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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years ago

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Fire on fire

@linasofia has been so good to send this one in! My dear, dear friend, it was a pleasure and an honour to be writing this for you!

🥳Happy Birthday🥳

Prompts: Coworker AU - Firefighter - Sick/Injured

Words: 1.95

Characters: Thorin x OC, Fíli, Ori x OC

Warnings: Fire, injury, danger

“Old man,” Fíli muttered under his breath, “this looks nasty. Do you not want to take the day off?”

Thorin merely cocked an eyebrow at his oldest nephew—he was still not convinced that he liked the fact that both of his esteemed sister’s sons had followed him into his rather dangerous life as a firefighter. He also knew that he should have been a role model and agreed with Fíli; he’d never want the boys to put themselves and their colleagues into harm’s way because they were too stubborn to accept that they were not up for it.

Nonetheless, he shook his head and retracted his foot from the stool on which he had rested his sore ankle.

It had been such a minor accident—a mere slip on the treadmill—and he had earnestly tried to simply walk it off, but, as the day progressed, his ankle kept swelling and the pain did not abate.

“No, I am in charge, and I cannot leave you lot to your own devices,” Thorin replied, forcing a light, humorous note into his strained voice—he knew better than this and yet, he could not bear to leave the station to mope in his empty apartment.

Not when she was on the roster.

Fia, as she chose to be called by her colleagues, had joined their station recently and, even though Thorin had initially given her a hard time, she had turned out to be one of the most reliable and skilled firefighters he’d ever met—level-headed and calm, her apt assessment of the situation had saved their asses more than once and her gentle, friendly nature had quickly made her one of the favourites of the team.

Of course, Thorin had to admit as he forced his foot back into its boot and tried not to groan, she was also gorgeous.

Had he always known? Probably. Looking at the members of his team in such a light went against his own moral and professional code and so, Thorin had done his best to deny the way her hearty laughter and her steadfast courage made him feel for as long as he could.

When she had come in on her off-day though, her dark hair open and fragrant and her twinkling blue-grey eyes accentuated by a discreet hint of make-up, he had been unable to keep up that flimsy charade of disinterest anymore.

As the head of the team and the uncle of two grown men, Thorin was far past the point where he was supposed to let a silly crush bring him to his knees and convince him to act recklessly but, this much he was certain of, he would never have behaved so foolishly if she had been merely beautiful.

It was her spirit and her innate strength that had convinced and impressed him first and, as the months went by, he had realised that he enjoyed her company—her dry humour and her wickedly impish streak—more than he was ready to concede.

He had ever been unlucky in love, which was the reason why he had accepted to risk his life every day—there was nobody except his sister who would be devastated if he ever succumbed to the potentially lethal threat inherent to his job.

Thus, he was not surprised when the first woman to catch his attention in an eternity was one he could not have without risking the integrity of his whole life—he was frightened and excited in equal measures by this unexpected, rather late second spring, awakening debilitating desires and fantasies within his cold, rational heart.

“Please, tell me you’re not staying because you’ve got the hots for the other Fifi,” Fíli grinned and clapped his broad, calloused hand on his uncle’s shoulder playfully. “I am sure she’d be delighted to take you home and tend to you—have you seen her results in the first aid run? And I am not saying that because she’s a woman; I simply bow to my superior, she’s destroyed us!”

Obviously, Thorin remembered the first aid drill they had undergone a few weeks prior in which—as his nephew so correctly recalled—Fia had outperformed all of them with her calm efficiency and the gentle skill. How could he forget the light in her eyes as she generously shared her tips and insights with the others?

“Really, uncle,” Fíli tried again but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Ori.

“The house,” the flustered ginger exclaimed, “it’s on fire. I’ve seen it from afar and I thought I’d come here first. My love, she might still be in there.”

Forgetting all about his ankle, Thorin sprang up and ran towards the garage, all the while bellowing commands.

“I’ve got you,” Fia replied, already pulling up her overalls. “Kíli you take care of the civilian, Fíli you get the gear ready. Engine 13 is prepared.”

She had just been cleaning and checking that particular vehicle when Thorin’s loud voice came booming through the space, startling her considerably—she had seen Ori around before and she liked the mousy little accountant just fine. As far as she had understood the matter, he was a distant cousin of the boys which explained why he and his girlfriend regularly brought food and other treats to the station to “keep their spirits up”.

At the thought that the shy woman with the furtive eyes was cowering in a smoke-filled room, Fia’s mind grew sharp and empty. There was no margin for error and her whole body stilled in anticipation of the inferno that was awaiting them.

A single glance at Thorin, her venerable captain, and his firmly set jaw made a surge of iron determination well up in her—she would be his right-hand woman, going in by his side and watching his back as he scanned every room for survivors.

“One civilian,” Kíli’s grainy, unsteady voice came from the speakers. “Only her. Get her, Thorin, we’re counting on you.”

“On it,” Thorin barked back. His boys, for all the children in the neighbourhood were his in a way, were his first priority and he’d never let any of them come to harm if he could avoid it.

“Uncle, your foot,” Fíli piped up nervously but was shushed by a tempestuous side-glance from his uncle. “Be careful!”

As soon as Thorin hit the brakes, they were out of the engine. The fire was contained in the back of the house and the hydrant on the street was easily accessible and in good condition; this would be a routine intervention if they handled the situation well and quickly enough.

"I’ve got the lines,” Fíli barked. “Here come Bofur and the others.” He took a breath, waiting for Thorin’s instructions.

“I’m going in to get the girl,” Thorin replied calmly, pulling on his helmet and checking his gear perfunctorily.

“Don’t go alone,” Fíli urged, his eyes so reminiscent of the young boy he had been not too long ago that Thorin paused for a precious second.

“I’ve got you, cap,” Fia reiterated and dug her fingers into Thorin’s belt. “Go ahead.” She would not let go of him until they were both out of the burning building again or he told her to fan out.

“On 3,” Thorin articulated painstakingly and marched forward; his ankle was screaming and protesting, but he did not slow down for the fire was eating its way voraciously through the ground floor now and every second lost would allow it to gain more and more traction.

Calling the young woman’s name in his sonorous voice, Thorin delved into the thick smoke and unbearable heat fearlessly.

“Here,” came the weak call. She had made it to the stairs and stayed there, frozen between the awareness that she had to get out of the carpet of asphyxiating smoke and the fear that she’d be trapped on the first floor.

Dimly, they all registered the crackling sound of water hitting the side of the house, but they couldn’t dwell on that.

“Jump, baby,” Thorin called, extending his arms. “I’ve got you.”

The frightened lady trusted him enough to do as she was told, Fia realised, awe and respect surging within her instinctively.

“Let’s…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence though because Thorin had buckled and collapsed on the floor, his body protectively wrapped around Ori’s girl. Flashes of the conversation in the truck came back to her and she shook her head—Thorin was injured, and he should have let her handle this!

“Take her out!” Thorin commanded, sitting up and leaning heavily against the banister behind him. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Come here,” she said to the woman and guided her to the door. “Civilian retrieved,” she cried at the top of her lungs. “She needs medical attention!”

Before she had finished her bellowing directive, other firefighters swarmed to the door, unmindful of the mud that splashed around their boots on account of the water that ran across the front yard in dirty rivulets.

“I’ve got her,” Fíli promised. “Where is Thorin?”

“I’m going back now,” Fia answered tersely. “He seems to be injured.” The unwavering resolve in her voice and face brooked no argument and so, Fíli merely nodded as he lifted the young victim into his strong arms.

“We’ll need another stretcher here,” he told Bofur who came to meet him with a paramedic on his heels. “Let’s go, people!”

Fia meanwhile plunged back into the house—the fire had spread, and time was running out fast.

“Cap?” she called and coughed; she knew that she was not supposed to take out her mouthpiece but how else would she get Thorin to tell her where he was.

“Haven’t moved much,” he chuckled, his voice raw and thin from smoke inhalation.

“Oh, you fool!” she cursed as she ran towards him, ducking and dashing as wisps of burning curtains flew past her. He had pulled himself up and was in the process of hobbling towards the exit.

“Trust me,” she said in a tone that made it very clear that this was an order and not a plea. “You can write me up for insubordination later!”

When he nodded, she took off her oxygen tank and chucked it into the general direction of the front door.

“What are you…” Thorin exclaimed angrily.

“Shut up!”

Squatting down, she grabbed his arms and pulled them over her shoulders. “Hold on,” she grunted and then, she made for that blessed rectangle of fresh air and blinding light as fast her own legs would carry her.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl around them, but Fia would not take her eyes or mind off that window to life and freedom.

“Thorin! Fia!” Fíli ran towards them as soon as he saw them appear. Later, he knew, he would mock his uncle relentlessly and mercilessly for having gotten what basically amounted to a half-assed piggyback ride from a woman, but in that second, he was simply relieved that both of them had made it out alive.

“I told you!” he screamed even as he was waving his hands frantically to get the medical personnel to attend even faster.

“I know,” Thorin wheezed. “This was entirely my fault, and I shall admit as much in my report. Never worry about that.”

“Later,” Fia grunted, wiping the back of her hand across her pale brow—the smeared sweat and ash made her look even more imperious and disapproving than Fíli’s flashing eyes ever could. “Right now, we’ll go to the hospital for a check-up and then, I’ll take you home and we’ll see what can be done for that foot of yours!”

@fellowshipofthefics Here is the first one for May then :)

Lots of love from me

-> Masterlist

#og post #Fotfics #Fellowship of the fics #May Mashup #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Coworker AU #Firefighter #sick/injured #Thorin #Thorin x OC #Fíli #Ori

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hella1975 · 2 years ago

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okay no lets actually think about this girls bc i can definitely write all this today and tomorrow and have it finished by like tomorrow afternoon/evening time. scene-wise i only have FOUR scenes left to write. the issue is that three out of four of them are pretty big scenes (both literally and also in terms of what's going on). so i'd say i have about 7k left to write of this chapter, which isn't too bad until you realise i have 9k written already, and that's effectively half. im trying to write the other half of a chapter - whose first half took four months to get written - by tomorrow. okay girls maybe i can definitely not do this actually

LOVE writing taob zuko povs bc it's like 'okay he's going to do x action and that's it' and low and behold this kid starts fucking rambling about god knows what every time without fail

#sike! im gonna try do it anyway! if i do this you all owe me so many hugs and blankets and chocolates btw #i have faith bc the reason ch40 took four months up until now is because university/exams #which are no longer an issue #and also bc it's just a very difficult chapter for me to navigate bc every time i look too close at sexuality #some ugly voice inside goes 'no' and i am once again saying that taob is WAY too much of me just bleeding out onto a page #like i cannot keep doing this my friends and esteemed colleagues #BUT ive taken time and care to hash out the finer details of this chapter in ways i normally dont have to #and now it's not so difficult bc i know EXACTLY where im going with it #so those four months were more focusing on work/writing/outlining COMBINED #whereas rn i am just able to WRITE #we can do this! pray for me #taob updates #btw the four scenes are:#1) tom nook flower scene (already partially through this)#2) zuko kanut and bato scene #3) kanut and hakoda scene (should be very short)#4) kanut and zuko scene (big and very intense)#im gonna cross these off if/when i write them so u guys have a better grasp of where exactly im at with the update lol

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ventisehe · 4 years ago

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crying on their wedding day / genshin impact / part one

this was a request from my old account and i am only transferring it here. there is a part two to this but i got busy with school and organizing my new account, as well as thinking over deleting my old account.

since bennett is fifteen or sixteen, his part will be a little different from the others. with aether, he is hundred years old so his part if just like the rest. this is unedited and i wrote it at night when i was supposed to be farming so please bear with me hehe.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: diluc, zhongli, childe/tartaglia, aether, bennett

warning: unedited, not proofread

part two

THOSE WHO WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR

DILUC

After losing his father and his horrible fall out with Kaeya, Diluc has become a firm believer that a man can truly live as an island, to some extent. As much as possible, he kept to himself and worked alone. Having people share his burdens with him did not appeal to him. In fact, it miffed him, as it made him feel indebted to them.

He limited his interaction with everyone, especially those who are part of the Knights of Favonius, favoring solitude above else. But of course, this did not entail bad social ethics to others.

He treated his maids and employees with civility and respect, the same can be said with his patrons whenever he worked behind the counter (it would certainly be bad for his business if he behaved aloof to them) and those he was once close friends with. He always behaved appropriately to them, although he must admit he can be quite insulting to the Knight, he always stood behind an invisible barrier, careful not to cross it and grow attached to anyone.

He has long given up with amorous relationships. After all, what good would he be as a lover if he could not provide his woman the love and care she deserved? Surely, he cannot let a maiden suffer with his inadequacy as a potential husband. He is aware of how hectic his schedule is (he hardly has enough time for himself so spending time with his lover would be proven difficult) and how poorly he expresses his feelings, thoughts, and emotions. In a relationship, in marriage, communication is the key for it to be successful, and already then, he has failed. He may be a cold man at first glance, but he will not put a woman in s distressing dilemma, not intentionally anyway.

Being the richest man in Mondstadt and being considered attractive by many, Diluc was not foreign to having women throw themselves at him, attempting to seduce him. If maintaining a relationship with a woman with his current tribulations was hard, finding a woman who truly love and understand him was even harder. He has no means of deciphering who were pure with their intentions and those who sought him for his money and influence.

And he accepted his fate without easily, without question. This was the way it was supposed to be in the first place. Diluc Ragnvindr - a lone man, who lived in too big mansion, sleeping on a bed too big for him. It was all he knew. The bright days of his childhood long forgotten.

But then you came to his life so suddenly.

"Master Diluc," Began Jean, a polite smile over her lips. "This is ( Your Name )".

All it took was for you to give him shy smile to have his walls broken down, and for his heart to yearn for what he has resolutely denied himself of for years. And it twisted him, and not in a way he welcomed.

Diluc tried so damn hard to push you away. He avoided your presence, and made it his point to show you he wanted nothing to do with you, and made no attempt to cover it and ignored how his heart broke every time your smile fell. He resolutely refused to yield to your sincere advances.

He treated you the same way be treated everyone, to show you how you were no different from everyone. You were just another dot in his life waiting to be erased and thrown in the back of his mind.

But the harder he pushed, the harder you pulled. In his brightest days and in his darkest days, you have never strayed far and welcomed him with open arms. You always went out of your way for him.

It was hard not to fall in love with you? Why did you have to make things so difficult?

It wasn't too long until he was falling asleep in his bed with you in his embrace, his heart feeling light, warm and content. He hasn't feel like this in a long time - safe, and at home. Diluc found home from someone he tried to push away.

The horror of what could have happened if he had been successful weighed down on him, and it took quite an assurance from you to make him remember that he has failed, and you were his, as he was yours.

Back then, he thought your persistence was bothersome. But as he stood at the altar right now, watching you enter with your white wedding dress, he was grateful you never gave up on him.

Diluc cannot describe how beautiful you looked as you graced everyone in the place with your presence.

Your eyes locked with him, and his heart soared in his chest. And when you smiled at him, an excited gleam in your eyes - he cannot help but smile back.

Time cannot be any slower, and the aisle cannot be any longer. And have you always walked this slow? Or were you just teasing him?

Diluc's breath hitched - Perhaps you knew how much he wanted to get this over with so he can have you all to himself in the comfort of his room.

And when he saw you smiling mischievously at him, he knew that he was right.

His words failed to describe how beautiful you looked. His words failed the joy he was feeling. May Barbatos have mercy on him

But the tear that escaped the corner of his eye explained everything.

"Oh, what is this?" His best man whispered beside him, a teasing tone lacing his voice. "Master Diluc is crying. Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

Diluc shot him a glare. "Do not make me regret making you my best man, Kaeya."

Kaeya laughed. "Ah, ah, ah," He chimed. "Your wife won't be pleased if we fight at your wedding day."

A warm and pleasant feeling coursed through him. His wife.

"She's not my wife yet." Said Diluc.

Kaeya looked at you as you walked down the aisle. "And in just a few minutes, I'll have two Ragnvindr to annoy." He patted his brother on the back, smiling a genuine smile for the first time. "Congratulations, Diluc."

ZHONGLI

Zhongli, or Rex Lapis for that time, has watched over Teyvat for thousands of years and has witnessed firsthand how kings and tyrants rose and fell, how kingdoms were born, how camaraderie are conducted, how romance makes a man foolish and blinded, how society flourished in the hands of mortals as Archons guarded them from their resting place, and throughout the tales of humans, his eyes has laid upon many beauties.

But you? Oh, even the most esteemed bard of all realms could never bring the satisfactory glory to your name and pulchritude.

How dearly Zhongli missed the unspeakable power, money and authority he had back before he revoked his own position as a deity, keeping a close eye over Liyue and his people. But if ever presented with the opportunity to return to his rightful place as part of the Seven, he shall graciously decline, casting his gaze away and simply returning to your side.

After all, what benefit would he gain from it when he already has his heart is content in the possession of a mere mortal, a mortal he loved and adored. He would dream of ever choosing his old power over you, and that can be affirmed when he asked for your hand as the two of you took an evening stroll outside Liyue.

He has fallen for you and he cannot rise again. A gentle and kind woman with an understanding and patience which knows no bounds. If not for his revelation that he has accomplished all his duties and has come to decide to resign from his reign, your existence may be another reason for him to take the form or a mortal and ask for your hand.

He can still recall that faithful day when he first met you at the harbor. He stood by a high balcony, overlooking Liyue Harbor with arms crossed. The sun beat down against Liyue grounds and his skin, but it also casted an ethereal glow on you as you exited one of the ships that stopoed at the docks. And may he boldly say the sun was outshined that day, and his heart has been taken.

Zhongli can only imagine how many men has chased after you, but failed to woo you.

Zhongli understood the concept of love. After all, Liyue and every living being that sought shelter in its walls were close to his heart, but never in his life has he felt the way he felt for you. It was the sort of phenomena he observed between lovers for centuries - unconditional love and care, a sanctuary in the arms of their beloved, an individual to trust and come home to whether the day has been kind or unkind.

What he thought were trivial matters and the means of mortals for survival he has tasted its sweet flavor, and it was by your hand did he receive it. And he was thankful that you have found him worthy of being with you, and soon, being one with him in the contract of marriage.

And thus came the faithful day, the very day he longed to come ever since you have accepted him as your husband to be, and the day you have dreamt of every night you laid with him.

Zhongli counted the months, weeks, days, and if he had the ability to, minutes until the day of your wedding. He has a calendar in his room and everyday, he enthusiastically crossed out every passing day, watching as his wedding with you grow closer.

And when it finally arrived, Zhongli followed a meticulous routine to prepare himself, using expensive oils and perfume to which the Fatui money has provided splendidly. After all, he wanted to look the best he can for you. You deserved only the best of things, and he shall not hold back on anything to please you.

Though Zhongli, most of the time, was a calm man even under the eye of tribulations, when he stood at the altar in front of his close friends and colleagues, he can't help but feel anxious.

Of course he has no doubt in your love for him. He holds on your every word of love and affection as true, and his love for you was as hard as stone. Rather, it was he who doubted himself and his capabilities.

He wondered if he would be able to take care of you, love you the way you should be, bring a smile to your lips, and a laugh out of your mouth. If he had been Rex Lapis still, he would have easily uphold his duties as your husband. After all, what can an Archon not do?

It would be Childe, his best man, who would console him. He would tell Zhongli he is more than capable to care for you. He has a stable job (not to mention his connection with the Fatui), he was eager to please you and give you about everything if he can, he has a kind heart, he was a man who can manage his time wisely and never choose his profession over you, and above all, he loved you. Not many men can afford the luxury of being this perfect, but Zhongli was no man, not originally at least.

He will be unconvinced of what Childe has said. This unease in him was hard to diminish. Not being enough for you will tear him apart. The thought of it just gnawed at him. Will he make you happy? Will you regret marrying him when you realized life married to him wasn't as you expected?

It was only when the doors opened, and his wide and anticipative eyes darted over to the other end of the place did every little doubt in his mind is erased.

You stood by the entrance wearing the white dress you have fought hard not to show him until this day.

That bright smile on your face, those eyes that shimmered at the sight of him, the faint red on your cheeks - Zhongli did not even notice how love stricken he looked, and nor did he notice a tear cascade from corner of eye.

It was only when Childe stifled a laugh and pointed it out did he feel the dampness at the side of his face.

He forgot how to breathe when you finally stood before him. Even a veil cannot conceal your beauty.

With twinkling eyes, you smiled at him - like he was the only person in the room.

"Are you crying?" You ask playfully.

Zhongli will let out a chuckle, and as he take your hands in his, he said, "In such a beautiful day like this with the loveliest lady in Teyvat before me, how can I not?"

Indeed it was a beautiful day, made better when your lips met his.

He can't stop a few more tears from slipping.

THOSE WHO WOULD BAWL THEIR EYES OUT

CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

Childe understood his duties as a Harbinger even if his playful and flirtatious facade may say otherwise. He kissed hands of women and paid them golden compliments until their mind went hazy with his feigned affection, but he was still a Fatui at the end of the day - a ruthless and greedy scoundrel who had too much Mora in his hands.

And it was because of his line of work that he decided never to commit himself. If he was to find himself infatuated with a woman and she reciprocated his feelings and desired to pursue a relationship with him, it would inevitably drag her to the dangers entailed to his position.

The last thing he wanted was someone to dear to him to be harmed, not to mention his lover could become his weakness, she could be taken by his enemies and be used against him, thus, making things more complicated and harder for him to fulfill his duties to the Tsaritsa.

To him, nothing is more important than seeing through his mission with the finest quality of work he can give.

So damn you for coming into his life and distracting him. Damn you for bringing another bright to his life. Damn you for taking care of his family when he was gone. Just - damn you for making him fall for you.

He hated this - the feeling of being weak, of being vulnerable, of laying his guard down. One touch from you and he's no better than the people he despised for being so frail and powerless.

How ever do you possess this prowess to make him so dependent on you, to relish in your voice when you sing to him as the two of you laid together in his bed, how he let his defenses crumble when you whisper his name, the tug of his heart when you he sees you getting along so well with his family.

Childe wanted you. He wanted you more than anything and anyone in Teyvat. He was going crazy thinking about you.

He refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, thinking perhaps he can use you to comfort him and his family in these troubling times. That's all you were supposed to be, a tool for him to make his family feel better whenever he goes off to accomplish his work as a Harbinger.

But he couldn't stomach the thought of using you like that. He didn't want you to treat like a toy. And it did not help that one day, when he was returning from a mission, you come rushing to him and blurting out your feelings and your worry for his safety.

You loved him. Did he hear you right? You love a Fatui, and a Harbinger, no less. Surely, you aren't that stupid to fall for him.

And yet he smiled a sincere smile at your confession, and he too followed your steps. That night, he was at his weakest. Just relishing in your arms and ridding all the responsibilities over his shoulders. He can forget all his faults for a moment, with you. A peace of mind and heart was found in you.

Childe watched as you played with his fingers, and then he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid?”

You hummed. “Afraid? Of what?”

Childe shook his head and held your hand which toyed with his digits. You looked up at him, puzzled.

“Of me.” Said Childe, pulling your hand and holding it close to his chest. He closed his eyes, almost terrified of what your answer can be. “Of what I can bring to your life. I’m a Harbinger, [ Your Name ]. Your life is at stake just being with me. Do you know what you’re in for for loving me?”

You gazed at him, and he can’t see anything in your eyes. He let out a small gasp when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“I’m not afraid of you or anything this world can throw at me.” You confessed. “You’re going to protect me, Tartaglia. I know you will. I trust you. I love you.”

And fucking hell, did he protect you.

He tried to hide you from his fellow Harbingers, and especially to his enemies. Not because they will use you to get the upper hand against him, a leverage. No, he wanted to hide you, as long as he can anyway (because it won't be long until his secret is out, walls do have ears), to protect you. No one will lay a hand or even get a single strand of your hair. May the Archons have mercy on anyone who dares put you in the middle of the dangers of his job, because he surely won't.

Because of this, you and Childe decided to get married in secret, with no one else but Zhongli, the traveler, and their floating companion to be your witnesses in becoming one. The two of you knew well of the consequences your decision shall birth, but it's the one you're making. Nothing in this can stop Childe from making you his wife, and treating you as such.

Childe could not wait for the ceremony to begin. Even with such a small crowd - very small indeed - he did not hold back to make this day special for you. The finest of everything is what you deserved, and if he could give more, he would. But for now, all he can give you is himself, and he dearly wished he was enough.

The whole time, as he waited for you to emerge from the doors of the small cathedral the two of you chose to be wed in, he kept imagining how his life would be like with you.

Waking up beside you was the thing he looked forward to the most. When the sunrays peeked from closed curtains and cascaded down your slumbering form, a gentle and even breaths leaving your lips, a soft expression of rest - the thought of it filled his heart with warmth, a kind of warmth only you can evoke from him.

Waking up at your side on his bed always reminded him thst you were indeed there, and his. Soon, he'll be waking up beside you with a soft smile on his lips, a reminder that you were there, but now as his wife.

Childe never really considered him emotional. It was part of his discipline as a Harbinger never to let his emotions get the better of him. But when you stepped into the cathedral wearing the wedding dress you personally chose and had hidden from him for so long, a veil over your face but the soft smile still just as bright as the morning sun, it all came crashing down to him.

Childe wanted a lot of things in life. But what he wanted the most was to spend the rest of his life with you - providing for you, protecting you, comforting you, falling deeper in love with your every single day. All this he will do until his dying breath, and he knew you'd do the same.

His dream was walking towards him, never taking her eye off him as she approached the altar.

He can hear Paimon clapping and the Traveler reprimanding her for being a little too loud. He can hear Zhongli saying something to him but he couldn't understand a word he said. But he was too lost in his realization that you're going to marry him.

You chose him, a man with too many faults and imperfections.

Just as you arrived at the small steps leading towards the altar, the tears Childe has been trying to hold back streamed down his face, small hiccups escaping his lips.

You stared at him, worried. "Tartaglia, are you alright?"

Childe would try to formulate an answer but through his tears and hiccups, he couldn't make a single comprehensible word. His posture was regal and proper, as though he was trying to fool everyone that he wasn't crying.

How can you ask if he was alright? How can his heart handle how beautiful you looked right now?

"Excuse me, ( Your Name )," Zhongli interjected as he stepped beside Childe. "It seems that your soon to be husband needs a moment to collect himself. Please, excuse us."

Zhongli led Childe back to his room, and the Harbinger did not fight back. He was still crying even when the doors has closed behind him. Zhongli stood by the door, watching the Fatui sit on his bed, trying to stop himself from bawling.

Childe can feel guilt crawling up to him as he realized what he had done. What was supposed to the most perfect day, your most perfect day, was ruined because of him.

He was scared to think what you thought of him now. Were you resenting him for what happened? Did you still wish to marry him?

If only he had controlled his emotions much better. He shouldn't have let his joy break through him in tears.

"She was crying too, you know," Spoke Zhongli.

Childe raised his head to look at the former Archon. "Huh?"

"Your bride, she - " He smiled at him. " - she was crying too. She's happy to be marrying you."

Childe can feel his heart hammering against his chest in delight at what he said.

"So don't keep her waiting."

Childe bawled his eyes out once more when the words - "I do," - left your lips.

AETHER

When his sister was taken from him, Aether was a lost and wandering soul in Teyvat with the sole purpose of finding her.

Throughout his journey, he met different people from different regions. He learned their values and cultures, he grew to love the world he used to be a stranger to, he was able to utilize different sorts of Visions, and yet, despite all of this, Aether was lonely. Paimon - bless her pure soul - tried her best to keep his spirits and bring a smile to his face (he assumed she too felt the hollowness inside of him) but it was all futile as he often find himself seeking solitude and gazing out in an open field wondering where his twin could be and how she was fairing on her own.

He will let the cool breeze comfort him, but all it left was a searing kiss of reality that his search might have been all for naught. That very concept his mind was conjured haunted him in his every waking days. Is he still journeying through Teyvat and reaching out to all Archons with a solid purpose? Was he no wasting his time looking high and low for someone who could not be looking at the sky as he?

"And what if she is?"

Your words is what got his attention. Aether met you in the evening when the stars and the moon was absent from the skies. He sat on a fallen log overlooking the city of Mondstadt, alone and cold. Paimon has insisted in him accompanying him, but he had snuck away before she can chase after him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and with the scarce time he has for himself, he has to make the most of every night that comes.

Lumine was in his mind, and worry was gnashing its teeth at him. He was deep in his own world, sinking to the hands of his tragic thoughts, that he did not hear footsteps trekking the hillock he was at. Nor did he realize he was speaking his own worries in the air, eyes distant and staring blankly at nothing.

"What if she's not even looking for me?" That's what he remembered saying that time.

Then you made your presence known with an answer that refuted his initial thought. He whirled his head to the side, wide eyes with surprise. You stood next to him with a faint smile, hands behind your back and the moon slowly peeking from the shroud of clouds. A light in the darkness, the moon was. And so you were you to him.

"Sorry," You apologized, sheepishly giving him a smile as you rubbed the back of your neck. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You were speaking out loud and-and I just had a feeling I needed to say something." You took in a deep breath, and Aether found the pink dusting your cheeks adorable. "I . . . I'll just go now - "

Aether didn't regret asking you to stay.

Before you came to his life, Aether did not know how much he was dwelling in the own hell he made. His inner tribulations, his worries, his insecurities - he only took notice the torture he was putting on himself when you keep saving him from his own mind.

At first, all he thought of you was a precious friend - someone he leaned on and entrusted with everything, whether it be secrets or help with his quests. He told you about his past, his twin, how exactly he was different from the people of Teyvat, how he and sister fought an unknown god, how she slipped from his fingers when he reached out for her, how much he wanted her back. He was terrified of what you may think of him when he told you these things, but to his surprise, all you did was wrap him in your arms and comforted him.

Along with Paimon, you were his dearest friend.

But as time passed, the longer you accompany him and Paimon in his travels, he noticed something strange. The way his heart skipped a beat when you smile at him, how he can't keep his eyes off you when you laugh at one of his tales, how his heart hammered ceaselessly when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek, the relief that seeps in his system when he sees you unscathed from a battle, how irritated he becomes when someone makes an offense against you, the joy that seizes him when he listens to you talking about something you loved, and how much he adored it when you scold him for being a little too reckless in fighting.

Aether, despite being older than he seems, did not know what to make of what he was feeling. It was strange, a good kind of strange - the kind of feeling that makes him feel like he was floating in the sky. All he thought of it was an overwhelming adoration for a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

It wasn't until Paimon pointed it out did he realize what he was feeling for you.

Upon learning his feelings for you, Aether couldn't sleep for many nights. He was plagued with the desires of his heart and his insecurities. It was like falling back to the same hellish pattern before you came along.

He was in this world for one reason only - to find his twin. And when he does - and he fucking will - he will depart from here with her and continue their travels. Leaving you was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't bear the thought of it. It felt like leaving a piece of him behind in Teyvat, a hole in the shape of your name.

The solution he had for this is directly confessing to you. Of course, the blond was a nervous wreck when he approached you and asked for a moment of your time. Paimon knew of his plan and wandered away for the time being, wanting to give the two of your privacy.

If you did not share the same feelings as he, he can already imagine the pain he will have to deal with, but it'll be much easier to leave. At least then he knows you won't be as hurt as he thought once he takes his leave. He never entertained the idea of you reciprocating his feelings. It would be foolish to - surely you can't find anything appealing with someone like him ; to which you rendered him speechless and a bumbling mess when you pressed your lips against his when he was in the middle of his confession.

Aether shouldn't be this happy with you. He loved you too much to see you hurt when he tells you that he must leave. He was not welcome in this world, he was an outsider, a being not under the authority or influence of any Archons.

But still, he spent months loving you, caring for you, doing anything to come back to you no matter what is thrown at him. He loved having you in his arms when you slept, he loved watching the stars with you at night, he loved you even with the inevitable arguments you two have - Aether was utterly and hopeless in love with you.

And thus, he decided to tell you what will happen after he finds his sister.

He knew he would be heart broken in seeing you cry, but it hurt more to see you smile at to him so genuinely and embraced him, saying, "You used to doubt you'll ever find your sister. It broke my heart everyday seeing you so hopeless, and I - " You composed yourself, shaking your head as your tried to gather your thoughts. " - now look at you," You cupped his cheek, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your smile broadened. "I always knew the day will come when you have to leave me. When you told me you weren't from this world, I knew then I'll have to let go of you someday. But until that day comes - Aether - "

What a shock it came to him when you got down on one knee and presented to him a glittering ring - there was unconditional love and hope in your eyes. It was like looking back at his reflection. "Marry me, Aether, let me make you happy for the rest of the days we still have remaining until you leave."

Aether can never say no to you.

To his surprise, Master Diluc has already agreed to host your wedding at Dawn Winery. Aether was puzzled as to why he seemed unsurprised by the news of his engagement with you, and the Claymore wielding male answered, "( Your Name ) came to me for help when she planned to propose to you."

Aether knew Diluc, as much as possible, wanted to be alone. A lone wolf, he was. But with gratitude for what he has done, he asked him to be his best man. Diluc was startled by this requests but obliged. The red head might not show it but he was immensely flattered by Aether asking him to be his best now (and now time to subtly show it off to Kaeya).

At the day of the wedding, contrary to what he thought he would feel, Aether woke up with his an ache in his chest. He found himself looking out the window of his room, torn between his happiness and sorrow.

In a few hours, Aether will be able to adorn a ring on your finger, symbolizing your promises with one another. He shall be granted the sole blessing of calling your his wife. It was something he was looking forward to - seeing you in your wedding dress, watching as you walk down the aisle -

But Aether's mind kept drifting back to his sister - She would have wanted to be here. He thought.

Aether felt like he was committing a crime when he decided to take a walk just hours before his wedding. But he needed to clear his mind. Lumine never left his mind. He always thought that they would always be there for one another, or at least in big moments like this.

And yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

Is she still alive? Have I been wasting time? Is she still in danger? Is she lost in Teyvat as well?

"Didn't expect to run into you here."

His body tensed when he heard your voice, and he twirled around only to have his breath taken away.

You stood before him in the white dress he had longed to see ever since you proposed to him. He thought he would see a frown on your face, dismayed for his impromptu walk, but you wore a soft smile - a soft and understanding smile.

Aether did know what to say to you. He just stared at you, overwhelmed.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

You approached him and kissed his cheek. He hummed in delight, eyes closing. "I hope you're not having second thoughts on marrying me." You told him.

Aether was quick to respond. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He looked into your eyes with affirming hues, "There is nothing I'm more sure of than marrying you."

You beamed at him. Seeing your face brighten up is always a beautiful sight for Aether, and it was enough for him to feel enlightened in the midst of his internal crisis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course you can already tell something is bothering him. Aether shook his head. He has already ruined a small part of what is supposed to be a perfect day, he can't risk another mistake.

"I'm not going to push you to tell me anything." You stated.

Aether smiled. "Thank you." He replied. He gazed at you for a little while, taking you in. "Why are you out here anyway? And in your wedding dress too."

Your eyes widened and you looked down to assess his evaluation. "Oh Archons," You mewled. "I forgot I was wearing this." You let out a groan. "Great, now my surprise is ruined. I won't be able to see you cry when you see me walk down the aisle."

He laughed a little. "But still happy as ever to see you." He said. "So why are you outside?"

"Just . . . " You began, and Aether can detect a hint of nervousness in your voice. " . . . picking some flowers."

"I thought we already ordered flowers." Aether thought, frowning. "Did someone forget to deliver the flowers? I can call someone if - "

"No, I just wanted to pick some flowers, randomly. Like how you wanted to take a walk, randomly."

He looked at you with hesitant eyes. He didn't believe you. There was something hidden behind your motive to be out here. But like how you didn't press him with what was the problem, he did the same for you.

"Okay," He breathed out. "What flowers did you pick then?"

Aether's breath hitched when you pulled out a bundle of Windwheel Asters and several more flowers that was all too familiar with him.

He stared at the white flowers that combined with your Windwheel Asters, the very flowers that he remembered adorned his sister's hair.

"Aether? Aether are you okay?"

He stared at you with glistening eyes, his heart blossoming with adoration and gratitude. Without even meaning to, you managed to make everything alright.

"Yeah," He smiled at you. "I'm okay."

Aether thought when he stood at the altar, he would have Diluc trying to soothe his nerves as his insecurities slowly sink in his mind. But it didn't happen. Diluc merely stood by him with a relaxed expression, glancing at him every now and then.

"You don't look nervous at all." Diluc remarked.

Aether chuckled. "This is the only decision I fully know I won't regret."

Aether felt like it was his first time seeing you in your wedding dress. His heart was filled with the brim with utmost joy, but what caught his attention was the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

You told him before that you will have roses as your bouquet, but to his surprise, he can see the Windwheel Asters and the white flowers that reminded him of his sister.

His emotions was all over the place. He had no idea how he could look so calm. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until you finally stood before him.

When you stared at him behind the veil, he couldn't take it anymore. You were too perfect. How could he be so blessed with you?

Tears sprung to his eyes when you reached out to take his hands in yours. He retracted one of them to rub his arm across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that streamed to his face.

Why am I crying like a child in my wedding? Stop it!

He couldn't.

He only cried harder when you leaned forward, removed his arm from his eyes, made him look into your vibrant hues, to give a small peck on his lips - "You're okay, Aether."

BENNETT

Bennett understood his bad luck more than anyone. He had lived with and through it his entire life he graced the surface of the earth. It was almost pitiful to see the boy smiling ever so brightly as misfortune after misfortune comes hurtling his way, but to him? It was an everyday and normal occurrence, nothing he hasn't seen or experienced before. His spirits has never let their roaring flame vanish, however, and if it had not been for his bad luck, everyone would have been drawn to his warm, welcoming, affable, and cheerful soul.

But just because he was used to the constant array of debacle thrown his way, doesn't mean there were never days where he won't be upset over everything it brought to his life, and others as well, and wonder how long it will take until his unluckiness will lead him back to the very situation he was rescued from when he was a mere baby.

He forgot how long it was when he had experienced something good, miraculously so. The only time he can recall being so was when he encountered the Honorary Knight, convened with them as a temporary adventure team, and found a treasure chest containing items he has only dreamed of in his sleep deep within a domain. However, that was many moons ago, and nothing has ever compared to it ever since. The moment he departed from the Honorary Knight, his bad luck came instantly to bite him.

It was far too long ago. Sometimes, Bennett wondered if that would be the only good thing that can happen to him in his lifetime, and thank the Archons he was wrong because the very worst day that came upon him is a day he will never exchange for another - the day he met you. When it was raining, thunder in the distance, lightning striking trees and soil, his bruised and bleeding form hardly covered under a small and flimsy tent, you graced him with your presence, and an umbrella which you used to cover both of you.

He had never stopped admiring you ever since. His eyes always followed you, wide and shining. He remembered the warmth in his chest and the redness tinting his cheeks when you brought him to your abode and treated his wounds with care gentler than the Deaconess. When he told you what happened to him, he anticipated to he shoved out of the house immediately and have your front door slammed on his face, but you did not. When he warned you about his curse, telling you how you will be affected when you spend a little too much time with him, the look of fright did not cross your visage and you even insisted that he not leave your house until you were sure he was capable of moving without pain, even if you had instantly been affected by his unluckiness (you pricked your finger quite badly when you were stitching a deep wound of his. He always felt guilty for that and has not stopped offering his apologies whenever it pricks the corner of his mind).

Other than the team of adventurers who had saved him from peril when he was a baby, it was difficult to find someone who will stay with him, through bad times and more of it. One cannot simply imagine and comprehend the confusion and happiness that seized him when he found out you were spending more and more time with him, not out pity but because you enjoy his company (which was weird, but he'll take it).

You possessed no Vision, but Bennett never saw you in an inferior light. In fact, it impressed him how you can hold yourself without the aid of any power. Enemies took a little longer to eradicate but ultimately, you were always successful. He held you in high regard, and very much like a certain blond traveler, the poor boy thought it was merely friendship and respect he felt towards you. After all, wouldn't a friend accompany him in his adventures no matter what disappointing or gratifying the outcome is? Wouldn't a friend prepare meals for him before he goes off on a solo expedition? Wouldn't a friend stay up late up waiting for him to return after? Wouldn't a friend welcome him by the entrance of Mondstadt upon his arrival? Wouldn't a friend give him butterflies in his stomach? Wouldn't a friend make his heart pound in a way

It had taken the Traveler and his floating companion for Bennett to learn about how exactly he was feeling for you.

He liked you, and not in the way he liked the traveler or Razor - he liked liked you.

When he realized about his feelings, Bennett nearly short circuit every time you go near him. His face flush a rich color of vermillion, his confident posture stripped down to a coy and uncertain stance, his eyes darted and never meeting yours for too long, a sheepish smile painted over his brims - Bennett had never felt this way before. It was foreign to him - liking someone - and it was worse for him because you were his one of his few friends (you, Razor, the Traveler and their floating friend), and having you withdraw from him if you ever learned his feelings frightened him more than any Ruin Guard could.

He didn't bother entertaining the idea of you returning his feelings. With his bad luck, it was bound to end in a rejection, and he didn't believe he had the heart to accept the hurt that would come.

Bennett tried to keep his feeling a secret, he really, genuinely, did. He locked his feelings for you in a box and stowed away somewhere behind his mind. But it didn't take you too long to catch on. Bennett's theatrics wasn't as impenetrable as he originally thought because there was no other reason for you to corner him in a street in Mondstadt after he tried to avoid crossing paths with you, and admit your feelings to him.

"( Your Name )," Stuttered Bennett, eyes darting to the side to avoid your eyes as he pressed his back against the wall behind him. You gazed at him, a tint of red over your cheek.

Archon, how are you so adorable?

"Uh, hi," He greeted meekly, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I-I was just about to leave for an adventure - "

"Bennett," You spoke, and he froze at the tone of your voice.

He looked at you properly, gulping. Shy eyes, shy smile, shy, shy, shy - and yet somehow, Bennett thought the worse - that you found out about his feelings and was about to turn him down.

He almost got down on his knees and press his hands together in a praying position, head bowed, and beg to keep your friendship. It didn't matter if you did not share his feelings. You were more important than his stupid feelings. He can deal with the hurt of rejection that will soon to come, but losing you completely? Can he even come to terms with that?

But before he can do such humiliating display, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his cheek,

It was almost too good to be true, and with someone like him, Bennett had to take a moment to comprehend what has happened. His feelings were reciprocated, opposite of what should have been considering his dilemma. How can this be? He was sure your friendship would be put to an end when you learn about what he felt for you. How did you even know that he liked you? Has he been too obvious? Surely not (he was). Perhaps you were merely toying with him, discovering his feelings and choosing to use it as a way to alleviate your boredom -

Horror struck him when he processed the message behind his doubt. How could he think so little of you? Someone as sweet and kind as you would be repulsed by the intention of the actions he thought you were presenting to him. Prideful as this may sound, Bennett believed he knew you enough to know you were sincere in everything you do.

But even if both your feelings are revealed to be mutual, the two of you agreed to wait until a certain age before forming a romantic relationship. The two of you are young and there are a lot more the world can offer outside Mondstadt. There are countless of opportunities to grow and be mature, to be able to have a set of qualities to take of one another.

But that didn't mean the two of you easily managed to hold back showcasing your favor for the other. Bennett will always find himself exchanging secret glances and smile with you whenever a third party joins in on your adventure. He would stick by your side in situations he think could potentially lead you to a major injury. He will attempt (and fail, unfortunately) to whip you up with something delicious when he has free time. And you did the same to him.

With you, there was never a time where his heart wasn't beating against his chest. He can't stop himself from bounding recklessly through his adventures whenever you accompany him, although he will still keep a close eye on you just in case something bad happens to you (but it's always him who ends up injured).

But what he liked the most are the kisses the two of you share. Short, chaste, and shy - whether it be behind closed doors, when others are looking away, or when the two of you set of on an adventure.

Bennett would lay in his bed with a smile on his face, his thundering heart preventing him from sleeping. He'll often find himself burying his face against his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.

This smile was different. This wasn't smile that he usually wore, the kind of smile that persevered through hardship after another. No, it was the sort of smile that was too carefree and too full of utmost joy, no worries or doubts in his heart. Everyday he always woke up to the excitement of adventure, but now, the excitement of it and seeing you once again always had him brimming with the want for the night to be over with so he can chase after his dreams with you. Chasing his dreams with you, what a life.

His world is full of a bad luck, but he thanked the Archons for giving him someone he can depend on in the troubling waters he always he seem to drown in.

Bennett, embarrassing it may sound, often laid on his bed imagining about marrying you.

He can see himself making a fool out of himself when he gets down on one knee and propose to you. It'll be set in the most beautiful place he discovered in one of his adventure, somewhere quiet. Like maybe on top of a mountain overseeing a vast field.

Because of his bad luck, he'll try to prepare for every outcome. To be very sure everything will be saved, he made sure he created a plan B for his plan A, a plan C for his plan B, and so on, and so forth.

He can imagine himself fumbling over his words, blushing a bright red was made prominent because of his white hair, holding a bunch of hand picked flowers a little too tightly, sweat pouring from his face, his suit and hair a little ruffled -

If you say yes (spoiler alert, you will), he will most probably go haywire with shock and happiness, causing him to drop the ring down the mountain, and the two of you will spend quite some time looking for it. But in the end, you two will find it somewhere deep underground or deep underwater (to which you will ask help to retrieve) (Bennett offered to go down to get the ring but you can’t take any chances) and then you can start planning the wedding.

If Bennett had backup plans for his proposal, then expect there'll be much more backups with your wedding. He needed this day to be perfect for you, and his bad luck won't stop him from providing it for you. Even if he had to fight through horde after horde of Hilichurls (please stop him when he does, he definitely will do that for you), making you happy is his top priority.

Bennett will be extremely anxious the day before the wedding. He'll be pacing around his room, and has half a mind of running over to your place and spending the night there to reassure himself that you still want to marry him, and that you’re absolutely sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him. It will be Razor - who the Traveler spent hours teaching the basic information of the role of Best Man to - who will calm his nerves. He’ll stop Bennett from reaching your house and carry him back to his own, and giving him a lecture (he did his best) like the best man he was.

Was he having second thoughts on marrying you? No way! He will just be nervous about how the wedding will go. With his bad luck, something horrible is bound to happen.

At the day of the wedding, Bennett can imagine himself constantly seeking reassurance from his best man.

"What if I mess up?" Questions Bennett to Razor, anxious hands fiddling with his tie.

"Messing up is . . . normal." Razor will reassure him, but Bennett will shake his head.

“But it's me. When I mess up, it's always . . . catastrophic . . . ”

Bennett hoped that at least for his wedding way, everything will go smoothly. A perfect day, for you and for him. He won't embarrass you or himself. He won't forget the rings, he won't have his clothes tucked inside out, he will not spill any food or drinks on himself or on his guests, there will be no random Hilichurl attacks - none of that.

He really hoped for the Archons to spare him from his bad luck.

He will be able to stand by the altar with confidence and a smile, waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

As Bennett is consumed with his thoughts, his eyes drew to the small table at the side of his bed and caught sight of the picture of the two of you perched on the surface. It was a picture you took with a kamera after one of his adventures. The two of you smiling happily as he showcased the loot of vegetables and wheat he gathered in numerous luxurious chests. It was good day, that picture was. He found more resources than usual. Of course, he learned from the Traveler that most of the chest they found contained treasures but hey, vegetables are better than nothing, right?

Bennett stared at your smiling face and can feel the heat creep on his cheeks as he imagined you in a pretty, white wedding dress, smiling at him so shyly and cute - oh, Archons, help him. May them have mercy on him. Of course, you always looked pretty to him - so, so pretty - but in your wedding day? Archons, he doesn't know if he can take that. It'll be too much for his big heart.

He can only imagine how your wedding will play out, but there is one thing he was sure of and that is that he will burst into tears once he laid his eyes upon you - and not the soft cry most men do in their wedding, oh, not at all like that. His heart is too big with too much love for you, and too soft to control his emotions properly.

Bennett will cry (bawl, actually), his tears of joy coming in streams, and it was loud enough for strangers to think he was grieving over a deceased loved one. He was hiccupping and sobbing, will probably be holding on to his vest tightly as if his entire lifeline depended on the pressure of how he crumpled the fabric. He hoped that in that time, Razor or the Traveler will lend him a hand and calm him down before he can ruin his own wedding.

Bennett, as he happily imagined that fateful day to come in the future (spoilers again, it will) did not feel a tear slip from the corner of his eye as he drifted off to a pleasant slumber with a beaming smile.

The boy absolutely adores you.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #aether x reader #bennett x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader

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hockeyboysiguess · 5 years ago

Text

Jerseys and Dumplings

a/n: some good old friends to lovers Tkachuk for your Thursday!

warnings: swearing

word count: 6.3K

You yanked the restaurant door open harder than you’d meant to, but you were in a rush. A last minute assignment had kept you at work later than you’d planned, much later than you’d planned, and you were running later than would ever be considered fashionably late by anyone who made insane amounts of money to recite a bunch of shitty dialogue to a camera. You pulled at the bottom of your skirt to adjust it as you walked through the door before giving up. Your skirt was definitely crooked, your hair was definitely a mess, but your mother’s words played over in your head, “It’s never the job of a successful, powerful to look a particular way. Success is messy. Own the messy.”

“Hi, sorry,” you whisper-yelled to the hostess. “Uh, Hanifin? Pretty sure everyone else is already here.”

“Right this way.”

She was clearly unimpressed with your disheveled appearance and your tardiness as she looked you over from top to bottom from over the top of her glasses. You pushed thoughts of her and work out of your head to focus the evening. Meeting your best friend’s boyfriend was a hit-miss experience with Tessa as your best friend. She alternated between introducing you to immature, outrageous guys who were all about having a good time who always ended up cheating on her or guys who were basically the human equivalent of a completely dried builder-grade beige wall. This one was apparently some moderately famous hockey player, which automatically had you leaning him in the first column, but she pleaded with you to reserve judgment until you met him tonight. You were desperate for her to finally date a guy that was somewhere on the middle of her two extremes. She always countered by saying she wanted you to go on a date, any date. You brushed her off every time, telling her you were focusing on your career and yourself.

“There you are!” Tessa shouted, bumping the table harshly as she stood up to great you. “I started to think you forgot about us.”

“Sorry, babes,” you sighed as you let her pull you in for a quick hug. “I-”

“Got caught up at the office.”

You pulled back from her and glared at her. Tessa saying the words that all too frequently left your lips was just a little passive aggressive, usually your specialty. You rolled your eyes at her and she giggled before reaching out to the guy next to her to pull him to his feet.

“This,” she wrapped her hands around his forearm in a sort of death grip, “is Noah. Noah, this is the ever-discussed best friend slash somehow roommate even though I see her more out to lunch than I do in our apartment.”

“Thanks, Tess,” you mumbled. Noah offered his arms out to you gingerly and you accepted a soft hug. “Nice to meet you, Noah.”

“Really nice to finally meet you,” he smiled softly as you took your seats.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.” The sing-song tone in Tessa’s voice drew a groan from you because you knew what was going to come next. “Stop it! Anyway, Noah brought one of his teammates along, so you weren’t third wheeling.”

“Is he invisible?” you asked with a wave of your hand to the empty seat next to you.

“Just in the bathroom, actually.”

You turned your head and were greeted with a bright, toothy grin and mop of curly hair. The restaurant was dark, but you could tell he had a beautiful pair of baby blues to go with his dimples and sharp jawline. Tessa has clearly hand-picked this one out of the Flames line up for you. He was exactly your type. You watched as his light eyes broke contact with yours and gave you a quick once look over, lingering almost indiscernibly at your chest and your hips.

“I’m Matthew,” he said, his smile starting on a slippery slope to a smirk as he sat down next to you.

You debated calling him out for checking you out, but Tessa rapped her foot on your shin, letting you know she was ready and waiting to give you a swift kick if she didn’t like how you were acting. People thought Tessa was soft. You thought people shouldn’t underestimate Tessa, so you swallowed your comeback and introduced yourself instead. Matthew gave you a quick nod, his broken curls bouncing with the sudden movement. A smile began to pull at the corners of your lips against your will and something in your chest told you he was going to be trouble if you let him be, so you resolved not to let him be. You watched his attention shift to the couple across the table and his face scrunch up in disgust. Noah and Tessa were seeming trying to figure out if it was possible for two people to become one via their open mouths pressed against each other.

“Come on, guys,” Matthew whined as one of his hands came down roughly on the tabletop, causing the silverware to click together loudly. Noah and Tessa separated at the sound, not at Matthew’s words. “The single folks don’t even have drinks yet. Can you save the foreplay until we at least have some alcohol in us?”

“Seriously,” you joined in. If Tessa was going to set you up against your will, at least it was with someone that hated Tessa’s fondness for wild amounts of PDA as much as you did. “Please keep all tongues, hands, and arms in your own seats tonight.”

“Genitals should remain their not upright and locked positions” Matthew added. Tess blushed at his words, causing Matthew to turn his head towards you. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous look dancing in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Too much?”

You answered by continuing, “Excellent addition, fellow date attendant. Fasten your seatbelts as we expect there might be some turbulence on tonight’s date.”

“Turbulence?” Tessa asked, her voice a solid octave and a half higher than normal and her eyebrows raised, daring you to continue.

“Oh yes, turbulence,” Matthew cut in. “So, Tessa, where did you grow up?”

“I’m sorry, I’m back on turbulence,” Noah jumped in verbally and physically, a hand raised across the table.

“We,” you informed him, gesturing between Matthew and yourself, “are the turbulence.”

“Yes, thank you, good blind date I didn’t ask for,” Matthew nodded to you, curling bouncing again in a way that made you have to bite your lip to avoid smiling like a schoolgirl with a new crush. “You both worked together to set us up tonight, unasked for based on just how fed up my fellow date attendant seemed by my very presence. Esteemed co-worker, can you confirm, for the record, that you did not ask for this set up and that you’re just as tired as I am of your friends across the table setting you up with people?”

Matthew grabbed a breadstick from the basket in one fist and presented it to you like a microphone. You laughed softly, making an out of character smile crack across Matthew’s face before you both pulled yourself back into the accidental routine you’d created.

“Yes, yes, Matthew. I can confirm I was not made aware of your presence tonight and I have not asked Tessa to set me up with anyone at this time,” you replied seriously, putting on your best politician impression.

“You sounded like you were doing an impression of Tina Fey doing her Sarah Palin impression from SNL,” Matthew laughed at you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he turned his attention to your friends who had no idea what monster they’d created tonight. “As my good colleague Sarah Palin just said, neither one of us asked to be here. So now, we’re teaming up to see if we really approve of this union or not. So, I repeat. Tessa, where are you from?”

The evening was filled with you and Matthew teaming up to flip the script on your friends. You grilled Noah, with Matt’s support, and you offered some direction to his probing questions for Tessa. They took in stride though and you realized somehow, some way beyond your understanding, Tessa had fallen into a good relationship for the first time since you knew her.

Just after making a two-bite dent into your incredible dessert, Tessa pulled you to the bathroom with her, the classic story of girls never being able to pee alone floating at the excuse. When you left the stall, you were greeted by Tessa, arms across her chest, one foot tapping on the ground, and wry smile on her face.

“So, things seem to be going well with Matthew,” she said with a smirk and a soft nod. “Figured it would be sink or swim but didn’t think it would go quite this.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned as you turned on the water for the sink to start scrubbing your hands, “we’re just being friendly.”

“Are you kidding me?” she practically shouts at you. “He literally has not taken his eyes off you once all night. He’s so into you!”

“Tess, stop,” you told her with a sigh as you shut off the water. You grabbed a couple of paper towels before spinning on your heels to face her. “Seriously, Tess, he’s not into me. We’re just getting along as friends, okay? Be happy this didn’t blow up in your face for the first time.”

“You cannot be serious right now,” Tessa whined. She reached for your arm as you tossed the paper towels away, pulling your attention back to her. She bounced on her heels a little and gave you the most frustrated look she could muster. “He is into you. Noah thinks so too. Just, can you just try? For me?”

“I don’t want a relationship, Tess,” you replied curtly. “Why can’t you just accept that?”

“He’s perfect for you!” Her frustration with you was growing with each word that she had to say as she tried to spell it out for you. “He’s your type. I know I nailed that one. I know you have to think he’s attractive, so you can’t lie to me. You have really similar senses of humor. He totally thinks you’re hot, which you are. Don’t you dare, that’s not up for debate. Come on, babes. Give Chucky a chance.”

“Chucky is a murderous doll,” you retorted, skipping over everything else she’d said. “Look, Tess, can’t you just be happy I might have made a friend tonight? That’s growth for me right there.”

“But he wants to be your special friend!” she insisted, bouncing on her heels again.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image presented by her bouncing and her words. She was channeling herself at age six for sure, an age you didn’t know Tessa at, but from the stories her brothers and mother told you, you were kind of happy you didn’t know her at.

“Jesus, did you just say that?” you got out between laughs. You sighed as you pulled yourself together. It was time you both escaped the bathroom as the boys were bound to get suspicious soon. “Look, I’m just not really in the sort of place to put myself out there at all right now. If Matthew really does want this and he really does try, I’ll think about it for real, okay? Does that work for you?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes before saying, “I mean, no, it doesn’t because he would totally give you the good dick right here in this bathroom and probably buy you brunch tomorrow if you actually showed the tiniest bit of actual interest in him, but, it’s the best you’re going to give me, so it’s fine.”

Your desire to leave the bathroom and get back to your chocolate cake overwhelmed the desire to correct Tess. You pulled her back to the table with you, collapsing into your seat and immediately diving back into the dessert you’d been hearing call your name since you’d left the table five minutes ago.

“You’re murdering that cake,” Matthew noted. “It’s impressive, honestly. Where does the cake go?”

“Hopefully out my pores tomorrow in the stupid hot yoga class Tess is dragging me too,” you replied, halting another bite on its way to your mouth just to answer. “I wanted to watch Love is Blind and Too Hot to Handle as our new best friend activity for the month. Tessa wants to do hot yoga, so we’re doing hot yoga.”

“So, you’re the boyfriend in this relationship?” Matthew joked, gesturing between you.

You dropped your fork to your plate and reached for your almost empty drink instead before replying, “Gender roles are a completely unnecessary societal standard, Matthew, and they do not need to be enforced by heteronormative men who play an incredibly heteronormative sport. Who is the boyfriend and who is the girlfriend is unnecessarily gendered, especially considering I’m clearly the left chopstick and Tessa is the right. ”

Matthew’s nose scrunched up when he laughed, a sight you were quickly growing used to over the evening, maybe even starting to like. He shook his head softly at you as he took a sip from his glass.

“Says the girl who pitched to watch a bunch of trash Netflix dating reality shows that are all pretty heteronormative, right?” Matthew countered with a nod of his glass to you.

“Garbage is not heteronormative,” you replied. “Trash TV is just trash TV, Matthew. Don’t read too much into it. I still haven’t gotten to watch any of it though.”

“If you need someone to watch with, hit me up,” he told you. “I need an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday night and sounds like it I would need to be incredibly drunk to watch any of that.”

“So, this Wednesday then?”

—————

Standing in front of Matthew’s apartment door with a wide variety from your favorite Chinese takeout place in one hand and a six-pack from your favorite local brewery five days later, you were beginning to regret the life choices that led you to this particular moment. You didn’t have much time for the regret to sink in though before Matthew opened the door.

“If there is something the resembles a dumpling in that bag, I will be your servant for the rest of your life,” was Matthew’s verbal greeting.

“You’re about to be my servant then, but it’ll be worth it. These are the best dumplings I’ve ever had,” you informed him as you pushed past him into his apartment to drop the bags and beer on the counter. You started pulling containers out of the bags as you continued, “I will say you should never Google this place. I’ve only ever ordered via Grubhub delivery before today. I did pick up and this place honestly looks like the architect was drunk and the builders forgot their glasses for the entire build and I’ve never been more horrified, but the dumplings are killer, so I’ve just decided to put it in a box and try to forget I ever saw where they originated.”

You heard a beer crack open beside you and Matthew’s large hand came into view as he set it in front of you. He was close to you, closer than you had thought he would be. You could feel his tall frame behind you, his loose t-shirt brushing against you as he set the beer by your hand. His arms brushed your softly, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Good brewery pick,” he complimented you, his lips near your ear as he spoke. “Also, if you give me food poisoning from your weird Chinese food place, I’m released from my servitude.”

“You know the word servitude?” you countered, trying to pull your mind out of the gutter it was sliding headfirst down with sarcasm and chirping him.

Matthew laughed lightly and shifted himself closer to you. He leaned into you, his chest gentling coming into contact with your back with each breath you took. His large hands gripped the edge of the counter on either side of you. He towered over you and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to let him bend you over this counter right here and now.

“Mm, I know a lot of things that might surprise you,” Matthew laughed in your ear.

He pulled back without warning and you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Matthew shifted over to the opposite side of the counter, grabbing a beer and popping it open on his journey. He didn’t say another word before turning on his heels and heading toward the couch. Your brows furrowed as thoughts began to swirl and bleed together in your mind. Was that just all in your mind or was that nothing that your mind turned into something? You didn’t have time for something like this. The fact that you’d found time to have dinner with Matthew within two weeks of meeting him astounding given your inconsistent hours and his season. No, you didn’t want him to be flirting with you, you decided, so he wasn’t. You came over looking for a friend, so that’s what you were here for, the only thing you were here for.

“Hope you can use chopsticks,” you told him as you sat an overly full plate of food in front of him a few minutes later.

“I play hockey. I wasn’t raised in a barn,” he threw back at you, a joking smile on his lips.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes.

Matthew tossed the remote as you with his free hand as he brought a dumpling to his mouth with the other, dropping the entire thing into his mouth in one go. You watched his eyes go wide as he bit down for the first time. He looked at you in disbelief as he chewed.

“Holy fuck me,” he told you through a full mouth. “I want to marry whoever made this.”

“Now,” you open Netflix on his TV, “you get me, Tkachuk.”

Matthew had already shoved another one in his mouth by the time Netflix loaded the first episode. Matthew was in food heaven, shoving dumpling after dumpling into his mouth. You laughed a little as his stuffed cheeks. He looked like a curly-headed chipmunk and you told him just that as you grabbed another container of dumplings out of the bag on the counter. He almost chirped you back, but when you dropped a full container in his lap, the chirp died before it had even fully formed.

“I think you’ve ruined dumplings for me from everywhere else in the world. Also, is that guy hot? I feel like they’re just trying to convince us he’s hot when he’s not.”

You were amazed he was able to pay any attention to the show with the speed at which he was consuming food. It was equal parts impressive and disgusting.

“He’s alright,” you shrugged as you reached for your beer. “Not my type. You’d be better off asking Tessa.”

Something you’d said finally beat out the interest of the dumplings. Matthew dropped the container to the table and skewered a dumpling with his chopsticks in exchange for a beer and turning his attention to him. He raised an eyebrow at you before he spoke.

“A type, huh? I wouldn’t happened to fit that type, would I?”

He took a sip as he watched you roll your eyes at him. He chuckled a little against the edge of his bottle at your response.

“Why would you think you would?” you countered, barely pulling yourself together in time to say something within an acceptable response time.

Matthew shrugged casually before replying, “Noah asked me specifically to come the other night and after meeting Tessa, I have a hard time believing she let Noah pick whoever he wanted since that was definitely a set up and blah, blah, blah, so I’m definitely your type, right?”

“Mm,” you hummed as you took a sip of your beer to try and disguise the anxiety his question had brought on. “My type is definitely guys who are obsessed with trying to be my type. It’s so sexy how much you need my validation right now.”

Matthew’s head fell back as he laughed, curls shifting back in tandem. His mouth opened wide as he laughed a full belly laugh at your words. One of his hands came to his stomach as his laughs became breathier and he slowly brought himself back down.

“You’re something else,” Matthew mumbled through a smile, beer on its way back to his lips and soft shake of his head with his words.

“I’m a goddamn goddess and you know it,” was all you had to say to get him laughing again.

—————

“Let’s fucking go, Calgary!” Tessa screamed next to you out of the blue, jumping to her feet as she shouted, making you and several other people around you jump a little in their seats.

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Tess, can you take it down a notch or eighteen, please?”

“It’s the Battle of Alberta, baby!” she shouted in response, a wide drunken grin on her face as she retook her seat next to you with a flop.

The referee blew the whistle, stopping play, and you pulled your attention back to the game with a soft smile on your face. You looked down the ice to see someone wearing a red and black jersey tangled up with a white and blue one. You craned you’re neck to try and see who it was, your breath catching in your throat at the idea it as Matthew. Your eyes were flying back and forth between the ice and the screen, trying to see a number or part of name to figure out if it was him or not. Your racing thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the glass in front of you. You were greeted with a smile that was slowly becoming more and more familiar, just with a mouth guard hanging between his teeth, and some curls peeking out from under a helmet.

Matthew waved at you with two gloved hands, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You were relieved he was standing in front of you, a goofy smile on his face, rather than down the ice in that fight. At least the linesman has managed to break it up by now. Matthew’s eyes broke contact from you to give you a once over. He pinched his jersey between his gloved fingers and his eyebrows furrowed down as he looked at you

“Where’s your jersey?” he shouted, though you had to read his lips to actually understand him

You just put your hands out next to you, palms up, and shrugged with a slight pout sticking out your bottom lip. You didn’t own any Flames gear of any kind, certainly not the Tkachuk jersey he was probably looking for. He shook his head at you and glared a little, just to get a small laugh out of you, before he turned his attention back to the game.

“Look at your guy!” Tessa said way too loudly for how tender she’d said it, hands stacked over her heart. “He likes you so much.”

“We are just friends,” you countered firmly, which made Tessa frown.

“He likes you! Aren’t you going over to his place after the game? You should make a move,” she nudged you in the ribs with her elbow.

“I’m picking up exactly four containers of dumplings and we’re watching exactly two episodes of Love is Blind because we’re going to finish up the episodes before they go on vacation with their new fiancés, okay?” you told her. “That’s not exactly a hot date. Besides, I don’t want to make a move. I like him, as a friend.”

“Okay, whatever,” Tessa rolled her eyes at you. “You keep denying that I set you up with a good one until you can’t anymore. Chucky is so smitten with you, he’ll probably wait for you for a ridiculously long time, like rom-com style long time, babes.”

—————

It was your new routine. Well, it wasn’t regular enough to really be a routine. Matthew would text you when he felt like he hadn’t seen you recently enough and demand you show up that same day with dumplings and your sparkling personality. You had tried to deny him, push him off a day or two due to work, but he might be the only person you’d ever met more stubborn that you were. Over garbage television shows and Chinese food, you’d made an actual friend out of him and despite Tessa’s insisting that both of you wanted more.

“Oh, suck it!” Tessa shouted as the Bruins pulled out a last-minute OT goal against Edmonton. She hated the Bruins, but you were pretty sure the only thing Tessa hated more than your insistence that you didn’t want to date Matthew was Edmonton.

You sighed, realizing you’d lost the bet you’d made with her, even though you picked that Edmonton would win to piss her off. She was shouting and jumping up and down, trying to rub her win in your face, but a text cropping up on your phone was pulling your attention.

Tkachuk: pls get five orders of dumplings and bring them right over

You: worked hard today huh?

Tkachuk: you know I fucking did. See you in 30?

You smiled softly, catching Tessa’s attention in the middle of her winning tirade.

“Is that Chucky?” She was already leaning over you, trying to get a glimpse of your phone screen. “Are you ditching me for him again this evening?”

You glared up at her and tilted your phone back, hiding the screen from her view. She stated to glare back, but then her face softened as the corners of her mouth started to pull up. You caught a mischievous glint in her eyes start to form she spoke.

“Hey, the bet was that I get to pick your outfit next time you go out, right?” Tessa asked hesitantly.

“I mean, yeah, but your face is scaring me a little bit here,” you replied, concern for yourself dripping off each word.

“And out could just mean when you go to see Chucky in a few minutes, right?” Her excitement was beginning to leak out, but you couldn’t understand why. “Because since you’re leaving, that’s going out, right?”

“I mean, I guess- Tess, what are you getting at here?”

Tessa didn’t reply. She ran out of the living room, cursing as she banged her elbow on the corner as she turned into the hallway. You heard some rustling in her room, followed by another curse, before she came bounding back into the living room. She tossed something red at you, a borderline evil smile on her face as she did so. You grabbed the red garment. As soon as your fingers touched it, you had an idea of what it was based on the fabric and you groaned as you flipped the garment in your hands. You were greeted with Tkachuk in large bold letters when you looked at the back of the jersey.

“I’m not wearing that to Matthew’s apartment,” you whined, letting the jersey fall into your lap.

“Ah, yes you are. You lost the bet. You wear what I let you to wear,” she told you, waving off your complaints. “Besides, Chucky gave it to Noah to give to me to make sure you wore it to next game anyway. We’re just getting you in it earlier than he had in mind, that’s all.”

You sighed as you stood up to head to your room where you exchanged your comfortable, worn in sweatshirt for the new, crisp jersey. When the red fabric finally hung off your body, you turned and let out a groan when you saw his last name on your back. You knew he wasn’t going to let you live it down the entire time you were with him, but Tessa’s wrath was worse than Matthew’s chirping would ever be.

Tessa was laughing as soon as she caught site of the red fabric, but you didn’t give her much time to feel satisfied with her handiwork. You grabbed your wallet, keys, and phone and headed out the front door. You paused as you sat in the driver’s seat of your car. Tessa had said Matthew wanted you to have the jersey to wear to the next game you went to, but why was he insistent enough to get Noah to give Tessa one of his jerseys? Why didn’t he just give it to you himself?

You tried to analyze the gesture as you waited in line at the restaurant. You’d taken to just coming in for pick up since you’d been unsuccessful in forgetting just how terrifying seeing this place for the first time was. You never called ahead anymore. You just showed up and the chef knew to start making dumplings for you. They were ready when you got to the counter to order, so you paid, grabbed your food, and returned to your car quickly. You decided the gesture was probably nothing, just Matthew being odd per usual, and tried to force the thought out of your mind as you drove over to his place.

The thought hung around as you parked in his spare parking spot. The parking pass had gone from being loaned out to every guest to living in your car after the fifth dumpling and trash television visit. He said you were his most regular visitor and he was tired of having to leave to put it in your car for you since you always argued that you’d brought him food, so it was the least he could do. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if all of it added up to something, or if you were adding up things that didn’t really exist to get to an answer that definitely didn’t.

You only got one knock in before Matthew opened the door. He moaned when he saw the bag in your arms.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, his eyes trained on the brown paper bag his hands were reaching for the entire time he spoke like a prayer had been answered.

You laughed at him and let him take the bag from your arms before following him inside. He dropped the bag on the counter and began grabbing containers and chopsticks while you kicked off your shoes. You let out a long sigh as you prepared yourself for the chirps that were bound to come when you took your coat off and the jersey was finally in his line of site. You chewed your bottom lip between your teeth as you spun around to face him.

Matthew was frozen in place, a partially opened to-go container on the counter in front of him and chopsticks about to be ripped apart in his hands. His eyes were trained on the flaming logo on the front.

“Tessa made me wear it,” you admitted quickly. “I lost a bet and she made me wear it.”

Matthew slowly put the chopsticks down and one of his hands came up to his mouth. His hand was on his chin, thumb crossing his lips as he shifted his weight to his other hand braced against the counter’s edge. His light eyes were darker than you were used to as they scanned up and down your body. They came to rest on the number partially visible on the shoulder. He moved his hand from his face to hovering in front of him with his index finger outstretched. Slowly, his index finger began to make small circles as he looked at you.

“Oh, you’re rubbing this in now,” you huffed, hands going to your hips.

Matthew just shook his head softly before he swallowed hard, then said one word, “Spin.”

You sighed, knowing he wanted the full picture for future ammunition, but you wouldn’t get to enjoy your food until you gave him what he asked you. You slowly let your feet shift across the floor, moving you in a gentle circle, giving Matthew a perfect view of his last name across your back. You closed your eyes as you reached the point in your circling where you’d have to see him again. You didn’t need to see the smug look on his face.

You heard Matthew sigh and you knew whatever he was about to say next was going to be brutal. Instead, all you heard was his feet shuffling quickly across the floor before you felt his hands on you, pressing you back against the nearest wall. Your eyes flung open when you made rough contact with the wall. Before you could fully process it, Matthew’s head dipped down and his mouth was on yours. You almost pulled back, but he was kissing you in a way that took your breath away. You couldn’t not fall into the moment with your palms coming to rest on his chest, but you needed some sort of explanation and you weren’t even sure if this was really what you wanted, so you pushed gently on his chest and he instantly separated from you.

“What the fuck?” you breathed out at him as you lifted your eyes to look at him.

He was towering over you, his arms boxing you in on either side of your head. His eyes were even darker than they had been and while you could usually read Matthew like open book, you couldn’t recognize the expression on his face.

“I can’t be your friend if you’re going to look this fucking good with my last name on your back,” he told you. His words were so matter of fact, as if it was the most obvious thing the world. “You have absolutely no idea how bad I want you right now.”

“Matthew,” you said between deep breaths, “I don’t know.”

“You know,” he said, his baby blue eyes locking your gaze on him. “You know you know. You’ve known since that first dinner. Tessa knew too. Hell, even Noah knew, and you know how fucking thick he is. We’re not supposed to be just friends. You,” he sucked in a breath through his teeth when he broke eye contact to look down at the jersey while balling some of the red fabric in his hands, “you are too perfect for me to be my friend. God, it’s like someone took everything I ever wanted and put it all in one perfect, stupidly sexy girl, except that someone made her fucking oblivious to her own feelings.”

Matthew let out a soft laugh and shook his head as he released the fabric from his hands. His eyes rolled up to lock with yours again.

“You can’t stand her and tell me that kiss wasn’t different,” he continued. “stop being so fucking thick for two seconds and you’ll really feel it. I know you feel it. Because if somehow, I feel this goddamn strongly about someone, and they don’t feel a single ounce of something for me, then I must have really fucked up in my past life and deserve to have the perfect girl right between my fingers and feel her break my heart instead. Like, fuck, you know this is different, that this is something that stupid kinds of special. Just let yourself feel it. Let me in, baby. I’m right here. You’re not gonna fall. Nothing is going to break. I’m right here. I’ve got you, if you want me to.”

Matthew was wrong. You felt the walls you built to keep you from having to put yourself out there, from having to risk anything, start to crack under Matthew’s gaze. His eyes started bouncing from feature to feature on your face, trying to figure out what was going on in your mind since you hadn’t said a word yet. When his baby blues met yours again, the walls broke, and you felt everything. You felt everything he said and somehow, so much more. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked his mouth down to yours. He kissed you back instantly, his hands reaching down to the backs of your thighs to pull you up to his height. Your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands moved to your torso, yanking at his new favorite piece of clothing you owned to get under it and feel your skin under his palms.

You broke the kiss to breathe. His mouth moved to your neck as you tangled your fingers in his curls.

“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to wear this while I do it,” Matthew breathed out against your neck with a faint tug of the jersey, “if that’s alright with you.”

“Little aggressive,” you told him with a tug of his curls. Matthew pulled you away from the wall, switching to support your weight so he could start walking you towards his room.

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Matthew laughed against your skin. “If you actually have objections, fine, but the peanut gallery is closed for anything other than curse words and my name for the next few hours, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Tkachuk.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

Text

Any Other Name

.Chapter 1.

The London Institute hadn’t changed in the five years since Cordelia had last seen it. Its pointed rooftops disappeared into the alloy colored clouds that perpetually covered the sky of London making Cordelia sometimes wonder if underneath the constant precipitation the sky was purple or grey rather than blue. The arched glossy windows reflected the view of the city with the billowing smoke from the factories, the lines from the bridges, and the diamond-like flecks that glittered off of the Thames.

It rivaled the Institute in Tehran in size alone, but otherwise, the cold, steel gray of the stones had nothing on the warmth and light of the sand-colored building that she had been living in for the past five years. Already she missed the way the sun warmed the inside of the building and filled the rooms with its light that sent fractals of color off of the beads that adorned the bright colored drapes in her bedroom. She missed the smells of spices, burning applewood, and whatever flower bloomed wildly in that season as she walked the crowded merchant-lined streets.

She’d only been in London all of ten minutes and already she wanted to climb back through the portal and take her grandmother up on her offer to let her live there with her in her small one-bedroom flat.

“We are a family,” said her father proudly when he informed them at the dinner table only a week before that they (he) were offered the position to be head of the London Institute after the removal of William and Tessa Herondale. “This is a family decision. No one is staying behind. We are moving as a family.”

It didn’t feel like a family decision when he removed her bedroom door after she’d locked herself in for twenty-four hours in protest.

One year, she told herself. One measly little year in the dreary, desolate wasteland that was London, and then she would be eighteen and free to make her own decisions including where she wanted to live.

Her older brother Alastair, the bastard, had turned eighteen only a month ago and had opted to remain in Tehran to help oversee the Institute until the Clave found a family to take over. Cordelia bristled at the idea of someone else living in her room which she’d just managed to decorate according to her taste. What if they turned it into a boring old office or Angel forbid a crafts room.

Never, in her seventeen years, did she hate her parents. Not for any reason for they were quite good parents. They let her go out with her friends any night of the week she wanted, they supported her in whatever protest or interest she happened to be on even if it pertained to mundane issues, and she rather liked spending time with them when she wasn’t training or out in the city with her small, but loyal group of friends.

Her friends.

They’d only said goodbye a few hours ago, but she’d at least hoped for one fire message of encouragement to help her through these trying times.

She’d scold them for it later.

When she’d come to London as a child during her parent's annual Clave meetings, the only enjoyable part of being here visiting with the ever eccentric Lucie Herondale. They’d become fast friends when they first met at ten years old and remained in touch either through fire messages, the occasional visits, or annual Clave meetings. Until about six months, when all correspondence stopped. Cordelia sent her dozens of messages, but none of them were answered. When she attempted to call from a city payphone on the landline she knew Lucie kept, the automated message said the phone number had been disconnected.

Cordelia wondered if it was something that she had done or said that upset Lucie. That was until a week ago when her parents sat down with her and her brother and told them of the Clave’s decision to exile the Herondale’s for their demon blood.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” Cordelia yelled when her parents informed both her and Alastair. “They’re exiled? What does that even mean?”

“It means they’re no longer considered Shadowhunters,” said Alastair from where he sat across from her at the dining room table. He was rather unperturbed by the situation which didn’t surprise Cordelia in the least. He never liked the Herondale’s; least of all James Herondale, Lucie’s older brother.

“I know what it means, Alastair, I’m being dramatic,” snapped Cordelia. “What did they do to deserve this? Will has always been an esteemed member of the Clave and Tessa as well. They can’t do this to them!”

Elias, Cordelia’s traitorous father looked to her mother Sona for assistance but her mother looked just as angry as Cordelia felt.

“It’s all to do with their blood,” said Elias carefully.

“Their blood?” Cordelia said as if he’d just announced he was infected with some virulent disease.

“Bigotry, darling,” said Sona and glanced at him over the edge of the purple scarf that concealed her hair. “I think the word you are looking for is ‘bigotry’.”

“No,” said Elias. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Why not,” said Sona, flippantly. “It’s not as if the Clave is here to hear you. We’ve always been honest with the children, it won’t do to stop now.”

“Sona, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was an argument that they have had before and did not side with one another. “We agreed to be a unified front.”

“I agreed to no such thing,” said Sona and turned her gaze to Cordelia. “The Clave upon hearing that Tessa’s father is the greater demon Belial, has decided that despite her angelic heritage, her blood is tainted and we cannot allow tainted blood into the community in fear that her demon-side will eventually take over and she— or her children— will be responsible for something horrendous which is the nature of their kind.”

Cordelia gapped like a landlocked fish. “That’s the most idiotic thing I have ever heard!”

Sona nodded.

“Tessa is one of the kindest, sweetest, most good-natured people that I have ever met!” Her voice inched up an octave that had Alastair grimacing. She didn’t care. This was criminal. This went against everything she’d ever believed. Tessa was someone as close to an aunt as Cordelia would ever have. “Doesn’t the angelic blood dominate the demon side anyway!”

Sona nodded. “The Clave claims they do not have enough evidence of this and therefore cannot risk it.”

“You keep saying the Clave,” said Cordelia vehemently. “Who exactly are you referring to?”

“It’s all of them, darling,” said Elias.

Sona rolled her eyes. “Inquisitor Bridgetstock, the toad, is who I am referring to and the hoard of Clave members that he has fear-mongered into following after him. This is what we deserve for establishing a democracy.”

“You’d prefer totalitarianism?” said Elias.

Sona just shrugged again. “If it meant avoiding this lunacy, then yes, I suppose I do.”

Cordelia felt like screaming to release some of the frustration building in her chest. “What about Will?”

“His mother was a mundane,” said Elias.

“Oh.” Cordelia felt her cheeks fill with heat. “So the Clave has something against Mundanes, as well. So was Sophie Lightwood, are they going to exile her too?”

“The Clave is trying to keep the Shadowhunter bloodline pure,” said Elias, carefully, but there was a note of distaste in the last word. “Sophie ascended so therefore she is for all intents and purposes a Shadowhunter. Also, Will wouldn’t abandon Tessa or his children even if it meant keeping his marks. He was very adamant about that part.”

Cordelia slumped back against her chair and crossed her arms in a way she hadn’t done since she was a child. “So what, we’re just meant to pretend like they never existed? Is that what you’re saying?”

Both of her parents averted their eyes. Sona looked down at her hands resting in her lap and Elias stared at the plate of food he hadn’t touched in front of him. “Yes,” he finally said. “The punishment for fraternizing with ‘the exiled’ or any Downworlder unless it is for official Clave business is deemed punishable.”

Cordelia scoffed, but it was Alastair who asked, “Punishable, how?”

“It depends on the severity,” said Elias and meant to leave it at that.

“Meaning,” inquired Cordelia.

“Meaning,” said Elias in a tone that implied he was finished with this conversation. “They are not our friends, colleagues, or otherwise. They are our enemies and we are to treat them as such. They are working on making this into a new law and if broken, it could mean the stripping of your marks.”

Even Alastair’s eyebrows rose at that. “It seems the Inquisitor is finally getting what he wanted after all, a cease and desist on any camaraderie with Downworlders. He always did see them as a vile group.”

Elias nodded but reached over to put his hand on Cordelia’s arm. “I know Lucie was a dear friend.”

Cordelia’s eyes swam with tears at the mention of Lucie’s name. She couldn’t imagine what Lucie was going through now. Was she afraid, angry, lonely, feeling everything all at once? At least she had her family, but was it enough? Would it be enough for Cordelia?

“I cannot stress how important it is that you obey these laws until we can come up with a way to have them disbanded,” said Elias. “I know your heart, Layla, I see its fire at any signs of adversity and I don’t want to be the one to temper it, but I need you to be careful and believe me when I saw, I will do everything within my capabilities to fix this.” He looked at each person sitting at the table with him. “I may not agree with the Clave’s decision, but for our own protection, we must comply. Do you understand?”

“You want us to be silent,” said Cordelia.

Elias’s hand slipped from his daughter’s arm.

“Sometimes words are not enough,” said Sona on the other end of the table. “Sometimes we can speak louder with our action. We have raised you to be free-thinkers, to defend the innocent, and protect the ones that need protecting. We trust that you will use your best judgement on how to do just that.”

Cordelia uncross her arms and dropped her hands into her lap. She wanted more than anything to go to her room and try to send another fire message to Lucie; to rage about how ridiculous this all was, and let her friend know that she wasn’t alone. That not for one moment would she, Cordelia Carstairs, who once painted herself red and marched through the streets of Tehran as a message to their mundane government that she did not agree with the patriarchal rules placed on women, would go along with these laws.

She thought of the Blackthorn family motto: Lex malla, lex nulla.

A bad law is no law and how she wished she could claim it is her own.

But she couldn’t message Lucie. She didn’t even have a way to reach her and maybe Lucie didn’t want to speak to her anyway if she hadn’t even attempted to contact her in some other way.

“I hate this,” she said quietly.

“I know, Layla,” said her mother. “I know.”

“What of the Fairchilds?” asked Alastair, stirring his mashed potatoes around with his fork. “How did the Clave get Charlotte to agree to this? They’re practically family. Isn’t the blond one parabatai with the eldest of the Herondales?”

Elias sighed and nodded. “He is— was. He is being stripped of his mark this week.”

Cordelia gasped and felt as if she might vomit. “Matthew would never!”

“He didn’t have a choice,” said Elias. “It was either have his parabatai mark removed or be exiled.”

“He’d choose to be exiled.” Cordelia didn’t know Matthew Fairchild all that well, but she knew he wouldn’t abandon his dearest and oldest friend. The friend he chose to tie his own life.

“He’s not yet eighteen,” said Elias. “He cannot make that choice.”

“Charlotte is allowing this?”

“Charlotte has been removed from her place as Consul for not agreeing to any of this and is being replaced by Marcus Pounceby.”

“Marcus Pounceby!” said Alastair and Cordelia together.

Their father just nodded though his expression had grown increasingly tired. “Yes, it appears that if one just bends every which way for the Clave one can achieve a lot.”

Cordelia had to physically restrain herself from flipping the table. “This is bullshit!”

“Cordelia!” Her mother hissed. “I know you’re upset, but I won’t hear that sort of language at the table.”

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, and saying ‘this is crap’ just didn’t justify how she felt. “I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we were supposed to be better than mundanes. This feels like its been torn directly out of one of their history books. Next they’ll have use hunting Downworlders and demons.” She couldn’t sit there any longer. She couldn’t handle any more information that made her want to portal directly to Alicante and demand they strip her of her marks. What was stopping them from exiling her family next? What if they stopped liking her hair color or decided she wasn’t fit to be a Shadowhunter because she was a woman? “May I be excused?”

“You haven’t eaten anything,” said her mother.

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Your mother worked—“ Elias started but Sona shook her head and said, “Yes, just clear your plate and you can go.”

——————

In the week that followed that conversation things progressively got worse. It helped that she was in Tehran with her friends, battling demons that terrorized the night and training during the day, until that fateful night when her father declared that they were moving to the London Institute.

The inside seemed as dark and cold as the outside. She didn’t remember it being this way when she visited as a girl. It used to be so full of light, but perhaps it was the people that occupied it that made it that way. Now, it seemed as lonely and depressed by their absence as Cordelia felt.

She dragged her suitcase up the flight of stairs to the second story and shuffled down the hall at a glacial pace as if every step was a concession to agreeing to live here. The hallway had holes in it where pictures were once hung by Tessa of her family and their lives there. Cordelia could remember a few: one of Tessa and Will on their wedding day, another of Tessa heavily pregnant while hanging a Christmas ornament on the tree, one of Will holding a baby, and one of all four of them together underneath the Eiffel Tower. Lucie was only six in the picture and resting her tired head on her father’s shoulder. James stood in front of his mum with a half-smile on his face and a baguette in each of his hands.

The barren walls seemed to groan and sigh as she walked past.

The door she knew to be hers was already opened, a dull strip of light came out into the hallway. Cordelia stood in front of the dark red wood of the door and nudged it open with the toe of her boot. It squeaked on its hinges as it slowly revealed the bedroom inside.

Memories of laughter crashed into her like a blast of icy, winter wind. Two little girls sitting on the massive bed, the covers were thrown over their heads with a witch light glowing between them, as they brought their collection of dolls to life in elaborate stories.

It still smelled like her— like Lucie. A mixture of Damascus roses, ink, and freshly printed papers.

Cordelia sighed and dropped her bag at her feet.

The bed was the only thing that remained of what used to be Lucie’s old bedroom. Stripped of the colorful coverlet and sheets that Lucie had chosen, it was just an old mattress with a plush, lavender velvet headboard. The only sign of there ever having been any more furniture were the marks in the wooden floorboard where Lucie’s writing desk sat and piles of dust in the corners.

“It’s not much now,” said her mother whom she hadn’t heard come up behind her. “But you can make it your own.”

Cordelia scoffed. “I don’t want to make it my own.” It was Lucie’s. It would always be Lucie’s.

She felt her mother’s hand on her waist. “I know this is difficult for you, Layla, but we must make the best of it. It’s what Lucie would have wanted.”

Cordelia turned. “Please don’t talk about her as if she’s dead. I did what you asked, I moved here, please don’t expect me to be happy about it. It’s not enough that I have to stay in this house, but I have to live in her room and make it my own. I won’t. My stuff may be stored in here, but it’s not mine. My room is in Tehran.” She turned back around and glared at the large space before her as if it’d done her some great wrong.

Sona patted her daughter on the waist before releasing her. “I didn’t come up here to upset you more, but I feel I should warn you. The Inquisitor and the Consul are coming by in an hour to meet us. They want to discuss a few things with your father over dinner. I was told to tell you to please be on your absolute best behavior.”

“So you’re asking me to sit there and look pretty?”

Sona’s eyebrows quirked. “We need to support your father. He is the only one in the Clave that has any semblance of reason. They trust him, we need to help strengthen that trust if he is to help make sense of some of this nonsense. Do you understand?”

Cordelia hugged herself. “I hate them.”

“Hate them all you like,” said Sona. “You don’t even have to speak to them if you don’t want to, but you do need to be present. The Consul’s son will be there.”

“Augustus?” said Cordelia with distaste. “Can’t you tell them I’m ill or tired from our travels. Jet lag is still a thing even if you portal.”

Sona tapped her wrist where a watch should be. “Dinner is at seven. Dress respectably.”

Cordelia looked down at the black bike shorts she had under the oversized gray sweatshirt she’d thrown on that morning while she finished all her last-minute packing. By respectable, she knew her mother meant nice, pretty, clean. Look how they want you to look so we can attempt to impress Inquisitor Bridgestock and Consul Pounceby because even though we don’t agree with their decisions, we still have to abide by their laws.

It made her want to punch a hole in the wall or throw something out the window.

She pulled the strap for the scabbard holding Cortana, her beloved sword, over her neck and rested her blade against the wall beside the closet door, and walked across the room to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Never once in her life was she ever not proud to be a Shadowhunter. It was as much a part of her as the color of skin, her name, or the distinct tone of her voice. The angelic blood sang in her veins and powered her limbs to protect those who could not protect themselves against the darkness and evil that threatened it. Never once did she consider that darkness and evil could ever touch or harm her community; that it would never be found there. Now, she came to realize, it was not so far away.

How could she fight her government? She couldn’t, not without consequences, but how could she stay silent either about what she knew to be wrong and unjust.

Her whole existence felt like the inside of a snow globe after it was turned upside down and shaken. Now, she just had to wait for the dust to settle, and perhaps things would not look so different then.

———————

The Consul was the first to arrive.

Cordelia stood in the bathroom mirror smoothing out the dress she’d thrown in the bag she packed while they waited for the rest of their things to arrive from Tehran. The white of the soft fabric warmed her skin and brought out the flecks of copper in her red hair that she left down and curled at the ends. Her mother would scoff at the length of the hem, falling to the middle of her thighs. It wasn’t exactly what Cordelia would have chosen to wear to this dinner either, but she’d left her Fuck the Patriarchy t-shirt and ripped jeans in the box with all of her clothes in Tehran. It may be written in Persian, but the look on her parents’ face would have been worth it, and who knows, perhaps it could have been a conversation starter.

She was pulling on a pair of dark leather sandals when she heard the sound of voices fill the foray. Her mother’s warm, but fake laughter sent a pinch across Cordelia’s spine. She knew it wasn’t sincere, but she still would rather hear the sound of her mother kicking them out of her house rather than welcoming them in.

I am not being complicit, she told herself as she turned towards the bedroom door. I am infiltrating the enemy. I will find their weakness. I will attempt to understand them so I can use the knowledge later to destroy them… And I will spit in their water glasses and lick their bread rolls.

With a practiced smile, she marched towards the door when she felt the give and heard the groan from a floorboard beneath her foot. She looked down and carefully lifted her right foot and watched as the board rose back up.

Interesting. None of the other boards did that.

Carefully, she got down onto her knees and dug her nails into the crack around the board. The perimeters showed markings of being dug out before. She pried it up enough to get her fingers underneath and it popped up with ease. She slid it away and beneath was a white sheet of paper with a garden stone sitting on top of it and Cordelia’s name written on the front.

Cordelia looked up to make sure no one was coming. The voices could still be heard from the foray and dinner didn’t technically start for five more minutes.

She reached down into the hole and slid the paper out from underneath the rock.

Sitting back on her hip, she unfolded it and read:

50 Ernest St, Bethnal Green, London

The Old Clock Tower

February 3, at 10 P.M.

Cielu Rhonelade

Cielu Rhonelade. Cordelia smiled as she mentally rearranged the letters to read Lucie Herondale. It was her nom de plume for a time when they were kids and Lucie wanted to be like the author George Eliot and claim her work under a different name.

But it was Lucie, of that Cordelia was sure, and she wanted to meet with Cordelia tonight.

A/N:

This story can also be found on AO3 if you would prefer to read it there.

Likes, comments, and reblog are always appreciated!

Next update: Friday, 5/14

#the shadowhunter chronicles #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #the last hours #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #jordelia fanfiction #cassandra clare #modern au #alternative au #thomas lightwood #lucie herondale #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs #will x tessa #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn

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twistedintern · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Right off the bat, I must say u are an underrated queen among the content providers for this fandom. I love your brief character analysis on Mozus Trein! I am so very eager to know your insights on other characters as well. I was wondering if u could maybe do something similar for any one of the NRC staff? U favor them most if I'm not mistaken, and I'm equally fond of them as well, so do whomever u fancy. All I really want is to read something lovely and in-depth of yours once more^^

O-oh my goodness... thank you so very much! The knowledge that there are those who regard my writing so highly--that you and others should hold my work in such great esteem--is a treasure in itself. I am both humbled and elated beyond adequate description. I shall keep your words near and dear to my heart going forward.

I’m very glad you enjoyed my analysis of Professor Trein! The fact of the matter is, were it not for my friends’ forays into performing analyses of their favorite NRC students, I probably would not have had the mind to do a treatment of Trein’s character to begin with. It seemed like something fun, and I wanted to share with the fandom the ways in which Trein was a personality in his own right. I wrote it during the Scary Monsters event--which, if you recall, provided us with a fair deal more staff content than was previously afforded to us.

That being said, at this point in time I cannot bring myself to write similar analyses for other NRC staff members (no matter how much I adore them!). I’ve certainly considered it, but ultimately my reasons against doing so are as follows:

- Regardless of how much has featured Dire Crowley, the man has such tremendous importance to the main story that any analysis would be inadequate and preempted--a shot in the dark at best. There’s still too much we don’t know about him and his motives. - Though we have been supplied with lore for Divus Crewel via the second NRC Unified Exams voice lines, I don’t feel the same urgency to speak on his character that I did his colleague. He has been given more screen time, leading to a general consensus on his character by the fandom than seems more or less faithful to canon. In his case, I would prefer to wait until the game provides us with details that challenge what we as fans have come to accept about him. - If I had to choose one staff member to analyze next, it would be Ashton Vargas. He suffers from this gross oversimplification of his character that bothers me to no end. He’s overlooked--an embarrassment who’s worth his weight in gag fodder--because he’s often regarded in a two-dimensional manner... which is, in this case, the fault not of the community, but of the game. While a number of interesting implications have surfaced over the past few months which I could easily incorporate into an analysis, I currently do not believe there exists enough evidence for me to reflect upon his character the same way I did Trein. Unless something major happens in the immediate future, I intend to write up an analysis only once his voice lines drop, which I expect to occur during the fourth NRC Unified Exams. - Sam‘s is an unusual case. He’s an extraneous, non-academic entity whose interactions with others seem to be restricted to business. Furthermore, whenever I think on his person, I find myself drawing the same conclusion of his serving a necessary purpose: that his presence is a more a convenient device on behalf of world-building than anything. This may however stem from my lack of familiarity with the source work (I never saw The Princess and the Frog). I hope he receives the same attention and treatment the instructors have been getting so that I can truly consider him a candidate for analysis.

(Incidentally, as I fully expect Trein’s voice lines to be made available during the next round of NRC Unified Exams, there’s a very strong possibility that I’ll feel compelled to revisit his analysis as soon as I give those sound bytes a listen.)

#twisted wonderland #twisted-wonderland #twst analysis #kyuu chats #night raven college staff #dire crowley #divus crewel #mozus trein #ashton vargas #sam twisted wonderland

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years ago

Text

Die, Monster

The thick bank of fog split and roiled where two figures emerged from it. Tendrils of mist clawed at them, barely letting the two men go as they marched with steadfast determination and haste.

As they followed the nightly street, they kicked up tiny flurries of snow. In this artificial valley, devoid of other people, their boots rapped against the cobblestones, creating hollow echoes to bounce between the walls of the buildings all around them.

Huddled up in layers of thick clothing and standing alone by the recessed door of a block’s front entrance, a haggard man’s face gawked out from the shadows at these two men. While he observed their approach, he sucked on his pipe as if his life depended on it, causing a tiny glimmer in its burning bowels to flare up brightly and reveal his presence to them.

As the two men passed underneath a streetlamp, its gloomy light revealed one of them to be a helmeted constable and the other to be a man in black, carrying a large silver cross around his neck. The haggard man blew out a puff of smoke, studying them all the while.

The other two stopped near Hanrahan’s pharmacy and squinted, scanning the haggard smoker with suspicious glances. He locked eyes with them until they averted their gazes and focused on the abandoned shop instead.

Days ago, someone had splattered paint across the front wall and the building’s boarded up windows. The large letters they had slathered onto the edifice read:

DIE MONSTER

The man in black felt a mild sting of annoyance over the lack of punctuation in the painted phrase.

Underneath it, a torn front page from a newspaper fluttered sadly, barely sheltered from the elements where it had been nailed to a board. Its headline, in large bold letters, aimed to grab attention with spectacle, stating:

OUTER WALL REAPER CLAIMS THIRTEENTH VICTIM!

The police constable sneered at the yellowed paper with a glint of disdain for its author in his eyes. The inquisitor by his side snorted and turned to the haggard man, who still stood across the street, smoking, and continuing to watch them with growing curiosity.

“You there,” the man in black’s words cut through the night like angry little growls. “Do you live around here?”

The haggard man blew out another puff of smoke after inhaling from his pipe, bridging the time it took for the two other men to fully cross the road and broach his vicinity.

He nodded to the inquisitor and thrust out a thumb to the door behind him.

“Live right here,” he said.

“And you enjoy smoking outside in the dead of night, in the bitter cold?” inquired the man in black. The silver cross around his neck flashed for a moment in a gleam of light from the streetlamp when he come to a stop, only paces away from the lonesome man.

“Aye,” growled the smoker, then clearing his throat from the phlegm that had fueled that growl. “I like the nip in the air. Could not sleep.”

He sniffled and wiped underneath his nose with the back of his hand, adding, “S'been a long day.”

“Very well. Enough about you,” the inquisitor said with a sharp tongue, scowling at the smoker. “I am Inquisitor Virgil Armstrong, tasked by the holy church with rooting out evil and nipping it in the bud. And my esteemed colleague here,” he said, the last words dripping with contempt as he gestured to the police constable by his side—up close, a veritable giant of a man who frowned at the inquisitor upon hearing those words spoken thus.

The constable interrupted the speech and finished introductions himself, letting the first words roll out with matching contempt as he said, “Constable Todd, at your service. My colleague and I have a bit of a disagreement that you might help clear up, good sir.”

The constable, towering over both, tipped the helmet crowning his long and angular face, but he sported a similarly dour frown to rival the inquisitor’s.

Armstrong’s mustache wiggled as he wriggled his nose, emitting a short chortle.

“Mister Baxter Hanrahan, the druggist whose business closed over there,” spoke the constable, idly gesturing to the closed shop with a curt nod of his chin, “Ever since accusations of him being the Outer Wall Reaper got loud and he just up and vanished—have you ever noticed anything odd about the pharmacy? Any odd sounds or sights?”

The smoking man shook his head and the corners of his lips twitched with a feeble smile.

“I would be lying if I said I believed that bunk, even with the Reaper still at large,” replied the smoker, wiping over his lips with two fingers. “Mister Hanrahan was a true gentleman and a healer at heart—I can hardly picture him doing—no, I cannot imagine him being a murderer of so many souls. Nah, I’m more inclined to believe the rumors about the bandit ‘king’ Johnn Von Brandt being behind it.

Neither the inquisitor nor the constable looked at the smoker anymore. They exchanged a venomous glance with one another. The smoker cleared his throat and grabbed their attention by picking up again.

“Mind, I have heard a sound here and there from over there, but is that odd? No, I’d wager. I think some urchins or other poor folk might have snuck in there to plunder the place or find shelter from the cold. Odd, I think not.”

The inquisitor glared at the smoking man again and asked with a less rude swing to his tone now, “Might you be more specific? About those sounds?”

The smoker’s lips curled to match his frown and his shaven chin crinkled.

“Couldn’t really tell ya, to be perfectly honest. Sounds? Some wood creaking, a thump here and there, often in broad daylight. Haven’t heard a peep all night,” he said. Pursing his lips for a second, he continued, “Normal sounds, I suppose. Wouldn’t call them odd, exactly.”

“And you never thought to report them to the constabulary?” asked the inquisitor through gritted teeth, the air condensing before his mouth in angry little clouds. A furious fire burned in his eyes, as if he had stolen the glimmer from the smoker’s pipe.

The constable clapped a hand on the inquisitor’s shoulder.

“And waste our time when we have plenty of crime to contend with? No, friend, I think not,” said the constable. He clapped him on the shoulder again—firmly and uncomfortably, for emphasis. “I believe we’ve bothered the good citizen here for long enough. Let us investigate for ourselves.”

The constable nodded in wordless greeting to the smoker and swiveled to leave. Inquisitor Armstrong shot another glance at the lawman and then cast his irritated gaze back onto smoker.

“Good night,” he hissed at him.

The smoker nodded, keeping eyes locked with the twitchy man until Armstrong finally turned and followed the plodding echoes of Constable Todd’s footsteps crossing the street to the closed pharmacy.

“Night,” he replied in a quiet mutter once they were out of earshot.

The smoker then stifled a sigh as it escaped through his flaring nostrils, seeing the light in his pipe had gone out completely during the conversation. The cold had seeped into his fingers as they fumbled with his door and he disappeared inside his home.

The other two men returned to the front of the pharmacy. They bobbed back and forth, craning a neck here and scanning the building’s run-down exterior there with searching eyes. Looking for clues of a presence, or an easy way to enter.

Todd nodded to the alleyway leading in between the buildings, diverging from the street. He immediately walked that way. Armstrong joined him and they circled around the block, looking for another entrance into the closed shop.

The backdoor was missing, beaten down and in shambles within the entrance there. Wooden boards partially covered this alternative entryway, leaving gaps large enough for a slender person or a child to climb through.

Wood audibly splintered and cracked as Constable Todd’s meaty hands pried at a board and yanked until it snapped. He discarded the board’s chunks by tossing them into the snow-covered dirt nearby, promptly ripping out the next board with the same detached fierceness.

Having created a hole large enough for himself to enter, he stepped over one of the lower planks he had left intact and entered the building’s pitch-black insides.

The inquisitor unlatched the gas lantern from his belt and its little metal wheel squeaked in the process of him lighting it, then he followed the constable into the pharmacy.

Their breath condensed in front of their faces and the air inside the shop carried a cold so bitter and merciless that it eclipsed the bitter wintry chill outside. Glass shards crunched underneath a boot, floorboards creaked, and the gas-lit lantern cast an eerie cone of light wherever the inquisitor shone it.

The whole place had indeed been ransacked. Shelves on display were conspicuously absent of anything of use or value, and anything less interesting found itself splayed out on the floors as rubbish.

“The many rubes of this city will believe anything. Why are you so persistent about the druggist being the Reaper?” asked the inquisitor without facing the constable.

The policeman poked some books on a shelf with his club and replied without turning, “I have it on good authority that it was, in fact, not the infamous outlaw Von Brandt.”

“Ah, yes,” the inquisitor said with a sneer. “From the mouths of your invaluable sources whom you cannot endanger by disclosing, I trust.”

The constable grunted in agreement to that without warranting any further words.

“Now shush,” hissed the constable. “While I like being wrong about certain things, I’d rather not be wrong about Hanrahan hiding out in here like some sort of wounded animal.”

The stairs leading up into the second story groaned under the constable’s weight and carpets on the floors up top swallowed the hollow thumps of his footsteps. The two men explored the rooms, carefully, one by one, staying within arm’s reach of one another.

The inquisitor noted how the constable’s knuckles had turned white from gripping his club with such force that it looked like the tiny thing would snap in the giant’s hand.

Then he spotted something else—something that captured his entire attention and brought a sly smile to his lips. His eyes followed scuffmarks on the floor, where something heavy had often scraped against the wood but seemingly disappeared into the wall. Almost hidden by a pile of books that had fallen from the empty shelves there.

“See? Nothing and nobody here,” said the constable with a sigh. “Glad to be right, this night.”

Armstrong emitted a short chuckle, incapable of concealing the burst of sadistic glee underneath it.

“Even so, you might have missed the secret room right here, right under our noses, had we not risked taking a look in this ruin,” said the inquisitor. “Look.”

He lifted the lantern so it cast enough light to clearly illuminate his discovery. The constable’s eyes went wide when he followed Armstrong’s directions.

“Well, I’ll be—”

“Come, let us see what the druggist kept hidden,” urged Armstrong, placing the lantern on a table, and looking at the large set of empty bookshelves that loomed above the scuffed floorboards.

The two of them took positions on opposite sides of the shelves and grabbed hold of the heavy bookcase from where they stood. No matter how much they grunted and groaned and wheezed—even with the large constable’s considerable strength—the furniture refused to budge.

After several seconds filled with failure, the inquisitor caught his breath and let his gaze sweep through the room.

“There has got to be a mechanism attached,” he mumbled.

“What did you say?” asked the constable between heavy breaths.

Armstrong offered no reply as he stepped away from the bookshelves, calmly searching his environment for other clues. He then pawed at the bottoms of the shelves, and let his hands glide across the wood, searching for something that felt out of place.

His eyes lit up with fire once more, not furious this time around—but excited. He bared his teeth in a hideous grin at the constable and pulled on a tiny latch where his fingers had found purchase in a dark corner of the shelves below eye level.

Something metallic clicked behind the bookcase and the massive wooden structure silently lurched forward, just by a finger’s width, but enough to provoke the two men into instinctively stepping away from it. A warm and damp air spilled out from the opening, creating a sharp contrast to the debilitating cold of the rest of the shop.

The constable rounded it, picked up his club from the table and stuck it into the narrow gap between shelves and wall that the inquisitor had created, then pushed the bookcase aside, as if it were a giant, weightless door. Metal hinges emitted a high-pitched squeal once the case had fully opened to make way to a hidden chamber beyond it.

Todd stood there, peering inside, and letting his eyes adjust. The inquisitor retrieved the lantern and followed him there, and they stepped inside together.

Shadows danced from the many unstolen objects littering the desks and shelves in this narrow room, untouched by the thieves who had looted the rest of the shop. The inquisitor held his lantern higher so they could see the myriads of items more clearly, all at once.

Many tomes, covers emblazoned with arcane symbols of alchemy and demonology. Vials filled with strange fluids. Pickling jars containing what had to be human organs, warped through the bend of the glass and the ghastly juices they were floating in. Scattered on the desk, around a journal, Armstrong recognized numerous fetishes used in sorcerous traditions from around the known world.

“Occult paraphernalia,” Todd muttered. “As I said. The Reaper is no common man.”

Still holding the lantern up high above him, the inquisitor let his seeking and curious gaze wander across everything in the room, mentally preparing to catalogue every find and either submit them for safekeeping or purging in sacred fire at the local chantry.

Upon seeing another set of eyes in the corner, he froze.

Glowing red like embers, glaring with cold hatred, he could barely discern the shape of the figure hidden in the room in plain sight. A silhouette that had not budged since their entering the secret chamber, watching them, and listening, and poised to attack. Vaguely human. All too monstrous. Limbs grotesquely muscular and claws that resembled little curved knives.

Before he could drink in any more detail, the thing lunged at them and the world exploded into a chaos of muffled shouts, glass shattering, and agonized grunts.

The lantern smashed into the edge of the desk and dried parchment caught fire, spreading quickly.

“Don’t let it bite you!” shouted the inquisitor.

The only thing stopping the creature from ripping a chunk out of Todd’s neck was the club the constable had managed to wedge into a fanged maw, dripping with dark saliva as it spattered into his face. The constable growled and then yelled at the top of his lungs, in pain over claws that had sunken into his sides.

“Off, you whoreson!” he yelled as he managed to throw himself forward with the monster, smashing into the wall by the secret door.

The inquisitor brandished his silver cross in a hand like a weapon, holding it out in front of him and reciting a litany of a dead language.

The creature snarled, unimpressed, locked in a deadly struggle with the constable who shoved him away from himself, prompting another yelp in pain as those claws sliced through skin on their violent way out.

Todd yelled, “Not helping!”

The inquisitor grabbed a bottle of something he hoped to be flammable and hurled it with all his might at the creature, causing a shower of glass and something that smelled like strong spirits to quickly fill the air. Before every shard had hit the ground and Todd tossed a side table at the creature to create some distance in between them, the inquisitor grabbed the burning journal from the table and tossed it at the monster.

It shrieked as it caught fire where the fluid had doused it. The creature flailed around in a panic, snarling and howling. Armstrong identified a semblance of human intelligence in its eyes, flashing brilliantly as it slapped the small flames on its body. And in the brief flashes of burning light, the two men could see that it resembled a man garbed in shreds of what might have once been a gentleman’s attire, as if his limbs and muscles had bulged outwards grotesquely to explode forth from his clothing.

“Gun,” Todd growled, then repeated. “Gun!”

The inquisitor registered with delay what he meant, then shoved his flintlock pistol into the constable’s open hand.

Todd immediately shot the creature in its side and it stumbled outside, tripping and tumbling into the adjacent room outside the secret chamber, with wisps of fire trailing off it and embers fluttering about as it fled, leaving a trail of blood, footsteps slapping against the ground and causing it to thunder with the monster’s tremendous weight as it ran away.

The constable ducked down to grab the club the creature had spat out in its flight and immediately gave chase. The inquisitor snapped out of his momentary shock, still reeling from the ambush, then chased after the constable.

“Halt,” the constable commanded as he charged down the stairs, pausing to cringe and clutch his sides where the creature had injured him. Through gritted teeth he wheezed, “Whoreson.”

The inquisitor caught up to him and knew he had to finish what the constable started, but the giant of a lawman refused to give up easily.

Wood exploded in a shower of dust and debris as the creature burst out through the backdoor from where they had entered. Its clawed feet scraped against the cobblestone and it stopped by the corner of the claustrophobically narrow alleyways.

They all froze when they saw the haggard smoker from earlier standing at the opposite end of the alleyway, with the creature squarely in between them, looking back and forth in between its pursuers, and the innocent bystander who had nothing to do with this.

Its eyes burned with unyielding hatred. Only now did the inquisitor notice the bent frame of silver spectacles, comically hanging from one misshapen ear and a tangle of reddish hair.

Then he noticed the hideous lips parting just enough to reveal a row of blackened, jagged teeth. Despite blood dripping down its leg—from the hole which Todd had shot into it—it smiled.

With an inhuman cackle, it crossed the distance to the smoker with two sudden, feral leaps and pounced on him. Limbs flailed around, thin, and sharp claws glistening wet with reflections that caught the gloomy light from the streetlamps.

The men ran towards the struggle, trying to rescue the smoker, and the inquisitor’s mental image of what was transpiring did not match up with reality. He expected the creature to be hungrily ripping the man apart—

Instead, the constable and the inquisitor froze again, no ten paces away from the creature. It had gotten up to its feet and now held the smoker hostage. The haggard man quivered with fear for his life, his face contorted with dread and his eyes darting between the array of razor-like claws held dangerously close to his neck, and the two hunters, back and forth in what must have been subdued panic.

The constable aimed the pistol at the creature, only realizing with apparent delay that it was useless without reloading. He chucked it aside and it clattered on the hard ground.

“You’re smart, eh? Think that takin’ a hostage will let you get away? You’re one daft whoreson,” growled the constable.

The creature smiled at them, baring crooked fangs that dripped with glistening saliva.

“Not wolf-man, not vampire,” Armstrong whispered behind Todd. “Alchemical sorcery at its worst—he can be reasoned with. I think he understands us clearly.”

“Why?”

The question cut colder and sharper through the wintry air than blade or claws. A stern, surprisingly calm word that escaped the constable’s lips which then clamped shut and formed a thin white line.

“Why did you slay all those people?” asked the constable.

The thing cackled and the hostage in his arms shuddered. Claws on the creature’s feet scraped against cobblestone again as it shuffled back half a step, dragging the helpless smoker with him.

“Because,” it responded letting the world drawl out, sounding like two voices blending into one. “Because I needed their insides.”

A chill ran down the inquisitor’s spine. Not just from hearing the creature speak with such clarity but taken aback by the sinister things it said. By how sadistic it sounded.

“Because I liked seeing the life fade from their eyes,” it continued. To underline those words, it wiggled its thick fingers, letting the claws dance across the smoker’s wrinkled neck until they locked into place and clamped down. Not piercing his flesh with full force, just nicking his skin enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

“I can almost taste the darkness inside of you,” the creature said.

Its red eyes locked onto the inquisitor and captured his full attention with uncanny magnetism. No sorcery, nothing unnatural about it. Something about the monster’s intense stare—paired with the racing of his own heart—gave him tunnel vision, caused the foggy streets of Crimsonport to blur all around him. Or it was his own dizziness, causing the corridor of the world around him to spin as he could not break eye contact with the creature.

“Would I only be so lucky to taste it on my tongue, as I chew through your innards and feast upon your blood,” the monstrous Hanrahan said. “Why? Why did I slay those people? Why do people hunt foxes in the forest for sport?”

The low baritone of the creature’s voice traveled down the alleyway, piercing the inquisitor’s mind like invasive whispers, resonating with him somehow. The only thing that broke this spell was the creature averting his eyes, locking onto the constable next.

“You will never stop me. You would have more luck trying to stem the tide with your bare hands, you lumbering oaf. You will never stop us. How do you stop the mist? How do you stop the night?”

Through a set of clenched teeth, Todd snarled, “You harm that man, and God will not be able to help you when I get my hands on you. You—”

“You what?” hissed the monster, nicking the smoker’s neck again to draw more blood as a demonstration of its might. “You don’t even have the clout to call me what I am.”

“Monster,” Todd and Armstrong said almost simultaneously.

“No,” said the creature. The wicked smile on its abhorrent face faded. Lips drooped around its fangs, its whole visage contorting with hatred. Then it opened its mouth before replying, its multitude of voices trembling as it spoke with something resembling reverence in saying, “God.”

In a flash of movement, a waterfall of vermillion shot out from the smoker’s neck, spraying across the nearby wall, and splattering onto the thin layer of snow coating the ground. The smoker’s eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief and his knees visibly buckled as he collapsed. But the creature moved with such inhuman speed that it fled down the main street before the smoker even hit the pavement.

The constable and the inquisitor rushed towards the bleeding man, breathing heavily as they paused to stop over where he had fallen. The inquisitor knelt beside him and swatted feeble hands out of the way as the smoker instinctively pawed at him in a useless effort to defend himself from his would-be helper. Armstrong grabbed hold of the man’s neck from both sides, holding up his head as he tried his best to cup his other palm around the spot where heart pumped out far too much blood in rhythmic spurts.

“Get that bastard,” Armstrong growled at Todd without looking up.

The constable rushed away and from the corner of his eye, the inquisitor saw the hulking figure of the creature gaining momentum as it leapt from cobblestones onto a stone wall ringing a house, then jump onto the side of a building where a lantern’s metal screeched as it bent under the creature’s immense weight.

From there, the monster hurled itself up onto the roof of the house and the constable uttered a string of foul profanities as he ran down the street, his footsteps echoing in a much faster staccato than when the two had arrived here to investigate the closed pharmacy.

Armstrong focused on the bleeding man, fumbling around with one hand to sling out a scarf from inside his coat and then apply it to the smoker’s slashed neck. The cloth quickly turned dark, almost black in the dim light here. The smoker feebly clutched at the inquisitor’s sleeves, trembling, and stammering something incomprehensible.

“Spare your strength, man, and shut up—you are holding on for your bloody life by a thin thread,” the inquisitor said. He grimaced and tore fabric from his shirt to reinforce the haphazard bandaging around the smoker’s dangerous injury.

Each motion accompanied by more, growing confidence, he tied a knot around the mess of drenched cloth and looked around to examine the source of footsteps quickly nearing.

The constable returned, jogging back to them empty-handed. The lawman’s face was twisted with frustration and fury.

“Whoreson got away. Moved like fucking lightning across the rooftops,” he said between heavy, labored breaths.

Armstrong nodded, harboring no ill will towards the constable.

“Pay no mind,” the inquisitor murmured, suppressing a sigh to the best of his ability as he surveyed the first aid he had provided the bleeding man. “Weak consolation, but now we know what we’re dealing with.”

He then leaned down over the bleeding man and hissed at him, “If you live, you’ll know best not to tell anybody the truth about what you witnessed this night.”

The smoker’s eyes—still wide with terror and a lingering shock that showed how he still hovered on the brink between life and death—blinked. If he could have nodded, Armstrong sensed, he might have.

“You heard how it—no—how he spoke,” Todd said, interrupting this exchange. “Hanrahan is the pawn of someone else, like I have been telling you.”

The inquisitor paid no attention to this statement, keeping eyes locked on those of the bleeding man caught in the crossfire of their secret war.

“I’ll go fetch more help,” the constable muttered, swiftly jogging off again, swallowed by the mists as they roiled through the streets, devouring all.

By the time the sun rose—or rather struggled to penetrate the heavy dark clouds in the sky—bathing the cold city in a dreary blue twilight. The two men stood by the bank of the frozen river which ran through the city like a frozen vein. Armstrong's shirt still torn, and his cold-numbed hands stained with dried blood of the man they almost failed to save, they watched.

"Will he make it?"

"Probable," said the inquisitor with a short nod.

"Lasting damage," said the constable, not poinitng it as a question.

"Barring a miracle, I doubt he'll ever speak again."

Other members of the constabulary questioned people loitering around by the edge of the river, near where claws had marked the snow-covered ice, gathering statements from the witnesses who had seen the creature murder another person in its frenzied flight through the town.

The trail it had left down the frozen river led right outside the city walls, into the outskirts.

Out of earshot from the interrogations, Constable Todd groaned and then muttered to Armstrong, "Outer Wall Reaper, bandit king, a madman from a local gang, monster, wild animal—rumor mill will churn endlessly on this one."

"We have to ensure Hanrahan won't be back to claim more victims," said the inquisitor. He then enunciated clearly, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and reverence, hoping to drive the point home as he added, "This is my line of duty, you understand."

The constable looked Armstrong up and down, then answered, "Of course. But I think there is something you are better suited for, what, with your expertise."

The lawman leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper, "I know the right people to deal with Hanrahan out in the wild. No doubt he will hide in the Blackwood to lick his wounds."

"What on earth are you suggesting?"

Todd shrugged.

"There will be a gathering of all the wealthy and highborn at Lord Reinhold Roland's estate come tomorrow eve," Todd said in an equally hushed murmur.

"And what in God's name do you expect me to be doing there? Hobnobbing with pompous aristocrats?"

A lop-sided grin crept across Todd's face before quickly fading and him responding, "A little birdie whispered to me that there's a secret society, some sort of cabal of occultists in their midst."

Armstrong perked up at that.

"You understand where I'm going with this, yes? Yes. See, the people I know who can hunt down and kill Hanrahan, they're less suited for an environment such as Reinhold's mansion. A member of the church who all fear to be an agent of the new inquisition, on the other hand—"

"Who they'll fear too much to refuse entry despite issuing no invitation," Armstrong interrupted him with a sly smile.

Todd nodded.

"As much as it disgusts me to say this—for all the lives he took, Hanrahan is the lesser evil here. We have to divert our resources with cold calculus."

Armstrong clicked his tongue. Shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and now studied the constable, looking up at the lawman's long face, and savoring the rare moment of catching the giant man in a moment of insecurity, triggered by his dismissive reaction.

"One must never distinguish between evils," Armstrong admonished him. "Once you court the lesser of them, you will find yourself in bed with a darkness you can never wash from your soul."

Todd stared into Armstrong's eyes, remaining silent at this statement.

"The people who will hunt down Hanrahan, you said. They do not happen to be the wanted outlaws, Johnn Von Brandt and Nora Morrissey, do they? The ones who, hold on—"

The inquisitor rolled his jaw and then set it with a smirk.

"The ones who, and let me phrase this correctly," he said, then emphasizing the next word with oozing sarcasm. "Allegedly murdered the bishop, and Earl Tyson, and a bunch of other influential people around the Red Coast?"

Todd pursed his lips. Refrained from answering. The inquisitor understood without any words uttered.

"Tut, what did I just say about different shades of evil?"

The constable's eyes narrowed, and it was him who now clicked his tongue.

"I know evil when I see it, Armstrong. That creature—that thing Hanrahan knowingly transformed himself into—he was evil. The two you call outlaws may be many things you find disagreeable, but evil? They are anything but."

An inhuman howl pierced the heavens, echoing between the valley of brick buildings and the narrows, causing everybody nearby and the two men alike to all freeze, startled. And they all stared down the length of the frozen river. A glint of sunlight pierced the cloudy veil in the sky, breaking over the horizon outside the city walls.

Todd and Armstrong exchanged nervous glances.

Despite what they had just discussed, they both knew: the monster needed to die.

Todd sprang into action, barking orders and rallying his colleagues.

Armstrong clutched the silver cross on his neck for a second, then looked at it humbly resting in his palm. Since arriving in this wretched city and traveling to the countryside beyond its walls, not once had this cross served him. Criminals, corruption, fair folk, and now sorcerers—not one of them feared the Lord's might, nor any hell that awaited them, thought the inquisitor.

What had shaken him the most on this very night was hearing Hanrahan's admission. After the spiraling maze of clues he had followed, Armstrong had always expected to find some shred of humanity to be hidden underneath it all once he peeled away at the surface. To find some motive, something he could relate to, or at least something he could remotely fathom with reason. But all Hanrahan had spoken of was bloodlust.

Joy—a deep pleasure—in carnage itself. Murder for the sake of murder.

Armstrong stuffed the cross into his coat and looked up. Constable Todd waved to him, urging him to catch up. A mental fog embraced the inquisitor's mind and drowned out all noises and shouts resounding around him. The inquisitor's feet set themselves into motion, almost unconsciously, like a machine, following the constable, mentally focused on arming himself with the resolve necessary to end a murderer's life and bargain for his God's forgiveness.

Some monsters, he believed, looked just like men. In joining his secret order, he had vowed to snuff out evil that took the form of creatures of the night. When it came to men whom one might call monsters, the lines began to blur.

But Armstrong steeled himself. Where he had been trained to mete out swift justice by means of fire and steel, he would no longer distinguish between man and monster if the only thing that separated them was the fear of a cross.

They all just needed to die.

—Submitted by Wratts

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johannstutt413 · 4 years ago

Text

(requested by mathmaticalknight; continuing a series)

“Ya know, I dunno why I thought she mighta been jokin’ ‘bout the tuxes.” Croissant was blushing brightly as she was getting her measurements taken.

Mostima shrugged. “I don’t ever plan on getting married, but one of us was bound to tie the knot sooner or later, and Texas needs to find an officiant who will sign two certificates for her discreetly before it’s even an option for her. Where are your hanger-ons, by the way?”

“With Angelina, doing the same thing we are.” The Lupo had a Pocky stick in her mouth like a cigar, taking it all in. “I wouldn’t marry Sora, though. Exu maybe, but not Sora. She’s a good girl, but the whole ‘idol worship’ is a bit much.”

“She’d really want you to praise her that much?” The Sarkaz smirked.

Texas rolled her eyes. “Funny.”

“If any’n’s worshippin’ any’n, it ain’t Tex.” The Forte chuckled, but had to stop when the tape measure came ‘round again. “Hey, how tight this need ta be? Least gimme a lil’ room ta breathe ‘ere.”

“Don’t question my judgment, ‘less you wan’a punishment. I been wearin’ this look a lot longer than you.” Emperor bit back, making the last few notes he needed.

The three shared a glance. “You wear T-shirts over your feathers, though,” Mostima observed.

“Well, yeah, cuz’ I like the style,” he replied, “but if ya ever see me rockin’ my birthday suit, you’d know I’m just as fuckin’ classy. Got killer shoes to boot.”

“What, yer feet?” Croissant glanced down at the penguin’s openly-visible legs.

He nodded. “Damn straight. The boys will have your suit to ya within a couple days; when’s the big shindig, anyways?”

“Uh...I dunno.” The Forte shrugged. “We’re gonna sign the papers a week from now, but we don’t have money for a ceremony.”

“Well, then, imma have to do it myself.” Emperor opened his notes again and walked away, pen scribbling faster than before.

Texas shook her head. “That’s how you know you’re the Boss’s favorite, Cross.”

“Aw, shucks, I didn’ wan’im to pay fer it.” She sighed. “I’m gonna be payin’im back ferever at this rate.”

“Could be worse - if he died before forever came along, the debt would probably go right back to the company.” And with that, the Sankta left, the other two not too far behind, to meet Bison in the lobby.

Meanwhile, Magallan was moving at a more leisurely pace, listening to Angie recount the proposal story. “That sounds exactly like I imagined. Empy’s was a lot more ostentatious, but I had no idea what was coming, either. WIth him, he could’ve been holding an impromptu concert.”

“That’s the Emperor, alright.” Exusiai sighed. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to go through something like this. Can you, Sora?”

“Hmm?” The ‘Lupo’ had been doing just that, actually.

Angelina smiled. “Oh, I think she can. I’ve had that look on my face for the past week now...It’s too bad we can’t afford to have a ceremony, though.”

“You can’t?” The Liberi measuring her stopped. “Oh, dear, why didn’t you tell me? I’m sure Empy and I can help you with that; consider it our wedding gift to you both.”

“You’d really do that? But they’re so expensive...” Her fiance’s sense for money was rubbing off on her.

Magallan chirped merrily. “Oh, it’s no big deal; we’re making so much, it’s a drop in the bucket. How does three weeks from today sound?”

“Oh, Magallan, I can’t just blindly agree without talking to my Croissantwich first...buuut that’ll probably be okay.” The Vulpo was about to explode from happiness; luckily, they were done with measurements at this point (because of Liberi efficiency), so she was free to detonate with glee as she burst out of the dressing room. “Croissaaaaaant!”

“Angie?!” The Forte heard her and turned around in time to be slammed by a full-speed makeout machine which managed through sheer enthusiasm to knock her to the floor.

Texas nodded as the other two followed out. “Ceremony?”

“Ceremony,” Exusiai confirmed. “Emp and Maggie paying for the whole thing?”

“That’s what he said...Wonder if he’ll pay for ours.”

Two Penguin Logistics members turned bright red as Bison and Mostima had an intense but muted conversation off to the side...Yep, just another day in Penguin Logistics.

-----------

“Wow. They really did pull out all the stops, didn’t they?” The Doctor and Amiya took back their IDs from the door guard as they walked into the auditorium that’d been taken over. “It’ll be hard to match for ours.”

“Doctor darling, we probably shouldn’t compete with the Emperor like that. He doesn’t like to back down from a fight.” Besides, why would she need a grand ceremony? Just her and the Doctor at the altar, Kal’tsit as the Maid of Honor, Savage and Blaze as bridesmaids-

There was a tap on her shoulder as her date gestured to the seating. “I wonder if they expect to fill the place tonight.”

“Everyone’s sitting so close to the front, it’s hard to tell.” The Cautus shrugged. “Let’s sit back here. It’s a bit crowded there...So many emotions at once might overload me.”

“As you wish~ Oh, they’re about to start, I think. One question: why is Texas on the other side and wearing a suit? And why isn’t Emperor, even though Lappland is in one?”

Amiya shrugged. “Hard to say, Doctor. How did Lappland get to be a groomsman when Bison is- Oh! He’s the officiant.”

“When did he get that certifi-” He stopped as soon as Bison began to read.

“Friends, colleagues, and esteemed leaders of Rhodes Island,” the Forte began. “While I stand before you today acting in a merely ceremonial capacity in this celebration, I cannot begin to tell you how exciting a day this is not just for us at Penguin Logistics, but for Rhodes Island as a whole. Never have I seen a pair more in love than the two who come here today to declare their union in holy matrimony. Will the groom please come forward?”

From a door off to their right, there was a bit of a ruckus, followed by Croissant stepping through with a sheepish smile on her face as Emperor walked her to the altar before taking a front-row seat. Evidently, she’d knocked over a coat rack or something as she’d approached the door, but that wasn’t what grabbed people’s attention.

The Doctor squeezed Amiya’s hand. “Our Croissant is a rather handsome woman, isn’t she?”

“Oh, hush, dear.” She lightly slapped his hand, which was resting atop hers on the chair arm between them. “I think she looks lovely.”

“That’s what I meant, darling, just in a masculine sense. The style matches her perfectly, and the tailoring is also impeccable, honestly.”

She gave him a look. “Have you been studying this sort of thing?”

“It’s important to have a broad knowledge base.” He smiled as the Forte stepped up to the altar, clearly noticed she’d missed her mark, and shuffled a little to get into place. “Oh, Cross...”

“Uh...thank y’all for comin’. Wudn’t sure how many people’d wanna come when we’d already tied the knot on our own, but uh...It means a lot ta both of us, I know. Uh...” She probably had more, but she choked up with tears in her eyes in the face of Rhodes Island’s full support on display. “Th-thank y’all so much...”

As Texas patted her on the shoulder, Bison continued. “Is the bride ready?”

“As ready as she’ll ever be,” Mostima muttered as the opposite door opened to reveal a procession: Greyy with a pair of rings displayed on a pillow walking with Gummy, who was sprinkling the floor behind them with flowers. Behind them, Magallan was arm-in-arm with Angelina, who was wearing a suit of her own.

“Oh my God,” Amiya gasped in wonder. “Doctor-”

He nodded, squeezing her hand. “I see her, too, dear.”

“Hot damn,” Emperor audibly muttered, catching the attendees off-guard and eliciting more than a few laughs.

“Thank you, Emperor.” Angie smiled at him before turning to the crowd as Maggie took a seat. “My parents aren’t here, and I doubt they’d have agreed to attend if I’d told them, but Penguin Logistics is more like my family than anyone. The other day, I finally married into it, and...I just wanna say, to everyone from Rhodes Island who was able to make it, and the folks who had work to do, I appreciate everything you’ve all done for Cross and me since I got here. Even if this probably isn’t what any of you saw coming...Bison?”

He smiled. “Greyy, if you would?” The Perro held out the pillow for the couple to each take a ring. “Excellent. Now, as I wasn’t able to be fully ordained in time for this ceremony, I can’t lead the two in a recital of their vows, but they asked to be able to each say something here today. Angelina, if you will?”

“I think my wifesband should go first,” she teased, grinning at the blush that turn of phrase created.

“Well, ya only get ta do this right once, huh...” The Forte wiped at her eye. “Hoo boy. I was there the night Angie realized her feelin’s fer me, but I’ll a’mit, e’er since the firs’ day I saw ‘er, I ‘ad a pretty good ide-er just ‘ow wun’erful she is. Ain’t a lotta girls in’a world that got both a good ‘ead on ‘er shoulders and a warm ‘eart like she got, but ‘at ain’t e’ry’in ta love ‘bout ‘er either. Not sure if she ‘members this, but first time we met was back when she aksidelly went’n PL lookin’ fer the Doctor. Nothin’ like ‘avin’ some’n so gorjus tell ya ‘Sorry, was lookin’ fer some’n else,’ ya know?”

A bit of laughter from the crowd before she continued. “I reckon I ‘ad the last laugh there, tho’, cuz’ guess ‘oo gets to call ‘erself Mrs. Ajimu now...Angelface, we were friends long ‘fore I thought we ‘ad a chance at bein’ lovers, so you know when I say I’ve seen ya at yer best and yer worst, I ain’t tryin’a diss ya. There ain’t a nuther person in ‘is room as lucky as me t’day, ‘cuz the love of my life loves meh back...Ya prolly shud stop meh, else I’ll just keep ram’lin’.”

“That’s alright; even if these folks have other places to be, I’d listen to every word. You know, darling, if it was a nightmare that inspired you to propose to me when you did, I have to wonder what happens when you have a good dream, but I think I’ve been living in one since the day we had our first date. Between movie nights with the company and waking up to your smile in the mornings, it’s like living in one of the cheesy teen novels I loved reading after floating up to one of my usual spots. Loving you is a flashback and a memory and a dream and a reality all rolled up in knowing that, whatever happens - arguments, deployments that separate us, maybe even one of us getting hurt - there’s nothing in the world that’ll stop me from needing you, wanting you, standing by your side...Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me...” Having said her piece, tears in her eyes, Angie reached out and slid her ring on Cross’s finger, who did the same in turn.

“I think I’m gonna cry,” the Doctor whispered to his date, who already was. “G-good call on the back sea--” And there went the water works.

Across most of the auditorium, actually, save for those physically incapable, and Bison, who soldiered on regardless. “That said, before we get to the festivities provided by Emperor and Magallan for the evening, it’s my duty to ask: if anyone here has any objection to this union - not that it will matter from a legal standpoint - speak now or forever hold your peace...Good, because I’d punch you myself if you did. Then, by the power invested in me by Rhodes Island and subsidiary company Penguin Logistics-”

“When did that happen?” Amiya asked in a hushed voice. “I thought we were just partners with them?”

“Closure and Emperor came to some kind of understanding. I wasn’t there for the process, I just signed the agreement.”

“-I now announce you to the world as Mrs. and Mrs. Ajimu. You may now kiss your bride.”

You didn’t have to ask them twice.

The celebration afterwards was wild as hell. Emperor had an impromptu concert (as expected); Bison proposed to Mostima, who actually agreed before falling apart in a spectacular show of emotion Exusiai had thought was impossible for her; the Doctor and Amiya tore up the dance competition that broke out, but narrowly lost to Croissantwich and Angelface in the karaoke contest afterwards; Lappland admitted that she wasn’t actually in love with Texas but trying to rile her up into a duel so she could get to Exusiai the entire time, which actually got the Texas family’s most composed to go full Mafia Samurai on her ass as the Sankta and the idol looked on in a mix of horror and “omg I knew it;” and through it all, drink was had, and merry was made.

Terra was a difficult place to live in. Poverty, inequality, terror, bloodshed, fear, hatred, jealousy - they’re no less potent or prominent on its surface than any other world’s, a product of the inevitable confluence of humanity’s imperfections magnified across a barely-numerable and broadly-scattered population. With all that said, though, there was much to live for, and as Angelina and Croissant made it home and threw themselves out of their clothes for the ‘real’ celebration of the evening, none of that mattered. Tomorrow would come, or it wouldn’t, but that night was theirs in a way no other would be...

#arknights #arknights fic #croissant (arknights)#angelina (arknights)#emperor (arknights)#magallan (arknights)#texas (arknights)#sora (arknights)#exusiai (arknights)#bison (arknights)#mostima (arknights)#amiya (arknights)#how is it that writing this was faster than the last two...#i love this pair #and i wish them all the best #tbh no idea where this would go from here #but then again it's like that with most fics that people ask me to continue somehow #but uh...yeah #'ave a good'n

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srbachchan · 5 years ago

Text

DAY 4380

Jalsa, Mumbai Mar 4/5, 2020 Wed/Thu 1:59 AM

The brain is beginning to WWE in that wired arena with the explosive body weights and the equally muscled and acrobatic women fighters .. it is fighting the saturation of the wait listed stream of those in line to express, remember, find that name , which should have come naturally under previous normal circumstances .. to enter its hallowed gates !!

एक ‘ख़रबूज़ा’ कट के आया , भोजन उपरांत , और जबतक वो अपने कटोरे में पड़ा हलक़ से उतर नहीं गया, मैं सोचता रहा की इसका नाम क्या है !!!!!

‘शरीफा’ बोलता रहा अपने मन में , परेशान रहा , ये जानते हुए की ये इसका सही नाम नहीं है, फिर भी नाम ध्यान में नहीं आया । पहले अक्सर ऐसा होता था की देखते ही पता चल जाता था । अब समय लग रहा है ।

क्या ये मानसिक पीड़ा है , या गाड़ी का डिब्बा भर गया है , और अब उसमें बैठने की जगह है नहीं । यदि मानसिक पीड़ा है तो भैया , जो याद करना हो उसे लिखना शुरू कर दो , या मोबाइल reminder पे डाल दो ; या, अपने फिर अपने गूगल श्रीमान तो हैं ही ।

Hindi challenged .. may it be known that the Mother tongue conversation above, makes a departure from the normal, to express, that the brain now drains .. or is it merely the excessive information and the multiple tasks it now encounters in its daily routine .. time then to start those ‘post-it’ scribbles, or the Reminder App., on the hand set ..

Stimulation could be a revered booster , but other than the ‘elixir of life’ which in its excess does produce its list of harms, there are no other options to pursue ..

There is just, a wonder - would the attempt to be in the company of another - be of help .. there would I presume be conversation, discussion and debate, agreement and disagreement , more likely the latter, in today’s times , but conversation all the same ..

Next question - who ? .. who the ‘another’ .. see , the brain is already getting exhausted by the very thought of who and why and where ..

‘Another’ probable, producer director .. an actor .. a colleague .. no perhaps not .. converse would be limited to film, film making and deriding someone else’s work .. 🤣 .. naah , just kidding ..

A friend unconnected with cinema ?.. yes that would be good .. but no .. in time the conversation would drift to just what you wanted to keep away from - Cinema ..

An Ef ..? yes that would be good .. but .. naah ... no reason being given, for obvious reasons .. !!

A pet .. ermmm .. no I have none now .. staff does, and they loaf about the territory as masters of the place .. at times they bark and chase me away from entering my own home .. !!! .. even the cats .. and now there be 9 of them .. 9 .. mere coincidence of procreation .. nothing to do with ‘lives’ and ‘living’ .. who stop and stare with those suspect eyes , not knowing what they find before them in the shape of a human with the grey about his chin .. refusing to give in the territory unless shooed .. which has other serious connotations from the lady staff, their keeper, who has pampered them to the heavens and back, taking strong objections to this most heinous exhibition of cruelty to animals !! ..

One of them had actually displayed extreme adventurous courage and was strolling about in my bedroom, 2 floors up , without the slightest glimmer of any fear as I entered home one evening , giving attitude to its maximum , in possession of an expression which lingered very close to audacious incline .. and if it had had, human speech tongue would have screamed ..

“what the ( *%#$* ) are you doing here” !

Its a dogs life guys .. no no no .. cannot say that either .. dogs be in esteemed reverence .. so what ? .. what do we say .. err , what do I say ..

It’s a Crocs life ! yaa .. that be alright .. haven’t heard too many sympathetic liaisons with this ‘bounder’ .. except that sarky one about tears !!

🤣🤣 .. ‘bounder’ .. such an ‘Anglo’ 1948′s Boys’ High School, Allahabad addressing dressing term .. ( met some 4th Standard class mates from BHS last year, and sure enough .. “ aieh bounder, how you been ?” )

Some of us never move too far away from the past na ..?

Oi .. its 3 am !

See ya ..

Amitabh Bachchan

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laxtolhr · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.

Summary: “Louis… These new lyrics are kind of…” Niall tries to find a way to vocalise his thoughts without tearing his friend down. “Well they seem darker than what you normally write.”

“Yeah. This almost sounds like heartbreak.” Harry friend and flips through the lyric sheet he was handed. “Hauntingly beautiful, but definitely not what you usually give us.”

Louis shrugs. “That’s all I have right now. Take it or leave it.”

Written for @wrckmyplans for the @sololouiegiftexchange . It’s super late, but I’ve never been good with deadlines. I really hope you enjoy it!

1949

“I just don’t understand this need you have. Can’t you just be happy settling down and working at an office?”

Louis sighs as he shakes his head. “I crave attention. During the war, I would do comedy routines in the trenches at night and it… Well it helped make things a bit more bearable. And it showed me I could be the next big thing. Imagine, me! The next Abbot or Costello!”

Jay continues to wipe furiously at a sticky spot on her counter. “I don’t know, Lou. The girls are still in school and they need a good strong role model to look up to. Just think about if your father was still here how-“

“Well he’s not. He was a dirty lowlife who walked out of his family. I don’t want to think about what he would do.”

A silence falls over the kitchen.

“Fine,” Jay says quietly. “If you think London is where you have to be to make this work then go to London. Just promise me you’ll keep your name. These show business names are getting too much nowadays.”

——————

“Hi, I’m Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson.” He throws his suitcase onto his bed and holds his hand out for his new roommate to shake.

The boy, Louis assumes he can’t be much older than sixteen, tentatively takes his hand and shakes it. “Is that your real name or stage name?”

“Both,” Louis pulls his arm back with a shrug. “Told me ma I’d keep it the same. She’s not a huge fan of fake names.” He takes a look around the room.

It’s not much. A single roomed flat with enough room for two beds and an even tinier kitchen space. There’s just enough space for a framed picture of his family and his radio, but he guesses it will do. He’s always heard of the actress accommodations in New York City across the ocean, but he never realised London had the same kind of boarding set up for both men and women.

“And you are?”

“Oh, right.” The boy grins sheepishly before pushing his curls away from his eyes and smiling widely. “Harry Styles, at least that’s my stage name. Didn’t think anyone would look twice with a name like Edmond Thatcher so I decided on something simple and elegant sounding.”

Louis nods. “I like it. Easy to remember too. Are you a comedian as well or a more serious actor?”

Harry shakes his head as he sits on his bed. “I’m actually a singer. There are two other blokes down the hall as well who are singers. We do some gigs together when no one is looking for a single, but a quartet is really in right now. We want to be the British equivalent to the greats in America- Sinatra, Martin, Lawford, you know?”

“Sounds like a laugh, mate. I’m not the best singer, but if you all ever need a fourth I’d be happy to accompany you. Figure knowing some friends might be a good place to start in the city.”

——————

1951

“You sure about these lyrics? They seem a bit… Cheeky.”

Louis rolls his eyes and takes the papers from his friend’s hands. “Liam, what did we talk about last week?”

Liam frowns, eyes going soft. “You take care of the lyrics and I do the instrumental. The big band sound though doesn’t really lend itself to these types of lyrics.”

“Oi, that’s the beauty of music, Payno. You can cross genres.” Louis pulls out a cigarette from his jacket pocket and quickly lights it as he continues to look at his work. “Think about it. Bing Crosby, one of the biggest names in music, was doing a spin on Irish folk songs. Mixing and melding genres is innovative.”

“But these lyrics-“

“Are risqué and real and what we should be singing.”

The door to the studio opens to reveal Harry and Niall, the fourth member of their quartet, carrying sandwiches from the local deli. “Honestly, Louis, do you have to smoke without the window open? Some of us need to protect our vocal cords from the damaging effects of smoke.”

Rolling his eyes once more, Louis moves to the other side of the room and opens the window. “Need you both to take a look at these lyric sheets and give an honest opinion. Payno and I were having a discussion about them, but a fresh set of eyes might be helpful.”

Niall picks up the papers and begins to read over the words. “I’m feeling something deep inside, hotter than a jet stream burning up. I got a feeling deep inside, it’s taking, it's taking all I got?”

He frowns and looks at the lyricist. “Are you singing about an orgasm?”

“Thank you,” Liam says exasperatedly. “It’s too risqué for us.”

“Hold on.” Harry has Niall repeat the lyrics again. “I see where you could think he’s singing about an orgasm, but what if he’s singing about his feelings? Maybe he’s in love and it’s just overwhelming? Sounds like he’s being consumed by feelings.”

Louis takes the last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out against the window ledge. “Honestly, it is about an orgasm, but like Harry said it could be about feelings. I’ve personally never been in love so I can’t relate, but I’m sure someone out there can or even one of you three. Come on, lads, we’ve got great content. Why are we scared of a little controversy?”

The room is silent for a moment as they all have a quick think.

Finally, Liam sighs. “Fine. We can move forward with this song, but we cannot continue with your song about an actual erection.”

——————

“And so I told him he could go fuck himself.”

The whole table laughs at the witty banter of Nick Grimshaw. He was one of the most influential men in all of England and being on his good side meant you went far. He was out with his colleagues to enjoy a simple lunch at the Ritz and that was it.

“Excuse me, sir, but we have an act coming in soon and I know how much you despise having live music while you dine. They are set to take the stage in about ten minutes.”

Nick thanks the server and slips him five pounds for the information. “Well, that seems to be my cue to wrap up this impromptu lunch affair. Quite sad though. I was so enjoying catching up with all of you.”

“Maybe,” Aimee interjects, “we could stay then. I know you’re not one for live music, but perhaps just this once would be alright. Consider it a fun impromptu concert just for us.”

There’s murmurs of agreement around the table. It had been a long time since the last entertainment party Grimshaw had thrown and his guests were eager for more glitz and glamour.

“I guess a few songs wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

The restaurant lights dim slightly as a quartet takes the stages.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Amor Amore.”

A smattering of applause is heard as the swelling of the strings start. The table watches in glee as the four younger men entertain and sing their hearts out for the esteemed guests.

A couple songs turns into a whole set, which quickly turns into a few hours. Grimshaw barely realised that it’s nearly the late afternoon hours until he had been asked if he and his guests were staying for dinner as well. He politely refuses, but demands that one of the quartet comes out to meet him.

“What are you up to, Nicholas?”

“I want to know if they have a record. I’d love to have their music playing at one of my small gatherings.”

——————

December 1955

Louis exhales slowly and watches the smoke curl up into the wintry air. He hates these high class functions. They’re so ostentatious and over done. It’s always the same shitty jazz and same men and women drinking the same old champagne and laughing at the same old jokes. It never meant anything and he wondered how much longer he had to be there until it had been long enough and he could leave. “There you are,” a voice whispers in his ear and there’s a gentle hand on his elbow. It’s Liam, of course it is, and he’s looking at his friend with worry in his eyes. “You can go in like twenty minutes. I know this really isn’t your scene, but being here means the world to Harry, you know?” “That’s why I’m here at all. The whole party and schmoozing scene belongs to Harry and Niall. Sometimes I wonder if you even like it, but then I remember that Sophia is always with you so you have a reason to enjoy it.” The older boy shrugs and downs the last of his champagne as a man up on the stage clears his throat. A hush falls over the partygoers and soon enough the man on stage- Nick Grimshaw- smiles brightly. “Welcome, elite and A-listers. Tonight, I wanted the very best for you all, but I couldn’t very well ask Amor Amore to perform since they’re guests tonight.” A laugh rips through the group of celebrities and important figures. “So, I asked around and I’d like to introduce Zayn Malik to the stage. He’ll be providing the music for tonight. Thank you all for attending tonight. Enjoy the party and happy Christmas everyone.” The guests cheer and holler happily before going back to what they had been doing, ignoring the singer as he took the stage. Louis rolls his eyes and grabs another glass of champagne as the overused jazz sound starts to come from the piano. He can’t see the man, but he assumes he’s like every other wannabe jazz singer- a head of clean cut lines and a smart looking suit wanting to evoke visions of Frank Sinatra from across the pond. “The field was bright with clover, I saw the finish sign. I started as a rover and then victory was mine. I thought the race was over, but they just keep moving the line.” The brunet freezes as the voice pours through the speakers around the room. The voice is breathy and washes over him in gentle waves. He thinks over the name that Nick had mentioned to see if he could place this beautiful voice, but nothing was coming to him. “They cheered at my persistence, but prayed for my decline. The path of least resistance led to Hollywood and Vine. I tried to go the distance, but they just keep moving the line.” He pushes through the women in beautiful little numbers and men in expensive suits to get to the stage. He has to see the man and know what the owner of this voice looks like. He knows he accidentally spills a drink on some woman’s gown, but he doesn’t even have time to apologise as he spots the edgy pompadour sitting atop the performer’s head. “I jumped all of the hurdles to break out of the pack. I started on the outside and then hit the inside track. I left the other fillies back at the starting gate; was ready, on my mark, I got to set to hurry up and wait.” Louis finally pushes through the last of the crowd and finds himself at the foot of the stage. His mind goes blank as he sees the man is his element. He watches as the man tenderly holds the microphone stand and sways to the sound of the jazz music that swells behind him. The man loves his craft, something Louis hasn’t been able to relate to in a long time. The passions and emotion radiating from the man and his voice are enough to send shivers down Louis’ spine.

The attitude was infectious. It made Louis want more for himself. More than just being one of four. He wanted to be appreciated for his lyrics instead of being censored. He wanted that jazzy sound that didn’t quite fit with a melding of four voices.

He wanted to be solo. He wanted to be free of record producers and radio play and measurements of success for a company. He wanted to be successful for himself. He wanted to be more than just a number. He wanted to be a true artist. “So talent and ambition won me a chance to shine. I aced the big audition, but it's rainin' on Cloud Nine. Can't beat the competition 'cause they just keep moving the line. I handled every corner, each bump along the track, and when I saw the ribbon, well, there was no turning back. I won the photo finish, I posed for all the men, but before I got my trophy, well, the race began again.” Louis lets his eyes drag up to the singer’s own and he startles when he notices that they are locked on him. He’s looking straight at him and winks lightly as he continues to sing his song. “So I made friends with rejection, I've straightened up my spine! I'll change each imperfection till it's time to drink the wine! I'd toast to resurrection, but they just keep moving the line! Please give me some direction, ‘cause they just keep moving the line!” The song ends and there’s polite clapping before the chattering continues as if the singer was merely an inconvenience to them. Louis claps loudest of all and reaches a hand up to him. He quirks his head to the side and takes his hand, smiling brightly when Louis shakes it emphatically. He looks at him, trying to read why one fourth of the biggest music in all Britain is interested in his music. “Can I take a request for you, sir?” “Just another song in general so I can watch a wonderful performance. I assume you already have a set planned out, so I won’t bother you with extra songs. When you take your break though, I’d be delighted if you’d join me for a chat.” Louis whispers to the man as he smiles at him and backs away so he can sing again. The singer’s eyes follow him until he’s swallowed up by the crowd and he wonders what just happened.

——————

“Thank you. I’m going to take a small break and be back in thirty minutes. Have fun and happy Christmas everyone.” Zayn says as he ends his seventh song and heads off stage. He’s immediately accosted by the man from before and handed a glass of champagne. “Do you smoke, Mister Malik?” Zayn nods quietly and follows the man outside to the balcony where he lights up a cigarette and hands his one as well. “You have a lovely voice. I thought Nick was just going to hire another wannabe Marilyn, but you’re actually talented.” “Thank you, Mister…?” “Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson,” he sips at his drink and waits for the recognition. Zayn doesn’t disappoint, although he tries to conceal his excitement. “Louis Tomlinson? Like, from Amor Amore? Oh god. You’re one of the most influential men at this party. I’m lucky to have caught your ear then.” He chuckles, eyes crinkling with his smile. “Your lyrics caught my attention. The fact that you look like you actually enjoy what you do is just a bonus. I was wondering… Would you want to accompany me home tonight? I’d love to hear more music from you.” “You mean… You want to work with me?” Zayn frowns and tries to see the downside to working with someone as powerful and influential as him. This could make or break his career. “Of course. Why else would I invite you back to mine?” Louis seems genuinely confused for a moment before he realises just how rude that may have come across. “Oh! Not that I’m saying you might not be a good friend or anything, but I hardly know you. I’m sure that if we work well together a friendship won’t be far behind though.” Zayn’s sigh of relief and happiness must have been evident. “Well, music I can do. The friendship stuff will depend on how well we work together, Mister Tomlinson. I’m more jazz and Elvis inspired and you’re well known for… Well, big band don't exactly mix with my genre at times.” He smiles and the conversation continues as they laugh and get to know each other. Time seems to go by so fast and soon enough, Nick and Liam are joining them on the balcony. “Malik, you’ve been on a break for well over the thirty minutes you promised.” “Louis, we’re leaving if you want to join us.” Louis looks up at the two men and smiles easily enough. “Sorry about keeping your star, Grimshaw. He’s got a great sound and an ear for music. If you hire him for more events, I’d actually enjoy coming to these parties.” He shakes Zayn’s hand once more before he has to hurry back to the stage. “Oh. And, Liam, I’ll be catching a taxi home tonight. I’ll be waiting for Zayn to finish his contracted set.” He heads inside and leaves the two men on the balcony as it begins to snow lightly. “Oh, Nicholas Grimshaw, what have you started.”

——————

Mid-January 1956

Louis smiles politely up at Zayn as he continues to play a melody that only he knows. He brought the other man to the studio a few hours before the lads were set to join him on another writing session. He doesn’t know what the appeal and draw is to Zayn Malik, but all he knows is that he’s drinking it up like milk and honey.

“All I want is to be up on a stage singing songs I can relate to.” Zayn scrunches up his nose. “Instead, I made the round at parties and corporate events and I sing the same thirty songs in rotation. It’s tiring and makes me want to pack it up and go home.”

“So do it then. Stop singing all these songs by others and start singing your own.” Louis looks up at him with a confused expression. It isn’t that hard for Louis.

Zayn leans heavily onto the baby grand piano and smiles softly. “I can’t write songs. I’ve tried. I’m not good at rhythm without a melody and words just aren’t my strong suit. The song I sang at Mister Grimshaw’s party was an original and that alone took me ten years to write.”

Louis perks up. “Let me write for you. I’m sure I can get some great material and have you headlining in no time.”

“Writing for someone else?”

Zayn and Louis both turn to see the other lads standing in the entranceway to the studio room. Zayn has the decency to look like he’s been caught doing something naughty.

Louis just shrugs, not seeing the issue. “Of course. It’ll be great! He’ll be a proper performer in no time.” He straightens up at the piano and starts to play a quick and jaunty melody as he hums along to the music in his head. “It’s simple. Just have to think of an image you want. You want to be the next Elvis? Easy.”

He taps back and forth between two notes as he tries to think of lyrics to put as his opening lines. “If…” he pauses until it hits him. “If you say something is taboo, well, that’s the thing I wanna do. Do it till we’re black and blue, let’s be bad.”

Zayn laughs as he watches Louis start to create a song on the spot. “How do you come up with stuff so quick? Those lines alone would have taken me days! I should introduce you to my friend Taylor. She’s good at this kind of stuff too”

“It’s easy! You just have to think about the message and go from there.” Louis smiles brightly, the praise feeling good. “And I’d love to meet your friend. Would love to bounce songwriting ideas and tips off someone new.”

Liam, Harry, and Niall all look at each other with worry in their eyes. It could only get worse from here.

——————

February 1956

“Has anyone seen Louis?”

Niall shakes his head as he watches Liam pace the radio station lobby. Being invited to spend air time at the BBC with Nick Grimshaw is a privilege that not many artists got, but of course, Louis is nowhere to be found.

“We’ll just say he’s feeling under the weather. Nick won’t mind if there’s three instead of four of us. In fact he’ll probably prefer it.” Harry shrugs. He’s quite upset with Louis, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now.

Niall has a feeling that they haven’t finished with this conversation, but he plasters on a fake smile when Grimshaw rounds the corner.

——————

After the interview, they’re all piling into Liam’s car when the conversation starts back up again. “Let’s just go to his house. He can’t ignore us if we just show up. That would be entirely too rude.”

“Would it? Well, knowing you have an appointment and not showing up is rude as well. Unless you are on your deathbed, you show up. You’ve booked someone else’s time, so don’t waste it.” Liam starts his car and heads towards the absent singer’s home. “If he’s there, then we need to have a serious talk with Louis.”

Niall frowns. “I think it’s nice that Louis found someone to occupy his time. You know he’s never really been one for singing. He wanted to be a comedian and was just helping us out when we got this big. He’s just along for the ride. Maybe Zayn will be good for him.”

“Good for him? Niall,” Liam tightens his grip on the wheel as his anger grows. “He’s throwing away his career- ours as well. He’s only thinking about himself which he can’t do anymore. He has to realise that he can’t take a break or write what he wants. We’re a group- a team.”

“Yes,” Niall decides to cut off the angry tirade before it really starts growing, “but we’re also friends. As his friend you need to realise that he’s never been happy doing this and we’re killing his creative ideas more than letting them flourish. Maybe… Maybe we should give him an out. He seems so much happier writing for Zayn.”

Harry clears his throat. “Or we could stop insisting he choose. He loves writing for Zayn- we know that- but he also loves performing. So we get someone else to write for us or one of us finally steps up and helps out, big deal. Louis deserves to be just as happy as the rest of us.”

Liam sighs as they pull into the wrap around drive out front of the singer’s home. “Can we at least be upset with him for missing the interview this morning?”

“Depends on why he missed it.”

Turning off the engine, Liam grabs his spare key to Louis’ home.

It’s fairly quiet when they enter. The usual record music playing softly in the background and a warm glow coming from the main room is the only hint that Louis is even home. Niall is about to call out when a giggle catches his attention.

And then a woman’s shoe.

“Guys? Do you think we should-“

“Oh, Lou!”

Harry’s face turns bright red. “We should come back at a later time. I don’t think now is really an opportune moment.”

——————

March 1956

“Taylor, I promise.” Louis softly speaks into the telephone. He’s meant to be warming up for the show, but he had called Taylor instead. The girl was staying at his place to take care of his dog while he was away, but he found himself calling every night to check up on her.

“I just want to hear you say it again, Lou. Please? Just one more time- for me.”

He sighs, but can’t help the soft smile on his face as he thinks about her. He can picture her all curled up in his most comfortable chair in the study with Cliff and Bruce at her feet and a heavy book of poetry resting easy on the table where the phone receiver sat. He knows that she’s in those highly fashionable pants that hike up to her navel and a shirt that stops just above so the smallest sliver of skin is visible. Her hair is probably up in a high curled ponytail with a bow tied around it and all he can think about is how much he wants his fingers to be running through her blonde locks. It’s a domestic scene that he never knew he wanted until now.

“I’ll be home tomorrow night. I’ll be home and I’m going to fuck you good and hard until you’re begging me to let you come. It's just how you like it, isn’t it, darling?”

Her giggles are the only reply.

“Tayor, love, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to head to the stage soon.” He bites back those three words on his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

——————

“So what kind of music are you leaving me with?” Grimshaw asks as he takes the record from Louis’ hand.

Louis shrugs, trying to keep it light. “Nothing. It’s a record of a friend of Zayn Malik- the man who sang at your Christmas party. I’ve been writing and recording with her and I thought maybe you’d want to be the one to discover her. Give it a listen, yeah?”

“Well,” Nick pushes his chair back from his desk and quickly crosses the room to his record player. “If you’ve written for her, I’m sure the lyrics will be great. I’ve always wondered why you hadn’t written for other artists before.” He places the record on the turntable and carefully moves the needle to the edge of the vinyl surface.

It takes a moment before the striking piano chords are playing loudly in the room. Suddenly Taylor’s voice joins in.

“We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts: I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air. See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns, see you make your way through the crowd and say, ‘Hello.’ Little did I know...”

The music swells slightly and Louis tries not to smile as he can tell Nick is already hooked. He wrote this song drawing on Taylor and his relationship. He had always wanted to tell a story that wasn’t quite so dirty all the time and finally Taylor’s voice was his own.

“That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles and my daddy said, ‘Stay away from Juliet.’ And I was crying on the staircase begging you, ‘Please don't go.’ And I said, ‘Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting. All there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story. Baby, just say “Yes”.’”

Nick grabs the needle, plunging the room into silence.

“What are you doing?” Louis is bewildered.

“I want it. I don’t need to hear anymore. She’s got a lovely voice and your writing talents are brilliant, we already knew that. I’ll find a segment to play it on. The sentiment is beautiful, just what this country needs. We’ve had the death of our King and hundreds of countrymen die because of the heavy fog at the end of last year, but this whimsical sentiment is perfect.”

Louis smiles brightly. “So you’ll play it?”

“Absolutely!”

——————

“'Cause we were both young when I first saw you.”

Niall turns towards his friend, smiling happily at the two artists. “You wrote that?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Niall.” Louis laughs as he grabs his cup of tea from the table beside him. “I know all of our music is erections and orgasms hidden with colourful language, but I can write lyrically beautiful pieces when I want.”

“Well I think you’re brilliant, darling.” Taylor smiles brightly and kisses at his cheek.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re only saying that because he’s taking you to bed almost every night.”

“Harry!” Liam looks scandalised. “That is not polite conversation. We don’t speak of that type of thing.”

Taylor just laughs harder. “Oh it’s perfectly alright, Liam. He’s quite right- about the bed part. I think he’s brilliant with or without the sex.”

Liam watches in disgust as Louis falls more and more in love with her. He needs to put a stop to this before it goes any further.

——————

They’re at another party when Liam sees his opportunity.

“Taylor,” he says nonchalantly towards the girl on Louis’ arm. “Have you met Simon Cowell? I do believe he’s over there.”

Taylor’s eyes widen as she cranes her next to see the music mogul. “Simon Cowell? He’s only the biggest name in music that isn’t an act. Anyone who’s anyone is contracted by him.”

Liam nods. “Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Would I!” Taylor lights up like a Christmas tree. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, darling?”

“Of course not.” Louis smiles and kisses at her cheek. “In fact, I’m going to use the lavatory. Liam can introduce you while I’m gone.”

Taylor smiles brightly and watches him walk away. Her eyes shift to Liam, the smile turning into something a bit darker as her focus shifts. “Well aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Liam can only smirk. He knew there was a reason Taylor stayed with Louis. Hook, line, and sinker.

——————

August 1956

“Louis… These new lyrics are kind of…” Niall tries to find a way to vocalise his thoughts without tearing his friend down. “Well they seem darker than what you normally write.”

“Yeah. This almost sounds like heartbreak.” Harry friend and flips through the lyric sheet he was handed. “Hauntingly beautiful, but definitely not what you usually give us.”

Louis shrugs. “That’s all I have right now. Take it or leave it.”

“Does this have anything to do with Zayn and Tay-“

“Don’t fucking say their names.” Louis lashes out. “Why would it have anything to do with them? It’s not like they used me to get connections or anything. They didn’t take a journal I had filled with song ideas for- full songs with lyrics and piano chords- and just fucking leave in the middle of the night. It’s not like they suddenly found someone better and left me.”

The studio space is quiet.

“Oh, Louis,” Niall is the first to hurry to his side and pull him into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Louis tries his best to keep his composure, but he catches sight of the song sheets in Harry’s hands and the title hits him hard. Love you, Goodbye almost seemed too sweet compared to the way things actually happened. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“This!” Louis shouts and flings his arms around to encompass the space. “I don’t want to write anymore! No more writing, no more singing, no more performing! I’m done. I’m going back to Doncaster and… I’ll figure it out there.”

“What! Louis, you can’t just-“

“He can though.” Niall cuts off the line of protest he can already feel brewing in his other friend. “Louis, you need to do what is best for you. If that means washing your hands of the industry, so be it.”

Louis nods. He never wanted to sing anyway.

——————

February 1961

Louis sat in his home staring at photos from a different time. His mother, god rest her soul, had made him keep everything he brought back to Doncaster- even photos that brought back bad memories. He’s busy staring at one of him and Taylor smiling brightly with Zayn off in the background smirking like he knew something they didn’t. In the end, Zayn did know something Louis didn’t; he knew the plan to break Louis’ heart and rob him of any creativity.

He doesn’t know why he pulled this album out. He knew looking over these pictures were going to hurt more than anything. He chalks it up to the wave of nostalgia he felt this morning after hearing Niall’s voice singing to him through the radio.

It was weird, hearing Niall solo for the first time. He kept expecting Liam to join in with his higher harmonies and round out the sound, but there was nothing but Niall’s soft baritone crooning away about love and loss.

Finally something Louis could relate to.

He had felt his hand twitch at the first note from Niall’s mouth. The usual twitch that meant he should be writing. He hadn’t felt it in awhile and figured it had been a knee-jerk reaction. That had been hours ago though and he could still feel the tug in his mind and heart.

He hadn’t written anything in five years? Why would he try again? Was if he was shit at it?

Letting out a long suffering sigh, he grabbed a pencil and some paper. He stared at the photos for inspiration. He could take this pain and make a song. He had done it before. He could do it again.

He just needed the words.

------------

December 1962

Louis stood backstage, nervous and ready to pass out. Tonight at the London Palladium, the biggest variety show in all England was trying to pull off the biggest surprise of the decade.

He looked to his left and smiled as he saw Niall tuning his guitar. He looked to his right and saw Liam doing vocal warm ups. They were all performing individually and then were going to perform a melody of their old songs together. It was going to be a night to remember.

He knew he was on after Niall, but he was still debating on which songs he should do. His backing band was well versed in all his tracks so he could do a last minute change in setlist if he wanted, but he had chosen the four songs for a reason. The lyrics were some of the best he had to offer and he was not going to disappoint.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, premiering his songs for the first time anywhere Mister Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis blinked a few times before it registered that he had to take the stage. He took one final breath, catching a smile and good luck from Niall, before taking his place on the stage. He thanked the host before turning to his band. “We Made It, yeah?”

He turns back around and looks straight into the camera. It was his time to shine.

#My writing #sololouiegiftexchange

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