#like with the shape of his beard they gave him a surprisingly rounded head shape for a man… teddy bear…

[tsuchinokoroyale]

I will learn to draw hands, feet, and faces LATER

[ladyrynofsunnydale]

Bo-Katan Week Day 1 / Childhood/Younger Years

Title: End of One Era, Beginning of Another

Rating: T

Summary: It’s the start of the Great Clan Wars and Bo-Katan and Satine have had to flee Mandalore. While Bo-Katan is willing to fight for her sister, Satine instead wishes to follow their parents’ belief in peace. With their parents dead, they are all the family each other has left. Is that enough to keep them together?

Author’s Note: Day 1 of Bo-Katan Week! I am so excited to be writing fanfiction again, especially about one of my favorite Star Wars characters! For Day 1 I decided to go with the alternate prompt of Childhood/Younger Years. Hope you enjoy! Mando’a translations at the bottom.

Click Here or on Keep Reading for the story!

Tagging: @bokatanweek

Ever since she’d heard the Republic had contacted them about sending Jedi guards, Bo-Katan could not keep still. As an avid student of Mandalorian military history, she knew the history between Mandalore and the Republic and their Jedi. Their war had left Mandalore a wasteland. And now they wanted to send them here to protect them? More likely they wanted to send them here to control Mandalore.

Bo stormed into Satine’s office and dramatically flung herself on one of the chairs.

“Who do they think they are?”

Satine sighed. She was sitting behind a scarred wooden desk, datapads littered around her, with the setting sun warming her back and causing her blonde hair to almost glow. Absentmindedly tugging on her long braid, she glanced up at Bo then struggled to focus back on the datapad in her hand.

“Who’re you talking about Bo?”

“The Republic! Who do they think they are, sending Jedi here?!” The anger was impressive on her ten-year-old face as she scowled at the desk, her arms crossed over her chest.

“They just reached out to us. They’re not sending any Jedi,” Satine answered, closing her eyes to rub her temples. “Just like I told you this morning.”

“But they could! What if they decide to just send the Jedi anyways? Do you know that they put a Jedi regent on Pijal for eight years?! I bet that is what they want to do here.”

“I’m old enough to not need a regent Bo.” Satine was now staring fixedly at the data pad in her hand. “And how did you hear about Pijal anyways? I thought you were supposed to be doing school work?” she glanced up at Bo, her brows pinched together. Bo shrugged, looking down at her lap.

“I did some school work. Then I got bored.”

“Of course you did,” Satine grumbled under her breath. Bo could be an amazing student. She could tell you the most obscure facts about Mandalorian history, tell you who ruled which clan when, but gods forbid you ask her to study something she wasn’t interested in.

“You know,” Bo started, looking up at Satine and sitting up straighter in her chair. “We wouldn’t need aruetii protection if we just stood up for ourselves.”

Satine put the datapad down and gave Bo a severe look.

“We’re trying to show Mandalore a new future, Bo, where everything doesn’t have to be settled by warfare.”

“But Satine!” Bo exclaimed. “They attacked first! This is defense!” Bo had always looked up to her older sister, but she never quite understood her pacifism. Once she’d been old enough to understand, she’d wanted to put on their family’s beskar’gam and take up arms against those who threatened her family. Be a true Mando’ad. She could defend Satine, she knew, even if her sister didn’t want to fight.

“Violence begets violence. It’s not the way.”

“The Protectors have weapons!” Bo said, pointing at the two Protectors currently flanking the office door.

“The Protectors are here to protect us,” Satine responded, exasperation filling her voice.

“Well I don’t need protection,” Bo said confidently. “I’m a verd. Just like Ba’buir.”

“Ba’buir died at thirty during a clan dispute!” Satine finally snapped. “And since then Mom and Buir have worked hard to show Mandalore that violence just gets good people killed!”

The room went silent as Bo went completely still, staring at her sister. Shame passed over Satine’s face.

“Well Mom and Buir are dead. So a fat lot of good that did them,” Bo said, standing up and running for the door.

“Bo!” Satine called, rounding the desk, but Bo was already gone.

“We’ll send someone after her,” one of the Protectors said, and Satine nodded and sank into the chair Bo had just vacated, her head in her hands.

Bo didn’t stop until she’d reached the storage room beside the armory. She found the darkest corner of the room and slid down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest while wiping the back of her hand against her nose and willing herself not to cry. Verda did not cry.

She didn’t know how long she sat there until there was a knock at the door and Fenn Rau stuck his head in.

Fenn was young, maybe a little older than Satine, and Bo really liked him. He was funny and was one of the few Protectors who didn’t treat her like a little girl. He’d even taught her how to shoot a blaster and don armor, behind Satine’s back of course.

“Hello, Bo-Katan,” he said, stepping into the room.

“I’m not going back,” Bo said petulantly, sniffing and wiping at her nose again. She picked up a fallen spare droid part and launched it across the room. “I hate this place!” Fenn walked in and closed the door behind him before coming to sit beside Bo, leaving about an arm’s length between them. “I just want to go home,” Bo said softly, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“I know, verd’ika,” Fenn said gently, leaning his head up against the wall. “I miss home too.”

Fenn pulled something out of one of the pouches on his belt and began messing with it. Bo lifted her head off of her knees and watched him before scooting closer.

“What is that?” she asked.

“A puzzle box. You have to align everything quite right,” he said, twisting the beskar box in his hand around, “and then,” and the box popped open.

“Ooh!” Bo exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “May I try?”

Fenn nodded, putting the box back together and twisting it a few times before handing it over. Bo eagerly took it and turned it around and around in her hands, looking at every detail, before gingerly twisting it. After a few minutes she pulled at it and…nothing happened.

“Dank farrik,” she grunted and Fenn hid a smile behind his hand.

“Language,” he said.

With her head still bowed over the box she looked up at him from under her sharp red brows.

“Haar’chak,” she deadpanned. Fenn shook his head as she went back at it. She kept at it, all her focus on the tiny box, mumbling to herself when she’d pull at it fruitlessly, until finally he heard the click and when she pulled it opened. She whooped in triumph, her yell reverberating off the walls and Fenn smiled at her proudly. Turning the pieces over in her hands she took the time to examine the inner mechanisms.

“You know, your sister didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said softly. Bo didn’t react for a few minutes, just turning the box around and around in her hands. She then sighed and reached the box back out to him.

“I know. I just…miss them.”

Fenn remained silent, staring at the box in Bo’s small hand. He reached over and closed her hand around it.

“You keep it.” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Keep it safe for me.”

Bo kept staring at the box, her eyes narrowed in thought. She then gently placed the box in one of the pouches on her belt and reached into another pouch, pulling out a leaf-shaped piece of metal. She weighed it in her hand, watching the way the light bounced off the beskar, before holding it out to Fenn.

“A trade,” she said. “I’ll keep your box safe if you keep this safe for me.”

Fenn gently reached out and took the offered leaf. Turning it over, he inspected the etchings and detail. He could see Bo-Katan’s work in it, and her initials on the back.

“When did you make this?”

“Before we left the palace. It’ll bring you luck.”

“Are you sure?” Fenn asked, meeting Bo’s eyes. She nodded resolutely. “I promise to keep it safe for you.”

Standing, he offered his hand and she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Side by side they left the storage room and headed down the hall.

Satine and Bo hugged when Fenn brought her back, but Bo didn’t bring up the Republic or the Jedi again.

A week later she stood next to Satine as they waited for Prime Minister Rogaar who’d just landed outside the compound. Her tunic was scratchy and uncomfortable and she kept pulling at it and shifting around. She didn’t know what the big deal was. She’d met Minister Rogaar before.

The compound doors opened and Minister Rogaar, flanked by a couple guards and two of his aides, walked through. He was a large man, older with gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard, with kind light blue eyes. Walking towards them he smiled widely.

“Your grace, it is so good to see you safe,” he boomed and Satine smiled back at him, inclining her head.

“It’s good to see you as well, Minister. I appreciate you coming.”

Sorrow filled the minister’s eyes as he nodded.

“Of course, my dear, of course. And Lady Bo-Katan, it is good to see you again!” he said, turning to Bo-Katan and brightening. Bo inclined her head stiffly.

“Minister.”

Rogaar looked back up at Satine and Bo noticed his smile slipped again.

“I come with some news. Shall we?” Satine nodded and began leading the way to her office when she paused and turned to Fenn, one of the Protectors behind them.

“Rau, do you mind taking Bo-Katan to the library? She has lessons she needs to attend to.”

“What?” Bo exclaimed, and all eyes turned to her. “I’m coming too!”

“No, Bo-Katan, we talked about this.”

“No YOU talked about this. I want to be a part of this too!”

“This is not something you need to concern yourself with. And you have lessons. Mom and Buir would want you to keep up your education.”

Bo opened her mouth to retort but Fenn turned her around and guided her down the hall.

“I’ve got her, your Grace,” he said.

Bo, surprisingly, allowed herself to be guided and just glared at Satine as she walked away.

“I’m sorry about that,” Satine said, leading the way again. “This all has been…tough on her.”

“And not just her, I am sure,” Rogaar said and Satine glanced away.

“It has not been easy.” Satine said and her shoulders sagged.

Bo was quiet at dinner, pushing her food around her plate. She wondered what Satine and Rogaar had been talking about and what was happening down on Mandalore. Did they discuss the Republic’s offer? They were currently discussing the weather on Concordia.

“So, Bo-Katan,” Rogaar suddenly said and Bo looked up. “I’ve heard you enjoy playing dejarik.” Bo’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! It’s the best game! Do you play?”

Rogaar nodded.

“Indeed I do, though it has been a while.”

“Can we play after dinner?” she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. Rogaar smiled at her and shrugged.

“I’d be willing,” he said, then looked at Satine. Bo quickly turned her attention to Satine too and she smiled and softened her rigid posture.

“But you have to finish your food first,” she said. Bo scarfed down her food and waited impatiently for everyone else to finish before leading the way into one of the sitting rooms where a circular dejarik board was set up in the corner. She wasted no time turning on the table and choosing her characters, Rogaar sitting across from her and choosing his own.

The game started out civilly, Bo trying to determine Rogaar’s strategy, but once she got her pieces where she wanted them she attacked ruthlessly, her face screwed in concentration. Rogaar’s look changed from one of pleasant amusement to one of intense focus as he tried to counter Bo’s increasingly aggressive moves. Satine couldn’t help but smile at how quickly Bo was taking down Rogaar’s pieces and at one point leaned down beside her.

“Hey, hey, go easy on him,” she said quietly. Bo stopped and looked up at her, an unconvinced look on her face.

“I’m ten. He’s the minister of Mandalore. He’s fine.”

Rogaar started laughing, his laughs deep and booming and Satine stood up, shaking her head, though a large smile was on her face. Finally the game was over with Bo having two pieces remaining.

“Well, my lady,” Rogaar said, chuckling and shaking his head. “I don’t believe I have ever been that soundly beaten. You are quite good.”

Bo smiled broadly at the praise then turned to look over her shoulder at Satine.

“Wanna play?”

Satine’s heart soared. Since a week ago when she’d snapped at Bo, Bo’d been standoffish to her. To be honest, she missed her sister’s fire the last few days, but she looked over to Rogaar first.

“Oh, I am quite done. She’s too good for me.” He quickly stood and vacated his seat so Satine could replace him, so she heartily agreed. Both sisters quickly went about picking their characters and Bo grinned devilishly at Satine while Satine smirked back at her.

“Oh, you’re going down Bo,” she said.

The fun game quickly devolved into a competitive sibling war.

“You can’t do that!” Bo shouted as one of Satine’s pieces took out one of Bo’s.

“Yes I can! Look, see!” Satine responded, showing Bo the piece’s stats.

“There’s no way that’s right.”

“Yeah, well, it’s on here, so…”

Bo slammed the controls and moved one of her pieces, countering one of Satine’s and trapped it against one of her other pieces.

“Hey!” Satine shouted as her piece was slammed to the board.

“I can play dirty too!” Bo said, her face screwed in concentration.

Both sisters moved pieces rapidly here, there, clashing them against each other, until Satine had one piece left and Bo’s two descended on it. As Bo’s piece picked it up and slammed it to the board, Bo stood up and let out a war whoop that had one of the Protectors stationed outside poking their head in. Satine laughed.

“Well, I concede Bo. You’ve gotten too good for me.”

Rogaar shook his head, looking over the board and at Bo’s characters’ stats.

“You did better than me!” he said.

“Don’t mess with Kryzes and dejarik, sir,” one of the Protectors said and Rogaar looked over to him.

“You couldn't have told me this before?”

Bo then yawned and Satine looked at the chronometer.

“I think we will be retiring. Thank you for a lovely evening, Minister Rogaar.”

“Good night, your Grace, my lady,” he said before Satine and Bo-Katan departed for their rooms.

Satine had just finished tying off her braid when she heard a soft knock on her door. Padding over and looking through the view hole, she saw Bo and quickly opened the door to reveal her younger sister standing there, dressed for sleep.

“May I come in?” she asked, unusually shy. Satine stepped aside and nodded, worry creasing her eyebrows. Bo stepped in and looked around, her fingers fiddling with the bottom of her sleep shirt, before meeting Satine’s eyes. “I’m sorry for being so difficult this last week,” she said and Satine had to really listen to hear every word. Satine shook her head at her little sister and led her over to her couch and sat her down.

“No, Bo, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bo sat there quietly, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“I miss Mom and Buir.”

Satine smiled sadly and pulled Bo into a hug.

“I do too, vod’ika.”

Bo let herself be held then pulled back.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course,” Satine responded and led Bo into her room, tucking herself and Bo under the covers. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Bo.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Satine.”

A week later and Satine was in the study going over possible safe houses with Minister Rogaar when the first explosions went off. At first, she stared dumbly out the window at the blasts of light and explosions that were visible outside. Then she was being dragged to her feet and out the door by her Head of Security, Lars.

“Get her to safety,” he directed to the two Protectors that were outside the door, pulling out his blasters and preparing to block the hallway. Satine felt one of them, Ca’tra, she thought her name was, grab her arm and start to lead her towards the hangar when a sickening thought struck her and she dug her heels in.

“Bo!” she yelled. “She’s in the library!”

Lars traded a glum glance with Rogaar and Satine tried to pull herself free, but Ca’tra held her firmly.

“We have to get you to safety, your grace,” she said.

“I’m not leaving her! Bo!” she screamed futilely, fighting against the Protector. At that moment Fenn ran into the hallway, skidding to a halt, alone. “Rau! Where’s Bo?!”

“It…it was my day off.”

“Carlson is with her,” Lars finally supplied and pulled out his comm. Fenn turned to Satine.

“I’ll go get her,” he said, but Lars stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Stay with the Duchess. Carlson,” he called into his comm. “Carlson, do you read me?”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at the comm.

“Ay sir, I read you. We’re ok here. Bo-Katan and I are headed for the hangar.”

A sigh of relief echoed around the room.

“Jax, Riss, I want you to meet Carlson and help him bring the Lady Bo-Katan safely to the hangar,” Lars added into the comm.

“Copy that, sir,” a female voice replied and Lars turned to Satine.

“We’ll get her there safely. Go your Grace.”

Satine looked hesitantly from Lars to Fenn to Rogaar and finally nodded and let herself be led down the hallway, Rogaar and another Protector following. Fenn hesitated.

“Go with her Rau.”

“But sir,” he started to protest.

“Go. Carlson, Jax, and Riss are more than capable of getting the girl there safely. The Duchess needs you. Now go!”

Fenn nodded and with one last reluctant look towards the library he followed Satine.

The hallways around the library were filled with smoke and the too close sounds of explosions and blasterfire. Bo was letting herself be dragged down the hallway to the hanger, Carlson’s long strides covering much more ground than her small legs ever could. They were turning into the back of the compound when a thought hit her.

“Buir’s beskar’gam!” she shouted, digging her feet in and stopping.

“What?” Carlson whirled on her, confusion clear on his face through the opening in his helmet.

“I can’t leave it,” she said and tried to pull away, but Carlson held fast. Bo grunted and pulled to no avail until she finally reeled back and kicked Carlson in the shin. The shock caused him to drop Bo’s arm and she bolted. Recovering, he ran after her, but he quickly lost her in the smoke. He knew where she was heading and hoped he could cut her off and took another hallway, almost running into Jax and Riss.

“Where’s the girl?” Jax asked as she looked around.

“She took off on me. Pretty sure she’s headed for the armory.”

The three of them began to run in that direction but were met with a face full of blaster fire. They took cover and pulled out their blasters, returning fire.

“We don’t have time for this!” Riss shouted over the noise.

In the armory, Bo was quickly throwing all of her Buir’s armor into a bag. Once done she hefted it over her shoulder and grunted as it banged painfully on her back. It was heavy, but she gritted her teeth and ran. Ahead to her right she could hear blasterfire so she ran to the left, coughing as smoke entered her lungs. She tripped and almost went down but kept running until a dark shape blocked her path and she slid to a halt. An armored unfamiliar Mandalorian stepped out of the smoke and moved towards her. She dropped the bag on the ground and groped inside. Time slowed as the Mandalorian raised his blaster, then Bo raised hers, the one Fenn had taught her how to shoot, and fired, right at the unprotected part of his shoulder. The bolt struck true and he yelled, dropping his blaster and she shot again, hitting him in the leg and he dropped. Bo again picked up her bag and ran around him, not looking back.

Carlson, Jax, and Riss finally dispatched their attackers and arrived, limping in Carlson and Riss’s case, at the armory to find it empty.

“Dank farrik!” Carlson shouted, knocking over a stand and sending its contents flying. The Kryze armor was gone.

“She had to have headed back to the hanger,” Riss said and the three of them took the left hallway towards the other side of the compound. They passed one of the Mandalorian attackers shot and bleeding on the ground and Carlson finished him off.

“Does the Kryze girl have a blaster?” Riss asked as they ran down the hallway.

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Carlson shouted back, but all three looked up in alarm with the sound of rending steel and the roof caved in on them.

Bo’s lungs were burning as she ran along the hallway away from the blasterfire and explosions. She then heard a large rumbling and screeching of metal behind her and turned to see a wall of dust come from one of the hallways behind. She found herself shaking but pushed herself to move. Rounding a corner, she slid to a stop and threw herself back as she heard helmeted voices up ahead and glimpsed unfamiliar Mandalorian figures round the corner and head up the hallway, the hallway she was about to take. Panic started to take her but she bit the inside of her mouth and looked to the left, to the hallway that led to the garden. Turning that way, she hiked the bag more securely over her shoulder and mapped out in her head the path from the gardens to the hanger.

Satine was beside herself just waiting in the ship. Rogaar’s aides had joined them, but his guards had remained to help the Protectors. It had been at least twenty minutes and Fenn tried to get a hold of Lars, Carlson, anybody, but to no avail. No one answered.

“We have to go back,” she said, heading for the door, but Rogaar stopped her.

“We can’t let you do that, Duchess.”

“She’s my sister!”

“I know.” He looked over her shoulder to where she knew Fenn was standing and nodded his head. She turned and Fenn was checking his blasters and heading for their landing ramp.

“I’ll find her, I promise,” he said, but as he was stepping down onto the ramp, blasterfire emptied into the hanger, pinging off the ship, and he ducked just in time to avoid a bolt headed straight for his head. Backpedaling, he hit the button to raise the ramp.

“We have to take off,” Rogaar said, heading for the cockpit.

“No!” Satine exclaimed, running after him. “We can’t! Please!” Her voice broke and she dropped her gaze away from his pitying look.

“The garden,” Fenn supplied, his face a stony mask. “We could try getting to her through there.”

Rogaar nodded and Satine looked up with hope. He tapped the pilot’s shoulder.

“Take off and try to circle back towards the garden.”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot responded and Fenn came to stand next to Satine. His face was pale and drawn and his fists were clenched as he stared out the front viewport. Satine felt the engines fire up and the ship lift then accelerate forward to the hangar opening. They cleared it and were banking back towards the compound when a huge explosion rocked the ship and propelled it forward, throwing Satine and Rogaar to the ground, Fenn barely keeping his feet. Satine cried in dismay and when she gained her footing she ran for a side viewport and sank to her knees at the sight. The compound, her and Bo’s home for the last month, was gone. She fell forward onto her hands, heaving sobs shaking her shoulders, her voice just a long drawn out wail of pain. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, beating her fists onto the person’s armored chest as they wrapped her in their arms and just held her. Eventually the fight left her and she sagged against their body, her breaths coming in gasps, and she sank into darkness.

Bo had just made it into the garden and was circling one of the decorative metal statues when the compound behind her exploded. She threw herself into the hollow in front of the statue and could see and feel the flames as they split around the metal, red with tinges of blue and white. When she raised her head, her ears were ringing and she could see the garden was littered with debris: pieces of the wall, roof, even furniture. She saw some movement off in the distance and looked to see a ship, their royal ship, growing fainter as it rose then disappeared into the atmosphere.

No, no, no, she repeated to herself, staring at that spot in the sky. Her stomach dropped. They left her. She sank down onto the ground and curled around the bag with her dead Buir’s armor.

Mandalore’s other moon was rising when the ringing in her ears abated and she heard the crunching of boots on the debris around her. She grasped for her blaster and blearily peaked up and saw moonlight glinting off of Mandalorian armor. She fired.

“Osik!” a male voice shouted as the blaster bolt pinged harmlessly against his beskar armor. He pulled his blaster and aimed for Bo before another man came up and pushed his arm down.

“Hold your fire!” he called. Bo, exhausted, let her arm drop. The new man was wearing Mandalorian armor as well, though his was painted blue and black with a cream-colored trident above his T-visor. He looked her over through the helmet then removed it to show a young man with an angular face, bright blue eyes, and almost white blonde hair.

“You’re the younger Kryze girl, aren’t you?” he asked, coming to kneel by her. She didn’t react. “They left you, didn’t they?” She opened her mouth to deny it, then looked off into the distance where the ship had disappeared and dropped her eyes back to the ground. Anger suddenly welled up within her and she lifted her head, her eyes flashing.

“You!” she growled. “You killed my parents! You destroyed my home!” She lifted up her blaster to shoot him, but he was on her in a second, disarming her.

“I can see you are quite unlike your sister, Lady Kryze.”

“You know nothing about my sister,” she growled, spitting at the man. He wiped the spit from his face and laughed.

“You’re right. Only that she and your parents were trying to destroy our culture. Our culture that’s made us who we are for thousands of years.” He looked at the bag beside her. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling it towards him.

“Give it back!” she screeched, launching herself at him, but the other man, the one she’d shot, grabbed her from behind. She screamed and kicked, but he held firm as the other man unzipped the bag and pulled out her Buir’s helmet, emblazoned with the Kryze symbol.

“You are quite unlike your family.” He looked over her shoulder to the man holding her. “Bring her back to camp. Get her some food, water. And watch her.”

“Let me go!” Bo shrieked as he dragged her off into the night. “Satine!”

Satine came to on an unfamiliar cot in an unfamiliar room. She looked around, panicking, and then reality came crashing back down and she curled around herself and the sobs began to wrack her shoulders again. Her sister, her baby sister, who she’d vowed to protect, was gone.

“Your grace,” Fenn Rau’s soft voice broke through her sobs, but she wouldn’t raise her head. Wouldn’t look at him. She felt the cot dip and then felt his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.” Satine only curled tighter around herself and cried harder. Finally, she felt like she ran out of tears and gently pushed herself up. Fenn was sitting beside her, his eyes red and filled with sorrow. He broke eye contact and reached for a mug off to the side. “I thought you could use this.”

Satine gingerly reached out and took the mug from his hands, bringing it under her nose to smell. It was some herbal tea, but she couldn’t tell what. She took a sip and couldn’t really taste much either.

“Thank you,” she croaked. Her throat was raw from crying. The tea helped some.

“Here, I have something else for you,” he said and reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a piece of metal. He held it out to her and she gingerly took it. It was a brooch shaped like the leaves of the Concordia tree. “Bo gave that to me a few weeks ago,” he said, and Satine found more tears as they started slipping down her cheeks again. “I think you should have it.”

Satine fingered the piece then turned it over to see the Kryze symbol hammered there along with a B and a K.

“Thank you,” she said, meeting Fenn’s eyes. He nodded and smiled sadly at her and she collapsed against his shoulder, his arms encircling her and holding her as she cried.

Aruetti- outsider

Beskar’gam – armor

Mando’ad – Mandalorian

Verd – warrior

Ba’buir – grandparent

Buir – parent (in this case, father)

Verda – warrior (plural)’

verd’ika – little warrior (fond)

Dank farrik – generic curse word

Haar’chak – damn it

Vod’ika – little sister

Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum – I love you

Osik – shit

[the-dubstep-strawberry]

Just Passing Through

The sun was rising on another day in the Commonwealth, but as far as Lucas Miller was concerned, that bright, lazy son-of-a-bitch had had more than its fair share of rest. His day had started hours before dawn, with the bellowing of his restless pack Brahmin better than any alarm clock; he'd rolled up his sleeping bag and doused the dying embers of the campfire, while the two guards who traveled with his caravan grumbled over cups of the steaming homemade tea they brewed from Bloodleaf flowers.

It was Sunday, two days since his caravan had set out from Bunker Hill with its usual itinerary. Their destination was Tenpines Bluff, one of the Minutemen settlements. It was small - just a handful of settlers and their shacks, and the field of Tatos they tended - but the armor trade was brisk and there were always orders coming in from nearby Sanctuary Hills. General de Havilland and her growing band of men and women had become his best customers, he reflected, as he finished tying his bootlace and rose to his feet.

The Brahmin let out a long, low moo of protest as they set off walking again.

“All right, Ol' Girl,” he told the cow, patting the side of the head nearest him. “Not much further now. We'll rest up soon and get you fed and watered.”

As he walked, his eyes settled on the road ahead, at a point just below the horizon. It always paid to keep your eyes on the road. The caravan routes were safer now than they had been for some years, with the new Minutemen patrols on the roads, but his father had always warned him to be vigilant when traveling. There were still dangers to be found out here if you weren't wary – Bloodbugs and Stingwings had taken down more than their fair share of Brahmin, and sometimes people. There were Raiders too - fewer than there used to be, but still the occasional brave or foolhardy group who took their chances. Gunners, for the most part, knew better than to disrupt the trade routes that they depended on for their own weapons, armor and chems, but some of the hotheaded ones preferred to do their negotiating down the barrel of a gun when disagreements arose. Yao Guai, Radscorpions and Deathclaws were the worst, he thought, shuddering. And Mirelurks. He hated Mirelurks.

One of the guards looked up at the sound of a distant noise. Lucas looked up too, and saw the shapes coming over the horizon; another pack Brahmin, heavily laden with boxes and bundles of goods which rattled and rustled and jingled as the two-headed cow trudged along, hooves thudding on ancient asphalt. No guards accompanied the beast of burden, but a person he recognized was walking alongside it; a weary-looking woman in a familiar blue jacket.

“Carla,” he greeted her. “How's business?”

“You again,” she said dryly. “Here to trade?”

He nodded.

“Mm-hmm. The usual. Tenpines Bluff and back again.”

“Need to pick something up? Road's pretty long from here.”

Lucas smiled. Trashcan Carla, as the locals called her, sold junk, but it was good junk – household goods, odds and ends, useful scrap scavenged from old ruins and sold to whoever had enough caps in their pocket. Sometimes she sold bulk goods, oil and steel, wood and screws, things that homesteaders and builders would put to good use as they staked their claim in the wastes, putting down foundations for farms and families. The General was a regular customer, she'd said once, as they'd stopped to chat in Bunker Hill between trips. Always building, and rebuilding, wherever she went.

“You keep traveling and I'm sure we'll do business by and by,” he replied politely.

“Maybe next time,” she said, amused. “All right then. Safe travels.”

“Safe travels to you too.”

They passed alongside each other, perfectly parallel; their Brahmin brushed past each other with long lowing noises, and the guards both nodded in Carla's direction; the small greeting designed to acknowledge each other's presence without getting caught up in conversation when you had other places to be, which she returned in kind.

Safe travels. That was the traditional farewell when your paths led you in different directions, no matter who your fellow travelers were. Farmers venturing out to bigger settlements to sell baskets of bulbous purple Mutfruits and bundles of Razorgrain; the provisioners who traveled between the smaller settlements, entrusted with the essential tasks of delivering goods and messages to their neighbors, smartly dressed in the Pre-War postal uniforms that the Minutemen issued to make their role look more “official”; the Minutemen patrols themselves, in worn jeans and yellow jackets and the militia hats popularized by Colonel Preston Garvey, the General's second-in-command; and occasionally a passing squad of Power-Armored soldiers from the Brotherhood of Steel, who might reply with a salute and a gruff response of “Citizen”, if they were feeling talkative that day.

The General wore Power Armor too, sometimes, when she wasn't wearing her famous tricorn hat and military overcoat. He'd been told that she was a member of the Brotherhood of Steel herself, in addition to leading her own army; he'd seen her out and about a few times with the former Paladin Danse, who had been forced out of the faction he'd once served over some internal disagreement, if the news reports on the radio were to be believed. For someone who'd lost everything, he decided, the man had looked surprisingly happy. He supposed he would be too, if he had a beautiful woman like the General following him wherever he went...

“Who's that behind us?” said one of the guards, by his side.

Lucas blinked, and turned around to look. Sure enough, there were two more Brahmin coming up behind them, and a few more shapes, human ones – two were caravan guards, much like his, with leather armor and suspicious scowls, and rifles slung on their backs. A third person was the merchant they guarded, a bearded man in a long coat and sturdy armored boots.

“Haven't seen him before,” he responded. “Not a local, by the looks of him. Must be from outside the Commonwealth.”

The second guard, the younger one, took the hunting rifle from his back in readiness, but the first one shook his head.

“Settle down, kid, they're just traders,” he told the other. “Wrong armor for Raiders and they're hauling too much gear. Raiders travel light round these parts, and they tend to hole up somewhere and stay put. Besides, they would've taken pot-shots at us by now. And Gunners make more of an entrance. Nothing to worry about.”

The second guard reluctantly lowered his rifle again.

“Yeah, I guess so. Who's that with them?”

There were two other people with the approaching caravan, Lucas noticed, as they got closer and the second Brahmin came into view. A young woman in a Vault suit and a leather jacket was trudging alongside the animal, complaining loudly about her aching feet; the other was a little boy, mop-haired and freckle-faced, sitting on the Brahmin's back and holding onto its neck as best he could. He was about four or five, Lucas supposed, and his clothes were slightly too big for him, although wasteland kids tended to wear clothes that didn't fit them too well, and slightly too big was always considered better than slightly too small. He and the woman had clearly come a long distance, perhaps even further than the others; they both looked tired and travel-worn, their clothes and boots thick with dust from the road.

“Hey,” called out the woman. “Hey, you! Wait up!”

Lucas and the guards stopped walking.

“Whoa there,” he told his own Brahmin, and Ol' Girl obediently came to a halt. “Let's see what they want.”

The other caravan drew closer, hurrying to catch them up, and then stopped right behind Ol' Girl, who looked unimpressed by the presence of the other two Brahmin; she mooed at one when it tried to get too close, and one of its guards shooed it away a few feet.

“Hey, friend,” Lucas greeted the newcomers. “Looks like you've come a long way. Where are you headed?”

“That's just it,” said the woman, cutting in before the other trader could speak. “We're… kind of lost. Could you give us some directions? You're from round here, right?”

Lucas nodded.

“Aye. Name's Lucas Miller. I sell armor for Old Man Stockton's outfit. Based out of Bunker Hill,” he told her. “And who might you be?”

The young woman frowned, and he was suddenly reminded of the way the General frowned; the purse of her lips, a slight wrinkling at the bridge of a shapely nose, and the furrowing of a pale brow that hadn't seen very much of the outdoors.

“Best you don't ask her that,” the trader beside her interjected. “Bit of a sore topic. She's given us three fake names already, and she didn't speak to us for a day and a half when we tried to get the real one out of her.”

“How about yours, then?” Lucas tried again.

“Name's Cartwright,” said the man, with more enthusiasm. “I sell junk, mostly, odds and ends, but there's a few bits of tech the Brotherhood boys might be interested in.”

“Don't think we've met before,” Lucas remarked. “What brings you all the way out here? I take it you're not from the Commonwealth.”

Cartwright laughed.

“You're right about that, my friend. We came up here from the Capital Wasteland.”

Lucas couldn't keep the surprise from his face.

“That's quite a way to travel for a pile of junk,” he said, in spite of himself. “Just those odds and ends bringing you out here?”

This time Cartwright shook his head.

“No, not really. Wouldn't have journeyed this far, but an old friend called in a favor. You know Daisy? From Goodneighbor?”

Lucas nodded. He knew her; the Pre-War Ghoul who ran Daisy's Discounts, although he rarely frequented Goodneighbor, where the locals were more interested in chems and ammunition than armor.

“Then you'll know how persuasive she can be,” said Cartwright, with a chuckle. “No saying no to a woman like that, is there? So I promised her we - ”

The woman standing beside him gave him a sharp look. If her eyes had narrowed a little more, her expression might have nailed him to the ground.

“They told us not to talk about why we're here,” she reminded him. Her voice was less pointed than her expression, but the hint of danger was unmistakable; there was a flash of steel in the violet-blue eyes. “Mercenaries out there, remember? Gunners, or whatever they call themselves. If that guy reports back to them and they find out why we're here, then we're in a whole world of trouble.”

Lucas shook his head at that. Gunners were, on the whole, bad for business. Angering them somehow seemed like an even worse commercial decision.

“I won't ask, then,” he said firmly. “I stay out of the affairs of others. No good comes of it.”

This time the woman gave him a friendlier look; still cool, but more appreciative.

“Smart man. Sorry. Nothing personal, but the instructions we had were pretty clear. All we want is a nod in the right direction.”

“I think I can help with that,” Lucas volunteered. “Where is it you're wanting to go?”

The woman paused to roll up her sleeve. There was a Pip-Boy on her wrist; a rare sight, thought Lucas, although the Vault suit now made more sense. There was a trading post at Vault 81, one of the few that still functioned and hadn't killed its Pre-War inhabitants in the process, and a few regulars came out to barter for goods they needed. Those Vault-dwellers tended not to travel too far from their home, although the General herself hadn't been able to get out of hers fast enough. Frozen, they'd said, before the war; what a world she'd emerged into, and how different it must have been from the one she'd left behind.

“Sanctuary,” she said, after checking an entry on the screen. “Or Sanctuary Hills. Heights. Something like that.”

“Sanctuary Hills?” Lucas suggested. “That the one you mean?”

The woman made an irritable noise, and waved her hand impatiently.

“Whatever. Close enough. But yeah, that's where we're going. We have a delivery we need to make.”

“Special delivery!” the little boy said proudly, from atop the Brahmin's back. “That's me!”

The woman smiled, perhaps a bit distantly, and ruffled the kid's hair.

“Yeah, that's you. Good job, kiddo, you've told everyone we met so far. So much for not talking to strangers. Your dad's not going to be pleased with me if we run into anyone who's not the friendly type.”

“You don't need to worry about that, miss,” Lucas' older guard assured her. “The Minutemen don't take kindly to folk who harass travelers on the road, and that goes double for kids. Mess with someone's child, steal them away or what have you, and the General will get to hear about it. You might be worried about mercenaries, but trust me, they're more worried about her.”

The young woman smirked.

“Hmm. And I thought Talon Company were scared of me back home. Sounds like this General is a woman to be reckoned with.”

“You'll reckon with her soon enough,” said Lucas, raising his eyebrows. “Sanctuary is her home and it's well-guarded. Turrets and watch towers and the like. You mind yourself when you visit and be sure to make a proper introduction. Strangers who won't give their names aren't the welcome kind.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine. If she wants to know who I am that badly, I'll be sure to tell her. Now can you tell us how to get there?”

“That I can,” Lucas told her. “Here, let me see that Pip-Boy of yours. I'll mark it on your map.”

The younger of his two guards muttered something to the other about Colonel Garvey, and the other let out a small chuckle. Lucas ignored them, and studied the screen, patterned in green and black. The topography seemed less familiar from above than it did at eye level, but he followed the road until he saw some landmarks he recognized.

“Concord's that way, and then the Red Rocket station. Follow the road up north and cross the Old North Bridge. It's dead ahead, you can't miss it.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, as he let go of her arm again. “Appreciate the help, Mr. Miller.”

“Not a problem. Any armor for you today?”

She shook her head.

“No, thanks. I think we're good.”

Lucas shook his head too. He'd been selling his wares to wastelanders for many years, and it was the bold and foolish ones who went away empty-handed. Still, there was something in the woman's expression that suggested that it would be more foolish still to try to grab her unawares, and there were subtle hints in the way she moved that suggested that her blue-and-yellow Vault jumpsuit had already been customized to her liking, and that she was more than adequately armed and armored.

“As you say. Well, safe travels then,” he concluded. “Good luck with whatever it is you're here to do. And give my regards to Daisy, when you see her.”

“Thanks, we will,” said Cartwright, with a friendly gesture. “Good to meet you, Lucas. And travel safe yourself. Perhaps we'll see each other again on the road.”

They parted ways, and the caravan moved on ahead of them, faster now that they were moving with more purpose. Lucas heard the little boy pipe up:

“Will we see Daddy soon?”

“Don't worry, Duncan, we're almost there,” she said casually. “They said he'll be there waiting for you. Been a while, too, hasn't it? I bet he can't wait to see you again…”

Their voices were already fading on the wind, dwindling in the distance as they followed the road and disappeared over the hill. Lucas shrugged, and gave his Brahmin a gentle nudge.

“Don't mind them, Ol' Girl. They're just passing through. Off we go now, there's a good girl.”

The Brahmin made some vaguely displeased noises and swished her tail a few times, but started to lumber off in the right direction again, unfazed by the goods on her back and the steeper incline as they followed their usual path.

As they climbed up the hill, Lucas caught another glimpse of the travelers from the Capital Wasteland; a long way to travel, he thought, and an even longer journey back if they hoped to avoid the greenish clouds that were already rumbling ominously over the Glowing Sea. It seemed a great deal of effort to go to, just to bring a small child all the way out here.

Still, he thought, as he turned his gaze toward the small cluster of shacks and caught sight of the bright blue Minutemen flag waving above Tenpines Bluff, they probably had their reasons.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 3

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THAT EVENING

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

“...It took me a whole month to track Geirmund to that fortress.” Ulfar said he continued his story, nursing a cup of mead in his hand. He was currently sitting across from Eivor at one of the tables in the longhouse, and entrancing him with a tale from his past.

His voice carried a comforting roughness in the serene bass of its tone, and even though the ambience of the feast around them was full of jovial conversation, Eivor found a unique tranquility in the intonation of Ulfar’s speech, similar to when he heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

“Did you go inside the fortress?” Eivor asked, taking a sip of his own mead.

Ulfar nodded. “Against my better judgement, yes. It was a foolish decision, though, if I’m being truthful. I was alone on that island with nothing but an axe, and the frozen wind had seeped so deep into my skin that I could hardly feel a thing. But I refused to let Geirmund escape a second time. So, I snuck into the fortress and prepared myself to kill him for good. What caught me off guard though, was how empty it was on the inside.”

The younger man shrugged. “What happened to all his men?”

Ulfar chuckled. “I asked myself the same thing. I went in there expecting an army of warriors to come charging at me, and yet, I came upon no more than the dead remains of a battlefield, littered with the bodies of Geirmund’s people.”

“Someone already killed them?”

“Indeed, but I did not know who. And back then, I didn’t care to find out. The only thing that concerned me was putting an end to Geirmund’s life. So, I carried on with my quest and searched for the little rat. He was nowhere to be found inside the fortress, but I ended up finding a trail that led outside of its walls, and towards a nearby waterfall. The footsteps he left behind all looked cluttered and erratic, almost as if he had been running from something.”

Eivor found himself intrigued. “Did you ever find him?”

A twinkle sparkled in Ulfar’s eye. “I did. After what felt like ages of searching, I finally located Geirmund at the peak of the waterfall, surrounded by nothing but ice and snow. He was sitting on his knees and quivering in the wind, staring at me with a pair of eyes that nearly bulged out of their sockets. His tongue hung lifelessly from the pits of his mouth, and a large gash separated the flesh on his throat, causing blood to dribble down the front of his clothes.”

Ulfar leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the look on Eivor’s face. “Holding him in place... was a woman unlike any I’d ever seen. She stood behind Geirmund like a giant in human form, and carried a ferocious-looking weapon in her grip. Her gaze was wild with the rush of a fresh kill, and her teeth were bared like the fangs of a wolf. She took one glance at me, and then hurled Geirmund off the edge without saying a word.” Ulfar’s lips stretched into a smile. “...That was the moment I fell in love with Linnea.”

The young man chuckled. “Wait, a woman slits a man’s throat and throws him off a waterfall... and you fall in love with her?”

Ulfar shrugged. “You wouldn’t? I suppose I’ve always had a strange taste in women. It turned out for the best though. Linnea and I were wed two years later, and I finally found true peace with the world. She tempered the fury that burned inside me, but also kept it alive. She was my guide in a storm that never seemed to fade away.”

Eivor fidgeted with the straps on one of his bracers, recalling some of his childhood memories. “I don’t remember that much about Linnea. She died when I was still so young.”

A wave of nostalgia washed over the older man. “Linnea loved you. She didn’t get the chance to know you that well, but... she knew the pain of losing her parents too. In fact, she was one of the people who encouraged Arngeir to take you in.” Ulfar let out a sorrowful sigh, turning away from Eivor. “All she wanted was to ensure that you had a better life than her. I just wish she could’ve watched you grow up.”

“How did she die anyway?” Eivor asked. “What happened to her?”

Ulfar gestured loosely at the scene around them. “...The same thing that happens to most people these days. Kjotve. He cornered her in the sea whilst she was out on a raid, and slew her in the end.”

Eivor frowned out of sympathy. “...I’m sorry.”

The other man shook his head. “Don’t be. Linnea may have departed from this realm, but she now awaits me in Valhalla, roaming the afterlife of a warrior at the Allfather’s side. I couldn’t be more proud of her.”

“And do you still miss her? Even after all this time?”

“Of course. Though, I must admit, it’s becoming harder and harder for me to remember what she was like as a person. As the years have gone by, I fear that Linnea has become no more than a memory to me. I’ve... almost forgotten how I used to interact with her. How we used to talk. If you were to put me in front of her at this very moment, I’m not sure I would know what to say.”

Ulfar cleared his throat and decided to flip the subject to Eivor, clearly feeling somewhat mournful at the mention of his wife. 

“And what about you, Eivor?” He questioned. “Have you found someone you love?”

“You mean in the same way you love Linnea? No, not yet.”

“Well, you’re still young. You still have plenty of time. And even if you don’t find someone, there’s more to do in life anyway. All that matters is that you do it with honor.”

Ulfar finished the rest of his drink, allowing the alcohol to sheathe him in warmth. “Ah, but this old man has bored you with enough of his tales for one night. Go on and enjoy the feast, little cub. We can always talk later. I’d like to be alone for now.”

Eivor nodded and stood up from the table, taking his cup of mead with him. “I understand. I think I’ll go get some fresh air for the moment. We’ll speak another time. Until then, skål.”

The other man raised his drink. “Skål, Eivor.”

Leaving Ulfar to his thoughts, the blond viking swiftly removed himself from the old warrior’s company and returned to the bustling activity of the feast, immediately finding himself in the midst of jubilant merrymaking.

All around him, Eivor saw people from both the Raven and Bear Clans singing cheerfully as the mead soothed their sea-weary bones, allowing their minds to break free from their restraints for one night.

A symphony of laughter could be heard bouncing off the wooden confines of the longhouse as their celebrations drifted off into the evening, and sitting amongst all the wondrous chaos at the front of the hall, Eivor spotted Arngeir conversing with Styrbjorn, accompanied by Thora and Randvi.

Something that seemed odd to Eivor however, was the fact that Styrbjorn’s son was nowhere to be found. He assumed that Sigurd would’ve been spending the entire day wandering around with his new betrothed, but the man had made himself scarce.

He was probably bored of circling political discussions all day long, especially considering that there was a wedding coming up in the next two weeks. And the fact that Randvi was here by herself led Eivor to believe that she might’ve felt the same way. 

Well, he supposed he couldn’t blame her.

Making his way out of the longhouse, Eivor rounded a corner at the end of the hall and stepped through an ornate archway, only to come to a screeching halt when he suddenly rammed into someone.

The mead in his cup went spilling over the rim due to the impact and splashed everywhere onto the person’s clothes, causing both of them to let out a surprised grunt. Eivor’s tankard went tumbling to the ground shortly after the bump, and once the pandemonium finally settled, Eivor found himself standing there in silence, sheepishly trying to utter out an apology.

“Shit...!” Eivor cursed, waving his hand dry. “F-Forgive me. I’m a clumsy fool. I didn’t see you--”

The young man paused abruptly, astonished by the person he had just run into.

“--there.”

Standing on the opposite side of the archway, Eivor saw a tall man dressed in an opulent gambeson gazing down at the mess that now stained his clothes, attempting to dry himself off. His long hair stood out from the blackness of the night with a distinct shade of red, and his eyes practically pierced through the shadows due to their glacial tint.

His forehead was decorated with a uniquely-shaped rune resembling the image of a tree, and on his back, Eivor spotted an impressive longsword resting proudly in its sheathe.

It was a fierce-looking weapon that he would’ve loved to wield himself someday, but for the moment, Eivor was simply praying that the man wouldn’t use it.

Pinching his shirt, the stranger pulled the soaked fabric away from his skin and gave Eivor a neutral expression, surprisingly unbothered by the incident.

“Have no fear, my friend.” He replied with a sincere smile. “They are only clothes.”

Eivor felt the sudden need to ask for his name, admittedly not recognizing him. “Are you new here? Your face doesn’t seem familiar.”

The man nodded. “I’m from the Raven Clan.”

“Ah, I see.” Eivor said in understanding. He reached a hand out. “Well, my name is Eivor. I’m from the Bear Clan. I promise, not everyone’s as clumsy as me.”

The stranger displayed a hint of hesitation, almost as if he didn’t want to share his identity.

“...Gunnar.” He finally responded, shaking Eivor’s hand in a firm grip.

“It’s good to meet you, Gunnar. Again, I apologize for the mess.”

Gunnar waved a pardoning hand. “No need to worry. I can always replace them.”

Eivor shrugged. “Well, I still feel like I should repay you somehow. Is there anything I could help you with?”

The other man thought for a moment, stroking his beard in silence.

“Well, if you insist on repaying me... perhaps, there is something you could do. What say you to a walk around the village?”

The reply took Eivor by surprise. “A... walk?”

“I know it may sound like an odd request,” Gunnar conceded, “but I fear that I haven’t been able to see as much of Bjornheimr as I’d like. I was originally on my way back to the feast after a few minutes outside, but I think I’d like to spend more time in the nature of this place. Care to join me?”

Although a tad confused by Gunnar’s unique proposition, Eivor had to admit that he was intrigued. He was definitely in need of some fresh air himself after being trapped in the longhouse for a couple hours, and he couldn’t deny that his heart skipped a few beats at the sight of his new friend.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

“Alright, Gunnar.” Eivor agreed. “I’ll walk with you.”

The man beamed gladly, beckoning his companion to follow him through the archway. 

“Wonderful. Where shall we go?”

Eivor stepped in front of him, taking the lead. “Follow me. There’s a place I can show you. It’s not too far away from the longhouse. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m right behind you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

Sauntering through the snow-smothered paths of Bjornheimr, Eivor accompanied Gunnar as the two of them strolled leisurely under the clear night sky, steadily distancing themselves from the boisterous sounds of carousing that bled out of the longhouse.

At the moment, there was no one else occupying the frozen roads that twisted their way throughout the town, and the only other creatures that seemed to be roaming around were a handful of hares and birds, scuttling away back to their homes.

It would’ve seemed lonely to Eivor on any other given day, but with Gunnar there to provide him some company, the man felt a celestial grip of solace holding gently onto his heart.

Eivor couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but something about his new friend seemed to put his mind at peace. A soothing aura clung onto Gunnar with every step he took, and a sense of nobility radiated from his naturally tall stature. He gazed at the auroras shimmering above them as if he had traversed the very lights himself, and despite the silence, his mere presence alone was enough to send Eivor’s head bursting with a multitude of thoughts.

Just who exactly was this man?

“May I ask you a question?” Gunnar suddenly said, pulling Eivor back to reality.

The younger man nodded, his boots crunching in the snow as they walked. “Go ahead. What’s on your mind?”

“You said your name was Eivor,” his friend recalled. “You wouldn’t happen to be Arngeir’s son, would you?”

Eivor smirked. “Ah, so he’s told you about me already. I hope he left all the bad parts out.”

Gunnar chuckled. “He uttered nothing but the highest of praises whenever your name was mentioned, I assure you. Why else do you think I asked you to join me?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Though, I must admit, you look different than I expected. There’s quite a contrast between you and your siblings.”

“I wasn’t born into the family like my sisters,” Eivor explained. “Arngeir adopted me when I was nine winters old. My parents...” his voice sank a bit, “...had just been killed when he took me in. By Kjotve.”

Gunnar sighed in empathy. “...Ah. I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eivor was quiet in response, leading the other man to feel a pang of guilt clutching him in the chest.

“I’m sorry,” Gunnar quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry. I... I should’ve known better than to bring it up.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Eivor reassured. “It’s just... strange to talk about, I suppose. I love my new family with all my heart, but... part of me wonders what would’ve happened if my parents were still here. How my life would be. It’s a question that’s hounded me for years.”

Gunnar allowed himself to open up a bit. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m also familiar with the loss of a parent.”

The younger man lifted a brow. “You are?”

“I’m afraid so. My mother succumbed to a battle wound when I was only a child. I don’t remember much of her, but I still think of her often. Sometimes, I find myself sharing the same thoughts as you.”

Eivor’s tone softened in heartache. “Then you understand.”

“Indeed,” Gunnar replied. “Many people told me that my mother was in a better place after she left this realm, but... I don’t know. Surely, the best place a mother could be is at her child’s side?”

“I’d say you’re right,” Eivor agreed. “My father gave up the chance to enter Valhalla in order to save me.”

“Then it just proves that nothing can surpass that type of love. I suppose we should be grateful.” Gunnar paused for a second, breaking out of his melancholic state. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean for this conversation to take such a grim turn. My father says I’m too forward with my thoughts sometimes.”

Eivor scoffed in amusement. “Please, be as forward as you’d like. We could use more of that nowadays. Nothing irritates me more than running around in semantic circles with someone, but I digress. We’ve reached the place I wanted to show you. Come on. It’s just up here.”

Leading Gunnar up a hill, Eivor guided his friend to the same peak where he’d been relaxing earlier that day, eager to see his reaction to the view that sat in front of it. The sun wasn’t there to illuminate all the corners of its beauty much to Eivor’s dismay, but he still wished for his companion to take in the sight.

“Here we are,” Eivor said, coming to a halt at the top of the hill. “What do you think?”

Gunnar froze in his tracks, absolutely amazed by the remarkable view.

Stretching out for miles in front of him, Gunnar saw nothing but a sea of Northern Lights gently gliding along the edge of the sky, kissing its divine darkness with a mystical green glow. Hints of magenta sat delicately atop their beams like a crown fashioned by the gods, and the colors elegantly danced with each other like waves in an ocean. 

Countless stars could be seen dotting the vast void hanging above them, and lying calmly just underneath the horizon, a plethora of waves softly caressed the saltwater tides, brushing against the shore in a rhythmic motion that seemed to hypnotize the nature around it.

It wasn’t quite as striking as when the sun’s light managed to hit its surface during the day, but Gunnar felt a transcendent sense of awe blooming his chest nonetheless. Something about the way the mountains were formed seemed to draw him closer to the sky, and for a brief moment, part of him even forgot he was still standing in Bjornheimr.

“It’s... beautiful.” He whispered in astonishment. “I’ve never seen such a clear view of the fjords before. Not even in Fornburg.”

Eivor took a seat on the bench and stretched his legs out, allowing himself to relax as he marveled at the sight in front of him.

“It’s definitely something to behold. I spend most of my mornings up here. I’ll usually come here to meditate, or to pray, or to think. It helps clear the mind. I only wish you could see it during the day.”

Gunnar sat down beside the other man, tilting his head up towards the sky.

“I can understand why you come here so often. The solitude on this hill -- it provides a feeling of peace that I’ve not experienced in ages. I wish we had more places like this back home.”

Eivor turned to his friend. “Things are stressful over in Fornburg, I take it?”

Gunnar sighed. “Very much so. Especially with Kjotve’s fortress standing so close to our shores. We have many capable warriors looking after the village while we’re gone, but... I still question our king’s decision to leave it unattended during such a dire time.”

A sudden thought crossed Eivor’s mind. “Hey, Gunnar. You’ve asked me a lot of questions so far, but do you mind if I ask you one?”

“Go ahead.”

The younger man took a second to think about how to phrase his next sentence. “...What can you tell me about your prince?”

The question seemed to catch Gunnar by surprise. “Our prince? You mean Sigurd?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard a few things about him already, but I’d like to know more. He’s going to marry my sister in two weeks, after all. I’m curious to hear what kind of a man he is.”

Gunnar struggled to think of an answer, unsure of what to say. “Well... people say he’s a great warrior.”

Eivor shook his head in disappointment. “Ah... that’s what they say about everyone these days. It means nothing to me anymore. I want to know what Sigurd’s like as a person; as a husband. Do you think he’ll treat my sister right? And with respect?”

Gunnar let out a deep breath, finally deciding to abandon the pretense he had been holding up.

“You wish to hear the truth? The truth is... Sigurd is human like everyone else. His father describes him as a ruthless warrior driven by an undying ambition, but I fear that he likes to embellish his tales sometimes.”

That piqued Eivor’s interest. “And the other people in your clan? What do they say about him?”

“Some people say he’s charismatic. Others say he’s serious, or sad, or angry.” Gunnar hung his head low in a humble manner, forming his own opinion. “...I believe he’s all four.”

“Do you consider him to be a man of honor?”

The older man paused, attempting to conceal the same hesitation he showed back in the longhouse.

“...I do. Sigurd’s judgement may not always be the best, but I’ve never known him to be a man who indulges in the suffering of others. He’s a man with many flaws, and...” Gunnar gazed downwards at his hands, fidgeting with them in timidness, “...and I just hope that others can see he does have a good heart. Even if he doesn’t know how to show it.”

Eivor took on a more serious tone, latching onto the honesty in Gunnar’s voice. “And Randvi? Do you think he’ll do right by her?”

“Yes,” he answered sincerely. “I know he held some reservations when the king first told him of this marriage, but I believe Sigurd will do everything he can to keep your sister safe. He understands the necessity of this alliance. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

The younger man found a hint of relief in that statement and finally decided to let go of the subject, allowing himself to be free of his worries for a minute. Part of him suspected that Gunnar was simply telling him what he wanted to hear, but there was an undeniable sort of candor hiding in his speech that Eivor felt naturally compelled to believe him.

Though, he couldn’t deny that he found it rather strange how Gunnar’s mood shifted so suddenly. It was only a few moments ago that the man was parading around like a king in a crowd of peasants, and yet... all it took was one mention of Sigurd’s name to shatter that facade entirely. He now carried himself like a man being tried before God, and stared at the ground in a despondent fashion.

It only made Eivor wonder who Sigurd was to Gunnar.

“Sigurd?” A third voice called through the darkness, causing Eivor and Gunnar to jolt their heads towards the source. “Sigurd! Are you there?”

Trudging his way up the hill, an unfamiliar man abruptly emerged from the shadows and came trekking through the snow, approaching Gunnar as he tried to speak through labored breathing.

“Sigurd!” He greeted upon seeing the man. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father requests your presence back at the longhouse. There’s something he wishes to speak with you about.”

Sigurd exchanged a brief glance with Eivor at the sound of his true name before quickly turning away from him, clearly unhappy that his friend had just exposed his real identity.

“Thank you, Dag.” He replied solemnly. “I’ll go see him right away.”

Dag offered no more than a formal nod in response before hurriedly taking his leave from the scene and backtracking towards the longhouse, eager to return to the warmth of the feast.

Meanwhile, Sigurd remained seated beside his new friend as the younger man came to a sudden realization, finally understanding why their talk had caused “Gunnar’s” demeanor to switch so drastically.

“...You’re Sigurd?” Eivor asked, his expression blank with shock.

The prince sighed quietly in remorse, linking his hands together out of anxiety.

“I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to be deceptive, but... it’s difficult to get a genuine reaction from people when they know you’re a prince.” He shifted in his seat slightly. “In truth, Gunnar is the blacksmith of my clan. I only hid behind his name because I wished to take a break from all the political discourse for a moment. I hope I haven’t tarnished your impression of me.”

Eivor shook his head, resting a hand on his knee. “No, not at all. It must be a tiring endeavor, having to constantly pry the honesty out of people’s fake smiles. I think I can understand, being the son of a jarl myself.”

Sigurd smiled brightly, relieved that he hadn’t ruined the other man’s opinion of him. “It gladdens me to hear it. Not everyone is so willing to lend their ear as you are, Eivor. I... I enjoyed having this conversation with you.”

The prince rose to his feet, finally ready to return to his royal duties.

“Well, I suppose I should see my father before he sends out a search party. Thank you for spending the evening with me.” A bashful tint kissed the surface of Sigurd’s cheeks. “I’d... love to see you again. If you’re alright with it, that is.”

Eivor stood up from the bench, chuckling at his friend’s shyness. “I’d like that too. And I promise, I won’t spill my drink all over you again.”

The older man smirked. “Can’t wait to see my father’s reaction when I return to him soaked in mead. He’ll probably be mortified. Not exactly a good way for a prince to present himself, you see.”

Eivor shrugged humorously. “On the contrary, I’d say it’s the best.”

Sigurd laughed heartedly at that. “Well, let’s just hope he shares your point of view. I don’t fancy bearing the brunt of his wrath today. In the meantime, though...” he softened his voice, admittedly wishing he could stay a bit longer, “take care of yourself, Eivor. It was a pleasure getting to speak with you.”

The man mirrored his affection. “You too, Sigurd. I hope I get the chance to see you again soon.”

“Don’t hesitate to approach me if you do. I’d love to spend more time with you. Until then...” he shifted awkwardly in place, almost as if he had to restrain himself from giving Eivor a hug, “...farewell, my friend. And may the Allfather watch over you. These are dangerous times for all of us.”

Turning on his heel, Sigurd reluctantly parted ways with Eivor and slipped off into the night, vanishing behind the thick layers of darkness surrounding them. He had no more than a few scattered torches to fend off the shadows that threatened to encompass the path, and his limbs were somewhat stiff from having been in the cold for so long.

Despite his rather uncomfortable situation however, Sigurd left Eivor’s company feeling more fulfilled than he had for the entire day. Something about the man’s spirit seemed to harmonize with him unlike anything else, and it honestly frightened him somewhat how easily he opened up to the man.

It wasn’t normal for Sigurd to pour out the contents of his heart to a complete stranger within minutes of meeting them, and yet, part of him felt as if he had already known Eivor for his entire life. There was an indescribable force binding them together, and it only seemed to strain more the further Sigurd distanced himself from his friend.

As for Eivor, the man couldn’t help but wonder if this was the “chaos” Ingrida foretold. Initially, he assumed that no harm could come of this wedding considering the motive behind its arrangement, but now... he understood what the seeress meant. 

The war she spoke of would not originate from within the marriage, but rather from outside it. It wouldn’t be forged in the fires of bloodshed or in the heat of battle, but rather in the defiance of the Nornir’s plans.

It would start with a spark, and spread until it couldn’t be contained.

“Dammit...” Eivor muttered with a sigh, pacing around the hill. He wanted nothing more than to pursue a friendship with Sigurd, but the pragmatic side of him knew it would end in mayhem. 

Sigurd had already been promised to Randvi. He would soon be a married man. He couldn’t afford to have Eivor distracting him from the sidelines, or tempting him with something so problematic. 

It would clash directly with all the plans Styrbjorn and Arngeir had in mind for their people. They had a war to focus on with Kjotve’s men, and couldn’t bear the risk of brewing even more conflict between their clans.

But even then... Eivor knew what he felt, and he knew it would be pointless to fight against it. He had seen for himself how this kind of force could shake the very earth beneath their feet, and he assumed it would only be a matter of time until it triumphed.

Still, Eivor had no intentions of speeding along the process. He had a responsibility to carry out for his people, and right now, their safety was depending on the sanctity of this marriage. He would have to do his best to stifle the affection in his heart, and keep things on their course.

It was what the gods intended, he presumed, and the last thing he wanted was to interfere. 

[1000fiction]

Day 6: Domesticity Kink ft. Balimund

Relationship:  Unspecified

Species: Unspecified 

Warnings: Penetrative Sex 

Summary: Day to day life was surprisingly predictable with the ex-dragonborn as a spouse, neither would have it any other way, especially when such a situation makes ‘out of routine’ occurances that much more pleasurable. 

Balimund woke to the rumbling of the shipping gate that neighboured his house, as he had every morning that he’d lived in the Forged Hammer. There was a time, during the war, that the sound would symbolise a day of hammering of steel, forging of arms, and little else. For the past year, however, the day ahead held so much more, a fact he was reminded of by the numbness in his right arm.

Nestled against him, scar-ridden - but none the less ethereal in the morning glow - was his spouse. The brilliant, marvellous, spectacular being that they were. The dragonborn, or ex-dragonborn as they’d often remind travellers, naked and buried against his side, legs swung over his hip, and their saliva gracefully drooling onto his bared chest. Saliva included, it was a sight that made his heart swell, no matter how many times he woke up to it.

“Good morning my love.” He chuckled, the vibrations of his chest rousing them grumpily from their sleep addled state. They rose to sit swiping the drool from their mouth as the Nord shook his arm back to life. His fingers, with the delicacy of such a talented smith, trailed against their spine till he heard a pleasant hum emanate from their being. A gentle touch made waking so much more tolerable. His heart thrummed as they turned, smiling over their shoulder and leaning to place a chaste kiss against his lips. No matter how many times this morning ritual occurred. he couldn’t stop himself from smiling even if he wanted to.

“Ready for the day?” they questioned, placing several soft kisses against his forehead.

“Always, so long as it ends with you right back here.” Lips parted to a grin, he took their hand in his, plastering kisses to the back of it as if it were sacred ground.

“I love you.”

*I love you too.”

And with that, their day began, same blissful system the two had adopted since they’d wed. They dressed together, ate breakfast, and he’d gave them a kiss goodbye as they headed past his forge, leaving him to his work as they left for the outer farms.

The sun was halfway set when they re-entered the city, beelining for the blacksmith who in turn opened his arms wide. They slotted together, breathing in the new scents they carried, and warming to each other’s touch.  

“Busy day?” they both asked simultaneously, breaking into laughter. Balimund kissed their cheek, and they kissed his, and he took the cue to reluctantly release his hold on them.

“Start packing up, I’ll get dinner on, and you need to wash up.” He smiled at their small list, watching them leave till the door closed, eagerly packing away his tools in order to follow them in.

The dragonborn had already started by the time he entered, the fire roaring and heating the stew that sat in the cauldron. He took in a deep breath, shedding his apron and coming up behind them, thick arms wrapping round their waist.

“Bali! You’re covered in ash!” Their laughter betrayed their distaste, and he took the opportunity to pepper their neck in kisses, his beard scratching against their skin.

“Love you.” He laughed, fleeing, leaving them to rub away the tickling sensation he left behind on their neck. He sloshed his hands into the wash basin and scrubbed his face clean, changing his shirt and socks to alleviate the smell of sweat.

His spouse was a whirlwind, in the short time they’d chopped fresh vegetables into the stew, set the table, and where now stooped over a basin to wash the dishes. He observed them for a while, remembering how he’d initially offered to do dishes, but no matter how much he pressed, they’d always insisted he take a break before dinner.

‘You work twice as hard as anyone in this town.’ They’d say, ‘What would everyone think if they found out I was making you do dishes after a full day over that forge?’

It’d be scandalous, he’d presumed, especially considering the large number of times he’d caught them singing his praises to the other townsfolk. The time they’d nearly gotten into a fist fight with Greta in the square was still fresh in his mind, ‘You charge this much for something my Balimund makes ten times better?’ it was one of the greatest compliments he’d received, though he couldn’t deny – he would’ve liked to see the fight.

“See something you like?” They joked, sarcastically addressing their soaked clothes, and considerably ragged appearance.

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to approach them, large hands cradling their face as he kissed them, deeply, heavily. His large presence pushed his lover back towards the table.

“I’ve only just set it for dinner.” They complained half-heartedly, eagerly leaning back in for a kiss.

“I’ll start with desert tonight.” He lay them down gently, and with practiced ease removed their clothes and freed his cock. “Divines, Balimund!” They smiled, feeling his soft cock rub against them. He kissed their ankles as he lifted them, placing them delicately onto his shoulders.

“You’re perfection. I couldn’t ask for a better partner, I couldn’t ask for a better, simpler, life. Just love and work and more love.” He moaned, his cock stiffening as he continued to hump against them. It was entirely out of their routine, love making was generally saved for after dinner, but their appearance, day dreams, and thoughts of the past had riled him far too much, and for him to hold himself back would be even further out of their routine.

“And you’ve got that for the rest of your life my love.” They hummed, their eyes filling with adoration as their hand fled down toward his cock, skilfully stroking it in the way he liked, bringing him blissfully to full mast.

He fingered them briefly, making a promise to himself that their allotted time for love making would be wholly dedicated to his spouse, where he’d bring them to climax with his fingers alone, but right now he needed them, hot, tight, and familiar.

“Balimund, please.” They needn’t have begged - the Nord was having enough trouble holding back as it was.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine,” He pressed fully into them, their eyes rolling back as he took away their breath. They always did that when he first entered them, it was his favourite sight, seeing the effect his thick cock had as he stretched out their entrance. He moaned quietly, taking in a deep breath as he positioned himself in the usual position.

Ankles locked behind his neck, thighs pressed together and resting against his abdomen. His hands strayed from their knees, down their thighs, and came to rest on their stomach, thumbs pressed into the top of their groin. With his first broad thrust, he could feel the subtle bulge his cock made beneath his touch.

“I’m all yours my love, forever and always.” They gasped at the considerably deep thrust, gazing up at their husband as he made love to them. The dragonborn grasped weakly at the table, fingers hooking over the edge, gripping as Balimunds harsh thrusts nearly sent them scooting further up and into the crockery.

Their thighs pressed tighter together, breathless and gasping as the thick length hit as deep as it could go. Their vision blurred, the overwhelming feeling of fullness triggering the need for release, but they held back desperately, the need to cum with their spouse spurring their resolve.

The blacksmiths fingers, thick, like the rest of the Nord, dug deeper into their skin, the pressure supplying extra sensation as his cock ran beneath his touch. He filled them repeatedly, each drag of his cock made his balls tighten in anticipation, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing in his ears as tension built in his stomach.

“Cum my love, cum with me.” They urged beneath him, a hand coming to lay atop his thumbs and pressing down, their touch running over the shape of his cock. He groaned deeply, teeth running against their shin and he filled them. His breath stuttered as his spouse contracted around his cock in their own release, their joined bodies arching and concaving in the rush of orgasm.

He didn’t remove himself till he’d gone soft, a thin string of cum remained connecting them as he withdrew. He sighed heavily, tucking himself away and carefully lowering his lover’s legs from his shoulders. He patted their thigh lovingly.

“Shall I plate dinner?”

[bxllafanficc]

¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(part four)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part five. Masterlist

Summary:After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Your POV*

Your eyes scanned through the fully stocked room that came to be yours a couple of days ago. Fairly large and a great window where the sun came to welcome you each morning. Not even the blinds could stop it. Now it was fairly dark inside since the sun was about to go down. You reached for the light switch and scanned through all your products and belongings for things that you could possibly move somewhere else.

The grunt of the Russian skater behind you caused you to turn around. As you did, he stopped and returned your stare, as if waiting for you to announce something. There was a lot that you needed to clean up. If you had known that you'd be expecting a roommate, you'd already have done so. Guess Victor forgot to mention that too, eh?

The visible twitch in the corner of your left eye was impossible to force back. Just at the mere thought of unintentional (?) screwups of the one and only Victor Nikiforov. Now, just because he was your childhood friend, it didn't mean that he wouldn't receive a massive ass-whooping if he as much as repeated the same mistake three times the same day now the few remaining hours of the day. If only you could get that message through.

And, you kind of did. Just not to the man you intended. Yuri at the receiving end of your stare was just about to open his mouth to say something, what you assume, sour when he noticed the twitching of your eye. Surprisingly, it shut him up before he started. He kind of shielded himself behind one of his bags and eyed you carefully.

Shit, wrong Russian dude.

"Sorry, that was meant for Victor." You let out a sigh and helped him with one of his bags out in the hall. You got a simple nod from the boy just before you passed him in the doorway.

He's been acting all quiet and confused ever since you tended to his wounds. Was something you said unclear? Maybe you should make sure the two of you were on the same page. 'Later...' you thought.

Yuuri and Victor hurried to the entrance of your room with a couple of more bags.

"So what do you think about it, Yuri? Pretty special eh?" It was Yuuri who spoke up, probably just as an act of friendliness. Though, you could understand how a punk like Yuri might take it as teasing.

"I'm not staying here. There's- there is no way I'm sharing a room with another person. I should have my own room. Why can't Victor and (Y/n) share a room and I get my own?!"

Ah, there he is. You were starting to get worried that he might actually turn nice. Then you'd have to call an ambulance just to ease Yakov's mind if he ever found out.

"With that thief? Nuh-uh. He already owes me an entire bottle of lotion, a mascara and a lipgloss. And for some reason, my throwaway razors are gone too. I'm not endangering any more of my stuff to him!" You shot a glare at Victor but he intentionally pretended not to hear nor see you. Seriously?

"Just lock them up or something, I don't care. Maybe I should just sleep on the couch. Give me one reason why it's worth sharing this room with you."

You didn't really know why you felt so opposed to the thought of him sleeping on the couch. You should be relived that you wouldn't have to share room with The Russian punk. But you still mumbled the one sentence after taking a brief moment to carefully word out your reason.

"What did you say?"

"... I have a cat."

The silence following almost made you feel like the scene of these weird soap operas that streamed on tv once in a while. But you did have a cat. A beautiful sacred Birman with the eyes of an ocean. And you knew about Yuri's fascination with them. Victor mentioned it somewhere along the lines when discussing his arrival days ago. And if you had to give him one reason, then that would be the one. It's probably the only reason too.

"Where." It wasn't a question. It almost made you giggle but you kept a straight face. Victor who knew the reason behind your words, almost cracked under the pressure.

"He's probable sleeping under the blanket on my bed, as always-"

Yuri pushed Victor aside with a stern 'move' and headed for your bed. A little anxious, you followed him through the entrance, afraid that he would be like one of those crazy catpeople who never stopped bothering their cat. You worried because you were one of those people. But because your cat was rather clingy too and you always had a bunch of stuff to do daytime, it kind of evened out the contrast. Two crazy people were too much, you figured.

"Well, we'll go off now and let you two bond now. Don't forget that we're having afternoon tea in an hour!" And with that, Victor and Yuuri was out of the picture. For awhile.

A round uneven pile under you blanket made Yuri stop at the end of the bed. You stood beside him as he lifted the blanket, revealing the fuzzy ball that was your cat. Round eyes stared up at the both at you and the cat stretched it's back, making a 'u' position.

"His name is Magnolia. You'll have to apologize to him for interrupting his sleepy time though." You half expected Yuri to scoff at your statement, thinking you were taking the animal too seriously. But the baby voice he used to communicate with Magnolia next almost had you taking a step back.

"Hi, Magnolia... 'm sorry, pretty boy. You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid." He kept on talking to the sleepy cat as he extended a hand for him to smell. Magnolia yawned and gave the hand a sniff before sitting up, eyes intensely staring into the boy's soul. You could tell by the hesitation of Yuri's petting hand that he really wanted the cat's approval. He cat kept staring him straight in the eyes which usually means bad. Though, the purring heard from his belly said the opposite. You finally relaxed a little. Magnolia is very picky with who gets to touch him and you were expecting a bite, honestly.

"He's always been so stare-y... I've figured that he only stare at people he like or something he finds very interesting." You crouched down beside Yuri and rested with your arms at the bedside.

"Like owner, like cat, I guess then. I feel like he has the exact same piercing gaze you gave me earlier." Yuri grinned smugly at you and turned back his attention to the ball of fur who stood up, stroking its back to your chin. A little heat rose to your cheeks and you hoped Magnolia covered it up well enough with his body. It was kind of true. And you couldn't really deny it. You always did watch things a little to intense. But just because you found people very interesting, always seeking to improve your understanding and emotional range at any given time. So you shrugged your shoulders and coughed a little when the cat made sure to get his butt all up in your face too. This habit, you had noticed, was a trait almost every cat held within them.

"You're going to object or what?" Yuri caught your attention again and Magnolia moved away from your face just in time. So he was expecting some kind of denial.

"You're not wrong... You've just got the wrong idea of it."

"What do you mean?"

"You should probably start getting yourself settled here. We only have one hour."

"You didn't answer me." Yuri's remark left unanswered as well as you stood up and threw a bag at him. A light 'oof' slipped through him as the heavy thing hit him right in the stomach.

"Hey!"

You grinned and opened another bag, pouring the internal onto the floor. Tons of clothes splattered on the floor. Everything in-between black training clothes to underwear and a pajamas with cat prints. A keychain with a chibi cat and a stuffed animal of a tiger fell out on the floor lastly on top of the pile. Yuri quickly made his way to the clothes and gathered them in his arms, trying to hide them away. It was worth taking an extra look at the blush staining his cheeks. You wondered if you'd just met a fellow catmerch fan as instense as you. No, this was far crazier than you! Especially as you recognized the keychain being a print of his own cat that you'd seen on a social media Yuri Plisetsky fanpage once.

"Y-you can't touch my stuff! Nor see it!" His voice was a good blend of anger and a thick stain of embarrassment.

Maybe it wasn't ideal poring someone else's belongings onto the floor. But you knew that look that Yuri bearded only moments ago. The cat had taken him as his loyal servant and Yuri wasn't intending to move until he had satisfied Magnolia's every need. If you let that happen, it would take the entire hour you had to clean up the room. And you clearly didn't have that time.

"Just hurry up and help me then if I'm not allowed to touch it!"

"Fine! And move your stupid clothes and stuff over to your half of the room!"

(A/N: Shoutout to my cat who gave me the entire butt-in-face idea through experience. I really owe you one, you little jerk<3 Also, what have you thought of the story so far? I bet you Victor has planned a familiar exercise for tomorrow's day of training. Just a little helping hand to get Yuri back into shape, y'know;))

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Playing With Fire - Brotherly Advice

A/N: So this is my first crack at Chicago fire fanfiction, so don't judge too hard, alright? This will unfold from the beginning of season three, so if you haven't watched it yet, but plan to; SPOILER ALERT! I tried to follow along with the storyline of the show, but some things have been changed. Shout out to my superawesome beta @thorne93​, you rock! 

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Beth (OFC) 

Warnings: Implied sexytimes. Language probably. 

Wordcount: 3001

Breakfast was long forgotten as Beth and Kelly were tangled up between her sheets, exploring each other’s bodies as they both chased a release. 

As Beth was catching her breath, she looked over at him, taking in his profile. He was gorgeous, that was pretty obvious, but underneath all that there was a genuinely good heart too. How did she know that? First of all it was from how others spoke of him, and secondly, she could feel it when she looked into those bright blue eyes of his. She knew she was treading on thin ice here, but that was an issue for another time. Right now she just wanted to enjoy this time with him. 

“It's rude to stare, you know,” he suddenly said, eyes trained on the ceiling as a smile crept to his plump lips. 

She knew it was futile to try and lie her way out of that one. “I think I'm gonna cancel dinner with my brother and help out at Molly’s instead,” she said thoughtfully.  

The day before, there had been a pretty serious accident where a truck from another company had rammed into truck 81. Everyone at 81 was whole, but the driver of the other truck was in pretty bad shape. Herrmann had volunteered up Molly’s to host a fundraiser for the injured firefighter, Molina, and his family. 

“You sure?” Kelly asked, lazily running his fingers up and down her arm. 

“Yeah. This is more important,” she assured. “Besides, I'm like 90 percent sure he only wants to meet up because mom ordered him to check up on me.” 

“You could invite him to Molly’s for a drink instead,” he suggested. 

It was a nice thought on his account, but for Beth that really wasn't an option. “Maybe,” she said absentmindedly.

“So this is your oldest brother?” Kelly could feel her nodding her head. “And how many do you have?” 

“Six,” she stated simply. 

“You have six siblings?” he asked, his brows shooting up. 

“Yup. Six older brothers,” she confirmed. “Told you I had a big family.”

“Wow… wish I knew that before I took you home the other night,” he joked. 

She playfully shoved his shoulder before sitting up. “Story of my life,” she joked. Beth leaned over and grabbed Kelly’s shirt from the floor, pulling it over her head. 

He laid back on the bed, arms behind his head as he watched her. “So what do they do, these brothers of yours?” 

“They’re cops,” she said simply. 

“All of them?” Now it was his turn to sit up on the bed. 

“Yeah. Except Brad, who’s a lawyer.” 

“So you have five older brothers who are cops?” 

Beth chuckled. This was normally the reaction she got when she told people about her family. The only thing that was a little unusual was that Kelly wasn't sprinting for the door already. “One in homicide, one in organised crime, one in vice, and two still in uniform,” she summarised. “They’re harmless though,” she added. 

Kelly pulled on his boxers before he followed Beth into the kitchen to dig into the breakfast she had made for them. As she loaded up their plates with eggs, bacon, and pancakes, he poured them each a generous cup of coffee. They placed everything on the table and Kelly sat down.  

She was on her way to take a seat as well when Kelly grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, making her squeal before a laugh took over. “What are you doing?” she asked, falling serious again as she looked into his eyes. 

A large hand cupped her cheek, his calloused fingers rough against her velvet skin. He coaxed her gently to lean down so he could kiss her lips again. “Can't help it,” he said with a cheeky grin. “You look way too hot in my shirt.” 

Beth gave him another quick kiss, humming into his lips as she moved her hands up his sculpted chest. “You look really hot without your shirt, too,” she countered before getting back to her feet. 

Kelly watched her intently as she rounded the table and took a seat, that smile still on his lips.

Breakfast was followed by a long, steamy shower. It was truly a great morning, but as they had both dried up and were clothed again a sort of weird tension hung over them. It wasn't really bad or awkward in any way. It just felt more like a ‘now what?’ moment. Like ‘we just had a lot of amazing sex and now we don't have anything to talk about’ kinda deal.  

They both looked at each other for a moment and then Beth laughed a little nervously. “Did things just get weird?” she wondered, looking up at Kelly who mirrored her laugh. 

“A little bit, yeah,” he agreed, bobbing his head slightly. 

She took a few steps forward to close the space between them and then wrapped her arms around his waist. “It's been a really good morning, though,” she said with a coy smile on her lips. 

Kelly hummed in agreement before he dipped his head down and kissed her. “I wish I could stay and do more of this-” he gave her another quick kiss -”but I have some things I need to get done today,” he said. 

“That's alright. We can pick this back up another time,” she said with a smile. “If you want to that is,” she added hastily, not wanting him to think she was presuming anything. 

Kelly chuckled at how nervous she got. “I'd like that very much,” he assured, emphasizing his statement with another kiss. “I'll see you at Molly’s later?” he wondered, not really wanting to let go of her just yet. 

“Absolutely,” she smiled. 

**

After Kelly had left that morning, she hadn't been able to focus on anything other than replaying the memories of their time together, and now she was back at work, serving drinks for everyone that had come to show support for Molina and his family. The mood was surprisingly alright considering. 

“How’s Cruz doing?” Beth asked Gabby when they found a moment to talk. Cruz had been the one driving truck 51, and was now accused of running a light and causing the accident that left Molina fighting for his life. 

“As good as can be expected,” Gabby said. “I do have some other news though,” she said to Beth, Otis, and Herrmann. “Casey and I broke up.” Beth was confused by the smile on both Gabby and Matt’s faces. 

Otis and Herrmann looked confused for a second too, until Gabby spoke again. 

“Good thing is, now I can fill the candidate slot at truck 81. If you'll have me?” 

There were pretty strict rules when it came to personal relationships on the job, but now it seemed as though Matt and Gabby had found a way to work around that. All they had to do was postpone their wedding for a year, until Gabby had completed her candidacy. 

“Congratulations,” Beth said with a big smile as she hugged her friend. 

The conversation stopped there as a tall, dark haired man with a thick beard interrupted them. “Beth?” 

She looked up at him and her smile faltered. “Brad? What the hell?” 

“Nice to see you too, sis,” he said, not offering up a smile.  

Beth looked at her watch. He should be about ready for take off now, so why the hell was he here? She watched as he introduced himself to Gabby, Herrmann, Otis, and Matt, before her eyes found Kelly at a table far from the bar. The last thing she wanted right now was for them to meet. She looked up at her brother and nodded towards the end of the bar to get him to follow her. 

“Why are you here?” she asked. It came out a little ruder than she had planned. “I thought you’d be on a plane back to New York by now.” She tried to ignore the curious eyes that were on them. 

“I moved my flight to tomorrow,” he stated simply. “Look… we didn't leave things on the best terms, and I wanted to make up for that,” he said in a serious tone. 

“Alright…” she dragged, not really sure what to do with that. “I appreciate the gesture, but I'm working, and I don't really have the time to get into this with you right now.” 

Brad was a big man, over six feet tall, broad shoulders, and an intense gaze. The thick, yet well groomed beard didn't exactly soften his looks either. He had a very authoritative aura around him that Beth always crumpled under. It was the culmination of having to be the man of the house at only fourteen and then growing into a successful lawyer. He was used to being treated with respect, used to getting his way, and it didn't matter if you were a random stranger on the street, a client,  or his baby sister. Brad would get his way, because his way was the only way. That's why they had butted heads so much over the years, and why they had a huge fight the day that Beth left New York.

“Okay. Let me stay for a few drinks at least, meet some of your new friends.” This was far from a request or a question. Beth knew that the best way to not get into this with him right now was to just let him have his drinks and then hope he left without a commotion. 

Brad made his way down the bar again and took a seat next to Otis, asking Beth to get him a whiskey. As she dropped a couple of ice cubes in the glass, she could feel her hands shaking and her anxiety rising. 

“Let me tell you, Brad,” Herrmann started. “Beth is the best damn bartender Molly’s has ever seen. Great gal too. We’re lucky to have her,” he praised. It was sweet of him, really, but she knew that Brad would find a way to diminish this. 

“Oh yeah? I'm glad to hear that,” Brad said. “Good for you, sis.” Beth gave him a stern look. She was probably the only one that could hear the sarcasm behind his pretended politeness, and she feared what was to come next. “What? I'm not allowed to be happy for you?” 

“Come on,” she pleaded, but he was already getting started. 

“I'm serious, Beth. I was worried when you left your respectable job at the NYFD - one with a promising future, I might add - but it's nice to see that you have landed on both feet in this dive bar.” 

“Hey-” Herrmann exclaimed, not understanding how this conversation had taken such a sour turn. 

“Outside,” Beth said through gritted teeth. “Now.” 

Brad had a sly smile on his lips as he got up from his seat and started making his way outside. He needed this confrontation with his sister, because in his mind, there wasn't an argument that he couldn't win. 

“What the actual fuck, Brad?” Beth shouted as soon as the door closed behind her. “This is my work. Those people you were talking to are my bosses, and my friends.” 

He sighed. “Sorry. You’re right. That was kind of a dick move.” 

“No shit.” 

“Look,” he started, taking a step closer to her as his features softened again, and Beth could see the loving and compassionate brother she knew still existed under his hard exterior. “I've missed you - we all have. Sunday dinners aren't the same without you.” 

“I miss you guys too, but I'm trying to start fresh here, and you can't just waltz in here and be all critical and judgemental,” she explained in a calm voice. 

“I know. And that's not why I'm here either,” he assured. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope that he gave to her. “It's a plane ticket for tomorrow morning,” he explained. “I want you to come home with me.” 

Her heart sank in her chest as anger coursed through her entire body. She should have seen this coming a mile away, but he had completely blindsided her. “I'm building a life for myself here. I have an apartment, a job I love, and friends. I can't just leave. And more importantly; I don't want to.” 

“You had all those things back home too, but you had no problem leaving that behind… that and your family,” he pushed.

“That's not fair, you know why I left.” 

“You said that you needed space and time. You've had that,” he argued. 

“I needed to leave New York behind, you know that. That place just holds too many bad memories for me.” She felt that familiar lump in her throat, but she swallowed it. She couldn't let him see her cry, she couldn't show him any weakness. “It doesn't mean I've left you guys,” she tried to explain. 

“You know, when you go through a rough time, you ask for help. You don't run away,” he pressed. This was the exact argument they had the day she left. 

Beth didn't know that Kelly had a clear view of them from where he sat inside, and frankly, she was too angry at her brother to even consider the fact that anyone could hear or see their argument. 

“I didn't run away,” she snapped. “And I did ask for help - hell -I begged for help, but none of you gave it to me.” Now her eyes welled with tears and her throat burned, but she would not give him the satisfaction. 

“Because it was always for him, and never for yourself.” 

Kelly saw the tears in her eyes through the window, leapt from his seat and made a beeline for the door. He had no idea what was going on or what he was going to do - or if it was even his place - but he needed to do something.    

“Helping him would have helped me, but you guys turned your back on him - on both of us.” Her lower lip quivered, but she bit it back. 

“He turned his back on all of us first. He was a piece of shit, Beth, but you didn't want to see it… nothing we said or did-” 

Kelly came out just as Beth took a step closer to her brother and pressed an envelope to his chest. 

“He was our father, and he was sick,” she said in a warning tone, staring into her brother's eyes with as much resolve and determination that she could muster up. 

“Everything alright here?” Kelly asked from behind Beth. 

Brad's eyes flew to the stranger as he sized him up. “Everything is fine here,” he said courtly.

“I wasn't talking to you,” Kelly clarified. 

“We’re fine,” Beth said, not taking her eyes off her brother for even a second. “Brad was just leaving.” It was hard to explain, but just knowing that Kelly was there, that she had someone in her corner, helped her stand her ground.  

Silence followed as the two of them just stared at each other. It was Brad who admitted defeat first, knowing that his sister wouldn't back down here. He hated losing, but continuing this argument meant airing their dirty laundry in front of a stranger, and he was too proud to do that. “I hope you change your mind,” he said softly. 

“I won't,” she assured. “I'm good here.” 

Brad looked at Kelly and shook his head disapprovingly before he gave Beth's arm a squeeze, and then he said goodbye. 

She followed him with her eyes as he crossed the street and got into a car he probably had rented at the airport. She could feel Kelly behind her now, even before his hand landed on her lower back. 

“You okay?” he asked, worry in his voice. 

“I'm fine,” she said flatly. She turned around and looked up at him, seeing the concern on his handsome face. “Sorry about that.” 

It was very clear to him that she wasn't fine, but he didn't want to push her to talk to him. Besides, he didn't really know what sort of role he filled in her life right now, and if it was even his place to ask. “Don't apologize,” he assured, squeezing her arm. “If you want to talk, I'm -” 

“I don't want to talk,” she said, cutting him off before he could even finish his sentence. “Just want a drink.” 

“Then let's go get you a drink,” he offered with a smile. 

The two of them went back inside and before she even reached the bar, Gabby had a shot ready for her. Beth took the glass and threw the drink back before slamming the glass back on the counter for Gabby to fill it up again.

“Your brother is quite the charmer,” Herrmann commented as Beth threw back shot number two. He had absolutely no filter this man, which was just one of the many things that made Beth like him. 

“He's normally not like this,” she lied. “Things are just a little tense since I left. I'm sorry for bringing it here though. It won't happen again.” 

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart,” Herrmann assured, patting her on the back. 

Beth went back to work and Kelly joined his friends again. The two of them didn't really interact much through the rest of the evening, and it left him with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Around one a.m, Herrmann told Beth to take the rest of the night off, he could clearly see that her head wasn't in the game, and so he sent her home. Beth dug her phone from her purse as soon as she stepped outside and typed a quick text to Kelly. 

Walk me home?

Then she waited for about half a minute before he came through the door, and the two of them went back to her apartment. 

If you want a tag, just shoot me an ASK and we’ll make that happen. 

Remember that I have a monthly “raffle” where one person who has reblogged and commented on my work will receive a personalized drabble. You enter once with a reblog, and twice with a reblog and comment. 

If you like what you read, press that little reblog button, maybe leave me a little comment. Feedback is a great source of inspiration for me. 

Tags: @campingmonkey​ @deansgirl215​

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Don’t Worry, Be Snappy!

Summary: Amber finds herself stranded on a boat with Mike Weiss…and as anything where Mike is involved, it all gets a little crazy!

Warnings: Bad Language words.

A/N:  As it is past midnight here in the UK here it is!

BEWARE- This is utter, utter nonsense. You’re about to get an insight into exactly how stupid mine and @icanfeelastormbrewing​ ‘s minds and brain storming sessions really are. But it made us laugh, and we hope it makes you laugh too.

Written especially for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for her birthday! Happiest of days to you Ambi, we love you lots!!!

Fic Song: Don’t Worry, Be Happy by Bob Marley 

Now listen to what I said, in your life expect some trouble, when you worry you make it double. But don't worry, be happy, be happy now

 The problem with Mike Weiss is, well, just that he is Mike Weiss. Total crackpot, in more ways than one. Which was why Amber found herself one sunny July afternoon sailing down a literal creek without a paddle as they searched for his pet alligator. Mike had been struck by a sudden idea the previous night that it would be nice to take Snappy to the Everglades- “So he can associate with his own kind, learn so alligator social skills”

Of course, despite Mike’s protests to the contrary, Snappy was instinctively a fucking wild animal. So as soon as Mike had dropped him into the water he had slunk off into the weeds and completely ignored (again, not surprisingly) Mike’s calling of his name.

“Why did you let him go Mike?” Amber groaned, laying back on the bench in the boat.

“I was high, ok?” Mike sighed “Seemed like a good idea.” He chewed the inside of his cheek a little as he glanced around, hands on his hips “Here Snappy, Snappy.” “Yeah, he’s mingling Mike…there’s no fucking way we’re A- gonna find him, or B- he’s gonna come back!” “I love what a positive, always look on the Brightside kinda gal you are.” Mike shot her a look as he steered the boat carefully down the small reed lined stream.

“I’m a realist.” Amber sighed, still looking up at the clouds “You should try it sometime.”

At that point the boat they were on gave a little stutter and Amber sat up to see Mike glancing curiously at the controls.

“Erm…” he looked around “It broke.” “What do you mean it broke?” “Well it was working…” Mike rolled his eyes “And now it’s not.” “Fucks sake…let me try.” Amber sighed. She stood up, shoved Mike out of the way and she turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. With a groan she looked at him, her hands on her hips “I TOLD you we should have taken my fucking canoe.”

She flopped down back into her seat with a growl.

“Someone’s cranky” Mike whispered and Amber glared at him.

“You know what, I am, you’re right.” She pointed at him “You’re a dumb dork, who does dumb dork things, like letting an alligator go free in the middle of the swamp in FUCKING FLORIDA!”

Mike opened his mouth to say something but the sound of another boat engine drew their attention and they both turned. Amber’s eyes were instantly taken by the man steering the boat who was dressed in a white shirt and a dirty pair of jeans. His wind ruffled hair was stuck up slightly and his eyes were hidden by a set of aviators. A small girl with blonde hair sat besides him, a ginger cat on her lap and behind her perched a woman with long, reddy-brown hair, a pair of glasses also over her eyes.

“You guys alright?” the man asked as they pulled up alongside them.

“Yeah, this dumbass managed to strand us here.” Amber jerked her hand over her shoulder.

“Frank did that to us once.” The young girl grinned and the man who had just stopped the boat besides them looked down at her.

“That was the one time my repairs let me down.” He shook his head.

“One time too many.” She quipped.

Amber snorted, “I like you kid.”

The little girl smiled “I’m Mary, this is my uncle Frank and his girlfriend Fliss.”

“Nice to meet you all.” Amber smiled. “I’m Amber and this is Mike.”

“Want me to take a look at it?” Frank asked, nodding to the boat “I do it for a living so…”

“Be my guest.” Mike said, and Frank nodded, heading to the back of his boat.

“So what are you doing here?” Mary asked.

“Mary stop being so nosey.” Fliss sighed.  Mike gave a chuckle.

“We’re looking for my pet alligator…”

“Yeah Idiot Boy here set him loose. Thought he needed some alligator time with other alligators…” Amber rolled her eyes.

“You have a pet alligator?” Mary’s eyes widened. “Frank, can-“ “No.” Frank cut her off as he turned round, a length of rope in his hand.

“It can live in the pool!” Mary pressed

“Absolutely not.” Fliss looked at her and then their attention turned to Mike as he gave a chuckle.

“Can’t keep em in a pool kid, chlorine…not good.” Mary paused and then grinned “We can build him a lake in Monty’s field…” “The hell we can.” Frank snorted.

“Ah go on man, make the little girl happy!” Mike smiled. “They make great pets…”

“Clearly they don’t.” Frank grumbled, looking Mike up and down before he frowned at the man’s ridiculous shirt and trouser combination. Fliss grinned.

“Nice boots” she said, gesturing to Mike’s cowboy specials.

“Thanks!” Mike flashed her a cheeky grin and a wink.

“Shame about the rest of it.” Frank quipped, as he tied a length of rope to the side of the stranded boat, securing it to his own so he could hop over onto the deck.

“You’re calling my outfit out?” Mike scoffed, gesturing with his hand to Frank’s loud yellow and black Hawaiian print shirt “Exhibit A your honour.” “Clearly this is some sort of shit outfit competition.” Amber mumbled.

“I feel you sister.” Fliss grinned “Are you two…erm…together…or…” “Never seen him before in my life.” Amber denied and Fliss laughed.

“What the fuck Amber?” Mike protested.

“He just turns up from time to time when he has the munchies and eats all my Sour Patch Kids.”

“That’s not the only thing I eat.” Mike grinned and Frank let out a snort.

“Yeah, sure.” Amber rolled her eyes before she looked at Fliss and Mary, dropping her voice “He also eats my dog, Tikka’s, food.” “Frank ate one of Fred’s catnip treats once.” Mary said and Frank shrugged, not taking his attention of the engine of the boat.

“I wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

“You were drunk” Mary retorted.

“That was the night you came home saying the leprechauns had stolen your jacket.” Fliss said.

Mike grinned “I see leprechauns a lot.”

Amber shook her head “Jesus Christ…” she mumbled.

“Ok, I see the problem.” Frank smiled, stranding up and turning to Mike “You’re out of fuel.”

Amber blinked as Mike turned to her, giving her a small shrug and an innocent, boyish smile as she exploded “What the…you didn’t think to CHECK?” “I thought they were electric.” Mike shrugged.

“God you’re an idiot…should have brought my canoe.”

“You know, that’s the second time you said that.” Mike looked at her.

“Really, well here’s the third…” She snarked “I. SHOULD. HAVE. BROUGHT. MY. CANOE!”

“Ok, we can give you a tow back.” Frank said, moving back to climb into his own boat. “Get you back to the centre.” “No can do.” Mike shook his head, “Need to find Snappy…” “Yeah, erm…” Fliss pointed to something that was approaching them, a confused expression on her face “I think he may have already found you.” They all turned and as they watched Snappy sail past their boat led on an Alligator shaped pool inflatable, being pushed by an extremely good looking man in a wet suit. He glanced up at them, smiling, his teeth white from behind his beard and he flicked his long hair back out of his eyes.

“Leave no gator behind.” He said simply, as he continued swimming past, Snappy basking on his inflatable.

Amber blinked, looked at the can of coke she was holding and turned to Mike “What the fuck did you put in this?” “Nothing…” “And why am I suddenly cold?” she frowned.

“Cold?” Frank looked at her “It’s like 90 degrees…in the middle of Florida.”

“That may be, but I’m still cold…” she frowned “And why is it going dark…”

****

Amber sat bolt upright, her head colliding painfully with the bunk above her, breathing deeply as she looked around. The light and warmth she had been feeling had been replaced with dark and cold, the blues and greens of Florida swapped for the dark greys and browns of the train…

“Hey…” a familiar voice said and she turned to look at Curtis as he sat up besides her “You ok baby?”

“Yeah, I just had the strangest dream.” She said as her man gently rubbed between her shoulders as she began to explain to him what she’d been dreaming about. He arched an eyebrow, sniggered occasionally and then snorted with laughter, a rare thing for Curtis Everett, when she told him about the inflatable alligator.

“And Mike, Frank, the Diving guy…they looked a bit like you. Which is odd.” She finished shrugging.

“Well I’m clearly on your mind.” Curtis quipped as he lay back, arms folded behind his bed as he gave her a sinful look “And you should be on my face so I can wish you a happy birthday properly.”

Amber grinned and shuffled round to straddle him before she stopped, her hands falling to his chest.

“On one condition.” She smirked.

“What?”

“Take your beanie off first. It gives me a rash.”

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

First Meetings - Arthur Morgan/Elizabeth McGill

Series: Call it Fate or Call it Chance 

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Elizabeth McGill (Plus size, Female OC) 

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Summary: Arthur Morgan hears someone in distress in the woods and goes to help. It’s a small world though and soon finds himself meeting a friend of one of his acquaintances. Little does he know it’s the start of a relationship that might just change his fate.  

Warning: Talks of hunting, wolves get killed because they’re trying to eat OC, sorry! Talks of canon character death, spoilers? 

Rating: T

Notes: So, I don’t have the energy these days to write a full fic, but I figured if I write a series of interconnecting one-shots then I can write for these two, get the story there, but without needed them all to lead off from one another like chapters. This series will document that relationship between Arthur Morgan and Elizabeth McGill, a plus size, English OC of mine who’s basically the online character but with less of the outlaw stuff. I hope you love her as much as I do and I hope you enjoy this first part in the series.

Archiveofourown

I’m always happy for requests, suggestions, prompts, questions about this two even if my normal requests are closed. Feel free to draw my characters, feel free to write stuff for them, feel free to ask me questions about them. 

“Oh, go away you bloody little blighters! Shoo! I said shoo!” Arthur heard the call over all else, a lilting English accent, soft but scolding, like a mother to a troublesome child. He shifts Dave, the large black shire who he’d allowed Jack to name, forward, just breaching the tree line to see a woman standing on the lower branch of a tree, arms wrapped around the trunk. Wolves circled the base, baying, waiting, biding their time, hoping she’d slip. They were so entirely focused on her that they gave Arthur and the large horse no mind, not caring much for them at the moment. Clearly they had decided this woman was dinner and had some sort of spiteful vendetta, if wolves could feel spite that is. 

She was a plump thing, short in height, round in figure with dark chestnut hair piled high in a gibson style pompadour atop her head. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips painted a poppy red, heavy skirt falling around her feet, kicking up every now and then as a wolf attempted to jump high enough to reach her, to try for a bite. He watched her kick one a way, a well aimed kick that set the wolf flopping to the ground with a yelp before it got back up again growling. A pretty thing, for sure. 

Elizabeth McGill very rarely cursed out her horse, Scrawny, but today she was certainly doing so, mentally of course. She loved her big, doofus of a horse, the gypsy cob was anything but scrawny and he was gentle natured. He was, however, a coward when it came to wolves. He had bucked her so hard she’d lost her glasses, and in her haste to climb a tree hadn’t been able to find them again. If she could see she’d just shoot the bloody wolves circling her, unfortunately, she was blind as a, well, person without her glasses, and she did not trust that she’d hit a single one. She was usually a fine shot, hunting had become part of her trade, but...she usually could see while doing it. It also didn’t help that Scrawny had run off with all but her revolver, leaving her there. His loyalty was astounding. 

“Y’alright, miss?” She can’t see much, just a blurry shape at the edge of the trees, big enough to be a man on a horse, big and dark coloured. The voice is deep, a heavy southern drawl that is pleasant on the ears, even more so because she’s been waiting desperately for a helping hand. 

“I could do with a little assistance, sir!” She was usually the one helping others, but today, the tables had turned and she was not going to turn down the one person who’d arrived in the last half hour. She was fed up of clinging to a tree trunk especially in a heavy autumn skirt. She hadn’t been planning on hunting that day, she’d already done quite enough on the journey down from the Adler Ranch and had been close to Valentine, expecting to simply sell the pelts, teeth, claws, and the like that she’d gathered. Her first mistake was expecting a simple, calm journey of course. Things never were simple or calm, if it wasn’t a cougar attempting to eat her, an ambush by some local gang, or some fellow in need of help, then it was bad weather or snakes. The latter of which Scrawny hated even more than wolves, if that was possible. 

She didn’t so much as watch the man circle around on his horse, shooting the wolves, as much as squint ineffectively and listen to the sound of hooves clipping the dirt, snorts from a remarkably brave horse, and the dying yelps of wolves. Part of her was envious that Scrawny wasn’t that brave, had he been she could have easily dealt with the wolves herself and never ended up in this damnable tree.

“You can come down now, miss.” The man proffers a hand and Elizabeth takes it using its strength and a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she clambers down from her perch, she’s still blind and the help is appreciated. She doesn’t doubt that she’d easily take quite the tumble without guidance. He is nothing if not respectful, the other hand that rests at her waist to help down is placed just so as not to cause offence and is removed the moment her feet are on stable ground. 

What he truly notices is just how short she really is, now she’s beside him her head barely comes to his shoulder. He feels suddenly too imposing, large, and feels the urge to make himself smaller if only to appear less intimidating. 

“I...thank you, do you happen to see a pair of spectacles on the ground? My horse bucked me and I lost them...otherwise I would have handled the wolves myself but, i’m rather blind like this.” Arthur finally notices the way her hazel eyes don’t quite focus on him or her surroundings, when he speaks she can’t quite look him in the eye, but instead moves her gaze around as if trying to. Her squint is also more noticeable all of a sudden and he finds himself hastening to find her spectacles, looking across the ground careful to mind his step. 

“You probably shouldn’t go telling strange men that, ma’am, some might take advantage.” He doesn’t say it to be intimidating or the like, simply out of concern. She clearly couldn’t see well without them and a lesser man, someone like Micah, would surely take advantage. Her trust in him is refreshing but concerning at the same time. He, after all, does not consider himself to be a good man.

“Well, it’s a good thing that a gentleman like yourself happened by instead then, Mr…?” She knows he is concerned for her, she is sure like many men before he thinks her too naïve, too sweet, and perhaps he isn’t wrong on some of those counts. But, she preferred not to live life assuming the worst of everyone, even if people tended to prove that they were indeed rather rotten inside. The amount of strangers in need of help she’d stopped by only to be ambushed was rather alarming at times. But, she did pride herself on her own ability to look after herself, except when she found herself without her glasses. 

“Morgan, Arthur Morgan.” 

“Elizabeth McGill, a pleasure. Thank you, for stopping. I might have been up there for hours otherwise, until they got bored that is, but...I’ve known wolves to bide their time.” She pretends to help because really her running her hands along the grass isn’t doing much, she can’t see after all. 

“Uh, here, Miss McGill, your glasses.” He finds them a ways away from the tree, far enough that he knows she’d have never found them on her own. They’re round and surprisingly unbroken which he is oddly relieved to see for a man not at all invested in them. He passes them to her, watches them change the shape of her face, the clarity coming to her eyes as she blinks up at him with a soft smile. They suit her, feel like something she’s supposed to be wearing, not something that she has to wear. 

For the first time Elizabeth can see her saviour clearly and the man certainly impressed. He was tall, that she already knew even without her glasses, and he was broad, strong, the sort of man that could clearly lift a heavy weight, tackle a man to the ground or hold his own in a fist fight. Mr Morgan had a weathered, but handsome face, little freckles marked his skin, signs of spending time in the sun, his beard was long but neat, but most striking of all were his eyes. He had the most gentle bluish-green eyes she’d seen on a man of his size. 

“You gonna be okay? Your horse still around?” His brows pulled together in the middle out of concern and she found herself smiling at him without much thought. He had been kinder to her in the last 15 minutes than most people were. It warmed her heart just a little more. 

“He’ll be around,” She stops and whistles, sharp, and high. Clear as crystal, and waits a few beats before whistling again. This time Arthur can hear the sound of heavy hooves galloping forward and moves just in time to avoid a large palomino gypsy cob that comes careening out from behind some trees. The horse is lumbering and large as any draft horse is, white and cream dappled coat, dirty from his escape. His hindquarters are covered in pelts, more pelts than Arthur has ever seen, and it’s clear to him that this Miss McGill is a skilled hunter and, if not for her spectacle issue, would have been just fine on her own. It changes his opinion of her, shapes it from a naive, delicate woman, to someone more capable, though still seemingly sweet and lady-like. If possible his interest in her peaked further. 

She places her hands on her wide hips, scowling up at the horse, who’s nodding his head up and down at her in greeting with little nickering sounds, “Scrawny. I hope you know I’m terribly disappointed in you. Leaving me like that. I thought we agreed we were going to work on this wolf phobia of yours, or were you just conning me out of all those oatcakes?”

The horse huffs in a decidedly human way that makes Arthur grin, he doesn’t doubt the big thing had been making away with as many oatcakes as possible with absolutely no understanding or intention of facing a pack of wolves anytime soon.

“You’re lucky that kind Mr Morgan here was happy to help, what would you do if I was eaten by a ferocious pack of wolves?” The horse nickers and presses his large head against her, bumping into her hard enough for her to let out an ouph and take a few steps back. Her back hitting Arthur’s chest, he raised his hands to the tops of her arms to steady her before taking a polite step back, aware he could easily crowd her. 

“I was just doing what anyone would, Miss McGill.” She turns to raise an eyebrow at his words and he feels decidedly admonished before she’s even parted those red lips.

“I think we both know that’s not true, Mr Morgan. I’ve stopped to help enough people who’ve turned a gun on me to know that you are one of a small minority of good folk, whether you want to believe you are or not.” She watches him rub the back of his neck, worn hat tilting forward to hide half his face, but she can still see the beginning flush to his skin from the attention and the creeping little smile twisting at the corners of his mouth. It makes her smile in return, this large, imposing man, bashful at a little compliment like that. 

“What are you doing out here anyways, Miss?”

“I just came down from the mountains. I was visiting a friend who...well, she wasn’t there and her...her husband was dead.” There is a shaky pause, he can see her hand trembling slightly at the thought of her friend and her husband before she bunches it up in her skirt, “Did some hunting on the way down, figured I'd make my usual stop in Valentine to Ted, the butcher, usually gives me a fair price for the things I bring him.” 

Elizabeth can still see poor Jake’s face, cold, frozen solid in the back of a wagon. Some animals had gotten to him before he’d frozen completely and she’d spent a whole day just digging him a grave, hard work considering the ground was almost completely solid itself. But she couldn’t leave him like that and she knew he’d prefer being buried on his own property to burned or some such. She still had blisters on her palms from the digging, despite gloves the hard work had rubbed her hands raw. Made it a tad more difficult to hunt on the way down with her bow, but she’d managed. 

“What was your friend's name?”

“Mrs Adler, Sadie Adler. Used to do jobs for her and her husband when I visited...why?”

“Well, it’s a small world, Miss McGill.” He looks almost surprised at the name she’d thrown out, before smiling at her softly and elaborating, “Me and my friends, we found her oh about...3 weeks back? She was in a pretty bad state, but she’s been with us since. Awful business that with her husband, some O’Driscolls killed him.” Arthur looks apologetic and it soothes her distress to know that at least Sadie is safe, that at least despite all the bad luck in the world something had gone right for her. She hadn’t been found by someone else, someone who would hurt her and that was a small blessing in a world full of problems and bad people. 

“You and your friends?” It’s said with a raised eyebrow and all he can do is rub the back of his neck and look away from her. It doesn’t feel right to lie to her, when she clearly suspects his friends aren’t just his drinking buddies. But, he’s not entirely sure if he can trust her. She seems nice enough, but plenty of people seem nice enough till they find out you have a bounty on your head. Not that Elizabeth could take him in, he doubts given the sheer difference in size that she’d manage it on her own. But, he wouldn’t put it past her to try...if she were so inclined. To him she seems both gentle, delicate, and formidable, words that seem like they shouldn’t work together until you look at her. 

“Well…”

“Relax, Mr Morgan. I understand.” She does, she’s known enough ‘gangs’ of ‘outlaws’ to know that not all are as bad or dishonourable as they seem and that the need to protect their made family was great. She had her suspicions but if they had helped Sadie as Arthur had helped her then she had little doubt that they were the honourable sort of outlaw that she had little problem with. So long as innocent people weren’t getting hurt and the poor weren’t being robbed from she had few objections, even if she personally wasn’t comfortable with robbing or lying, herself. 

The world was a harsh place, few could support themselves on simple law abiding trades like hunting. She was lucky in that respect. One mouth to feed was different to 20. 

“Could I...I hesitate to ask, after all you’ve done for me, Mr Morgan...but could I see her? I...I can’t imagine what she’s going through and I’d like her to know Jake had a proper burial. I did rites and all. She deserves to know.” She twists her hands together, nervous of his answer. She could understand if he said no, he clearly needed to protect his gang and she was a stranger to him. But, she wanted to see her friend and most of all she wanted her friend to know that Jake wasn’t left out there to be eaten or for someone else to find. She’d even managed to gather some of Sadie’s things from the ranch in the end. Photos and trinkets that she’d hoped at the time to be able to give her if she was still alive. 

Arthur rubbed a large scarred hand across his beard, the hairs scratching at his skin as he looked at her. She was small in stature, soft in body, and those hazel eyes held honest intentions. Taking her back to camp wasn’t without risk, but a liar knew a liar when he saw one. She didn’t care about his gang, she wasn’t hunting them down for a fat bounty, she just wanted to see her friend and after everything Mrs Adler had been through he thought she might want to see her friend too. 

With a deep sigh and a quick thought that he hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, Arthur pulled the black bandana from his back pocket. “I’d have to blindfold you, Miss...I gotta...I gotta protect them and I can’t be havin’ you know where we’re at. You understand?”

She could walk away, that was the offer. Be blindfolded by this stranger, this tall, broad, imposing figure or walk away. It was an easy decision to make. He was large and he was imposing, but the gentle way he held out the piece of cloth, the soft furrow to his brow, the way he hunched his shoulders to look smaller, all those things told her he was a good man. Not a pure man, not devoid of wrongdoing or bad deeds, but good in the sort of way that a man out here could be good. She would be safe with him. She could trust his intentions towards her. 

“I understand, Mr Morgan.” She consents taking the fabric from him, it is softer than she expects, “Before we go, I'd suggest we skin those wolves. Your camp needs food I'm sure and those pelts’ll fetch you a good bit of coin, waste not want not.”

“Are you sure?” She’s the hunter after all, or it seems that way and part of Arthur can’t help but feel like she’d have done just fine without him had her glasses not been knocked off. Maybe, she’d been wanting to hunt the four wolves in the first place. He doesn’t want to offend her by taking what she might see as hers, but she just gives him another one of those looks that reminds him of a prettier, younger, much more amicable Ms. Grimshaw. 

 “Mr Morgan, you shot them, they’re yours to plunder. I have enough bloody pelts as it is, Scrawny here would probably complain if he had a few more to carry, right boy?” As if in answer the big cob nods his head up and down with a huff, clearly used to be used as a pack horse. He’s not sure the horse really understands the question, but it’s clear he’s a responsive horse used to a talkative owner, not like Dave who’s stood quietly behind Arthur, only occasionally nudging him with his nose and nibbling at strands of his hair as if expecting a sugar cube to be there. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” She helps him skin them, while she hadn’t intended to do any skinning today and her blouse would certainly hate her for it, sharing the work would make it go quicker and she could offer a few tips as they went. Not much seeing as Mr Morgan was already a skilled hunter by the looks of things. The pelts were in fine condition, he was clearly a good shot, one rifle round to each wolf’s head, no mess, no unnecessary injuries or wasted ammunition. While they had wanted to kill her, she held a healthy respect for wolves and was glad that they didn’t die slowly. Quickly, cleanly, and humanely, something she held dear when it came to hunting. 

Elizabeth grabbed a ratty cloth from her saddlebag, using it and some water from a canteen to clean her arms, it was never smart to leave blood on you and it wasn’t particularly nice either. She offered both to Arthur who gladly did the same, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick forearms being cleaned of blood. It was startling to her in that moment that she didn’t feel scared or worried at all. Here she was in the woods with a stranger, a broad, striking and clearly strong stranger, who had multiple guns, a hunting knife, and a bow all on hand. Yet, she didn’t feel a lick of apprehension or worry. 

“Who’s this beautiful boy then?” There was a split second when Arthur, despite himself, almost thought she was talking to him. That was clearly not the case when he looked up startled to see her approaching Dave. The large shire usually disliked others, but was only watching the woman cautiously, deciding whether to bite, kick, or con her out of some food. When Hosea had given him the large beast claiming he was hard to handle and that he’d be better off selling him, something in Arthur had understood. The horse was a bit like him, he was a bit world weary, cautious of others, afraid of getting hurt, but underneath it all a soft hearted thing. 

“...Dave.” He wished in that moment that he hadn’t allowed Jack to name the shire, he loved Dave. Had bonded well with him, but telling a pretty lady that your horse was named Dave rather than Boadicea was a might embarrassing especially when that horse was 17 hands high and capable of trampling wolves underfoot. 

“He’s beautiful.” She likes his name, not that she says that, but it’s clear from the flush to Arthur’s cheeks that he’s not confident in the name choice. She thinks it suits. The shire is beautiful, giant compared to her and larger than Scrawny who was an impressive 15 hands high, especially considering his breed. The Shire pawed at the ground as she got closer, but she hushed him, little quiet comments and soothing sounds, a hand pulling a sugar cube from a skirt pocket. 

There was always something special about getting a horse like that to trust you, to eat from your palm and accept the touch of your hand to their neck. Dave was clearly a distrusting animal, but he let her pat his neck and brush his forehead. He let her tie Scrawny’s reins to his saddlehorn knowing she couldn’t guide herself blindfolded. 

“He don’t usually take to people too well…”

“Well, he just needs a kind touch that’s all. Someone hurt him real bad and he just needs to know that won’t happen again, right, sweetheart?” She says to the horse in a gentle tone, low and quiet. Arthur feels as if she’s talking about him, he thinks on the times he’s been bitten, the way he’s drawn back from people and he understands a little bit more why he and Dave work so well together. They’re two sides of the same damn coin and this woman had a way with both of them already. 

She takes a few steps back, before turning and clambering up into her own saddle. Despite the sheer size of her own horse, she manages well enough to clamber on up even in a thick, heavy skirt. She settles herself, arranges her skirt and takes those delicate round spectacles off and pockets them before grabbing the fabric he’d given her. 

“You’ll make sure Scrawny doesn’t run into any trees?” 

“I got you, miss. Don’t you worry.” It’s with that that Elizabeth wraps the blindfold around her eyes and tightens it at the back of her head, hand holding onto the saddlehorn as they begin to move. 

Arthur cannot help but be a little bit in awe at the trust she has decided to place in him.

[redneckangelsdrinkmoonshine]

Heaven Forbid/ 5. November, 2021

Chapter 1 - "When It Rains, It Pours" (draft)

It was almost as if the Georgian skies were falling apart; rain poured down freely while the wind wailed like a banshee that was hiding somewhere off in the distance. It seemed to carry the same promise of death and destruction.

The wipers of the Impala squeaked and screeched like never as they struggled to fight off the Tsunami that was gathered at the bottom of the windshield. Sam thought that he should maybe turn them off, at least then his brother wouldn’t have to get new ones because these were bound to break any second. However, that was the least of their concerns, and they seemed to have plenty. Surprisingly, the storm with chances of a tornado wasn’t one of them either. What was, was currently bleeding out on the backseat while Dean’s shaky hands applied pressure to the wound on the poor creature’s abdomen while holding him at a weird angle so neither his back or stomach were in contact with the seat. Creature, because they had no idea what Cas was anyway.

Castiel started coughing violently when he and Dean jerked to the side due to the harsh turn. Dean wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, but he decided it was a good thing; if Cas had enough air in his lungs to cough then he was going to be alright. “Okay, Sammy, we’re gonna go down Chestlehurst road, pass two churches, cross the bridge that goes over Keg creek, then at the end of the street you’re gonna make a left. Then we go down, the farm is on the right.”

“Go a bit faster, Goddammit! Would’ve been faster if we carried the freaking car there!” The last part was muttered under Dean’s breath, his wide, green eyes skimmed all over the place, from the red of Cas’s blood to the scenery that passed by them, always searching for the signs on the highway, showing which miles they passed. Dean’s free hand cradled Cas’s head closer to his chest as his other hand pressed down even harder, letting out a barely there sigh when Cas muttered some nonsense under his breath, “Ey buddy, just hang on a little longer, alright? You’re a tough son of a bitch, the toughest one I know.” Castiel's shirtless self was shivering hard, which was understandable, he had lost a lot of blood. Dean paused before he buried his face in Castiel’s dirty, tousled hair and planted a careful kiss on the top of his head, “Don’t you dare prove me wrong, you hear me? I know you hate to disappoint me, you’ve never done that so don’t start now, okay?”

The older Winchester continued to track the plates on the highway, making a mental check to make sure they were heading the right way. He sighed in relief when he saw the exit, along with the sign that said “sixteen”, “Here! Right here!”

Dean cursed under his breath when he felt the blood soak through the handkerchief and seep into his hand like ink, he didn't even want to think about the open wounds on his back which were left to the mercy of the air, “Alright Sammy, I don’t care about the freaking damage from potholes or whatever, Baby can handle it, however – look, the shock absorbers are stronger than Cas right now so just go freaking faster.”

They were almost there but it still felt as if it would take ten more hours. Just when Dean started to fear the worst because Cas was way too quiet for way too long and almost completely unresponsive, the farm came into view. He patted Cas’s shoulder as his younger brother breathed out a sigh of relief, “It’s okay Cas, we’re here, we’re gonna be okay.” Just when Dean was ready to let out a colorful combination of curse words, relief washed over him when he saw that the storm had taken care of the gate that would’ve been in their way was it otherwise. Sam went all the way to the house, parking the car on the side. He opened his door as Dean gave him instructions, “Tell them we need help, I don’t want to move him unless I know exactly how to.” Sam nodded as he scrambled out of the Impala and rounded the side of the house. Dean took in a shaky breath and all of the air left his lungs when he noticed that Castiel was way too still for his liking, “Cas? Castiel?!”

The door to his side opened and there stood Sam, a man with a white beard and a guy who looked way too much like Bobby. They helped get Cas out of the car gently, somehow Castiel didn’t even grunt in protest, and once Dean was somewhat stable on his feet, he accepted the weight of the fallen angel in his arms. The older man spoke,”We’ve gotta take ‘im to the infirmary, from what I see we don’t have much time.”

-

The storm had calmed, but not the one inside Dean’s head. He was sitting on a chair, his eyes were unfocused and his dull nails were picking at the blood that seemed to be almost like ink that was deep under his skin. The rain outside was nothing but a calm drizzle, however it caused them nothing but anxiety. Sam was pacing back and forth, shooting worried glances at his brother, but Dean didn’t even have the energy to tell him he was fine. Maybe because he wasn’t, he was far from it.

The scene from earlier that day played in his mind on repeat, over and over again. His own terrified scream made his ears ring and his head pound, the vision of Castiel chained up like a rabbit with zero signs of life showing. Surprisingly the only threat was a deep wound in his abdomen that made both Sam and Dean fear that he had already lost a lot of blood, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. It was almost like Cas had fought so hard to stay alive just so he could make sure they found him so he could say goodbye.

The brothers finally regained their control and returned to the plan, they had to get Castiel out of these chains and into the Impala. Dean stood in front of Castiel yet again, ready to catch him before he fell. However, when Sam started to undo the restrains, Castiel’s eyes opened but he didn’t seem to see a thing. His mouth was open in a silent scream, ready to fight whoever was in sight which made Dean equally terrified and proud. But then Castiel’s eyes finally met Dean’s and he immediately calmed down. He tilted his head to the side in his typical Cas way before he breathed out with a barely there smile, “Dean?” With that, his eyes rolled back and Dean accepted Castiel’s limp body into his arms when the last chain was undone.

Of course, they couldn't have nice things. They found Castiel, he was alive, but the wound on his abdomen wasn't the only major one.

When Dean cradled Cas’s face in his shaky hands, his vision was blurry with tears. Sam started to undo the chains while Dean got in the right position to accept Castiel’s weight, but then Sam jumped back with a startled "Son of a bitch!". Of course it didn't sound well, so Dean went to stand next to Sam. The sight in front of them was gruesome: there were six slices across Castiel's back, parallel to one another. The longest set was seven inches long and about three inches wide, the other two were about five inches in length and two inches in width. The longest set was the one in the middle, the first row was on the shoulder blades and the third was maybe just shy of the small of Castiel's back. Slightly underneath them, on either side of Castiel's loin, about eight inches under where the third set of cuts ended stood another set of wounds, but in a round shape. They were slightly burned, almost as if whoever made these cuts decided to seal them shut. Their attempt to stop the bleeding was more or less useless, because blood still oozed and trickled down slowly but steadily.

When the two week marker of Castiel’s absence hit, Dean decided to look for clues. However, he had no idea where to begin. Thankfully, when Dean used his heart, Sam used his brain.

All types of feelings burned in his veins. Dean was overwhelmed with sadness, anger, hurt, and hopelessness, but the worst of it all was grief. What was he going to tell Claire and Jack? Why did Cas go off somewhere in the first place, without even telling Dean? That son of a bitch had to have the nerve to die before answering Dean’s many questions.

Dean had no idea how it was so hard for Cas to learn. Through the past thirteen years, whenever Castiel or any of their trio, sometimes even the extended crew, whenever anyone didn’t tell the others what they were up to something bad happened. But Castiel always took it to the next level. The thing with the Leviathans was bad, then Naomi, Metatron. From bad to worse. However, Cas getting stabbed and not having the ability to heal himself? That only meant one thing, Castiel’s grace was damaged or completely gone. He was no longer an angel. Dean decided that Castiel had scraped the absolute bottom.

Back in the beginning of it all, when their father had disappeared and Dean went to look for him with Sam, they looked for clues in John’s journal. Ever since they found the bunker, they no longer used that thing. Whenever Castiel was around and they didn’t have a case, he would sit around with a book. Castiel was the only one who had read all of the books, some of them even more than once and whenever he left the bunker, he would come back with even more books, some were normal novels, others were books they could use for research. That one thing Castiel loved to read more than anything was John’s journal. When Dean noticed that his friend had read the journal for the fiftieth the time, the next time he went out to get more beer and some pie, he stopped by the bookstore he knew Cas liked and bought a travel journal. The thing looked quite thick, it had enough pages for Cas to fill with his smartass thoughts and discoveries. Dean even bought a bunch of pens and some pencils, along with a sharpener and an eraser, for all he knew Castiel was a hidden Picasso. The only reason Dean had bought that journal was because the leather covers were the same beige as Castiel’s trench coat and the silk string that separated the pages was the deep shade of blue that was Cas’s newest suit.

Castiel was stunned, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. He carefully peered inside the bag and a child-like innocence lit up his face. His eyes were wide and Dean decided to ignore the way his heart started beating faster. He shrugged as he pushed himself away from the door frame, “At this point you’ve read dad’s journal a hundred times. I’m sure you’re an expert now and I, I decided it’d be a good idea to create your own journal.” Castiel’s lips trembled slightly before he beamed with an adorable, sickeningly-sweet smile on his face, the type of smile that made his nose scrunch up and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Thank you.” Dean nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed before he reached out and patted Castiel’s chest gently, “Alright, get in the shower, you smell like crap.” Castiel rolled his eyes with a hint of a smile before he stepped back enough to close the door.

Dean knew he would always remember Castiel’s face when he gave him that journal. He had it in a simple paper bag, Cas was in his room in the bunker, the number fifteen was no longer black, Cas had changed it to gold when he claimed the room as his own.

Cas and Dean never knocked on each other’s doors. When he opened the door, Dean was taken by surprise when he saw Castiel doing handstand push-ups in perfect form, “Damn, I don’t know if I should come back later or go get some popcorn and a drink.” Dean had to mask his laughter with a cough when he scared Castiel so badly that he crumbled to the ground with a squeak, “Y’know Cas, I thought angels were supposed to be graceful-” “And I thought humans did that thing where they knock and ask for permission before they enter a closed door.” Dean tried to look wherever but his eyes were glued to Cas's naked, sweaty upper body. The fact that he wore some of Dean's old sweats didn't help at all. Maybe the angel knew what he was doing because he purposefully lifted himself on his hands before he set down his feet and slowly straightened up to his full height. Dean cocked his head to the side in surprise, “I didn’t know you have a tattoo.” Cas looked at the ink on his ribs as he scratched it, “Got it back when I was human. Angels were, as you say, on my ass, and I needed to protect myself somehow. It hurt like hell but I ended up liking it. I could heal it completely, remove the ink from my body if I wanted to, but I don’t mind it.” He undid the strings of his pants to redo them and Dean found it nearly impossible to look Cas in the eyes, “What’s up, is there a case?” Dean shook his head as he licked his lips, “Nah, we’ve got a day off, for now. Look, I've, uh, I’ve got something for you.” He held out the bag with a small smile.

Castiel loved that journal way too much. He carried it everywhere and wrote in it a lot. He would sit at the big wooden table, surrounded by books and he would write whatever he found important in a notebook, then write it in the journal and he would even separate the different subjects and highlight important things. From thoughts to detailed sketches here and there that made John’s sketches look like doodles done by a toddler. Dean knew all of that because Cas would show him his progress from time to time. Of course Dean waited until Cas was not around so he could read whatever was on Cas’s mind. There was a single section of the journal that was written in Enochian and the fact that Dean didn’t understand it pissed him off, but he never asked what any of these words meant, because he respected Castiel's privacy.

Looking through John’s journal helped them find him so Sam was sure that if there was a place where they’d find any useful information it would be in Castiel’s journal. Dean had found it in the pocket of Castiel’s trench coat which was folded on the foot of Castiel’s bed. That was a huge red flag since Castiel never took it off and never went anywhere without the journal unless he was going to get in some real dirty business.

The man moved on, this time talking about Castiel's recovery, "We need to be sure he’s going to make it through the night, when he wakes up we’re going to turn the respirator off and we're going to figure out a way to make him rest on his side so he wouldn't have to put pressure on his back. I suggest someone stays with him all the time, I will also send one of my daughters from time to time to check his vitals. If all goes well, he should wake up tomorrow, well, today by noon. Worst case scenario, he'd be out for days, but he should pull through.” Sam sighed as he put a hand on his chest, sincerity dripping from his tone, “Thank you so, so much and I apologize for coming so late, but you were the only option we really had. We were sure you would be the best shot.” Dean nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets, “Yea, really, that guy there? He’s family. We‘re really, really grateful for what you did. Every single second you spent working on him. Thank you.” The elderly one nodded his head, his deep eyes showing nothing but kindness and sympathy. “Thank me when he wakes up, son. I’m sorry about Bobby. He was a good man, such a shame he’s no longer with us.”

The door to the living room opened and the brothers looked at the newcomers. The man from the earlier walked inside, followed by a woman with kind eyes and blonde hair. The man was still wiping his hands on a towel, smears of Castiel’s blood stood out his snow-white shirt. Dean quickly got to his feet as he turned to the man, ignoring the warning look his brother sent him, “How is he? Is he going to be okay?” The man gave a single nod as he replied, “He is stable. I have fixed people up before, but I wasn’t really sure if he’s human at all, not that I wouldn’t have helped him, I just needed some time and information. Your guy is a lucky one, people with his injuries usually don’t last as long as he did. He’s going to be okay.” Dean sighed as he allowed his chin to fall against his chest while Sam slapped his back in victory. They returned their attention to the man when he spoke up, “He’s under right now, the medication I fixed in his IV is going to make him rather drowsy for a while, but his body needs to rest. There were multiple stab wounds, cuts, and bruises. Clear signs of torture. The stab wound in his abdomen is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, the ones on his back... I had to operate, but it should heal nicely. For now we’re keeping him on a respirator, better safe than sorry. There's an extra cocktail of pain killers because until he wakes up, he has to rest on his back and even if the removal was done nicely -" "Wait, removal?" Dean stepped forward as he pointed military-style, all five fingers pointed at Hershell, "What do you mean by removal?"

The older man was quiet for a second, trying to choose his words wisely, "If I'm not mistaken, your friend is an angel. A Seraph, judging by the count of the wings. I'm a religious man and to be completely honest, I have no idea how they did what they did... But the easy explanation would be that your friend had his wings and uropygial glands removed. I can't say anything else now until your friend has woken up and I've been able to run an actual check-up. There are zero traces of grace, of anything holy for that matter. He was turned mortal in a surgical way, something I've read about in some Norse myths." Dean lifted his hand and wiped his mouth, struggling to bottle the fear he felt. Sam had gone visibly pale and he was gaping like a fish out of water, so Dean could only guess that the news had hit him just as hard.

A moment of silence followed, Dean had to bite his tongue to swallow the urge to roll his eyes at the man and his wife when they did the “cross my heart and hope to die”. Dean reached out his hand as he introduced himself and his brother, “I’m Dean, this is my brother, Sam. The guy back there, his name is Castiel, but we call him Cas for short.” They all shook hands and then the man put a hand on the woman’s back, “I’m Hershel. This here, is my wife Anette. She pretty much did most of the work, thank God she’s a nurse, just like our youngest, Beth. These two are the brains, I’m nothing but a Christian man and a vet with a little bit of basic knowledge.”

Both Dean and Sam gulped at the same time. They shared a look, “A vet? Like... You mean a military doctor or-” Sam paled while his brother simply stood speechless, “-you mean veterinarian.” Hershel nodded before he shot a look at his wife who was struggling to hide her amusement. Dean cleared his throat as he pointed towards the door, “You, do you mind if I go check up on him? Y’know, just to make sure you haven’t attached bunny ears to him or some-” The “thing” came out in a grunt when Sam elbowed his brother a bit too harshly. Hershel gave him a nod as he stepped out of the way.

-

Mud stuck to Dean’s boots and he cringed when he saw that he had already left a print or two on the white tile floor of the infirmary. He paused to take them off by the front door and just as he was putting the left boot next to the right, he heard a voice, “Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m going to clean up in a second.”

While the girl got back to wiping the floors, Dean took his sweet ass time in front of the door that separated him from Castiel. He was afraid his heart was going to burst from anxiety. He bowed his head as he allowed his body to shake off the nerves, “Alright, stop acting like a chick.” He breathed in through his nose before he almost angrily gripped the door handle.

There was a girl that reminded him of the human version of Bambi. Her blonde curls were up in a messy ponytail with a fell braids here and there, her big blue eyes were almost like skies on a hot, summer day.

She had a kind smile on her clean, round face, such a comforting smile that Dean felt his own lips quirk up, “Don’t want to give you any more work, I’m sure we’ve already made a mess.” The girl was almost offended by Dean’s comment, “No, no! It’s okay, really! Like Daddy says, a good Christian is always there to help people.” Dean’s smile flattened a bit, but he made sure it wasn’t obvious, “Sure, I agree, I guess. Hershel is your dad, which probably makes you Beth?” The girl nodded with a soft "mm" sound as Dean awkwardly padded his way over to her in his socketed feet. He felt almost naked without the comfort of his boots but he tried to ignore it, “I’m Dean.” They shook hands, Dean was surprised by her firm grip and slightly calloused, warm hand, “Thank you for what you did to help our friend. His name is Castiel, by the way.” Beth’s smile softened, sympathy overtook her angelic features. “Oh, don’t even mention it!” She did a quick once-over and a childish mischievousness showed in her eyes, “I should probably let you get to him, would be nice for you to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. Goodnight, Dean.” Dean paused before he decided to ignore it and instead flashed her a smile, “Goodnight, Beth.”

Just as he opened the door, he stopped like a deer in headlights. Once he snapped out of it, he closed the door so he could give them some privacy. Well, himself. Because he didn’t want to break down in front of Beth.

Castiel looked so small, he almost disappeared in the bed. The machines beeped, one dripped, the scariest of them was the one that hummed as it blew air into something that was like a muzzle, hiding that beautiful face. Castiel almost didn’t look like himself, the hospital gown was way too huge on him and he looked like he was drowning in that clothing.

There was a cut over his left eyebrow, another cut that seemed to go all the way from his bottom lip went down to his chin. He was wearing a shiner, his cheekbone was a sick, dark purple with red dots all over it, the corners of the bruise were already an ugly shade of green. However Dean knew that these injuries were nothing compared to the wound on his abdomen.

Dean lowered himself on the chair by Castiel’s bedside. His panicked eyes roamed all over the room and then over Castiel. He took a shaky breath before he reached over and took Castiel’s hand in his, “Alright, Cas, you son of a bitch. No matter what happens, no matter what you did, we’re gonna figure it out. You, me and the gang. You just need to wake up. That’s all, that’s all we need from you.” He furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes finally settled on Castiel’s closed ones, “That’s all I need from you. I need you.”

Dean’s hand went up to drag his palm over his face before he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled, hoping that pain would wake him up from whatever nightmare he was in. Even if Castiel’s injuries weren’t that bad, Dean knew that the emotional damage would be hard for Castiel to handle.

Castiel was drowning in guilt as an angel and angels weren’t supposed to feel emotions. Sure, Castiel was different, almost special, but he was still an angel. Angels were God’s soldiers. There was no thing such as a military man that walked away with all of his mentality. PTSD, depression, anxiety, that was just some of it. Castiel was once God's best soldier, a commander of his garrison, not to mention how many times Castiel proved that even if he was protecting the humans on Earth, his biggest priority was to serve God. Well, it used to be. Dean saw it all happen with his own eyes, the day Jack became God was the day Castiel gave up on religion and instead chose family. However, his past was still heavy on his shoulders. Dean was one to know God’s ways weren’t fair, so he didn’t even want to know, didn’t want to think of what Castiel had to do in Chuck’s name. Not to mention the things he did after he joined Team Free Will, the things he was so guilty of and the ones that once made him consider suicide.

[moirai-au]

Timeline: Arc 2 - Outside, right after Crash

Warnings: blood, stabbing mention

Taglist: @immabethehero @bupine​ @tabbynerdicat @i-maybe-exist @its-ethan-bro @sandinthetardis @taikeero-lecoredier @idkwheresanti @thebluejaysworld @chainsthatbindthisrouletteofmine

*****

It was a pretty beautiful morning, all things considered. Clear skies with only a few funny-shaped clouds, following a starry night with only a few creeps to beat into the ground. Usual stuff.

Granted, his current predicament was an… unexpected development. Ending up in a total stranger’s house, bleeding all over his very comfy and expensive-looking couch, in his very expensive-looking living room, in his VERY big and expensive-looking house-

I mean shit, could it even be called a house? This place was gigantic! Like, Wayne Manor levels of classy. With a hint of creepy, what with all the covered mirrors. Seriously, what was up with those?

“I called for help. No, it’s not an ambulance or the police, I heard you just fine the first time.”

Ollie closed his mouth, the words dying on his tongue. He pouted at the taller man’s stern inflexion and let out a pained huff, but he stayed put. C’mon Ollie, don’t be a brat- the guy’s helping. Surprisingly.

On top of the sharp pain in his side and arm, and the dizziness from the blood loss, Ollie was majorly confused by the man’s… well, everything. First off, he wasn’t sure if he had been his eyes playing tricks on him, but he could’ve sworn the man’s face had been bare when he’d fallen into his garden. Then he’d blinked, and then it wasn’t. Now, the man before him -tall, very tall, and gangly as all hell- was sporting a curious, sleek black cat mask, and possibly the biggest fucking pair of glasses Oliver had ever seen someone wear in real life. Perfectly round, rimless and red-tinted for some reason, they prevented him from making out the color of the guy’s eyes.

His unimpressed, irritated glare could have been a little intimidating...if the guy wasn’t wearing a tacky hawaiian shirt with colorful birds on it. Ollie wasn’t sure what his deal was, but from his long, messy brown hair, unkept beard and questionable fashion sense, it all gave off the impression that Bird-lover here hadn’t stepped out of his house for a really long time.

Ollie had asked about the mask, but the man had just tensed and stayed silent. That had been Ollie’s cue to stop asking personal questions- which was, y’know, fair, as he’d literally just interrupted his morning stroll by crashing through his ceiling, offering no explanation as to why that had happened.

Come to think of it… yeah, the guy had every reason and then some to call the cops. But he hadn’t. Not yet at least. So really, Ollie was doing great so far.

The moment the young dyed-haired man had made eye contact with the stranger after his fall, he’d frantically asked, if not begged him not to call anyone. Well… that was actually the second thing he’d said, the first being asking the guy to please stop screaming at me, I don’t even understand- is that french?

He’d gotten away with a lot of things, for a very long time. He wasn’t about to get busted for one little mistake. It was just a stab wound! He’d survived those before. And while yes , he might’ve gotten a bit lost on his way back, taking a few wrong turns whenever the pain in his side made his vision go white and his grip on his grappling hook loosen, and then before he knew it the sun was rising and he had no idea where he was anymore and then he misfired and then became acquainted with the glass ceiling of a greenhouse...

“-hear me? Hello? Hey, ça va ?”

Oliver blinked- Mask-guy was kneeling on the carpet next to the couch and snapping his fingers in front of Ollie’s face, now looking more panicked than annoyed. Aw, beans. He’d lost his trail of thought. Also, he was pretty sure he’d been sitting before. When had he laid down? Ugh… his side was pulsing. And his head was all foggy.

“You blacked out,” Kitty Carnaval said, and that’s when Ollie noticed his palms were covered in red. “I stopped the bleeding, but it still needs to be cleaned. Probably stitched.”

The vigilante looked down at himself- his hoodie was gone, his shirt creeping up his chest to uncover his abdomen. A thick patch of gauze had been applied against his wound, tight wrappings around his middle keeping it secure.

Huh. It looked pretty decent- better that what he would’ve managed on his own. His chest felt a bit constricted, he’d probably breathe a little easier if he took his binder off… but he wasn’t too excited at the prospect of doing that in front of a total stranger. So he took it in stride. “Wh… where’s my…”

The man pointed to a clear plastic bag next to the coffee table a few feet from the couch- his trusty red hoodie was visibly bundled inside. Still very much soaked with blood and with one more stabby-hole than how he liked it. But hey- that’s why he wore red. And he could fix the tear. It’d be fine… probably. “Um. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t ,” the stranger grumbled, getting up and walking out of the room. Ollie craned his neck, curious, but quickly settled back down when quiet splashing sounds assured him that the man was just washing his hands.

Okay. Things are fine. Everything’s hunky-dory. “So uh. You been to France?” he said lightly in an attempt at smalltalk, remembering the words -probably swears given the context- the man had thrown at him earlier.

“Born there.” the other’s even voice responded curtly over the water-y sounds.

The vigilante let out an excited oh . “...Can youuuu say something else in french?”

“No. Help’s coming any minute to really assess the damage, so please don’t move. And talk less.”

Sheesh. Well, at least that had to mean that this mysterious helper was a doctor, or at least something similar.

“Who’d that be? Friend of yours?”

“Something like that. He won’t ask… too many questions.”

So a doctor-ish person with questionable ethics. This was getting weirder and weirder… but also, really exciting. “Cool beans.” he sighed, trying to exhale the tension out of his body as the sound of running water soothed him somewhat.

After another minute, Gatito re-appeared from the other room, with spotless hands and wet sleeves. “Do you have a way to get home safely?”

Oliver blinked. He hadn’t even thought about that- he usually dragged himself home after a scuffle, but that probably wasn’t smart given the pain still flaring in his side. “Uh, yeah. I can call my roommate so she can pick me up.”

Oh dio, Nana was going to kick his ass into the sun for pulling that stunt. He felt bad for putting her through that, but he knew she’d kick his ass even harder if he hid this from her.

“Good. We’ll patch you up properly, and if you don’t need further assistance, you’ll leave.”

Mh. He seemed real eager to see him go… even for someone having to deal with an unwanted guest. He was jittery, biting on his nails and fiddling with strands of his hair, like he was getting more nervous every minute Oliver spent on his property.

Weird. Maybe he was just a misanthrope? That would certainly explain the grumpy hermit vibes.

Still didn’t explain the mask though… “Fine, fine, promise I’ll get out of your hair soon. Sorry for bleeding out on your couch, by the way.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can replace it.”

Ah. That easy, huh? How loaded was that guy? “Okay then, Mr Wayne ,“ the young man chuckled then immediately winced- ow, ow, right, stab wound, okay. He looked back up at the other, who only blinked in apparent confusion.

“That’s… not my name?”

“You sure? The bigass manor, the mask, all the mystery ,” he wiggled his fingers around, “You kinda fit the part.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ollie rolled his eyes. “Fiiine, keep your secrets then. Can you at least tell me your name? Feels weird calling you like, ‘mask man’ and ‘cat boy’ in my head.”

The stranger went silent once again, a conflicted expression on his face. Like he was being forced to choose between eating a particularly sour lemon, and pouring the juice of said lemon into his eyes. Almost a full minute passed before he opened his mouth again.

“...Mars.” he finally offered, averting his gaze. “If you really have to know.”

Mars expected confusion. Skepticism. Maybe even mocking laughter. But instead, the young spitfire flashed him a million-watt smile. “That’s an awesome name. I’m Ollie.”

Then there was a knock on the door.

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 614BC - Miletus

Notes: This is the kind of thing that comes into my head when insomnia is chasing me around. And also the fact I’d been mulling on my distinct lack of Grecian encounters between the lads.

614BC – Miletus

Crawly had been watching the kid for a few days.

He was small, skinny, and had a worryingly intense look about him. Crawly always liked a worryingly intense human. They were the kind of people who had thoughts that were big and interesting and did things like take an apple to learn.

He was sitting in the shade of an olive tree, scribbling shapes in the dirt with a stick.

Crawly coiled around the tree and leaned against the trunk. “Good drawing.”

The boy looked up. “It’s the sky,” he said with a haughty glare.

Crawly grinned. Of course it was. “That so?” He crouched down beside the kid, then snatched the stick out of his hands. “You missed a few.” He prodded a few more of the constellations into the dirt, then held the stick out to the lad.

The boy stared at him. He had the dark Phonecian eyes, but his features were more Greek. “You can see all of them?”

Crawly nodded. “You just have to know how to look.”

The boy stared back at his drawing. His curiosity was licking like a flame.

Well, Crawly thought cheerfully, couldn’t say he wasn’t generous. He leaned closer and poured dry kindling straight on to the spark. “You ever wonder what they’re made from?”

“What?” The boy looked back at him and oh, he was burning.

“The stars,” Crawly said. “Or…” He waved around them. “What about this place?”

The boy nodded. “Everything works!” he confided. “There is something that makes everything work! The Gods do it all!”

There was an oil that some nations used as a weapon. Dip a bale of hay in it, add a spark, and all at once, you can unleash Hell. Crawly had seen cities and empires fall to chaos from one little spark and one little drop of oil. He knew how destructive a single drop could be.

He tilted his hand, lowered his voice, and spilled it.

“Do they?” he prompted, and in the boy’s eyes, he saw the light of burning questions take hold, a fire that would turn into an inferno.

He stayed a little longer, sketched a few more marks into the sand, fanning the flame with gentle prompts and subtle hints and nothing too obvious. Plenty of ideas, plenty of fresh, dry kindling to keep him going for a good long time.

When he rose, little Thales was staring wide-eyed at the patterns in the dirt.

Crawly smiled darkly as he walked away.

Humans had free will and that meant the free will to do things no angel ever could.

Ask your questions, boy, he thought. Ask everything.

______________________

 364BC – Grove of Hecademus

There was a rather heated debate going on in the white flag-stoned courtyard.

Aziraphale popped a grape in his mouth, watching with interest. The two young men were citing Pythagoras, though there had clearly been some radical misinterpretation, for one of them was making no sense at all and the other was doing a fine job of tearing his argument to ribbons.

Technically, Aziraphale had no real reason to linger since his blessing was done, but the sun was warm, the grapes were sweet and the conversation was fascinating.

Plato’s academy had developed quite the reputation.

The cream of the intellectual crop made their way there, discussing everything from philosophy to the stars and everything in between. It was refreshing to dip one’s self in an intellectual pool from time to time, although he could imagine that the arguments might get a bit trying after some time.

He was down to the last grape on the stalk when something prickled on the edge of his awareness.

“What’s all this then?”

Aziraphale whipped round, then laughed with relief. “Oh! Crawly! It’s just you.”

“Just me?” Crawly made a face at him as he approached, the shimmering scarlet snake embroidered along the edge of his chiton rippling with each step. “Oh, I like that. No hello, no nice to see you. No, no, no. Just ‘it’s just you’.” He framed the words, bracketing them with his fingers, then glanced around. “Surprised to see you in a place like this.”

“A school?”

The demon raised his eyebrows. “You do know what they do in this school? They question everything! I mean everything! Even…” He jabbed a finger upwards.

Aziraphale stared at him, puzzled. “Yes?”

Crawly blinked slowly as if he didn’t quite understand. “What?”

“Why wouldn’t they question things? Humans do that. This lot have become rather good at it.”

Crawly looked like a wine skin rapidly draining of wine. “But–” He flapped a hand around. “They– it’s–” His breath exploded out of him in a gust. “Well, that’s just… stupid, isn’t it?”

“It is?” Aziraphale said, nonplussed. “They’re very well respected. There’s nothing stupid about it. A few of them have even been blessed with insight.” He leaned closer. “I’m very excited to see what young Aristotle comes up with. I have the feeling he will go far.”

The demon hunched his shoulders, a strange expression on his face. “Well… isn’t that just wonderful for them,” he grumbled.

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh don’t be so petulant,” he said, holding out his last grape. “Acting like a child is very unbecoming.”

Crawly snatched the grape and rolled it between his finger and thumb before sullenly popping it in his mouth. “Fine,” he groused, then bit down with unnecessary force.

Aziraphale shook his head with a small sigh. “What are you doing here anyway?”

The demon grunted and nodded in the direction of the gates. A shabby, filthy man with a matted beard was striding in as if he owned the place. From the dust on his feet and legs, he had marched all the way from Athens, and was carrying a pinkish lump under one arm.

Aziraphale peered at him. “Oh good Lord, Crawly! I should have guessed that Diogenes was one of yours!”

Crawly made a face at him. “Says the angel surrounded by people questioning everything.”

“Why is–”

The small, shabby man came to a halt in the middle of the academy. “Behold!” he bellowed, a surprisingly powerful voice for such a skinny, bony beggar of a man. He thrust his burden high in the air and Crawly gave a snort beside Aziraphale as a plucked chicken was held aloft. “A MAN!”

The scholars stared at him as if he was mad.

Crawly was choking laughs against his fist.

Aziraphale was confounded.

“What on earth was that about?” he inquired, as the students – as a swarm – descended furiously on the grinning Diogenes, who hurled the chicken at them and demanded they refute him.

“S’Plato,” Crawly gasped out between breathless chuckles. “Said a man could be defined as a featherless biped.”

The orderly debate had descended into chaos. The educated young men were shouting in indignation at such disrespect, Diogenes was beaming as if he had just claimed a victory and the forlorn chicken was left lying in the dust. It was indeed a featherless biped.

Aziraphale coughed to try and cover his own laugh. “Did you tell him to do that?”

Crawly shook his head. “Just told him what Plato had been saying,” he said, still grinning. “Doesn’t take much with the philosophers. Give them a big enough hint and they’ll tilt the world with it.” He seemed much happier. “Easy job. Just showed up to see how he’d do it.”

“And you have successfully wreaked havoc with a madman and a chicken.”

Crawly preened, brushing his hand down the front of his chiton. “Why thank you, angel. Nice of you to notice.”

Aziraphale shook his head with another roll of his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Crawly raised his eyebrows. “Obviously.” He jerked his head towards the building on the far side of the courtyard. “Fancy seeing what they feed their big questioning brains here?”

Aziraphale glanced towards the gate. “I was meant to be–”

A fist fight had broken out, blocking his path.

“C’mon,” Crawly cajoled. “They’ll never notice. And I bet they spoil themselves rotten.” He nudged the angel’s arm. “Didn’t one of these lads say there’s no harm in repeating a good thing? And that grape was pretty good.”

“It was rather, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said wistfully. They had burst so beautifully, sweet and juicy on his tongue. He twisted his hands together, then nodded. “All right. But only a small snack. Something for the road.”

“Course, angel,” said the tempter of Eden. “And maybe a bit of wine.”

Several hours later, pleasantly full and tottering a little bit, a tipsy angel went on his way.

[broomballkraken]

Title: The Scholar and The Huntress, Chapter 10: Respite

Fandom: Octopath Traveler

Pairing: Cyrus/H’aanit

Word count: 6092

Warnings: None

Summary:  H'aanit finally reunites with her master, and can finally enjoy some respite from her journey. Of course, with her group of companions, this involves a lot of alcohol, and results in Cyrus revealing a whole new side of himself that she had not seen before.

"Maken haste, Cyrus. We'ren almost there."

"H'aanit, please...I'm...so tired..."

H'aanit stopped running and turned to stare at her lover, who was doubled over and trying to catch his breath. They had only been running for about a mile, and that wasn't far at all. She really needed to help Cyrus get into better physical shape.

"Ah...hah...my dear, you don't have to rush. I'm sure your master will be waiting in Stoneguard for you to arrive." Cyrus said, smiling as he took H'aanit's hand. "And I believe we've lost the others-Oh, Linde caught up with us." H'aanit chuckled as her partner came trotting up behind them. She meowed and rubbed up against Cyrus' legs, causing him to smile brightly as he ran his hand through her fur.

"I guesseth thee ist right. I can see the stairs leading to town from here. We shoulde be there soon." H'aanit said.

Suddenly, screams pierced the air and both H'aanit and Cyrus jerked their heads in the direction of the sound, which seemed to be coming from a bit up the road. They glanced at each other before breaking into a run, with Linde close behind. They quickly came upon two people being set upon by a huge tiger. Cursing, H'aanit pulled out her bow and nocked an arrow, while Cyrus whipped out a spellbook.

However, before either of them could act, the tiger was struck from behind with a precisely shot arrow, and it immediately collapsed, dead. H'aanit and Cyrus blinked at each other, confused, until Hagen suddenly appeared and ran up to them, barking excitedly.

"Hagen! If thou art here, then..." H'aanit said as she pet his head, and she smiled as she was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"What ho, H'aanit!"

Relief welled up inside of H'aanit as she watched Z'aanta stride up to her, grinning from ear to ear. It really did work, defeating Redeye. Her master was back to normal, thank the gods. Z'aanit stopped in front of her and gave her a once-over, before barking out a hearty laugh.

"Don't tellen me thou'st grown again!" he said, continuing to laugh as H'aanit rolled her eyes.

"Not in height, but if thou speakest in experience, then yes."

Cyrus watched silently as H'aanit and her master bantered back and forth, and he couldn't help but smile fondly at his lover. She was giving the older man a good lecturing for worrying her, but the smile on her face betrayed her true feelings. Cyrus knew that she was happy that Z'aanta was back to normal, and he was happy that she was happy.

"H'aanit, thanke thee. Thou'st done me proud."

H'aanit let out a yelp in protest as Z'aanta hoisted her into his arms, and Cyrus couldn't help but laugh as she struggled to free herself, her face flushing with embarrassment. Z'aanta's laughter joined his, and after he made sure the couple that had been attacked was alright, he finally turned his gaze upon Cyrus.

"Werein art thine manners, girl? Aren you going to introduceth me to thine friend?" Z'aanta said, glancing at H'aanit with an eyebrow raised. H'aanit blinked; she had almost forgotten that Cyrus was here too. Her face flushed a deeper shade of red, and she cleared her throat as she walked over so that she was standing at Cyrus' side.

"Er, master, this ist Cyrus Albright. He ist a scholar and a professor at the Royal Academy in Atlasdam." H'aanit said, "Cyrus, this ist my master, Z'aanta."

"A pleasure to finally meet you, sir." Cyrus said, smiling as he held out his hand, "H'aanit has told me so much about you! I can most definitely see where she learned her mastery of the bow." Z'aanta gave Cyrus a once-over and then barked out a laugh as he took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Goodeth to meeten thee too, Cyrus. And no needeth to callen me sir. It makeths me feelen old."

"I will keep that in mind, sir-Ahem, Z'aanta."

"So how didst you endeth up traveling together-"

"Hey guys! We finally caught up to you!"

Z'aanta was interrupted when Tressa came running up to H'aanit and Cyrus, with the rest of the group not far behind. Z'aanta turned to H'aanit, who just shrugged.

"I foundeth many new companions on my journey. 'Tis a long tale, mayhaps we should head to the tavern and I shall tell you all about it." she said, and her eyes narrowed when Z'aanta's eyes lit up at the word 'tavern.'

"That soundeth like a great idea, my dear prentice. Letten us go!" he said, and after a brief introduction to the rest of the group, they all headed into Stoneguard and made a beeline for the tavern. H'aanit hoped that she wouldn't regret suggesting the tavern as a meeting place.

*

"Oh wow! You killed a dragon with your bare hands?!??!"

"He ist lying, Tressa."

"My prentice, you woundeth me." Z'aanta said, pouting as H'aanit rolled her eyes and the rest of the table laughed. The tavern was loud and lively this night, mostly due to their full table listening to Z'aanta's very exaggerated hunting stories. H'aanit felt more relaxed than she had in a very long time. Now that her master was back to normal, it was like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Cyrus, doest thou needeth a refill?" H'aanit asked when Z'aanta's had finished telling his latest story and the table split off into mini conversations.

"Ah, yes, I'd like another. Thank you." Cyrus said, proceeding to down the last mouthful of ale. H'aanit nodded and took the empty mug, her hand brushing his on the way, and a smile of adoration crossed his face.

"Aye, I shall be back shortly." she said, and she headed up to speak to the barkeep. Cyrus watched her go for a moment, and when he turned back to the table, he found that Z'aanta was staring at him over the rim of his mug as he took a drink. Cyrus tilted his head at him, confused, and watched as Z'aanta set his mug down and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So," he began, a sly smile crossing his face as he leaned back in his chair, "How longeth hath thee and my prentice been in love with each other?"

Cyrus stared at Z'aanta for a moment, before his face flushed a bright red and he cleared his throat to try and remove the lump that had formed there. Gods, how was he able to correctly come up with that conclusion without being told directly?

"W-Well, I cannot speak for H'aanit, but, ah, I've loved her for a good while now, even before I knew what exactly it was I was feeling for her." Cyrus said, rubbing his neck as he averted his gaze. Z'aanta laughed and slapped a friendly hand on Cyrus' arm.

"Really now? Whatten ist it that you seeth in her?" he asked, raising a curious eyebrow as he took a swig of his drink. Cyrus took note that Primrose and Ophilia were not-so-subtly listening in on the conversation, and he tried to ignore them as he looked Z'aanta in the eye.

"Well, where do I even start?" Cyrus began, earning a chuckle from Z'aanta. "H'aanit is an incredible woman. She is strong in many ways, be it physically or in character. She is loyal, honest, caring, selfless. She can be stubborn at times, but for all the right reasons, so I cannot honestly call that a fault. And she is the most beautiful woman that I've ever seen-"

"I thinke I getten the picture." Z'aanit interrupted, and Cyrus laughed sheepishly as he fiddled with his sleeves.

"Ah, sorry, I got a little carried away."

"Here, Cyrus." he looked up to see that H'aanit had returned, and she set a full mug of ale in front of him, and another in front of Z'aanta. "I am going to maketh sure that Linde and Hagen haveth enough water. I willst be back." The two men offered their thanks as H'aanit left again, and they both took long swigs before Z'aanta spoke again.

"'Tis funny," he started, earning a quizzical look from Cyrus. "You'ren not the kind of person that I woulde hath guessed that my prentice woulde bringeth home to me."

"Oh?" Cyrus asked, "Why is that?"

"She hath always heldeth physical strength in high regard. I predicted that she'd endeth up with someone a bit more muscular than thee."

"Well, she must see something good in me." Cyrus said as he shrugged, "I was actually afraid that she would never feel the same way about me as I did her. It was quite surprising."

"My prentice ist no fool, Cyrus." Z'aanta said, his tone turning oddly serious. "H'aanit hast never been interested in finding a partner before you. So thee needeth not worry about being goode enough, for she woulde only chooseth the best person for her."

"O-Oh," Cyrus stammered, embarrassed, "Well, I...thank you." He had been a bit nervous to finally meet H'aanit's father figure, but Z'aanta had turned out to be surprisingly accepting of the fact that he was dating his adoptive daughter.

Z'aanta chuckled as he tugged at his beard. "Thou doest not needeth to thanke me. H'aanit ist a smart woman, and can taken care of herself. If thou steppeth out of line, she wilst be sure to deal swift justice. And if she doth not, I wilst." Cyrus gulped as Z'aanta's voice took on a slightly threatening tone. Ah, this was more of what he expected from him. But, he also noticed the humor in the older man's eyes, and Cyrus just smiled and nodded.

"I am well aware, my good man. I have no intention of ever hurting her in any way. I care far too much for her." Cyrus said, and Z'aanta laughed.

"Good, good. 'Tis all I can asketh of thee." Z'aanta clinked his mug against Cyrus'. "Letten us getteth another rounde, eh?"

"Indeed." Cyrus said, noting that his mug was empty. He then jumped a bit in surprise when a full mug was slammed down in front of him.

"Y'all in for a drinking contest?" Alfyn said a bit louder than necessary as he grinned, looking back and forth between Z'aanta and Cyrus.

"Aye, sounds like a grande time!" Z'aanta said, and Cyrus nodded in agreement as they both stood and followed Alfyn to a seperate table with the other men. This was turning out to be a rather interesting night.

*

"Ugh, I'm done."

"Shucks, Therion, you're always the first out!"

H'aanit chuckled as Therion pouted at Alfyn, his flushed face and half-lidded eyes betraying his drunken status. He shrugged and moved to sit in between Tressa and Primrose at their table.

"Alfyn better not pass out this time. I'm not carrying him back to the inn again." Therion grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as Ophilia giggled.

"I'd be more worried about Cyrus tonight." Primrose said, earning a confused look from H'aanit. "It seems that your master has quite the influence on him."

H'aanit turned her attention to the contest table, her eyes narrowed as she watched Z'aanta sling his arm over Cyrus' shoulders as he laughed. She had never seen Cyrus truly drunk before, as he was very good at pacing himself. But, her master could be a notoriously bad influence sometimes, especially in a tavern setting like this one.

"Cyrus, thou muste keepeth up! Downeth this mug and start on another!" Z'aanta said, nudging Cyrus' mug with his own.

"Ah, I don't usually drink this quickly..." Cyrus said, a dusting of pink present on his cheeks, "Perhaps I should slow down."

"Nay! Thou cannot win a contest of drinking without, well, drinking! Keepeth up with me, at least." Z'aanta said, glancing over at Olberic and Alfyn, who were downing their drinks at a concerning rate. "Those two are liketh bottomless pits. Wheren doest it all goeth?"

"I've asked myself that many times before." Cyrus said, laughing as he finished off his mug. "It is settled then, I will do my best to keep up with you."

"Aye! That's a good lad!" Z'aanta said, pushing a full mug at Cyrus.

"Ah, yes! Well, 'bottoms up', as they say!"

H'aanit watched as the two men clinked their mugs together and drained the contents quickly. She wondered if she should step in and stop them. This...could end in disaster.

"Oh, don't worry about them, H'aanit." Primrose said, waving her hand nonchalantly. "They will be fine. If they truly start to get out of hand, we can intervene." H'aanit nodded slowly and let herself relax.

"Z'aanta is really cool, H'aanit!" Tressa said, "I bet it's been a blast being his apprentice!"

"Aye, he ist a great teacher, if a bit irresponsable at times."

"I'm surprised at how well he and Cyrus are getting along." Primrose chimed in. "Fathers usually tend to be a bit more wary about the men that their daughters bring home."

"I fear that they getteth along too well. My master tends to be a bad influence when alcohol ist involved, and Cyrus can be a bit clueless at times." H'aanit said, glancing over at the contest table, where the occupants all burst out laughing, with Olberic and Z'aanta's voices being the loudest.

"That's an understatement. Cyrus is laughably clueless. But you're not much better, H'aanit." Primrose said, laughing as she took a drink, "Watching you both try and court each other was rather painful at times." The rest of the women giggled as H'aanit pursed her lips, and even Therion let out a chuckle.

“Thou doest not needeth reminden me everyday…” H’aanit grumbled. Her attention was suddenly pulled to the contest table, when Cyrus shot up out of his chair, the movement almost knocking it to the ground.

“My focus is unparalleled!” he exclaimed, and he proceeded to lift a full mug of ale to his lips and down the contents with a few deep swigs. The rest of the men at the table cheered and followed suit, wasting no time in grabbing full mugs and repeating the process.

“Oh dear, they are getting quite rowdy, aren’t they?” Ophilia said, trying to hide her amused smile behind her mug. H’aanit’s eyes widened as she watched Cyrus’ antics. Well, this was certainly a new side of him that she had not seen before.

“Good luck dealing with that later.” Therion said, winking at H’aanit. She narrowed her eyes at him, and Primrose chuckled with amusement.

“Oh, he’ll probably be fine...Maybe.” she said, ignoring the heated look that H’aanit shot her. “Therion, do be a dear and get us another round, will you?” Therion nodded in response and cleared the empty mugs from the table, before heading up to the bar. H’aanit watched him go, until her attention was pulled away when Cyrus’ voice hit her ears.

“Oh my! My face is so warm! How fascinating!” H’aanit turned to see Cyrus holding his cheeks with both hands, his lips turned up in a goofy smile as he pushed on his face. The expressions he was making caused H’aanit to laugh until she snorted, and the other women at her table laughed as well.

“Ha! It seemeth that thee ist amusing to our table of ladies.” Z’aanta said, not seeming to notice the glare that H’aanit was shooting him.

“Who?” Cyrus asked, blinking in confusion as he tilted his head.

“Shucks, Cyrus, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten half of our friends?” Alfyn asked, taking a drink of ale as he leaned back in his chair, splashing some of the liquid on his shirt.

“I thought I was just here with you-Oh!” Cyrus started, as he turned to look at the table where H’aanit and the others sat. When his eyes locked with hers, the rest of what he was going to say was swallowed up in a gasp. He stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, before he leaned over and whispered something to Z’aanta. H’aanit watched as a sly grin crossed her master’s face, and he whispered something back.

“Ah, yes!” Cyrus said as he pulled back, and he quickly jumped to his feet. H’aanit watched as he moved in her direction, seemingly unable to walk in a straight line as he stumbled awkwardly in his attempt to get to her.

“My dear,” he said, pausing to let out a giggle and steady himself, “I could not help but notice how absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful you are.” H’aanit blinked at him, confused, and she felt her cheeks heat up as he took her hand in his. “I must ask, are you perchance, romantically available?”

H’aanit just stared at him, not knowing how to respond to this. He must have drank way beyond his limit of alcohol tolerance in order to forget that they were together. H’aanit was going to have some stern words with Z’aanta about getting her lover so gods damn drunk. She opened her mouth to finally respond, but Primrose beat her to it.

“Ah, I am sorry, but she is, in fact, spoken for.” the dancer said. Cyrus gasped and recoiled backwards dramatically, an absolutely devastated look crossing his face.

“O-Oh, I see…” he stammered out, stumbling off to the side. Unfortunately, Therion had picked that moment to return with more drinks, carrying four mugs, two in each hand. Cyrus crashed right into the theif, whose quick reflexes saved him from spilling the drinks as he lifted up his arms. Cyrus wrapped his own around Therion as he buried his face into his shoulder.

“Cyrus, what the hell?” Therion asked, an annoyed look crossing his face. Primrose and Tressa moved quickly to take the mugs from him before they could spill, but left him to try and pry Cyrus off of him on his own.

“Oh, Therion! My life is ruined!” Cyrus exclaimed, his voice muffled a bit against Therion’s shoulder. H’aanit just stared at him in disbelief.

“What are you talking about? Get off me!” Therion growled as he tried to shove Cyrus away. He only succeeded in causing Cyrus to tighten his grip.

“It is truly the worst thing that could ever happen to me!” Cyrus continued, sniffing as he rubbed his face on the thief’s shoulder. H’aanit raised an eyebrow. Was he...crying? “The most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen is taken! How will I go on?” He gestured at H’aanit with one arm, and Therion stared at Cyrus as if he was the dumbest person in Orsterra. The rest of the men at the table burst out laughing, with Z’aanta laughing the loudest. Primrose and Tressa also dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Ophilia only barely managed to hold back her own amusement.

“Oh my gods…” Therion mumbled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, she’s taken...by you, you idiot.” He finally succeeded in prying Cyrus’ hands from his arms and pushed him back towards H’aanit, who stood up in time to catch her drunk-ass lover before he could fall over and hurt himself.

“R-Really?” Cyrus said, looking up at H’aanit with a look of absolute joy on his flushed face, and that was enough to make her blush with embarrassment.

“Yes, dear. We hath been together foren awhile now.” H’aanit said, and Cyrus laughed as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Oh how the gods have blessed me so!” Cyrus exclaimed, gazing lovingly into H’aanit’s eyes as his tears of sorrow turned into tears of joy. “Never in my 30 years of life have I seen a more beautiful woman! One of unparalleled strength and courage and-Whoops!” Cyrus’ gushing was interrupted when his grip on H’aanit loosened and he fell to the floor on his back.

“Cyrus! Ist thou alright?” H’aanit asked, frowning with worry as she quickly knelt down next to him.

“Hmm...Is the ceiling supposed to be spinning like that? What an interesting phenomenon!” Cyrus said, laughing as he raised an arm above him and waved it about, as if he was tracing invisible lines above him. H’aanit sighed and shook her head.

“Gods help me…” H’aanit mumbled, staring down at her lover, unamused. She glanced over at the contest table to see how the other men were fairing. She saw that Alfyn’s head was resting on the table; he was passed out cold, and Therion was arguing with Tressa about who was going to carry him to the inn this time. Olberic and Z’aanta had their arms around each other’s shoulders, and they were both laughing hysterically. H’aanit then looked up at the bar, where the barkeep was watching them with an annoyed look on his face. It was probably time to call it a night.

“Take care of Cyrus, H’aanit.” Primrose said, “We will handle the rest of these drunkards.” H’aanit watched as Ophilia went to speak with Olberic and Z’aanta, while Tressa and Therion teamed up to deal with the incapacitated Alfyn.

“Aye. Good luck.” H’aanit said, smiling when Primrose laughed and went to help Ophilia. H’aanit then looked back to the floor, where Cyrus was gazing up at her with half-lidded eyes.

“Come now, letten us go back to the inn.” she said, as she bent down and lifted Cyrus into her arms. He laughed and flailed a bit, causing H’aanit to stumble forward and drop him back on the ground.

“Cyrus!” H’aanit said, her face scrunching up with annoyance.

“Ah, oops, sorry, my dear. I’m just having so much fun!” Cyrus protested, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. H’aanit glared at him and tried three more times to pick him up, only to repeat the same result.

“This ist ridiculous.” H’aanit growled, and Cyrus dissolved into giggles again. She suddenly grabbed him by the waist, hoisted him over her shoulder, and held his legs under his knees in a vice grip. He yelped in surprise when she stood up, and he wrapped his arms around her torso from behind.

“Mmmmm, my dear, you’re so strong...I do love it so.” Cyrus mumbled, and H’aanit felt him rub his face against her back. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face. H’aanit bid farewell to the others and headed outside.

“Thou ist an incredibly disastrous drunk, Cyrus.” H’aanit said, pausing to wake up Linde, who had fallen asleep against the outside wall of the tavern. She meowed and tilted her head at Cyrus, who laughed and reached out to try and pet her, but he kept missing.

“Oh, I do think you’re overreacting, darling.” Cyrus mused. He started lazily tracing his fingers over H’aanit’s abs over her shirt, and she shivered slightly as her face flushed.

“Thou forgotten that we were together.” H’aanit said, and Cyrus just laughed, and H’aanit felt him shake his head against her back.

“Well, it is not surprising to me in the least. I am still flabbergasted that the most beautiful person in Orsterra chose me of all people as a partner! I am so, so lucky.”

“I could sayeth the same about thee.”

“Oh, H’aanit...H’aanit,” Cyrus mumbled, tightening his grip on her. “Please, ask me why I love you so much!”

“Why doest thou loven me so much?”

“I am so glad you asked!” Cyrus said excitedly, and H’aanit couldn’t hold back her laughter, “Because if I had to write it down, I fear that there isn’t enough stationary in the world to hold everything! Although, verbalizing it may take weeks, even months to truly-”

“Well then, thou best starteth now, foren I’m putting thee to bed as soon as we getten to the inn.” H’aanit heard Cyrus gasp and he mumbled incoherently to himself.

“Oh dear...well, I better start with the best things then…”

H’aanit just shook her head as she listened to Cyrus ramble on while she walked. He started by gushing about how amazing she smelled all the time, ‘like a forest of pine trees just after a spot of rain.’ He was definitely exaggerating, for she felt that most of the time she smelled like sweat, due to the large amount of physical activity she did during the day.

Next he proceeded to tell her that the exact moment that he realized that he was in love with her was when she delivered the killing blow to the dragon that had been guarding the herb-of-grace in Stillsnow. H’aanit couldn’t help but wonder if Cyrus was actually just gods damn crazy, or was dropped on his head too many times as a child.

Cyrus then went off on a tangent about how adorable Linde was. He began throwing out random facts about snow leopards, like how some snow leopards have home ranges of up to 1,000 square kilometers, and that they have light green or gray eyes, which is unusual for big cats.

After what seemed like an eternity, H’aanit finally reached the inn, and she quickly made her way up the stairs, ignoring the stares from the innkeeper on the way.

“...And did you know that snow leopards have large paws that help them walk on top of the snow. What amazing creatures they are!” Cyrus was saying as H’aanit entered the room that the men were sharing. She just chuckled as she approached one of the beds.

“I agree, dear. Now, ‘tis time for bed.” H’aanit said, and she went to pull Cyrus from her shoulder, but he wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, stopping her.

“Cyrus-”

“But H’aanit, I’m not ready to leave your side. My nights are incredibly lonely without you!” he whined, his face rubbing against her back. H’aanit rolled her eyes and tugged harder on his legs.

“Thou ist being stubborn. We wilst seeth each other in the morn.” H’aanit said, but her words did not seem to sway Cyrus. She struggled a bit longer, trying to loosen his hold on her, when he finally let go. Unfortunately, she had been pulling hard at that exact moment, so she ended up flinging him roughly onto the bed, and she stumbled onto it after him.

“Hehe, got you!” Cyrus said, as he quickly wrapped his arms around H’aanit and pulled her close, so that he could nuzzle his face against her neck. H’aanit’s face flushed as she tried wiggling free of his grasp.

“Cyrus, letten me go-” she protested, but was silenced when Cyrus’ lips covered hers in a sloppy, drunken kiss. Her eyes went wide for a moment, but they slowly slipped shut as she chuckled and returned the kiss. Well, she had certainly fallen in love with a most interesting man, but she would not have it any other way. When they finally pulled away, Cyrus was gazing at H’aanit with a look of complete adoration, and it took her breath away.

“You are so...intoxicating, H’aanit.” Cyrus whispered, lethargically brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

“That mayhaps be the ale talking.”

“Oh no. If I am drunk on anything, my darling, it is your love.” H’aanit flushed a bright red as his fingers gently caressed her cheeks. “I fear that it takes all of the willpower that I have not to spend all of my time and energy kissing those sweet lips of yours, and telling you how much you really mean to me.”

“Cyrus…” H’aanit breathed, her eyes widening as she reached up to cup his face. She kissed him again, soft and tender, and she smiled against his lips when he sighed contently.

“I love you, H’aanit. So, so much more than words can say...” Cyrus said when they parted, his eyes gazing lovingly into her own. Slowly, his eyelids finally slipped shut, and soon he was snoring softly as he drifted off to sleep.

“I loveth you too, Cyrus.” H’aanit said, watching as a bright smile crossed his sleeping face. She chuckled and shook her head, and was finally able to slip out of his grasp. She removed Cyrus’ coat and boots, and tucked him into bed. She placed a last kiss on his forehead, when the door to the room was flown open.

“Gods, finally.” Therion was saying as he and Tressa dragged Alfyn into the room. They tossed the inebriated apothecary onto a bed, and Therion threw himself onto another.

“Hey, H’aanit!” Tressa said, “I’m glad you two made it here without any issues.”

“Aye, none that were not caused by Cyrus, anyway.” H’aanit said as she brushed Cyrus’ hair from his face. Tressa laughed, and Ophilia and Primrose entered the room, struggling to support Olberic.

“Curse these gods damn legs of mine. Why won’t they cooperate?” Olberic was muttering to himself, and Primrose rolled her eyes as she and Ophilia deposited him on the last bed.

“It’s the alcohol, dear Olberic. Get some sleep.” Primrose said, and after a bit of incoherent mumbling, he did just that.

“Gods, it’s like babysitting a bunch of man children.” Primrose said, sighing deeply. Ophilia giggled, and then turned to H’aanit.

“H’aanit, your master went to stay with Natalia. Hagen was with him, so he probably made it there safely.” she said, “He said he would stop by here in the morning.”

“Aye, thanke thee.”

“Well, goodnight Therion. Do make sure the rest of these idiots don’t die in their sleep, would you?” Primrose said as she made for the door.

“Yeah, no promises there,” Therion said, waving his hand as he rolled over, “Goodnight.”

With that, the women returned to their own room, and they all fell asleep rather quickly, exhausted by the night’s activities.

*

As usual, H’aanit was the first to wake in the morning, and she decided to take a stroll about town with Linde before breakfast. When she returned to the inn, the aftermath of the night before was beginning to surface.

“Ugh...my head…” H’aanit chuckled when she saw Alfyn sitting at a table, his head resting on Primrose’s shoulder, while she rubbed his back gently. Olberic sat opposite of them, his head resting in his hands as he massaged his temples. Ophilia sat next to him, her eyes looking droopy and her face scrunched up. She looked uncomfortable.

“Good morning, H’aanit.” Primrose said when the huntress sat down.

“‘Morning. Ophilia, ist thou alright?” H’aanit asked as she grabbed a piece of bread from the basket on the table.

“Our resident cleric is actually hungover.” Primrose said with a grin, and Ophilia pouted at her. H’aanit blinked in surprise. Ophilia was normally pretty good at watching her alcohol intake. Gods, her master really did have a bad influence on everyone.

“Ah, good morning you two.” H’aanit turned around as Primrose spoke to find Tressa and Therion descending the stairs.

“Morning!” Tressa said happily, a contrast to the slight miserable atmosphere in the room. Therion rolled his eyes and looked at H’aanit.

“You might want to go check up on Cyrus. I don’t think he’s doing too well.” he said, and H’aanit nodded as she stood up.

“Good luck.” she heard Primrose call after her as she ascended the stairs. H’aanit hoped that Cyrus wasn’t in too bad of shape; they were supposed to start heading towards Grandport today, as they didn’t want Tressa to be late for the Merchants’ Fair.

H’aanit slowly entered the room and quietly closed the door behind her. It was dark, so she opened the curtains, letting in the bright sunlight. As soon as she did, a loud groan was heard coming from Cyrus’ bed, and H’aanit turned to see Cyrus roll over and pull the blankets over his head.

“‘Morning, love.” H’aanit said, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed. Cyrus groaned again as he slowly rolled over onto his back, his eyes squinted, as if the light was painful.

“Oh gods,” Cyrus said, reaching up to cover his face with his hands. “W-What in Aelfric’s name happened last night? I feel like I took a few dosen blunt force blows to the head.”

“Thou doest not remember?” H’aanit asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Well…” Cyrus said, groaning as he pushed himself into a sitting position, “The last thing I remember is...agreeing to keep up with Z’aanta in our drinking contest...Everything after that is just a blur.” H’aanit just chuckled and Cyrus looked at her, confused.

“This ist what happened afterward…” H’aanit said, and she retold the events of the night. When she was done, Cyrus’ face had turned pink and he looked mortified.

“I...I am never drinking again.” he said, getting out of bed with H’aanit’s help. “How incredibly embarrassing.”

“To be fair, the other men didst not faireth any better.” H’aanit said as they headed downstairs.

“I guess that makes me feel a bit better. Ah, I’m sorry you had to deal with me in so sorry of a condition, my dear.” Cyrus said, and H’aanit just laughed.

“‘Tis alright. Thou was rather cute, actually.” she said, and Cyrus blushed.

“Oh dear, you are far too forgiving of me.”

“T’was a bit annoying to deal with thee at the time, but now I can looketh back on it and laugh.” H’aanit took Cyrus’ hand and gave it a squeeze. “Do tryest to be more careful in the future, though.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” Cyrus said, stealing a quick kiss from her lips as they joined the others. After treating the hungover with plenty of food and water, the group gathered their belongings and were ready to move on by midday.

“Ah, H’aanit! Here you are!”

“‘Tis about time you madeth it here, master.” H’aanit said, looking up from loading her quiver as Z’aanta entered the inn.

“Aye! I couldst not misseth seeing my prentice off!”

“What aren your plans?”

“Well,” Z’aanta pulled at his beard, “I thinke I wilst stayeth with Natalia foren a few more days, and then head back to S’warkii with Hagen. I assumeth that thee still hast things to taken care of?”

“Yes.” H’aanit said with a nod. “Some of my companions still have business to taken care of, and I wilst be by theren sides until they are done. Cyrus actually has business in Duskbarrow.”

“Does he now? That ist not too far from S’warkii. Be sureth to stoppen in and seeth your old master when thou ist done with your quest.”

“I will.”

“Good day, Z’aanta!” Cyrus said as he approached, smiling brightly. H’aanit was relieved to see that he looked to be in much better shape than he had been in when he awoke in the morning.

“Ho, Cyrus. I heardeth that thee hast buisness in Duskbarrow. Thou musteth stoppen by S’warkii whilst in the Woodlands. I would liken to getten to know thee better.”

“Oh, of course!” Cyrus said excitedly, “I will be sure to do just that!”

When everyone was gathered at the inn and ready to depart, H’aanit bid farewell to Z’aanta and they parted ways once more. As she left Stoneguard for the third time, the second with Cyrus’ hand clasped in hers, she felt refreshed and ready to take on whatever life was going to throw at her next.

“And we’re off again.” Cyrus said, smiling at H’aanit. “I do believe I will miss adventuring with everyone once this is all over. Won’t you, H’aanit?”

“Aye. I hath madeth many good friends on this journey.” she said, nodding, “It hast been fun, between the peril and misfortune.”

“Indeed. I do hope finding ‘From The Far Reaches Of Hell’ proves to be relatively painless.”

“T’will probably be fine. I willst be by thine side to protect thee, after all.” H’aanit said, and Cyrus laughed and squeezed her hand.

“Of course! You’ve pulled me out of some pretty perilous situations already, what’s one more?”

H’aanit rolled her eyes as they continued to banter back and forth, heading off to their next adventure. She knew that, no matter what was waiting for them, she would always be right by Cyrus’ side, and he by hers.

[mugsywrites]

Homesteading AU that will never be Chapter 2

This is chapter 2, with Merle. Warning for Merle’s thoughts, his head is an ugly place to be. Racism, homophobia, abusive thoughts, etc.

Chapter 2: Merle

Three days later the busy truck stop has been deserted. There are a few trucks scattered by the side of the road.

[STUFF]

This stillness is shattered by the roar of an engine getting louder and louder as a XXford pickup truck peels off the exit, pulling into the truck stop. A man gets out of the truck with a rifle slung over one shoulder, on edge.

[STUFF]

Merle Dixon has no psychic twinge or premonition that three nights ago his brother dragged his boyfriend into the shadows for a kiss not far from the spot where he’s pissing. If he did would have moved over to the side to be sure and water that little patch of grass. Since he doesn’t he finishes, gives the old joystick a shake, and zips up.

[STUFF, Merle Arrives at the Desus House]

After Merle makes sure that Daryl is definitely gone he goes through the house room by room looking for clues on where to search for his sweet baby brother and his sweet baby brother’s pretty boy roommate. He doesn’t dwell on the fact he would have done this even if there was a map on the wall with Daryl’s exact location circled in red ink. Doesn’t on the fact he’s just plain curious; he hasn’t seen or spoken to his brother in almost three years, something he still has trouble believing. All on account of Daryl’s prissy little roommate. The faggy little roommate who had gotten ahold of Daryl’s brain via his dick. The mouthy little roommate who made Daryl buy this house in this shithole town full of bleeding hearts, jigs, and democrats instead of splitting the insurance money with Merle. Aside from the paltry amount Daryl put aside for “when he got out”. The pussy little roommate who kept Daryl’s balls in a sack ‘round his neck for all Merle knew.

Pansy Palace is only big and fancy if he compares it to Daddy’s place up in Sedalia. If he’s being objective then it’s a modest two story colonial-style house that is good sized for a couple with some space left over if said couple were planning on adding some brats. Not that Darlina and his ladyboy roommate need to worry about that. The staircase to the second floor is just opposite the front door. To the left of the staircase is a small kitchen, to the right is living room that opens into a dining area towards the back of the house. There’s a half bath and an office and sliding glass doors that lead out to a patio.

Merle scans each room, cataloging everything in detail. Aside from the kitchen—with cupboards open and in disarray—the rooms look well-lived in but tidy. Merle thinks of Daddy’s place again, where he has not set foot since he was thrown in the clink over five years ago. He and Daryl lived there ever since Will Dixon, their shitheel old man, had a heart attack while watching Wheel of Fortune over twenty years ago. Casa Fagola, home of Darlina and his roommate, looks to be just about as old but in far better shape than Will’s place with its fraying carpets, peeling paint, and leaky roof. The furniture in Fudge-packer Manor matches, something Merle finds irrationally annoying. It looks newish and store-bought, not snatched from a rummage sale or flea market.

New house wasn’t good enough, he needed new furniture too, Merle thinks to himself, his mouth twisting in an ugly line. He thinks back to this spring, a few weeks before his parole hearing that was a waste of everyone’s fucking time. Merle had been edgy during that time, he knew goddamned well he wouldn’t be paroled. Too many black marks on his record after five years in the pokey. Fights, possession of contraband, destruction of other inmates’ property, mouthing off to the guards. He knew he wouldn’t be paroled, but this small sliver of him kept thinking what if. That was the thing, you could tell yourself all the livelong day that you knew you wasn’t getting out, but there was that little voice. What if. Same cocksucking voice he heard when he bought a scratch off ticket, peeling off slivers of latex while what if what if what if jabbered away in his head. That sliver of possibility was crueler than an extra five years on his sentence. Kept imagining what he’d do on his first night out of this place. Pussy being the number one item on that list, a steak at Texas Roadhouse right behind, and finally some crystal. Once he’d satisfied those appetites in that exact order he would track down his dumbass baby brother and help him find his nut sack again. It was with those thoughts swirling in his head that Merle was told he had a request for a visitor, a Mr. Paul J. Rovia. Merle was about to say he had no idea who Paul J. Rovia was when it clicked.

My friend Paul, the one I told you about. He’s moving in with me.

That last conversation he’d had with Daryl, when his sweet baby brother told him that instead of investing his little windfall with Merle’s help he was going to buy Fag Manor here in libtard central. Daryl had gotten up and left when Merle had made it clear what the consequences would be. After everything Merle had done for him Daryl had chosen some namby pamby little queer. He kept waiting for Daryl to come crawling back begging for forgiveness when the roommate fucked off somewhere after bleeding Daryl dry. But year after year passed with not so much as a letter. There were times he almost broke down and called Boyd down in Sedalia to ask if he’d do a favor for his pal Merle. A little one at that, especially since Merle would’ve gotten less time if he’d snitched on the rest of the gang. Just find out where his sweet baby brother was hanging his hat these days, find out who if anyone he was still living with. Simple. Merle never did go that far, in the back of his mind he knew Daryl would spot Boyd and would figure out instantly who’d sent him and why. There was always the chance that even though Daryl had embraced full time faggotry there was enough Dixon in him to start some shit. Shit that would end badly for everyone involved.

But now here Mr. Paul J. Rovia wanted to come for a visit, wanted to look Merle in the eye and talk to him. Merle didn’t even consider turning the request down, he wanted to look Paulyanna in the eye and talk to him as well. He told himself that it was just so he could tell the roommate to go fuck himself once and for all, and that was part of it, but it wasn’t the main reason.

The main reason was that he hadn’t seen his brother in almost three years, had no idea what he was doing, no idea if he missed Merle or thought of him at all.

[STUFF]

[STUFF]

Mr. Paul J. Rovia was already sitting at the little booth when Merle was escorted in. He didn’t stand,  looked up and met Merle’s eyes with a bland expression that did not match his chilly blue eyes. He was handsome, with bluish-green eyes, high cheekbones over a neat beard, and glossy hair that tumbled down to his shoulders. Merle’s first thought was that the guy looked like paintings of Jesus in his grandma’s sitting room growing up. His second thought was that he hadn’t expected the roommate to be this good-looking. His shirt was fitted tight enough for Merle to see he had the lithe, compact little body of a gymnast with surprisingly well-muscled arms and shoulders. Despite that, without a beard he would have looked like a girl with that glossy hair and a wide mouth framed by full red lips that looked like they’d been designed to suck cock.

Merle’s third thought was to wonder— not for the first time— if Daryl had lied to him about how much money was in his insurance settlement, or how much the lawyers would take, or a combination of the two. No way little Mr. Hot Piece would look twice at a bit of redneck trash with the last name of Dixon unless he had good incentive. So. Money, and lots of it. His sweet little Darlina had told Merle that he got a lawyer via his good friend Paul, the very same guy who swooped in like a vulture when he saw a dying Daryl beside the road. Probably called the lawyer before 911.

They studied each other for a few minutes, Mr. Paul “Jesus” Rovia and his pretty dick-sucking lips and bland expression. Pretty good poker face, but it didn’t take Merle long to guess that he was pissed. When Merle realized that he gave him a lazy grin, and that poker face slipped for just a minute before Jesus grabbed the phone on his side of the glass. Merle’s grin widened as he picked up his own phone, “Who the fuck are you, then?”

Jesus rolled his eyes, “You know who the fuck I am. Paul Rovia, you signed off on my visitor’s request. I thought we should chat.”

Merle sucked his lip against his teeth, “You got me. I know who you are— my sweet little Darylina’s best lady friend,” he was surprised to find himself reluctantly respecting the fact that guy got straight to the point like that. Little fucker. “You’re purtier than I thought you’d be. Still roommates?”

Merle’s reluctant respect shattered when Jesus replied in a bored voice, “Yeah. Plus we’re still regularly sodomizing each other, which is a bonus.”

White hot rage descended on Merle then. “Boy, you don’t know how lucky you are this glass is between us. You should march out of here before I decide to try and break it.”

[stuff, convo is identical to the one they had in Ripples, but with Merle’s reactions.]

“Heard you’re up for parole, that is if you didn’t fuck it up. How’s that going?”

“Why you askin’? Gonna invite me over for Sunday morning shopping trips for panty hose?”

“I’m honestly curious about something, Merle. Do you legit think comparing me to a woman is going to piss me off? Or implying that I’m less of a man or whatever because I like dick? Besides, it’s not like you have room to talk, what with you in here getting dicked down on the regular. Guessing you’re the most popular guy on your cell block.”

“I don’t need to know about your jerk off fantasies, you fucking fudge packer, or the disgusting shit you done to my brother,” Merle snarled.

“Oh Merle, your secret is safe with me. I spent a lot of time in juvie, I know guys like you. Loudest homophobes are the quickest to lie back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick.”

“Ooh creampuff, do you want to wrassle with me?” Merle hissed, “You want an ass beating to get your rocks off you don’t need to go through all this, just say the word.”

“Daryl may be scared of you, I’m not,”

“You lying little cocksucker. I dunno what kinda shit you put in his head, make him run off—“

“Holy shit, do you not know?Thought you’d be pleased, I think he’s more scared of you than he ever was of your Daddy. Apple didn’t fall far from the tree there in your case.”

“I ain’t nothing like our daddy, you candy ass little scrotum. Daryl ain’t scared of me.”

“He is terrified of you; he’s had me spend the past three years learning how to shoot a gun and looking over his shoulder because he’s worried you’ll have your inbred white supremacist buddies come beat him or kill him. He’s been a basket case since he realized you could be getting out soon to beat him or kill him personally.”

“Look at you sittin’ there in your fancy clothes with your yankee accent acting like I’m some kinda monster, to hurt my own kin, my blood. You see a guy like me and see nothin’, see a guy who won’t listen to your bullshit—”

“You know what I see when I look at you?” Jesus interrupted, “Trash. Straight up fucking garbage. And it’s really important that you realize I don’t see that because you’re poor, or from Buttfuck, Georgia, or are into redneck shit like hunting and fucking your cousins. Except for that last one I could be describing Daryl and I think he’s pretty great. No, you’re garbage because of the shit you choose to do. To him especially.”

“So why are you here then, if I’m the bogeyman?”

“I’m here because—even though you’re trash and don’t deserve him—Daryl for some reason still loves you. Which makes you also my fucking cross to bear. In my ideal world you’d fuck off somewhere and never come back, but I think he misses you. If you could choose to stop being a dick for thirty minutes then he wouldn’t mind hearing from you, so feel free to give him a call and let him know you’re not going to kick his ass. But if you show up and hurt him in any way or try dragging him down to your level I’m going to kill you.”

Merle stared at him in disbelief before he chuckled, “Oh sweetheart, I would love to see you try.”

“Please, a child could get rid of your dumb ass. Cut the brake line on your bike. Or set the shack you live in on fire one night when you’re all pilled up. Or just walk in blow your head off instead, cops would find you and think one of your tweaker besties went nuts. Nothing of value would be lost and no one would miss you except for Daryl. He’s used to that by now.”

Merle laughed again: “Oh honey bunch, you are feisty. Hissin’ and spittin’ just like a kitten. You know what I think? Think you the one that’s afraid. Daryl knows I’d never hurt him, I think you’re afraid once I get out he’ll find his balls again and quit buyin’ you houses and whatever else you got him doing.”

“Whatever helps you live with yourself. Saddest thing about you isn’t that you’re trash, it’s that you don’t have to be. You could just, y’know, stop. Like I said, he still loves you for some fucking reason and would be happy to see you if you could act like a human being. But guys like you never do. Goodbye, it wasn’t nice meeting you.”

[STUFF]

That night Merle found Fabrizio in the showers and gave him the nod. Later when the little Guinea fuck had his mouth around Merle’s cock he heard ol’ Jesus mocking words, bet you’re the most popular guy on your cellblock, playing on a loop in his head. When closed his eyes instead of imagining past conquests like Ruby Sawyer or that sexy bitch XXXX, it was Jesus. Imagined how those full lips would look swollen and bruised and red after, and as he did he arced his hips forward and came with the force of a gunshot.

That night he laid awake in his bunk while Ellis Crowder snored and farted in the bed above him, restless and angry, still hearing Jesus’s mocking voice.

What with you in here getting dicked down on the regular.

Fucking fudge-packer and his fucking disgusting fantasies. Fucking Daryl and his tender little heart. Merle should have sat down with Daryl back when he was still young and impressionable and explained a few things to him. Like how getting your dick sucked when you were behind bars-be it juvie or prison—was one thing. Hell, some guys were better at it than women, could make it feel fucking amazing. So Merle understood that part of it, how a guy could give you a blowjob so good you saw stars. How you could maybe get addicted to it, start thinking that thing was ok full time. Easier and more convenient than going after a woman. Especially sweet young ladies like his precious little Darlina. Too late now.

Loudest homophobes were the quickest to lie back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick.

Merle felt a spike of rage, remembering the little queer claiming he sodomized Daryl, and his hands twitched involuntarily as he imagined wrapping them around Jesus’ neck and squeezing. Never, Merle thought, Daryl’d never! His brother might be tender-hearted and sweet but Merle’s time making him into a man couldn’t have been completely wasted. The kid was tough, and the thought that he’d let Mr. Pretty Boy Jesus do that to him was absurd. Getting your dick sucked was one thing, fucking a guy was one thing—after all, a mouth was a mouth and an asshole was an asshole whether they were attached to a man or a woman. A man needed something beside his hand for five years. But by the same token a dick was a dick, and only fags liked those in their mouths or up their asses. Fags got off on doing that kind of shit. Take Fabrizio, Merle hardly ever beat him off afterward as a thank you for services rendered but the guy still came running with his mouth agape when Merle or any other guy with more muscle than fat gave the nod. Fuck, when Merle was back in juvie and didn’t know any better he’d given his fair share of head in exchange for some of his own, but he hadn’t enjoyed it. Some tit for tat, quid pro quo, I scratch your back you scratch mine. That was before Merle realized some guys would…how did Jesus put it? Lay back and grab their ankles or follow you around begging to suck your dick. That’d never been Merle, little queer was probably just projecting; he’d probably be the one in juvie to do all that. If ol’ Jesus was in prison now he’d be the most popular guy not just on the cell block but the entire dang prison. Guys’d be lined up by the dozens to run a train on him and he’d love every second. He’d be good at it too, Merle knew that for a fact, had to be good to get Daryl so whipped he was buying houses and refusing to see his brother who was rotting away in jail.

[STUFF, he’s back in the Desus house looking at their shit]

The walls are covered in collages of photographs of various sizes. Many of them are black and white so at first Merle dismisses them as some arty farty shit they’d gotten at a tourist shop. But then out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of something familiar and takes a closer look. It’s a shot of a rocking chair in the middle of a field, taken at around sunset. Its only when you look at the figure seated in the chair that you realize how big the thing is, fifteen feet high at least. The man in the chair has his arms stretched out like Jesus on the cross and can just barely touch the chair’s armrest and his feet don’t touch the edge. In the light of the shot his features are indistinct and shadowy but the silhouette is enough for Merle to recognize his brother.

[He has a flashback to when Daryl was a little boy, around five or so. Sitting in his rocking chair with a stuffed Kermit the Frog, and Merle telling him that only fags had stuffed animals. ]

On one wall there’s a framed menu of a place called the Sweet Shack Barbecue. It’s designed to look a little like an old-timey newspaper, with inked etchings of smiling pigs dressed in top hats and tuxedos. One drawing has a group of pigs with wide smiles sat down at a dinner table. On the table is another pig, only this one is on a plate with an apple in its mouth and little x’s in place of eyes.

He finds Daryl in another photo. This one is a closeup of a regal moth cupped delicately in the palm of a man’s hand, and Merle can just see the corner of the little blue star Daryl has tattooed on his wrist.

[STUFF]

A pit bull with its mouth open in a wide, doggie grin leaning out of a motorcycle sidecar. Its wearing a red bandana with the University of Georgia logo and matching red goggles. Merle thinks of the “Warning: Pit Bull” sign on the side gate and guesses this is Darlina’s pet dog. They always had a mutt or two around since they was kids, and his sweet baby brother adored them.  Merle felt his fingers close into his fist at the overt faggotry of it, dressing your dog up.

[STUFF, IN THE KITCHEN]

The fridge is covered in kitschy souvenir magnets—St. Petersburg, Tarpon Springs, Cumberland Island, St. Augustine, Savannah, Gatlinburg, Asheville, Helen. There’s also a black magnet with “GO DAWGS!” in bright red, and another one with Uga, the white bulldog that’s the Georgia mascot. On the side of the fridge is a whiteboard with a blue marker on a string. He recognizes Daryl’s chicken scratches that make up the written to-do list.

1)Lou’s rabies shot 2)replace brake lights on Paul’s bike 3)Mow lawn 4)shoot douchebags on Oakhurst St

Underneath the last item is a note written in neat block letters: babe don’t shoot neighbors until I’m back & can bail you out.

[Merle goes through the house some more]

Merle isn’t a man who’s ever understood himself well, so he doesn’t bother to analyze the way looking at Daryl’s house makes him feel. Pissed off, jealous, afraid, guilty. The house isn’t what he expected at all. Not the frayed mess of Daddy’s place, but neat and homey. It's like finding out he never knew Daryl at all. He isn’t sure what he expected to find—he had a vague idea of some faggy shit like rainbows all over everything, nude portraits on the wall, a fucking gimp costume hanging from the hook on the door or a collection of dildos on the shelf. He doesn’t find anything like that, not in the living area or in the master bedroom.

He does find a box of condoms that looked old as fuck and a mostly empty bottle of Astroglide that doesn’t.

[dzmoot]

COUNT CLAUS

It was decades ago when I was ten And it was a time for good will towards men It was Christmas time, the cream of the crop Time for lighting contests, dressing up pine trees and grown ups to shop For the year's most popular of knick knacks and toys For their angelic little girls and mischievous little boys There was Toby the Teddy that talked and did hand stands 

A rubber action figure, Sam Stretch that stretches and expands 

There was Miss Penelope Perfect with a make up set and brush 

A giant mutant lizard monster that spit up slime and mush 

And a Baby Poops Too Much for little cousin Jane 

For dear Johnny, a noisy remote control flying saucer sure to drive mom and dad insane 

And what did I want that year, I wasn't quite certain Perhaps some dinosaur mittens or a cowboy curtain But there was one thing set in the stone I would be up all night Christmas Eve, curious and alone To get a glimpse of the big man in red With the big fuzzy cloud beard upon his huge round head I would watch him put the presents under the tree And laugh and smile with utmost glee He would eat every cookie and drink all the milk And put on his black gloves made of smooth silk And then with a finger nicely placed aside his nose He would stand upright on all ten toes And up the chimney he would fly like smoke He's in pretty good shape for an old folk

I couldn't wait, to get a glimpse of Santa Claus And all I had to do was listen closely for reindeer paws

So, as you would imagine, it was the night before Christmas when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, except for my pet mouse 

The stockings all hung by the fireplace with care There was a holiday snow globe and a festively dressed teddy bear And I on the couch with my jammies and cap Was drinking lots of coffee to make sure I wouldn't take a nap When out in the front yard, there arose such a clatter I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter Away to the front door I flew like the Flash Whipped it right open and looked past the trash The fog was hovering over the hard, frozen snow And there was no lustre of midday from the moon to show When what to my anxious eyes did appear But a weird looking sleigh and nine, fanged bats instead of reindeer With a caped, terrifying driver so UNDEAD and sick I wondered to myself, WAS THIS REALLY SAINT NICK? 

More rapid than werewolves his monsters they came And he hissed and shouted and called them by name Now Ripper Now Dripper Now Sucker and Spewer On Killer On Crippler On Stoker and Skewer To the top of the house, to the top of the wall Now flap away flap away flap away all And when the coursers landed on the roof The dreaded vampire Claus transformed into a bat with one single POOF As I shut the door and hid behind the armchair Down the chimney St. Nicholas flew, ashes flying into the air He turned back into a human with red eyes and sharp teeth And he had a candy walking cane and a large collar instead of a wreath  

His cape how it fluttered, his glare how scary He seemed to hover around which made me quite wary His sharp fangs dripped gooey blood onto his belly It looked as if he just consumed somebody’s brain jelly He was spooky and plump, a right wicked old elf And I gasped when I saw him, in spite of myself A blink of his glowing eyes and a 360 spin of his head Soon gave me a feeling of terror and tremendous dread He spoke not a word and went straight to his work And filled all the stockings, the big blood sucking jerk And laying his finger aside of his nose He turned back into a bat and up the chimney he rose

He flew to his sleigh, to his bats gave a whistle And away they all flew like a nuclear missile And I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight Merry Christmas to all, and to All a Good Night!

And I said to myself, was I hearing that right?

How could such a terrible monster make people giddy He should be out scaring trick or treaters on Halloween, he’s ghastly and gritty He’s nothing like the Santa Claus I always dreamed In his sight, people probably hid under their beds and screamed So in those hours after Dracula Claus had gone I devised a plan well into dawn I would wait until next year, when the present delivery would start And when he comes back, I would stake Count Claus straight in the heart

Yet again, it was the night before Christmas when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, except for the pet mouse There were no stockings, no snow globe, no Christmas tree by the chair I anxiously waited until Count Claus was there And when he arrived, I flew to the fireplace And prepared to strike Count Claus square in the face He flapped down the chimney, a bat yet again And I readied my sharp, limited edition silver pen When to my surprise, Count Claus transformed into a beast And looked at me like I would be his midnight Christmas feast He had several eyes and claws like a crab And he waved his tentacles around me like he was ready to grab

I cried and I shrieked like a big, slobbering baby Until I heard a soft voice, like a small bird in a tree Count Claus was back to normal and he wasn’t as scary His fanged mouth formed a smile and he put his arm around me He said, Dear little Toddy McFaggletrodder, I mean you no harm I know I look like I would bite off your arm I know I look like I came straight from the grave But I’m actually that kindly Claus you’ve always known, the one all people rave I’m just a vampire, forced to come out at night For if I came out during the day, I would crumble to dust in the bright light That’s why I stay up high at the North Pole It’s pitch black and dark as coal To protect me until Christmas comes again So I can continue to spread good cheer among God’s great men

And with those words, I was no longer afraid Count Claus would surely be something I would no longer evade And as Claus put his presents upon the floor He asked me if I’d like to go on a little tour He would take me along on his long winter trip And I would ride on his grand bat pulled ship I couldn’t wait, it was like the Christmas specials on TV I wondered and wondered about all the fantastic things I would see And we flew away, all around the world The sleigh was like a roller coaster that looped and swirled We visited house after house, through the thick winter sauce And surprisingly, Count Claus didn’t flee at the sight of a cross He feared no garlic, no grains of rice No bibles, no holy water, no wolfsbane spice He gave the children their presents, his ultimate goal And when he was finished, he took me to the North Pole Because it was pitch black, it was hard to see But the glowing nose of Rudolph the Bat led the way for me

And we entered Count Claus’ grand toy making castle Without any hustle, bustle or hassle

And again, what did my wondering eyes should appear But thousands of strange looking elves with one single eye, so clear They still had pointy ears and tiny Christmas hats They were busy making toy soldiers and silver baseball bats And their voices, how high pitched, how squeaky, how merry Their yellow ears so flappy, their toes so hairy

Then Count Claus showed me all his machines The Great Toy Spaceship-O-Matic, a thingamajig that made tambourines A gingerbread house maker, a firetruck snapper A Susie doll head plopper, a frisbee clapper There was a gizmo that made multi colored toy snails And a conveyer belt that made toy chainsaws, hatchets and nails Last but not least was the great Wind-Up Toy constructor And an elf named Morty was the controller, the conductor There were wind up toys of elephants, kangaroos and soldiers There were even wind up cowboy boots and cup holders I saw a guy in a car, a juggling clown, an alien invader Why, there was even a wind up kung fu alligator

We met some of Claus’ comrades, Credence was first He was a critter with a Christmas ball head and drank cocoa to quench his thirst

A gingerbread giant that almost hit the ceiling

The Insectoid Candlehead, dripping hot wax and squealing 

And like a haunted house at Halloween There was even a floating present poltergeist, a bright red and green

The North Pole’s first line of defense, a battalion of nutcrackers                         

They stood prominently and were led by General McKlackors!

Outside on the white, slushy snow so delicious Was a talking snowman the elves called Aloysius 

He told me a story about the fateful Christmas Eve When the presents were stolen by a furry green fellow, I couldn’t believe He told me a skeleton kidnapped Santa one night And trapped him in a crypt where he received that fateful vampire bite As the tour continued, I bid Aloysius goodbye He had a warm heart for such a frosty guy And with a bit of magic, Santa gave life to his long walking cane He was tall with a mustache and was named Cain

Cain Charine was the Count’s most prized assistant When he checked Claus’ naughty and nice list, he was quite persistent He had a bit of an accent and kept all the elves in line He knew just what toy making duty to assign He got up and waved his long rubbery arms And tried to amuse me with his humorous charms And after awhile, Claus turned him back into his walking stick I’m sure if Count Claus ate him, he would become very sick

Then we went back outside, walked towards a forest, so bright Was the forest on fire, I feared, not quite It was a beautiful, stunning moment to cease When we saw the entire forest full of glowing Christmas trees The lights were so bright I thought I’d go blind And the reds, the blues, the greens, so defined They glimmered and glistened like burning night stars And the stars on top glowed like headlights on cars It was like a grand Christmas dream, it would never be forgotten But little did I know something would come along, something very, very rotten When we least expected it, it hit us like a knife When one of the glowing trees suddenly came to LIFE

It was an alien from a gleaming Christmas star Bringing terror and tyranny from afar He had 5 eyes, more than a spider And long, tendril arms and a prickly trunk, much wider

He was ready to pounce and devour us like cookies But we would defeat him, we were brave rookies He chased us, far up the snowy mountain Far past the fruitcake valley and down the eggnog fountain He chased us down the slope of drippy chocolate balls And into the great, sticky rock candy halls Count Claus whipped out some tinsel and a large red sack And tied the creature up, than I covered him up and pushed him on his back We drug him back to the castle and put him in the freezer He was frosty, a frozen tree, cold hearted like Ebenezer And we put him right in the middle of the hall So all the elves and critters could admire him, they could all have a ball It was an odd Christmas, like one I never had And now that I am old, I tell this story to you my lad In hopes that you will one day have a similar adventure to endure Because, right now, at this moment, Count Claus is at the door Have a good time, say hello to the elves To the magical toys upon the shelves And beware strange aliens disguised as Christmas trees For they might devour you like strings of cheese It’s Christmas time, a time for excitement, over and under And who said vampires can’t spread cheer and wonder 

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM DERRICK ZURN’S MOON OF TOONS! 

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA091718 - Behind the Door

The place was feeling more and more like home, Poh thought to himself. It was dark, warm, and apparently filled with Duergar. He kicked the dead dwarf in the ribs as he passed, likely hired as experts or guides to help this cult settle into it’s new home somewhere beneath his feet. Poh was surprised to find that the memories associated with Skullport brought feelings of nostalgia. Very strange indeed. So much suffering occurred there, so much he was ashamed of, so much he was trying to avenge himself from. He wondered if the other two had the same feelings? They most likely had better memories associated with the place than he. He shook these thoughts from his mind, what did it matter? This was a useless line of thinking. How had he let himself become so soft? He’d have to ask forgiveness by the whip later.

“Last two doors.” Drenaris looked at the other two thoughtfully. ‘The thing’ in the room across the hall from the scribe room didn’t fill them with confidence. They all agreed it would be best to clear the rest of the floor first, rest up, before tackling whatever was behind that door.

Poh turned to the second door, lock pick in hand. Far too easy. He felt he could have breathed on the door and it would open for him. Then again, he thought, this was once just an ordinary Monastery. What would a bunch of monks possibly have to keep secure?

The door opened to the smell of old wood. It was dry, and cool inside without a single cob web in sight. It was a place well cared for. Smiling as much as a Kenku can smile, Poh selected one of the clean brown bottles from the shelves. The liquid inside was clean and light. Ale. Monk brewed ale. Everyone has their vices he supposed.

There was a gentle clinking of glass and Poh emerged from the darkened doorway holding three large bottles of ale in between his fingers. “FOR LATER.” He mimicked.

“Now we’re talking.” Drenaris nodded approvingly, her mouth already puckering in anticipation of the bitter ale she knew monks tended to prefer. “That just leaves this last one.” She gestured towards the door, the door across from the scibe room where some ‘thing’ had been reported to reside.

Without having to be told, Poh slid up to the wooden slab and gently tried the knob. Surprisingly, he found it turned with ease and without any kind of lock to hinder its movement. He slowly pushed inward, careful to keep his ears tuned. He had no idea how old these hinges were, they could very well disagree quite loudly to being forced back into regular movement. The door didn’t budge. He pressed harder, leaning into it so as to let his full weight do most of the work. Again, nothing. Straightening he shook his head.

“Stand back, let me handle this.”

“Drenaris...do it quietly, we don’t want to let-” Aviate should have known it would be a futile effort. Before his sentence was finished the hallway echoed with a large crash as the teifling threw her shoulder into the door.

Drenaris groaned, her shoulder quickly becoming sore. It was like trying to knock over a stone wall. No matter how hard she forced herself upon it, she felt no resistance. But that never stopped her before, and she’d be damned if it will stop her now. Again and again, taking longer and longer sprints before throwing out her shoulder. The sound of her solid frame against an unnaturally sturdy wood filled the halls to the point of a low roar.

“DRENARIS, ENOUGH!!” Aviate ended his plea with mouth agape. Almost on cue, the door gave way, swinging hard on its hinges before slamming against the opposite wall.

Unlike the rest of the monastery that was bathed in a constant darkness, there came the faintest of lights from within the room. A dancing glow like the flickering of a candle. The air that poured out of the chamber was stale and cold, rolling out like a thick fog on the water.

“See? I got this.” Drenaris smirked and made a move to the open portal.

“Wait...be careful. Something’s not right about this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember the journal.” Drawing her sword the gladiator pressed forward, her bare skin quickly developing goose-pimples in the chilled room. In the faint light she saw furnishings and objects quite foreign to any monastery she had ever heard of. Flasks, burners, a large stone mortar and pestle, corked bottles of every shape and size, and shelf after shelf of ancient texts.

She felt a presence looming behind her, turning with sword at the ready she met Poh with a single finger to his beak. She hadn’t even heard him approach. But then again, she supposed, that’s one of the reasons they kept him around. Gathering her wits the two pressed on, passing more and more objects of calculation and experimentation. As they rounded a large wooden cupboard the source of the flickering light came into view. Towards the back of the room a long table was pushed up against the stone wall. Shelves of tiny bottles and scrolls hung just above it, with a single candle to illuminate the entire work station.

“I told you before...NO.” The tall figure of an aged man bent over the table, in deep study of some large tome. His robes were tatters, but not out of any kind of rip or tear. No. It was if the old man had been standing in his quiet study for so long, the very clothes on his back had begun to rot from time. It would not have surprised Drenaris if this was the case. For the man was indeed old. Older than any other living creature she had known. His skin was taught against bone, smooth and dry like parchment and pale like bleached bone. He did not so much have a beard as he had a tangle of snow white fibers sprouting from his chin. She suspected a slight breeze would send this man to the next world.

“Leave me...now.”

His voice sounded like boot upon loose gravel, and there was no missing the menace in its tone. Still, Drenaris was a champion of Skullport, she would not be so intimidated by such a feeble old man.

“Relax, we just have a few questions.” Her approach ended abruptly about five feet from the old man. Drenaris stopped suddenly in her tracks, stunned and shaking from head to toe. It was as if she had leaped into the frozen waters of winter. She could now see her very breath billowing out of her mouth like dragon’s fire. But there was more, so much more. Her very strength was being sapped, and not just from the cold. Something else reached out and griped her heart with icy fingers, draining her of the energy to  even stand upon her own duress.

“You will leave wanting of answers...or you will not leave at all. This is my final warning.”

Poh was never one to ask much questions. He was also never one to think too much about what he was told to do. He was used to acting, swiftly and brutally. It was no surprise then that he found himself drawing Spite and Malice on a sprint towards the old man who had done...something...to his comrade. He hit the wall of icy cold and felt it wash over him. But he was used to pain, used to the intense sensations that one’s body could endure. Loviatar had prepared him for this. He pushed through it, closing the distance in an instant. He muttered a prayer to the dark lady, asking her to bless his weapons, that they might bite hard and teach his foe the pleasures of pain. He did not get the chance.

A single finger, nobbed like a twig on a dying tree, reached out and poked the Kenku between his eyes. A ripple of energy shot through his system, locking every muscle in his body save - mercifully - for his lungs. “Very well...you brought this upon yourselves.”

Drenaris got a good look at the man as he turned, arms held outstretched wide in a sweeping gesture. His sunken eyes connected all the dots for her. The tight, leathery skin. The dry, knotted hair. The rotting garb. And now...sunken, milky white eyes that should not be able to see. This man, was not a living being. What confused her was his magical ability. Were undead able to use magic? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t encountered any in the fighting pits. It would have to be a question for later, as a billowing green fog began pouring out of the man’s sleeves, quickly filling the room ankle deep in a noxious smelling mist.

“If you survive. I suggest you do not return here, I will not be so lenient next time.” His words faded to almost a whisper as the fog quickly rose, obscuring him in a green haze until he had dissipated into nothing.

“DRENARIS! GRAB POH AND GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!” Aviate screamed through a handkerchief pressed to his face. Looking back at him, then to Poh, Drenaris felt her lungs beginning to burn. Her throat revolted against the very air it was breathing, forcing it back up in hacking coughing fits. She lifted the frozen birdman and slung him over her shoulder, desperately drying to seal her mouth and nostrils with her free hand.

As soon as they were past the threshold, Aviate slammed the door behind them and collapsed in his own coughing fit. “What in the nine hells was that??”

“I don’t know.” Drenaris wheezed between gasping breaths. Clean air, cleansing her sore lungs. “But I want to kill it.”

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