished, because the pavement’s current appearance is drawing Lukas to make critical comparisons to the ruined temples deep within the jungles he’s few times been lucky enough to come across. Although, the more he looks around, the more he finds that the street is not the only thing that is in the need of immediate repair.

The builds here all seem so… lifeless. Lukas reaches into his coat pocket, holding up the picture he brought along. The postcard depicts vibrant colors from bright greens and blues to warm pinks and reds. So many cool structures you’d never see anywhere else that showcase the true lengths of the creative freedom BeaconTown offers! But here… There seems to be none of that… All that colorful wool long burnt to the ground. There looks to be old run down shops, fallen victim to wear and tear over the years, closed for good with no intentions of re-opening. With the graffiti splattered over the wooden panels and brick walls of the broken structures, one would be in the right to consider just destroying the whole building rather than attempting to save it by remodeling. There’s boarded up windows. Some windows just straight up missing glass!

Did griefers raid this place!?

Lukas turns away from the abandoned shops. He keeps his eyes averted from the people who do wander the crumbling streets. People turn their heads as he walks, glaring daggers as sharp as the ones they wield on their hips. Lukas finds himself tense with discomfort. Keeping his eyes glued to the ground, he attempts to mind his business, wanting to avoid any sort of confrontation.

Where are the smiles? The joy?

He walks by a group gathered together at what looks to be a coffee shop, one that could use a big makeover. In his peripheral vision, he can count at least four heavily armed strangers with swords at their hips and baskets of arrows snug against their backs sitting in chairs at the establishment. To keep your weapons shown off in such a way? These people want to make themselves look dangerous. Anyone else in their right mind would keep their weapons and tools hidden within their inventories. Lukas feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, uneasy as he walks by the group. He stays blissfully unaware of not so friendly looks he receives as he passes.

While he isn’t sure where to start when it comes down to research, he does know his first task is finding the place that will house him for the next couple months.

Do I really want to stay somewhere like this for that long? He wonders. I’ve never experienced such an unpleasant welcome. …Maybe I just entered the bad side of town.

He’ll stick to that assumption for now.

What does catch his eye as he travels deeper into the heart of the town is the structure that gave the city its name. The beacon monument! Lukas’ eyes brighten at the sight of the tall pillars of light. Colored light pierce through the clouds and shoot to the Aether. Lukas lays a hand over his forehead to avoid the sun obscuring his view of the incredible sight. The colors disappear as they exit the Earth’s atmosphere. He wonders how far they truly go? Something to look into while he’s here. He lowers his attention down to the monument itself. Amazingly, compared to the rest of the town, the structure stays in good condition. It doesn’t seem to be crumbling like the world around it. It sits here in the middle of town square, its surrounding radius filled with shops, homes, and down the darker alleys, possible secrets.

Just beyond the town square is a large, pearly white building. It looks important, the way it stands beneath that massive structure that engulfs the sky above it. If Lukas had to make a guess, he’s confident he may have just found the main headquarters for those who run this town. He’s by no means a builder, but part of him can’t help but feel like this big tower thing in the sky kind of sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s ugly. Lukas shakes his head, dismissing the two builds and turns away, veering off on a new path.

As amazing a sight the beacons truly are, he re-adjusts his satchel higher and grips his bike handle tighter. He’s got to keep moving. He passes by the monument and starts walking a new path towards his left. He takes a nice long look at a very… interesting build. A small tower structure, one that reminds Lukas of those dangerous pillager outposts he’s witnessed in his travels, except this one is complimented with the addition of lava oozing down its sides, gathering into a safe- ish pool at the base. Who the heck leaves lava out in the open like that!? Even if it is controlled, some delirious fool could still walk themselves right into one of the lava streams fountaining from off the top.

Another conflicted look twists the blond’s features. Some people sure do get creative with their building projects. Lukas can’t say he’s well versed enough to judge though, since he has little to no building experience. He decides to continue forth. Passing more builds that seem to be a little more lively. He’s observing more townsfolk who seem like ordinary people with no hidden motives walking around. That, and– Oh! Lukas’ eyes land on a rather tall building a short distance away. The building is white with many windows. It looks to be at least six floors. A hotel maybe? Lukas glances around, staying aware of his surroundings before pressing forth in the direction of the building. The closer he gets, the more disheartened he becomes.

A hospital. He gathers, looking at the sign.

He clicks his tongue in thought, running a hand through his short blond hair and taking another look around.

“You lost or somethin’?”

A rather rough voice speaks beside him. The blond nearly jolts out of his skin in surprise.

“Oh! Whoa, did not see you there.” Lukas smiles awkwardly. “Uh. Not lost exactly? More like unaware of where I should be going. I’m looking fo-”

“So you’re lost.”

“...Yeah.” Lukas says flatly.

The man in front of him looks old and tired. He holds a cane to keep himself supported. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.” The old man eyes him inspectingly. “What brings you to a place like this?”

“Oh! Well, uh-” Lukas brightens up at the idea of conversation. It’s been a long while since he’s actually spoken to another human being who wasn’t outrageously rude. “Well you see, I’m actually a travelling-”

“Salesman?”

“...What? No. I’m an author. I’m traveling the world to collect data on the many biomes our wonderful Earth has to offer, as well as the diverse cultures that is unique to ever-”

“Yeah, yeah.” The man gives him a dismissive wave. “Look, I get it. You’re one of them book nerds. Library is that way, son.” The man points Lukas off down a different road. “If that’s what 'yer lookin’ for, have at it.”

“Well– I… I mean that is helpful, but I was actually looking for a place I could rent? Like a hotel perhaps?” Lukas gives him a hopeful, yet uncertain look.

“Hmm.” The old fellow hums. “You’re lookin’ for BeacInn then. That’s down that same road. A little further ways away from the library. Lucky you.” The old man emits a gruff chuckle, taking a puff of his pipe.

Lukas wrinkles his nose at the awful smell, turning away before it gets overwhelming. “Oh awesome. Thank you, sir. I appreciate your kindness.” Lukas offers him a quick smile, then turns away and immediately drops it. That gentleman was helpful, but awfully impolite. He interrupted him twice! That’s completely asinine. Lukas lightly shakes his head. What’s with this town and harboring such rude people? I thought this was supposed to be the friendly capital of the world. Lukas sighs, picking up his pace.

“You okay in there, Dewey?” Lukas lifts the little blanket that sits atop his bike basket. A little black nose peeks out, then emerges two emerald green eyes. The ocelot trills lightly in response. “Good. I’m not impressed with the people I’ve spoken to so far. You stay hidden okay?” His pale hand reaches, grasping the checkered blanket and tucking it softly back over the ocelot’s head, hiding him. “Don’t want to risk gaining the attention of exotic animal traders if there are any. They’d have a hay-day with you.”

A mumbled mewl sounds from beneath the blanket. Lukas gives his ocelot a reassuring pat before focusing himself back on the road ahead.

This time he makes sure to gain no more attention from any of the town goers. He did pass the library that the old man had mentioned. To Lukas’ surprise and delight, the place by no means looks at all run down as the rest of the town. He stops momentarily to gaze upon the building's greatness. Someone with high respect towards architecture built this no doubt. The structure is built with quartz, andesite, and diorite. It looks pristine in comparison to the lack-luster builds barely standing beside it. Someone must be maintaining its beauty.

That means someone here in this town must have a deep respect for the art of literature just as he does. Lukas smiles up at the library, feeling a glimmer of hope brighten his spirits. “Awesome! I’ll definitely be visiting here tomorrow.” Lukas turns himself and his bike away, continuing down the street. “Maybe there will be some history books in there. Something that can give me a bit of insight on what the heck happened to this place.”

For now though, Lukas finds himself wandering up to a new building. A tall building. The bricks look in decent condition to Lukas’ further surprise. In fact, he looks around and notices a few of the buildings here look a bit more welcoming than what the mainstreet had to offer. There’s a couple of food stands propped up. He can smell something tasty wafting through the air, making his mouth water. It has been a while since he ate too. Lukas turns his head back up to the brick building. A sign with a bed on it tells him all he needs to know. Food later. He needs to settle down with his belongings before he goes and begins exploring the restaurants here in town.

A bell chimes above him as he opens the door. What greets Lukas on the other side is a neat and tidy entryway. A couple blocks in front of him is the front desk, while to the right of him is what looks to be a lounge area fitted with a cozy fireplace and atmosphere. Between the front desk and the waiting area is the hallway that Lukas can only assume will take him down to his room.

“Hi, welcome in!”

Lukas refocuses his attention on a lady standing behind the front desk. She has a smile on her face at the very least. Probably the first friendly looking person he’s encountered since he entered town. Lukas looks around carefully before making his approach to the counter. “Uh. Hi there, hope it’s okay to bring my bike in with me.”

“Oh yeah it’s no problem. Were you looking to stay?” She says with a cheerful tone.

Lukas allows the tension in his limbs to subside. Finally, Someone he can maybe have a decent conversation with. “Yes please.”

“Wonderful! So you’ll be staying here tonight untiiiil?” She holds up a quill and notepad.

“Oh, well I’ll be staying here for about three months, if that isn’t too much to ask?”

“Holy cow. Three months? ” She raises her brows in disbelief.

“Yeah! I’m here on business, I guess you could call it. I’m an author, traveling the world doing biome studies.”

“Wowza. That sure sounds exciting. You’re the first person I’ve ever seen who actually wants to stay here that long.”

Lukas’ expression turns worrisome. “Why do you say that?”

The girl scoffs as she writes. “Have you seen BeaconTown? If I were you I’d get the info you need and skedaddle.”

Lukas tilts his head to the left, his ocelot-like curiosity piquing. “I thought this place was famous for its friendliness. Was that all just… Some outlandish hoax?”

“Name please.”

“Oh sorry, it’s Lukas.”

She jots down a few more notes on her notepad before setting it down with a sigh. “It used to be. That’s actually the reason I came here too. I saved up for years to move to the safe haven, BeaconTown . It was my dream. When I got here though…” She shook her head. “I couldn’t tell you what happened. All I know is that the mayor stopped caring a long time ago about what goes on around here. She doesn’t bother kicking out all the griefers and thieves that have shown up over the past couple years. It’s turned into a really bad town.” The woman's voice dips somberly. “Now I’m just trying to make enough to get out of here.”

“Jeez.” Lukas runs a hand over his arm, unsure of what to say. “So there’s a real mystery at hand, huh?”

“I suppose you could call it that. If you talk to the right people, it won’t be a mystery at all. I’d be extremely careful who you speak to though. Some people here don’t take kindly to outsiders, especially those of your stature.”

“My stature?”

“Rich?” She raises a brow.

“...Oh. I mean, not really. I make enough to get by.”

“And to book a hotel room for three months?”

Lukas shrugs sheepishly.

The woman just sighs. “Nah I get it. It’s not safe to discuss that sort of thing here. It was rude of me to ask, so I apologize.” She shuffles around behind the desk, grabbing a room key and handing it off to the novelist. Lukas takes it with a nod and quiet ‘thanks’. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

“Uh, thank you.” Lukas looks down for a name tag but sees none. Instead of attempting more conversation, he decides to work his way down the hall. No name tag? Is everyone here hiding something? Lukas sighs. Well, at least he gained some information from the small talk he had with the front desk lady. The mayor isn’t doing anything about the chaos? How long has that been going on? He can’t help but wonder.

Room 510. Lukas gives one good look at the elevator and decides against it. He’s not ready to commit that amount of trust to this place. Getting the bike up numerous flights of stairs was a struggle in itself. Thankfully the girl seemed to have no issue with him bringing it inside, because he can’t imagine what would happen with it if he left it outside. Lukas has never sworn under his breath so many times in such a small time span. When he finally gets up to the fifth floor, he sets the bike down with a huff. A little face pokes its head out from beneath the blanket, Dewey emitting his own annoyed growl with all the commotion. “Sorry buddy, I decided to take the scenic route.” Dewey just stuffs his head back beneath the blanket and sighs.

Finding his room number, he taps the key card against the redstone sensor and unlocks the door. Walking in, he’s greeted with another cozy atmosphere, similar to the one down in the lounge. The room is spacious with three nice big windows to gaze upon the forest bordering town through. Lukas walks in further, relieved to see a desk and chair, all in good condition, as well as a bed which is neatly made with nightstands at each side. To his left beside the door is the bathroom with all the essentials. All in all, much better than he was expecting. Lukas props his bike up against the wall beside the entryway and allows the door to shut behind him. “Okay. Coast is clear, Dewey. Come on out.”

The blanket quickly ascends with an arch. Dewey stretches his back finally, then shakes the blanket off and hops out of the basket. He settles on the floor, giving his paw a few licks before standing to begin his patrol of the room. “Hopefully it’s to your liking. I’ll get your stuff set up in the bathroom while you check things out.”

Well, at least the hotel is nice. He considers himself lucky on that part, knowing it could be considerably worse due to the rest of the town's current state. He has to wonder though, what’s keeping this small part of the town in better condition than the rest of it? He’s only just arrived and already finds many mysteries keeping his brain captivated and awake. As evening comes, the light of the setting sun filters in through the window, bathing the room in soothing orange light. Lukas currently lay on the bed in his midnight blue pajamas, Dewey lay curled at his side.

After settling down, he traveled back out of the hotel to partake in some of the dining BeaconTown had to offer. The food was… okay. He ordered some chicken skewers from one of the vendor stands and got a cod stick for Dewey. No one seemed in the mood for chit-chat, although Lukas can hardly blame them anymore. He’d attempted small talk with the woman working the stall, but she just flashed him an odd look and kept to herself. Talk about awkward. From the vibes he’s catching here in BeaconTown, it's better to hold your tongue and keep to yourself.

Lukas stares up at the ceiling, plotting his next move. Tomorrow, he definitely wants to look into what’s going on at the library. There has to be something there that will give him some insight on what’s going on. However… The blond turns to his side, looking out towards the windows, watching the pillowy clouds in the far off distance drift slowly over the orangish-yellow sky. He is here for biome work. Maybe he should just stick to that instead? And keep his nose out of the town’s business. It’s not like he intends to settle down here. Maybe if it had lived up to his original expectations, he’d finally have a place to look forward to calling home.

Now he’s not so sure.

Lukas sighs heavily and sits up, waking Dewey out of his sleep. He sits at the edge of the bed, debating for a few seconds before promptly getting up and approaching one of the windows. He lays his hand on the window sill and looks out, gazing upon the tree line. If there’s anything keeping him in high spirits, it’s the biomes surrounding this lousy town. He can see the mountains peeking from behind the dark tree line. A very far off mountain range that only amplifies his passion for adventure. He’s anxious to get out there and see what the surrounding biomes have to offer. He knows of the grasslands, as they are what he traversed through to get here in the first place. The small oak forest on the opposite side of town certainly appeals to him, although he’s already collected significant data on oak forests and what they offer in regards to flora, and habitat for animals and humans.

This though…

Lukas stares upon the darkening trees. Tall conifers point to the Aether with their angular tops. A coniferous forest is something Lukas is lacking severely on when it comes to data. He wonders what secrets the forest hides. For every biome he’s entered, he’s always found something that exceeded his expectations. Why, he’s got over four hundred pages to prove it.

Just this biome and two more. Then it will be ready for the final draft. Lukas smiles, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.

After another minute lingering at the window, Lukas returns to the bed and this time, pulls up the covers to snuggle in. He leans over, giving Dewey a few affectionate pets on the head before settling back down into the pillows with a long sigh of relief.

I must keep myself focused on my work. Whatever problems BeaconTown has aren’t for me.

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afreakingdork · 9 months

Text

Ashes Denote Fire

RotTMNT Leonardo x Reader One-Shot

Tags: Future Leonardo (TMNT), Bonfires, Gift Fic, Short & Sweet, One Shot, Gender-neutral Reader, Mention of Bad Future Timeline (TMNT), Christmas Fluff, Bad Puns, Puns & Word Play

Synopsis: Leon always got strange around fire and you tried your best to avoid the subject, but when Donnie surprises the family with a Christmas bonfire, you are finally party to the trip he takes.

Also Available on Ao3

A Secret Santa gift for Pip!

Merry Christmas, Pip! I'm sorry to say I don't know you well, but I hope you enjoy!

Also stolen away from @morning-sun-brah mwahaha!

Leon always got strange around fire.

Something you would have thought easily avoidable in the city, holidays brought on the cozy imagery in ways you never expected.

You’d catch him often.

Staring at yule logs set on static televisions, slowing down as he passed shop displays with chimneys, or even the wafting flames of a candlelit vigil, Leon would take on that same far away look amongst them all.

If you had known Donnie was going to build an entire bonfire, you might have protested.

Instead, the softshell had ushered the Hamatos to what by all accounts should have been a spooky alley. Turning a wretched glowing corner, he announced his surprise in the form of an utter transformation of the space. Rotting brick done up by Mikey into a scenic forest, lights honeyed the rusted fire escapes and paved the path to the enormous wooden structure already aflame.

The others ran off. There was a refreshment table. There were reindeer games. There was a pyromaniac’s dream that needed tending to.

Then there was Leon.

Bathed in firelight, he’d stood in the crux that hid away this alley.

Amber lapped at his winter coat and his eyes took on that haunted look.

Unlike Scrooge, Leon didn’t need three specters to haunt him.

He’d had his share and more and you moved with him as he approached the flames.

The others tapered off into Hamato white noise and seemed none the wiser as the older slider stopped short of where the heat became nearly unbearable.

Scorching your cheeks, you watched him where he watched dancing light.

It licked at his stripes and cast his lowered lids with something distant.

A hollowed past, the husk of him had been partially filled in the years since.

There were the younger versions of his family.

There was a world that hadn’t been destroyed.

There was you.

It was never enough.

There was no way for him to be truly healed.

How could he?

What he had helped.

Family helped.

Community helped.

You helped.

He’d whispered it to you hundreds of times by now. He was keen on small surprises. He liked catching you off guard. You could be doing the dishes and he’d appear behind you. With a hand to your waist for a sudsy dance, he’d dip you to whisper about the hope you instilled in him.

He was the preacher of such a thing.

Junior was a testament to that.

The intangible concept kept Leon going with a smile on his face amongst any adversity.

It was his gospel and he knew every hymn.

A caroler so infectious no one could turn him away.

Yet here he stood, unseen as he stared at some far away point where he was usually as unstoppable as a concept.

The words came off your lips before you could stop them.

“Where do the flames take you?”

It waxed poetic which was unlike you, but it was the only way you could think to put it.

He might have teased you, asked about being a modern-day Dickinson, but instead you tapped the time traveler. Caught between two points, he spoke for the present from the past.

“These numbskulls’ll know the time Donnie tried to build a fireplace.”

A smile spread under a shaded gaze.

“We were…” Leon sighed loudly, giving into a closed eye body movement that said age had taken the sharpness off his memories. “Tots, musta been. Learned the whole shebang about Santa and had been fed a line or two about how he snuck in, ninja-style, and left behind our gifts.”

You stepped close, afraid to displace his form.

“We were chomping at the whole Christmas bit. Been there, done that trying to catch the intruder and now we were onto something else.” Leon’s hands itched in his coat pockets.

Beyond the bonfire, Leo and Donnie squabbled over something.

“’Santa doesn’t use manhole covers! He uses chimneys!’” Leon did an impression you couldn’t place.

Splinter laughed loud while April told him to say it and not spray it.

Leon chuckled. “Tots coming up with harebrained ideas. So, we have the mystery man using the wrong entrance. Must mean we’re getting the short end of the present stick because the layout’s all wrong.”

A garland fell and a glowing Raph rose up to fix it.

Leon hummed with another faded thought. “I think it was Mikey who came up with the line. ‘We get a chimney and Santa’ll bring the good stuff!’ No more cast-off gifts for us. We weren’t that dumb. We noticed our gifts weren’t shiny and new like the kids on TV.” He quieted. “TV…”

He since slept with screens on to make up for the years he’d missed rewatching his favorite films.

He had to shake himself out of the stupor. “So, Donnie devises the thing. We collect cardboard for an entire year. We construct the Leaning Tower of Piza and we all drew our stockings on with the care like the song says.”

Casey popped a Christmas Cracker and deemed herself ruler of Yule.

“It was all fine and dandy, but we shoulda known. Mikey hadn’t exactly been quiet about the fire bit. He kept saying, ‘it’s gotta be a real fire or it’s not real!’ We figured he was the youngest, what was he gonna do?” Leon’s teeth appeared as he sounded an error bell from a game show. “Firebug nabbed some matches, knocked out first, woke up when we were out, and snuck around all of us to light the dang thing. Cardboard!” Leon shook his head, his pupils a steady moth to a flame. “Went up like the Library of Alexandria. Poof. One second there and the next gone. Dad was furious. We almost torched the whole lair.”

Mikey asked someone to dare him through a stuffed face.

“Before that though, we got our coal. You know you think fire burns from the bottom, but that’s not true. It’s alive and it wants to escape. It rushes up a structure to get away, but falls like bad wallpaper. It’s alive and it’s fighting. For it’s very life, it just wants to consume. It’s starving, hungry. It does what it has to. It scrounges around and it holds its loved ones close. It makes do with what its got. It creates a new home, a new lair. It rations when food gets low, turning into those glowing embers to conserve. You gotta respect that drive. It’s needs. It wants. It wasn’t its fault that one well timed explosion clipped an old capped off gas line. That in seconds it devastated the colony. That we had to leave. All that hard work. The screams. The burn. It all burns. Us. Krang. It’s another living thing to burn out. Conquered like the rest of us.” His gaze lowered and his sclera reflected ages. “I went back after we lost CPC. Later, to the rubble. You know it was still going? Smoldering little bits were still smoking. Weeks later. Still hanging on. To keep the resistance going. To live again. To keep it up.”

“Leon.” You were clutching his arm before you realized it.

It wasn’t enough to summon him from the fire. “You know the funny thing about ash?”

He needed prompting. “What?”

“I never thought it was from the stuff burned. Don woulda said it was something about laws of the universe and how matter can’t be destroyed, but I never quite agreed with that part.” His head tipped the scales of thought. “I always thought it marked the flames. That’s where the fire was. It was saying, ‘I’m here! I did this! I was alive!’ Leaving it’s mark, long after it’s gone.”

“Like you.” You tugged.

“Me?”

With that your time traveler returned. He always did, in one way or another. You considered it fate. That he’d always return to you.

With levity, he turned to you with a glint in his eye that burned. “And what’s my mark exactly?”

“Here.” You touched his stripes.

“Close, I woulda said it was the one I need to hit for the camera to get my good side.” His smarmy grin shined as he tucked his chin into the webbing between his thumb and finger.

“Uh huh, you’re a certified star.” You looked away long enough to roll your eyes.

“That’s fire, you know.” It was just enough time for him to scoop you up. “Again, close, but I’ll save that one for you.”

“Me?” You settled into his grasp.

“Yeah, I’ll be the tinder and you be the flame since you light up my life.” His brow ridge wagged.

You groaned loudly and protested his mocking smooches. “If anything I’ve got a burning desire to go!”

“’Why did the bonfire leave early!?’” Leon shouted. “You scald me! It was right there! Where’s the lead up!? The craft!? You don’t open with a punch line!”

“Here I am getting roasted instead!” You spoke out of the corner of your mouth, but peeked at him.

Bowled over, you watched Leon field swaths of emotions before he settled on the brightest one and a searing kiss.

💙

Here's the Emily Dickinson poem that inspired me:

Ashes denote that Fire was —

Revere the Grayest Pile

For the Departed Creature's sake

That hovered there awhile —

Fire exists the first in light

And then consolidates

Only the Chemist can disclose

Into what Carbonates.

#rottmnt leo x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt x reader #leonardo hamato #leo x reader #future leo #future leo x reader #rise leo #rise leo x reader #rottmnt leo #rottmnt #rottmnt leonardo #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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antiquatedsimmer · 3 months

Text

It was barely 3 a.m. when they arrived in Chestnut Ridge. The quaint town had grown significantly since Lucile’s last visit as a teenager.

Lucile hated to admit it, but Silas had once again, been right about another thing: their family was sheltered. Compared to the thick woods of the Bramblewoods, Chestnut Ridge felt almost like a city. The town center bustled with shops and vibrant streetlights, open spaces for socializing, and well-paved brick streets, all adorned with beautiful plant life.

The plan had seemed perfect:

Sell off their looted items.

Arrive at Chestnut Ridge after a few days' travel.

Secure room and board.

Find jobs.

Purchase a permanent living space.

But upon arrival, Josephine and Lucile found themselves struggling with part 3. “Maybe this was a mistake…” Josephine groaned,

“There were bound to be bumps in the road,” Lucile gently reassured.

“Lucile..." Josephine's voices was coated in a film of annoyance, " we’ve been wandering around for nearly three hours now. "

" I’m exhausted.”

Lucile glanced around the empty streets, her lips pursed in thought. “Well, it is absurdly late. Everyone’s just asleep. I’m sure something will open up once people start waking up.”

Josephine’s eyes lit up at the sight of a small building. “Oh! This place looks like it might offer some room and board. "

Josephine pointed to a two story building further down the road, Lucile then wrapped an arm around Josephine and steered her toward what looked like a possible bed and breakfast. “We just need some energizing coffee.”

“And a bed,” Josephine added bluntly.

“And a bed,” she laughed.

The business was quiet, with only a few patrons just starting to trickling in as the first light of dawn began to crest over the ridge. They found a table, and Josephine shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “So, what exactly are we going to say?”

“I’d like a coffee?”

“No! You know…” Josephine trailed off,

“Oh! I suppose maybe we could just use my name.”

Josephine’s face fell flat. “Darling, I already have your last name. I know we’re tired, but this is a serious matter.”

"I am being serious, Technically, Harrington was my father’s name. Doyle would be the safest choice. Coombes or Harrington would just give us away.” Josephine bit her lip in anxiety then Lucile reached across the table, her touch gentle as she sought to reassure her.

“We’re not criminals, Josie. We’re just two women carving out our own paths. Choosing a name that’s not tied to your wedding certificate will make things simpler.”

Josephine leaned in, her voice hushed with concern. "Do you think we should move farther out? Maybe to a bigger city?"

Lucile shook her head. "We can’t afford that, Josie. Besides, fewer faces mean fewer chances of being recognized if they put out a notice on us. Given how Silas and your family treated you, I doubt they’ll go to that much trouble. Out here, the land is vast, and there are plenty of places to hide if it comes to that."

“Do try to relax,” Lucile said with a reassuring smile. In response, Josephine let out a deep, resigned sigh. “I suppose you’re right…”

Their conversation paused as the waitress arrived, setting their breakfast before them. Lucile took a grateful sip of her coffee, the warmth soothing her nerves. Josephine mimicked her, though with less enthusiasm.

“Let’s not linger too long. My bacon smells… off,” Josephine remarked, wrinkling her nose.

“Really? Everything smells fine to me,” Lucile replied, taking another generous sip.

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fratboykate · 1 year

Note

No! Papi! Don’t look at the buzz cut, look at me *dangles pocket watch in a hypnotizing motion* repeat after me: you neeeed to give us bgau 5yrs after snippet. Flo’s hair is still attached to her head. Everything will be fine

But also Netflix needs to get their shit in gear. Good luck bending them to your will

Y'all are so ridiculous lmao. Here's 2.5k words that are probably equal parts angst and domesticity. This is five years post divorce.

///

Yelena sits at a high-end restaurant, sharing her table with a captivating black woman whose radiant smile and crown of ebony curls exude a natural beauty. Their laughter fills the air, a reflection of the deep intimacy and ease that comes with dating for over a year.

With her effortless charm and resilience, Monica Rambeau instantly captured Yelena's heart. The subtle lines on her face tell a story of strength forged through life's trials. What binds these two together goes beyond words. Yelena and Monica share a profound understanding of each other's pain and trauma, an unspoken connection that weaves their lives together. They both carry the weight of loss, have walked the path of military service, and possess a disciplined nature. Yelena's enigmatic allure and sharp intellect fits in perfect harmony with Monica's indomitable spirit and boundless compassion for others. Yelena, often guarded, finds solace in Monica's unwavering support, while Monica draws strength from Yelena's fierce loyalty. They innately understand each other's pain and trauma, creating an unspoken bond that allows them to build a fulfilling life. Together, they’ve envisioned years overflowing with love and commitment. Yelena and Monica have decided to embrace the long haul, fully invested in creating a future, and ready to weather any storm that comes their way.

Yelena takes a delicate sip of her vodka sour, the liquid tang dancing on her tongue, and she can't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity that came out of her partner’s mouth.

"Nic, you did not say that to a four-star general. I don't believe you."

"He was so stunned he didn't even know how to respond."

"And you still walked away with the case assignment?"

"Absolutely. Once he realized I had him cornered, he had no choice but to give in."

Their laughter fills the air, their connection crackling with energy and warmth. But the moment is interrupted when Yelena's phone buzzes in her pocket, pulling her attention away. She retrieves it, glancing at the urgent text message that flashes across the screen: "Emergency at the Bishop property."

"Sorry," Yelena apologizes, her focus shifting entirely to her phone as she begins to type a response.

“Everything okay?” her girlfriend asks, concern etching her features.

A reply message pops up, and Yelena's skin drains of color. Swiftly, she rises from her seat, retrieves her wallet, and drops a few hundred in cash on the table.

"One of Kate's crazies broke into the house while she was there.”

"Oh my god! Is she okay?"

"I don't know. I need to go handle this."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Monica replies, her worry evident.

Leaning in, Yelena gently presses her lips against her girlfriend's, a tender farewell.

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

Monica cups Yelena’s face with her hand and delicately caresses her cheek with her thumb.

"Please be safe."

"Always."

Yelena steals one final kiss before rushing to the door.

---

The flashing red and blue lights of patrol cars cast an eerie glow, reflecting off the sleek facade of the mansion. They pulse with a sense of urgency as a few dozen members of Yelena's security team and police remain scattered around the premises. Yelena arrives quickly enough that they haven't even driven the intruder away yet. Her eyes lock onto the disheveled figure in the back of the patrol car, his face marked with bruises and tears mixing with snot as they stream down his cheeks.

Yelena's steps boom against the driveway's paving bricks with a determined cadence, underscoring the fury simmering within her. She marches purposefully towards the spot where Clint Barton, the man responsible for overseeing the night shifts, engages in conversation with another guard. The sheer intensity radiating from Yelena is palpable, causing the other bodyguard to grimace, excuse himself, and hastily retreat from the impending storm.

"What the hell happened?" Yelena demands, her voice tight with anger.

"I'm not sure. It looks like the guy broke in through the back, near the guest house.”

"What do you mean you're not sure? Check the damn footage."

"Ma'am, that camera has been down for over a week. Records say we put in the repair request, but the techs haven’t come yet.”

An irate growl builds in Yelena's throat.

"So we have a blind spot, and instead of assigning someone to cover it until it's fixed, you simply left it unattended?"

"No, ma'am. Kaplan has been back there for days, but he went on his lunch break."

"And no one replaced him?"

"We're down two men today, so we didn't have the bodies. There's a flu going around. Richards and Lang called out sick."

“Then you call the office and you have them pull from somewhere else! We have guys on call for this specific reason. You don't leave this property or team short. EVER. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma'am. I did try to..."

Yelena's focus is abruptly shattered as another body collides into hers with unyielding force. Even before she lays eyes on Kate, she catches a whiff of that familiar perfume, stirring unwanted nostalgia and longing inside her. It's been far too long since they've been this close, yet the effect remains undeniable.

Kate clings to Yelena with a desperate grip, seeking comfort and security in her arms. The blonde adjusts her position within Kate’s arms, turning to face the younger woman directly. Their eyes lock. The instant blue and green meet, it’s as if a dam has burst and a torrent of sobs spills from Kate's trembling form, the weight of her emotions breaking through the surface.

"Hey…Hey…You okay?" Yelena's voice is tinged with concern, her gaze searching for answers.

“I heard your voice. Inside. I heard it…You came.” Kate manages to utter between tears, her voice filled with relief and vulnerability.

“Of course I came. Of course.” Kate's grip tightens around Yelena. Yelena responds by enveloping the brunette in her arms, holding her closer with tender strength. "Is Eli on his way?"

Kate's head shakes against Yelena's chest, tears staining the fabric of her shirt.

"He's in Edinburgh. He's on set, shooting the sequel to his stupid alien movie until June.”

Yelena lets out a sigh.

"I'm calling in more bodies, at least until he comes back. You'll be safe."

Kate looks up at Yelena.

"Can you stay?" Kate asks, her voice soft and small. “Please."

Yelena hesitates for a moment while surveying Kate’s distressed face. With a resolute nod, Yelena reaches out and tenderly takes Kate's hand in her own, their fingers involuntarily intertwining as if guided by an invisible force. Neither of them notices the subtle gesture, too consumed by the moment's graveness and the need to protect and be protected.

With their hands entwined, they move forward, stepping across the entryway and into the house's safety.

---

Yelena steps inside the house, her first time crossing its threshold in five long years. Memories of joy, pleasure, and heartache rush back. It looks different now, the decor changed, but familiar elements still evoke a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. The space is both foreign and strangely familiar, leaving Yelena with conflicting emotions. She's somehow trapped in a paradox. She feels a sense of displacement, like a visitor in her own past, yet there’s also an undeniable feeling that she somehow belongs here, even after all this time.

As Kate settles on the couch, her body curled up protectively, Yelena gracefully lowers herself to a squat, positioning herself at eye level with the younger woman. Their eyes meet, and Yelena's concern deepens.

"Are you okay?"

"I turned around and he was...there."

Kate’s voice trembles as she responds. Yelena shakes her head almost imperceptibly, regret and guilt shadowing her expression.

"Kate, I'm so sorry. This should've never happened. It's my fault. I haven't been checking in on your team enough. I dropped the ball. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Kate's response is immediate, her voice filled with conviction as she counters Yelena's self-blame.

"It is. I take full responsibility, and if you decide to find other security options, I completely understand."

A soft sigh escapes Kate's lips, and she reaches out to gently touch Yelena's arm.

"I'm not sure how many times you're going to make me say this, but I’ll say it again…you're the only person I trust with this.” Kate’s words carry a reassuring sincerity that resonates deeply with Yelena.

"A guy just broke into your house under my watch."

"Not yours. Not specifically."

"You know what I mean."

Yelena's attention drifts towards the kitchen, her eyes catching the telltale signs of a panicked struggle. The scene sends a surge of rage coursing through her veins. She clenches her fists, her jaw tightening as she imagines the terrifying encounter that took place in this very spot.

The remnants of a halfway-finished meal sit abandoned on the counter, a stark reminder of the interrupted peace and normalcy that once filled the room. The scattered utensils and overturned chairs bear witness to the chaotic confrontation between Kate and the intruder. Yelena's mind races, trying to piece together the sequence of events that unfolded, her protective instincts sharpening.

"Were you making dinner?” Kate nods. "I'll make you something."

"It's fine. I'm not hungry anymore."

Yelena refuses to accept Kate's dismissal.

"Something small. Tell me what you want. I’ll make it for you."

The faintest of smiles tugs at the corner of Kate's lips, but her refusal remains steadfast.

“Yel, I’m really not hungry."

They both fail to register the intimacy of the nickname Kate used. Yelena looks at Kate with concern, her brow furrowing slightly and leans closer.

"That chicken strawberry salad you like?” Yelena suggests, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “You always have stuff around to make that."

A small chuckle escapes Kate's lips offering momentary respite from the tension that hangs in the air.

"That's what I was making."

Yelena's smirk widens into a playful grin as their eyes lock in a lingering stare.

"You're nothing if not a creature of habit, Kate Bishop. I have to make a call first and then I'll get on it. Okay?"

With a silent nod, Kate accepts Yelena's offer. Yelena rises, her movements purposeful, and takes a step back, turning towards the living room and kitchen meeting point in the open floor plan. She retrieves her phone from her pocket, her fingers moving swiftly to dial a familiar number. Her voice remains steady and focused as she brings the phone to her ear, masking the underlying emotions.

"Hey...yeah. Yeah. Things are fine...mostly. Yeah...No. I'm probably not coming home tonight. I have to...I have to stay...I'm sorry. There's a lot to deal with over here. I'll make it up to you...I know. I love you too. Bye."

When Yelena turns, Kate's energy feels different, almost palpably so. The call catches her off guard and her previously softened demeanor shifts. At that moment, her body tenses up, and her expression becomes guarded. The realization that Yelena has a partner, someone she didn't even know existed, hits Kate like a punch to the gut. It leaves her feeling unsettled, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and maybe even a hint of betrayal.

"I didn't know you were with someone. I don't want to make it awkward or get you in trouble or...I don't know."

Yelena thought she had walked away far enough for Kate not to overhear her, but her voice must have carried more than she anticipated. Yelena's lips subtly curl upwards as her eyes meet Kate’s.

"You're not."

"You can go. I don't want to keep you from...anything."

Yelena shakes her head as she removes her blazer. In a familiar motion, she neatly drapes it over the back of a nearby breakfast stool, a ritual ingrained in their shared history. It's a small, seemingly insignificant moment, yet it carries a weight of familiarity and comfort between them. The sight evokes memories of countless evenings spent together around that same kitchen island, engaged in deep conversations that stretched late into the night. During those quiet moments, their connection blossomed as they shared their dreams, fears, and secrets with one another. The kitchen became a sanctuary, a space where they could be completely forthcoming and vulnerable, finding serenity in each other's presence. The years now seem to fade away, transporting them back to a time when their lives seamlessly merged into one. Despite the circumstances and the distance that has grown between them, it’s evident that old habits die hard for these two.

"She's used to it. You're not the only one of my clients who has a crisis every so often."

"Right."

"And I think I should also say ‘congratulations’." Yelena points at the giant engagement ring on Kate's hand. "That's an impressive rock.”

"I designed it."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

Kate's gaze drifts downward, fixated on her thighs. After a moment of silence, she finally speaks.

"I guess we both found our people."

It's easier to say this than to admit the weight of the secret that Kate carries. Merely a week ago, Kate called off her engagement with Eli before he left to shoot his latest film project. The ring on her finger remains, a constant reminder of another failed relationship. It’s a symbol of a shattered commitment she's not yet ready to confront. It's easier to keep it on, avoiding the questions and judgment that would follow its removal.

"I guess we did...I'll make you some food."

Kate nods in gratitude, silently thanking Yelena for the familiar tradition of the blonde making food for the younger woman in moments of turmoil. As Yelena skillfully maneuvers around the kitchen, Kate watches her with a hint of admiration. The clatter of utensils, the sizzle of ingredients, and the rhythmic sounds of Yelena’s cooking fill the air, creating a soothing soundtrack that drowns out the worries of the world. This cocoon of domesticity temporarily shields them from the chaos and uncertainty that looms just beyond the door.

#kate x yelena #yelena x kate #kate bishop #yelena belova #bishova #bishlova #kybgau #kybgaup #anonymous #answers

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shroudandsands · 1 year

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Prompt #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

She exhaled into her hands, cold breath doing little to warm her in the autumn gloam. She’d discarded her claws. They sat on the windowsill, reflecting what little light still glinted from the distant oil lamps. The only thing left on a cloudy, tired night.

The trees surrounding her home shuddered in time with the beginnings of a chill wind. She shrugged her shoulders, bringing the robe she’d donned to press against her ears. Again she exhaled into her hands. It was all she could do as she waited out the final bells of the night. As she listened to the last few cries of summer vilekin dotting the world before they’d quiet and cede their lives to the fallen, dying leaves. Another breath. She settled into a chair on her balcony. More an alcove- large enough for a chair. For a table. For her to sit, legs slightly outstretched. But instead she was curled in the wicker rocking chair, her legs folded underneath her. She watched as clouds rolled like ocean waves. And she breathed. In and out. In and out. In another life she’d been interrupted many times in a moment like this. By the trudging of boots. Or the sudden arrival of ember-burnt and summery footsteps. Both had brought her some great joys. Brought her some subdued strength. Knowing that, if she so needed, they would arrive at this moment. But that was another life. A lifetime ago, it felt. She was a stranger to herself, then. She stuffed her hands under her arms. It didn’t come to her as often, now, as it used to. The wondering. The thought that knocked on her door much like she used to- randomly, loudly, and when she least expected it. But that was over, now. Thankfully... She wasn’t sure if that was the right sentiment. To be thankful would mean she was glad it stopped. Or that she was distraught by the occurrence. In reality it was much harder to name.

The grief that used to settle like a brick in her pocket. The one that used to startle her into noticing it when she was reaching for something else. It hadn’t shrunk. It hadn’t grown. It hadn’t become a part of her. No. No. One evening, sitting here, awaiting that same moment of recollection to suddenly join her in her solace. She realized it wasn’t coming. She thumbed the ring she always wore and she realized it wasn’t waiting for her out in the late night. Was it gone? Had it gone somewhere else? Or did it find no joy in calling upon her anymore? She wasn’t sure. She exhaled into her hands. She wondered.

A flash of deep-brown, wilder spring and a touch of a hand. Was she thankful? She remembered the last time she reached for something and found that brick. As she reached out for her cane and found it already in her hands- given to her. When was the last time? Summer flickered across her senses before it was thoroughly swept aside by its kinder kin. Thoroughly beaten aside by something different. The brick of her grief crumbled into a dust she couldn’t possibly keep, destroyed by a moment so insignificant so as to be mundane. Why her? Why this? And why did it seem to ruin the solace of the night?

Any other would be glad. Joyous. This was the sign. This was the freedom. No more would her memory force itself upon her in the middle of the night. No longer would it knock at her door. No longer would it find her in her quiet moments. No longer would it weigh down as stone. But... Rakaso hadn’t wanted to escape from the bricks she had laid down. The path she’d paved with each moment of recollection. The fortress she had made from them. It strengthened her. It had forced aside the weakness she had been before. The weak, heedless woman who lacked resolve. Who lacked everything she needed to make her life worth living. She had grown from paving her path. A sword, forged from herself. A resolve, forged from herself. A steely armor of ice, forged from herself. All of her remade. All of her protected. Every tiny piece examined, removed, changed, torn. All in service of this. All by the grace of her memory. But she had no more bricks to lay. No more memories to return to. Nothing to build her walls. Why?

She inhaled the cold air until it pierced her lungs in winter-touched pain.

Spring was rotting her. In all of her reckless haste, leaving her defenseless, letting the roots and gentle breeze break in to her carefully sealed walls and paths. It was only when her head was in her hands that she could see the bricks pushed apart by weeds between, by spring growth, by a renewed call. Oh, this heedless Spring was rotting her. She could feel the warmth in her palms.

She couldn’t do this again.

#/The Winter’s Heart/Recollections #FFXivWrite2023 #this could've ended up so much longer #but i have Stopped Myself #nobody needs this publicly i just ended up going off bc of whitherwanderer #so congration

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druidx · 5 months

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Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 14

CW: Small amount of blood, Eye dialect AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

The roads are quiet as she rides home. The streetlights catch the gold on Auri's faring, sliding off like a lover's caress. Somewhere a dog barks, and an indistinct voice calls out to quiet it. Some people think the city streets are more like a rabbit's warren, but Elo grew up during the rebuilding, the roads forming like pathways in her brain. So she's on autopilot as she guides the bike along the roads, and it's only when she stops, she is surprised to find she is over the canal at Spit Bridge. No one is working this late. The tape is the only barrier stopping people from tramping on the crime scene. From here, Elo can see it sectioning off the alley where the victim was assaulted. The scene is like a loadstone, drawing her to park up the bike and descend onto the towpath. She's tired. By all rights, she should go home and sleep. But she has pushed herself like this before and no harm has come from it. Besides, she tells herself, it's not like she has to engage her brain tomorrow/ later today. She just has to waffle about the city, something that's as natural as breathing. If worst comes to worst, she can always steal Joahn's on-call room. The night is clear and still, almost eerily so. The smallest zephyr, a breath of wind, brushes against her cheek and skims through her hair. Her footsteps sound loud against the paving slabs, amplified in the way all quiet noises are in the dark of night. Beside her, the slick water of the canal is still, and she can smell the fumes of it mingling with the night's mist – there is the heavy metallic smell of engine grease, the pungent green scent of water weeds, and a cold, ice-like scent.

Elo ducks under the barrier tape, scanning the alley in the sodium-orange glare of the warehouse floods. It's exactly as she saw in the vision.

She steps carefully along the alley's length, picking out where her/ Evelyn's foot dragged, where their hand scraped along the rough brick wall. The déjà vue of familiarity is disconcerting. She stops and looks back towards where the canal shimmers darkly. Leaving her car, passing through the alley… The victim had to be on her way somewhere. The killer followed her? Elo looks towards the landward end of the alley, at the bins and the service exit from the warehouse. No – the victim surprised the killer. A surety grows in her bones then – this was an ambush. But maybe not an intended one… The wrench was a weapon of opportunity, of panic. She knows the type – a cumbersome thing used on the barge engines, too heavy to flee with. It would have been lying around, forgotten by some careless deckhand, ready to be grasped in panic, and swung to… To what? Hide a crime in progress, or to stop the vic from being someplace she shouldn't? Elo turns and walks back towards the canal. It's difficult to figure out exactly where Evelyn/ she was stabbed, but close to the end of the alley floor, barely visible in the darkness, is the iron stain of blood. Elo looks back along the alleyway, head cocked in thought, and notes where the victim was struck in the head. Alleys, by their nature, are long and narrow. There's no way the same person would have been able to get in front to stab her through the chest. Then Elo thinks of the vision, of the thing with red eyes between her and the tree. Realisation thrums in her veins – there were two killers. There had to have been. There's no other way around it. The one, further back, panicking. The one on the tow-path, calmly sealing the deal. Two would more easily move the body. One to hide it, the other to scuttle the barge. Two to murder her friend.

There was a payphone up the street, tucked between the tow-path steps and the wall of a warehouse. She turns and sprints. Maybe Farren has already worked it out – if he has, then great – but maybe he hasn't, and she can't take that chance. There is the scuff of pebbles behind her, but she ignores it. It's probably a stray cat, she thinks and ignores the advice of her gut – nine times in ten, it's nothing, but you check anyway because that tenth time it's something – and runs to the payphone. She dials for an operator. "Hello, how can I help?" "I'd like to place a collect call to Precinct 88, to the line of the electronic secretary. Charges will be borne by TPD, authorization code 1-1, 5-0, 4-2." There is a pause while the operator notes down the authorization code, and looks up the number for the dedicated answer-machine line. "One moment please," she says, "Connecting your call now." There is a click, and a whirr, and Elo fancies she can hear the operator moving the plugs to transfer the call across. "You've reached the electronic secretary for Precinct 88," comes the tinny recording of DIspatch-Sally's voice, calm and soft. "This number is for official, non-emergency use only. Please keep your message succinct. Messages will be recovered by the officer on duty every three hours starting at 0800 hours. Please clearly state your name, rank, and number; the recipient of your message; and the message itself. Proceed." "Elowyn O'Toreguarde," she says, rushing through the procedure requirements. "Detective Sergeant in Special Cases, ID 0-6, 0-8, 8-4. Message is for Constable Farren Breakwood, regarding case number 1-2,1-1, 2-0, 1-7. There are two killers. Maybe you already figured it out, maybe you didn't, too bad, I'm telling you anyhow. Time is–" she glances at her watch "–0330 hours, I'm at the crime scene. There's a scuff mark from where the vic was struck in the head, and there's no way that same attacker could–" That scuff comes again. Only, this time it doesn't sound like pebbles. She is tired, she must be imagining things, but it sounds like the scrape of claws on stone. But it doesn't come again, so she dismisses it once more and continues her message. "The first strike," Elo says, having lost her train of thought, "was done in panic. The second was deliberate, cleaning up his fellow's mess, though it could be–" The scratch of claw on stone sounds again, and it is different from the scrabble of a dog. It sounds sharper. She looks out of the booth, and there is something standing there, in the shadows. "–Premeditated. Gotta go," she finishes quickly and hangs up the receiver.

Elo took a slow step outside the phone booth, not taking her eyes from the thing that hid in the shadow. Her gun is locked in the topbox, back on the dragon. "What are you?" she called out. «Youse was told to beat it, kid,» said the thing. «Youse was warned not to get into our business.» Its voice scratches at her ears, all harsh consonants and short vowels, that sends a chill through her body. "I don't believe I was," she responded, and a distant part of her wonders how she is understanding it, and, for all that her voice sounds like English in her ears, what she is speaking back. "I don't recall any of your kind, whatever you are, knocking on my door and telling me so." «Stupid moss-ear. What're you, blind as well as dumb? The signs was clear as night.» "The hell does that mean?" Elo snapped, almost certain that she has fallen asleep in the phone booth and this is all a twisted nightmare. "I don't even know what you are, let alone read whatever signs you think you've posted." «Not posted,» it sneered. There was a flash of twin red glows, vanishing as quickly as it came. «Actions delt. We didn't think a moss-ear like you would know how to swim.» And then she realised that incident the other night – the one where she thought she dreamt the skittering thing in the shadows as she got dunked in the canal – that was real. "A green-skin," she said, and saying out loud what she has called them in her head for all these years sounds peculiar. It snorted. «'Green skin',» it muttered, offended, and finally moves out of the shadow. «She calls us 'green-skins'. Pah! We's Dvasia, dumb-ass.» Elo can only stare at the thing. In her defence, she decides, it does have green skin. It also has narrow pointed ears, and a narrow pointed nose and needle-like teeth. Well-corded muscles wind around thin limbs and sharp joints. Those hands and those legs terminate in knife-pointed claws, and she thinks that must be what she heard before. The thing is not much shorter than she is, and skinny as it is, she absolutely does not want to try it in a fight. For all that it called itself Dvasia, it bears a striking resemblance to a fairytale goblin. It's not wearing a whole lot either, she notices. Ragged shorts that look like they're made of potato sacks, a red cloth cap, and crude shoes that are akin to sandals. "Aren't you cold?" she asked, mouth bypassing brain. It blinked. «What?» "Um." She blinked back. The thing frowned. «S'pose it is a bit nippy.» Elo considers this for a long moment. "D'you want a coffee?" she asks, even as her mind is screaming that there is a fairytale standing in front of her, a fairytale villain at that, and for the love of all the gods, why is she offering it coffee? Because it's cold and alone and wearing sweet Fanny Adams, argues a different part of her, and she was raised to be polite and considerate of the needs of others. «Uh,» it said, clearly as confused as she was, but carefully considering the offer. «Yeh?»

So she loaded it onto the back of her bike, and drove them to the corner of Penfold and Welch, not far from where the clubs are, and pulled up by a kebab van. She buys them both a coffee, and then she walks them down a block to a park. They sat on a bench under a tree, sheltered from the mizzle, watching empty swings sway in the breeze, and drank their coffee.

Eventually, though, Elo finds she must say something; she can't just sit here, in silence, drinking coffee with a fairy story. "You know the blond girl?" she asked. "She came down to the canal two nights back." «Say I do. What of it?» it rejoined. "Did you kill her?" It paused. «What you gonna do if I say no?» "Keep looking for the ones that did." «What you gonna do if I say yes?» Elo stared at the swings, the way the rain collected along the cracks in the slabs. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "I guess I'll shoot you," she said finally. "Then go looking for the second killer." «Ain't you an officer of the law?» it asked. «Ain't youse supposed to arrest me or something, send me down the river, and take me to the Big House?» "If you were human, yes." «That's racist.» "No, it's practical. I'm struggling to believe that your kind are real, and yet here you are, sitting drinking coffee and holding a conversation with me. I can't find any way to pretend you are just some hideously deformed human speaking some foreign language. You are real and existent, and I still don't quite believe it. Now, if I feel like this, and I've been exposed to more oddity than most, how am I to expect anyone else to react to your presence?" Elo pauses, takes a sip of coffee. "There's no way I can simply arrest you, put you on trial, and 'send you down the river'. Much as I would like to, it's not feasible. So. I would shoot you." «Huh. Fair enough.» "Did you kill her?" «No. Blood as my bond, I did not.» Elo looks down at it then. It's staring at her with a strange intensity, those red orbs steady in their gaze. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, it is telling her the truth. "What were you doing down there?" she asked. It chuckled lightly. «Waiting for you, moss-ears,» it said. «The one what did the murder sent me down there. He knows you've unsealed the Nerishklis, and he wants it back.» "You were sent to take it from me?" «Yeh.» "Why are you telling me this?" The creature sniffs but doesn't even pause. «Bought me coffee, dintcha.» "Your loyalties are so easily swayed?" «Nah. I'm on your side now.» Elo looked down at it again and it sniffed, yet again. Its gaze has that same, unwavering intensity as before, but this time it raised the paper cup in salute. "Let me guess. Your blood is your bond?" «S'right. You're getting the hang of things, eh?» I'm really not, Elo thought. "But why?" «Because,» it said slower, «Y'bought me coffee.» "I find it hard to believe that I bought your unwavering loyalty for a fifty-cent cup of joe." The creature – the Dvasia – sighed. «S'not about the amount, or what was purchased. Only that the transaction was done. Youse paid for something from your own stash o'gold for me. Which means, I'm duty bound to you for the rest of my probably short and miserable life.» It sniffs at her continuing look of confusion. «Had youse stolen, or otherwise provided said beverage from another's stash, it wouldn't have counted.» "So if I'd taken you back to the station, and given you a cup from the communal supplies, you wouldn't be beholden to me?" «Nope,» it said. «But, had youse done that, I could have lied through my teeth about whatever I fancied, then happily stabbed you in the back, got the Nerishklis, and gone on me merry way.» "So why'd you accept the coffee then?" «Why wouldn't I? Anyone who can unseal the Nerishklis is someone to be reckoned with. I figure I'm better off with you than I am with my old boss.» "Ah."

Elo swirled her coffee in its polystyrene cup. It makes sense, in an odd way. Not that she'd done anything to the artefact on purpose. "What's your name?" she asked. «'S Snotgrut,» "Pleased to meet you, Snotgrut," she said. "I'm Elowyn." «Charmed, I'm sure» Elo gives a little snort of amusement as she looks up at the sky, to see dawn starting to tint the air. Beside her, Snotgrut makes a little strangled noise. «Uh, moss-ears. You think maybe you can give me leave to bugger off? Only, I ain't too fond of the sunlight.» "Ah hell," she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. "Yeah, of course. I need to get to bed myself. How do I get in contact with you?" she asks, as Snotgrut downs the rest of his coffee and starts away. «I'll have my people call your people,» he calls back, slipping behind a bush, and is gone.

Elo shakes her head. She's trying to solve a murder via proxy, babysit a king, look after her grieving surrogate father… And now this creature, this Dvasia, is speaking in riddles about things she's only just grasping the edges of. Elo drains her coffee and gets herself ready to ride on. What the hell else could happen? she wonders, pumping the kickstart before giving it a swift downward thrust. Auri fails to start.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #pc snotgrut #writing #HCWL Chapters only #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light'#titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words

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