#perhaps sometime soon I will do proper and luxurious lines for this

[corvid-canidae-art]

little storybook style illustration that is a sketch that got out of hand, a page of the (mostly unwritten) tales of a wolfbeast.

[fascination-street-writing]

Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero​ -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

[omniswords]

Could you do #41 with felinette please?

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. shouts to @emzurl for punting me back onto the felinette train 👀💥

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss! [CLOSED FOR NOW]

read more of the Fake Not-Dating AU!

“You know, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Félix says idly, “I never took you for someone who enjoyed the rain.”

Beside him, Marinette rolls her eyes. They’ve been huddled under her umbrella for the last several minutes, waiting for Félix’s driver to pull up to the entrance of the National Gallery and wondering how far off he must have gone to take this long. It’s not that she minds standing so close to him—she should be fine with it by now—but something about the way he takes it upon himself to hold her umbrella is just the littlest bit annoying. “You know,” she says with just the hint of derision she knows he enjoys and even seeks, “you don’t have to keep calling me ‘Miss.’” She casts him a sideways glance, arms crossing over her chest. “I’ve had your tongue in my mouth. I’m pretty sure we can be on a first-name basis these days.”

Félix coughs and sputters, which makes it hard for her to suppress a smile. She’ll bask in any kind of one-up. Even if they did spend the afternoon strolling the galleries because he insisted that the gallery’s masterpieces far surpassed most of those in the Louvre, and she insisted that he prove it. She still isn’t totally convinced, but she’ll admit, begrudgingly, that he posed a good argument at the end of the afternoon. “Perhaps you should mind yours?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, coloring a delightful shade of red.

She’s already ignoring his comment, scuffing her heel against the pavement. If anyone passing by understands their conversation, they’re not exactly giving any indication. “This isn’t even proper rain. This is like the sky is spitting at us.”

“Right,” Félix drawls, making a show of studying his nails, one brow cocked. “Well, England will do that to you a good��� oh, ninety percent of the time.”

“Thank you for that insight.” Marinette shifts her weight to one leg. It’s not particularly cold today, but the overcast sky somehow sends a chill sinking into her bones. “And for what it’s worth, you could say I have a love-hate relationship with rain. For one thing, it makes me want to sleep all the time.”

“I beg you not to fall asleep on me now.”

“In your dreams.”

“Or,” Félix shoots back without so much as a glimpse at her, “in the back seat, perhaps?”

Marinette’s nose wrinkles; she almost wishes he weren’t right. She can practically feel his arm snaking around her waist to pull her close, to silently insist she rest or to sap some of her body heat. He probably wouldn’t do it now, in the remnants of daylight, but his arm twitches like he might want to. Instead, his free hand bumps hers, just a brush of the knuckles, and he goes on under his breath. “Tell me what you love about it.”

Her heart freezes up for a moment because the first thing she thinks of, always, is a flash of lightning and clap of thunder. Talks of chewing gum on classroom seats and never going to school and never having proper friends. The awkward bump of his cousin’s fingers against hers, and how it had her tumbling into months of overcompensating that she couldn’t look back on now without cringing.

Well. Middle school was never anyone’s prime.

She loves it, maybe, for how it made her feel. She hates it, definitely, for what it made her become.

Félix inclines his head toward her; something about the shadow the umbrella casts over his face makes her stomach flutter. He hums curiously, brow furrowing just so, and the rain graduates from a drizzle to a noisy downpour that starts to chill her feet. “Mother Nature must’ve heard you,” he murmurs. “Best not to make her resent you.”

This time, Marinette lets him catch her fingers. Lets him shrug out of his blazer, one hand at a time, and drape the vague warmth of it ove her shoulders. “It’s good for making things,” she says. “For thinking. Drowns out all the outside stuff so all you have is your mind, and sometimes holding onto your thoughts is a luxury.” She shrugs, shuffling closer to him until she could very well nestle into his side. No one in London has a thing to say to them, anyway. “I guess it’s… cozy?”

“Are those your intentions when we get home? ‘Getting cozy?’”

“Why?” She squints at him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Do you plan to join me?”

Félix looks down his nose at her, but strangely, none of it feels condescending. In fact, it seems like he’s teasing her. “Would you have me?”

He asks it before she can scowl, and his voice dips low and skews husky, and her stomach drops as soon as she hears it. Her face is burning now—the rain would turn to steam as soon as it hit her—and she actually fidgets. Damn Félix, damn the way he switches how he carries himself on a dime, damn how few words it takes for him to make her melt where she stands. She can’t even muster up a sour expression or scold him for any impropriety; the moment her expression falters, he turns to her, and his fingers skim the line of her jaw, and he bends to her height to ask, “Well? Would you?”

Marinette sinks and forgets about chewing gum. Somewhere along the line, the image of Félix reading across from her while she sketches on the windowsill takes its place. A cozy thing. A making thing. It’s almost hard to tell whether the hand brushing the small of her back is real or not.

Almost.

She barely manages a nod before Félix tips his head to kiss her, the way most agreements between them go. The way most times end. It’s soft, unassuming, and uncharacteristically unpredictable, and it’s gone as soon as it came along. She blinks at him, hazily, and that faintly teasing look is sparking in his eyes again. Only half-scolding.

Maybe hers do, too. “Thought you weren’t the type to do these kinds of things in public,” she breathes shrugging into the sleeves of his blazer before it can slip to the ground. She’s already trying to remember what his lips felt like, again.

“Perhaps you’ve turned my mind on a few things,” he replies. Hushed. Barely conceding, but still conceding. “The Louvre. The rain. Kissing whenever we feel like it.”

“You would hate the rain.”

“What can I say? It’s abysmal for my hair.”

Marinette looks him up and down, coaxes the umbrella into her hands as she fingers the buttons on his shirt. “You kissed me much better in the Louvre,” she says softly, with a demure smile.

When she looks up at Félix through her lashes, there’s the threat of a smirk on his lips, and her nose brushes up against his. 

“Marinette, darling,” he breathes, “I can fix that easily.”

[221bshrlocked]

Here Right Now

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Words: 2884

Warnings: my power couple - angst and smut

A/N: This came out of nowhere. I wrote some of it late last night and the rest of it today. I needed to practice needy Bruce because guess what Wanted Man will address eventually. Also, I haven’t written smut in a while and I just wanted to see if I could still do it or not so your comments will be much appreciated. This is a bit tame for my usual smut because I think I suck writing that now. I wrote this on my phone and I didn’t proofreed it because I have to get back to my homework so I apologize for any mistakes. Enjoy :)

He always commanded any room he was in. Even if it wasn't his party, somehow his presence was felt, sometimes in a good way and other times in a bad way. Well, to most individuals it was unpleasant. He had this aura about him, one that gave off nothing but narcissism, pride, and superficial playboy assholness. 

But you've watched him closely in so many of these events and you could tell that it was just an act. His smile never really reached far back enough to be considered genuine. And all those women he paraded around never got his attention. But they did get everyone else's which was probably the point. 

You walked away from your employer to get a glass of wine, finally feeling relaxed for the first time that night. It wasn't that you weren't thankful for the life you had, far from it. But you just couldn't stand these rich people who thought they owned you and your services. As soon as you turned around, you walked into a solid body, apologizing when you thought you had spilled your drink.

When an intimidating pair of hazel eyes looked into yours, you knew it was in your best interest to continue apologizing. You didn't want to hear another lecture from your boss again.

"Mr. Wayne, I am truly sorry I hadn't noticed you at all." You swallowed the lump in your throat, waiting for whatever insult he was going to spew at you.

"Now now, there's no need to lie Ms. Y/N." Bruce held your gaze and you hated how much that million, no, billion dollar smile affected you. 

"Sorry?" You didn't know how to respond. Not only were you trying to read in between the lines but you were also surprised he knew your name at all.

"We both know you haven't stopped staring at me the entire night and I can't help but feel like we could amend that." He took the drink out of your hand and placed it on the bar, his eyes shamelessly dragging down your form before returning to your surprised orbs.

Had he not acted like he owned you already, you could have gone home with him. Not everyone can say they had a one night stand with Bruce Wayne. Granted he walked around with models and actresses everywhere but everyone knew he didn't take any of them home.

Fixing your clutch around your shoulder, you stepped away from him and cleared your throat. 

"Word of advice Mr. Wayne, stop acting like you own everyone. A little humility goes a long way." You gave him a rather unfriendly smile before walking away. 

Bruce stood still, absolutely enamored by your lack of care for who he is. He watched as you went to your boss and whispered something in his ear before heading towards the exit. 

Putting on your coat, you walked outside and tried to hail a cab when a low roar grabbed your attention. You rolled your eyes at the man driving the luxurious car, trying your hardest to not pay him any more attention than he already had.

"It's cold. You should let me give you a ride."

"I can find as much warmth in a taxi Mr. Wayne. Don't worry about me." You turned away and smiled at the entertained valet standing nearby.

Bruce hated how much sarcasm that last sentence was drenched with but he chose to ignore it.

"Please." He wasn't one to beg, let alone ask twice for something.

 The plea sounded almost genuine and perhaps that was why your own feet betrayed you and got in his car. 

"Thank you," you weren't sure why he was the one thanking you when it should've been you but you nodded and looked away from him. Bruce drove through the streets expertly, not speeding once or attempting to make himself known. 

When he got to your place, he parked the car and nervously played with the steering wheel.

"If you're waiting for me to invite you upstairs, I won't. But thank you for the ride Mr. Wayne, it was entertaining to say the least." You unbuckled your seatbelt and moved to exit the car when you heard shuffling next to you. 

"I am sorry, I- what I said back there...it was uncalled for." Bruce looked at you with a thousand emotions swimming in his eyes and you couldn't help but grasp onto the one that powered over all the others.

"I know you are. Whatever it is you're doing, it has everyone fooled. This...all of this...it isn't you. And I hope you find someone that could make you feel like yourself again. Without the masks and charades. This-" You softly touched his chest and firmly pressed on his heart, wanting him to listen closely to what you were about to say, "here, right now, this is who you are." You didn't have a chance to react, your entire body jerking forward when you felt Bruce violently pull on your wrist, his other hand grabbing your neck to bring you closer to him and before you knew it, his lips were on you like dew on leaves in the early morning hours.

A part of you knew you should push him away or even slap him and walk out. But his lips were soft, so much softer than you imagined. And my god did you imagine.

His tongue pushed through into your mouth and devoured your own, his hands never wandering anywhere inappropriate. Bruce almost moved away from you when he didn't feel you moving against him. But then returned his affection with twice as much ferocity, fingers combing through his long hair and pulling on it when he became more desperate with feeling you move with him.

You felt his pulse beating against the hand holding on his neck and you brushed the thought aside. There was no way someone like you made this man's heart race through the roof.

A few minutes later, Bruce finally managed to pull away but he kept his arms around you, afraid you'd walk away from him again. When you began to move, he knew he had no right to keep you in the car so he returned to his seat again. Combining through his hair, he waited for you to exit the car, his eyebrows furrowing when you remained still in your seat.

A loud buckling of a seat belt snapped him out of his haze and when he turned towards you, he saw you fixing the strap of yours dress, never once looking away from him. 

"Well, are we going to make out all night long or are you going to take me home?" You calmly asked, returning the smile he had plastered on his face.

And you hated how attentive you were to those little expressions.

He was genuinely smiling at you. 

The engine came back to life and you expected him to zoom through the streets, but he didn't. In fact, he was much more at ease now, his hand nestled on your thighs and holding on your shaking fingers. 

When he made it to his manor, he exited the car and ran around to open the door for you, smiling when you took the palm of his hand and squeezed it. He could tell you were nervous but he said nothing, offering you his arm to walk you to the door. 

A few minutes later, Bruce was apologizing for the long walk to his room and you laughed at the gesture because you knew his intentions weren't ones of pride. No, he was actually sorry you had to go up so many stairs to get to his room.

And when you finally made it, he shut the door behind him and walked to the window drawing back the curtains to light the room with the night sky.

Bruce turned around and was about to tell you that you had no obligation to do anything with him when he found your dress in a pile on the floor. Looking up, his Adam's apple nervously bobbed up and down at seeing you in nothing but a pair of black panties and heels.

Just like earlier, Bruce didn't move a muscle, afraid this was all a dream and that you weren't half naked in his room right now.

You could tell he was thinking of a million things so you made the first move, approaching him slowly before pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders. When you saw that he was still willing, you pulled on his tie and threw it away from him, unbuttoning the first few buttons before pushing the shirt away to reveal his chest. Bruce watched your every move, entranced by how gentle you were being with him. When you undid his cuff buttons as well and pulled the shirt out of his pants to get rid of it, Bruce found it had to breathe. 

But as soon as he felt your hands on his belt, he quickly reached to stop you. 

"I- this isn't...I am not trying to- oh god Y/N. You don't have to do anything." Your heart broke at his stammering. He really was trying to stay in control, more for your sake than his. And for the first time, you managed to get a peek inside the true Bruce. This man was trying to make you see him and so far, he was succeeding. He just didn't know it.

"Bruce..."

The sound of his name on your lips was probably what broke the spell. Somehow more aggressively than before, he wrapped his arms around you and carried you to his bed, leaving kisses anywhere he could reach before depositing you on his bed. 

You noticed that he liked to be as close to you as possible. Maybe he was touch starved. No scratch that, he was definitely touch starved. The man lost his parents at such a young age and only lived with his butler. He really was in some desperate need for proper and healthy attention.

You moaned and gasped as he worshipped your skin, half yelling his name when he pinched and licked your hard nipples. Between the assault on your breasts and feeling how hard he was, you were done for. 

"Bruce please...off, take this off. Need you," you never sounded this desperate for anyone or anything but you knew he needed to hear this. Damn him to hell for what he was going to have you feeling the next morning but a part of you loved the fact that you were able to help him. 

Bruce quickly obliged, grudgingly standing up to take his pants off before nestling between your thighs again. You pushed yourself against him, wanting to feel as much of his strangely scarred and bruised body as possible.

"Wai- oh fuck, Y/N please wait. I- I don't have a condom."

"I'm on the pill, just-" You were frantic, trying to take your panties off but whining when he didn't give you a chance.

"No no I can't take advantage of you, not you. We could-"

"If you don't fuck me right now I will actually be so goddamn angry at you." You had nothing else to threaten him with. And yet the look he had on his face when you said that managed to make you believe, even for a second, that he couldn't stand the thought of you being angry with him. 

"Y/N," he moaned your name before leaning down and taking your lips again. You sighed when you felt him palming the wet spot on your panties before pushing them aside and smearing your juices everywhere. Whatever clarity you had left was gone out the window as soon as you felt his fingers move inside you.  He was slow at first, expertly rubbing every spot that had you seeing stars. But then his hands got a little rough and before you knew it, he was fucking you with his fingers will whispering the filthiest things in your ears.

You held onto his shoulders, panting against him and not caring that you were probably bruising his beautiful skin. Within minutes, you were shaking in his arms, begging him to slow down or stop because you couldn't take the pleasure anymore.

As you came down from your little blissful high, you could feel something else nudge against your entrance. But he was still hesitating.

"Please...Bruce please I need you. Want to feel you inside me. Pl-please," you weren't surprised when he couldn't hold back and thrust in all at once. He was bigger than you thought, so much warmer and thicker than any other man you slept with. 

"Oh god Bruce...fuck, Bruce, you're so big. G-give me a second." You whispered against his jaw, trying to focus on opening up for him so he could move. You really needed him to move.

Bruce was panting above you, trying to stay in control to not hurt you. But you felt so fucking good.

"Shit... you're so tight around me Y/N. So goddamn warm and tight and perfect. I could stay here forever." He kept kissing your neck and cheeks, wanting you to feel safe in his arms.

The sensation was new to him. But he didn't want to think this way or feel this way ever again. Not after-

And the words he said made you feel so special. But you didn't want to dwell too much on that last bit. He was way out of your league.

"Move. Oh my god, you feel so fucking good inside me Bruce...you can move." You struggled to say to him but it was all worth it.

Bruce gently pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips back into you again. He couldn't hold back even if he tried, not with the way you were moaning his name and sighing whenever his hard chest brushed against your achingly sensitive nipples. He went from hard thrusts to soft gyrating of his hips, knowing when he should get a little rougher or slower. You held onto him like your life depended on it, occasionally kissing his Adam's apple or licking the vein protruding from his neck. He never realized it but he apparently liked it a lot when you gave his neck attention.

"Y/N...'m so close. Please baby come with me. Want to feel you come on my cock. Feel so good wrapped around me...please come with me. Ah fuck...fuck oh god I'm- I'm coming," Bruce dropped his head into the crook of your neck, unable to hold himself back as he bit your shoulder and growled his release with a few hard thrusts. His body shuddered when he felt you clenching around him, milking him dry as you felt hot spurts fill you up and begin to roll down your thighs. 

You were both breathing heavily and you didn't know what came over you but you rubbed his back to comfort him when his body continued to shake above you. He tried to move but you didn't let him, feeling safe with his weight on top of you and knowing this was helping him as well. 

Bruce finally managed to fall to the side, immediately pulling you into his arms and wrapping both of them around you protectively as you nuzzled into his neck.

Neither of you said anything, drowning in each others' scent and warmth as you went into a deep sleep.

Hours later, Bruce woke up from the light seeping through his window and he growled before remembering the events of the night. He sat up immediately and looked around the room, not finding any trace of you or your clothes. He quickly got up and got dressed, thinking you were eating breakfast or something.

But when he saw Alfred, he knew that you were gone.

"Good morning Master Wayne, young Ms. Y/N apologized for leaving so early and asked me to tell you that she left something for you on the nightstand." Bruce was running back to his room before Alfred finished his sentence, bursting through the doors to reach his nightstand.

His heart sank when he saw what was on there.

But he was so careful.

Slowly, he approached his bed and sat on it, grabbing the letter from under the batarang. 

Dear Bruce,

You're probably dreading reading this letter but please don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. And I will never try to use it against you in any way. I just didn't feel right not telling you that I found it on your bathroom floor. I cleaned the blood off of it so you wouldn't have to. Just try to be careful with who you bring home next time please.

Thank you for the best night of my life. 

Warm wishes, Y/N

P.S. Please take care of yourself. 

Bruce didn't know what he was feeling.

All he did know was that he would try everything in his power to convince you that he doesn't want anyone else. He only wanted you and he would make sure to make you see past all of his masks. He couldn't afford to lose someone else.

[saladejin]

Admire | 03

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Some very brief mentions of weight in the beginning, some internal angst & realisations 

Word Count: 2.8k 

<< masterlist

»»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««  

      Time passed a little quicker after that, and soon a couple of months had flown by. You and Seokjin had attended so many events and parties that you’d lost count somewhere along the line. You’d had so much practice in convincing people about your relationship that things just started to come naturally after a while.

Things like smiling at one other when speaking to the high-class attendees of the party, and giving each other small kisses on the cheek when leaving for a trip to the restroom or a drink break – even though it was only you giving, him receiving – and getting even better at dancing so that you could have a short debrief whenever you ended up in each-other’s arms on the dance floor.

Seokjin began to notice that after having some practice wearing heels and conversing with his peers, you could prove yourself quite resourceful and quick-witted. Sometimes you managed to divert a conversation or improvise upon an answer that he never could have even imagined. It made you giggle whenever you shocked him into a stupor, because it was easily passable as a love-struck gaze to anyone watching or listening to the conversation.

Tonight was going to be one of the last events for a while. At least you thought. It was someone’s cousin’s birthday? All you knew was that after this, you could take a breather from the rich population of the city, and Seokjin could too. 

“I’m starting to think I should lose weight. I bought this dress recently,” you whined lowly, wondering why you couldn’t zip yourself into the pretty blue gown. A figure soon loomed up behind you and in one swift motion the fabric was brought together tightly.

You met Seokjin’s eyes through the mirror in front of you and exhaled sharply in exasperation, trying to let the sudden fear ebb away into the hazy perfumed air.

“Don’t scare me like that.”

The tall broad-shouldered man left the room without a change in expression, saying in an impassive tone, “You were the one complaining. Women always go on about their weight, but there’s never actually a problem half the time.”

How should I react to that? Is it a compliment… or is he being unfair to women?

You grumbled and shook your head, leaving the bedroom to wait for Seokjin by the door. You’d gotten used to seeing him cleaned up and looking ravishing in a tailored suit, but even so it still gave you chills every time he stood close enough for you to get a good look. You wondered, for the first time, what he thought of you.

“Driver’s here, let’s go.”

~

The night went like most others, but something was different. Compared to the other events where there were mostly older adults and well regarded elders filling the venue, this one was a birthday party celebration for a young cousin, A.K.A a guest list mostly consisting of young adults while still being a formal occasion.

“This is Taehyung, he’s the one having the party,” Seokjin introduced in an almost bored tone, but you were absolutely enraptured by the man in front of you.

“Nice to meet you (Y/n), I’ve heard many good things.” Taehyung smiled, eyeing you up and down before moving on to ask Seokjin some general questions as a catch-up. There was no doubt about it, the man was a treat for the eyes.

No, he was one of the finest specimens you’d ever had the pleasure of looking at.

Your heart kept leaping every time the younger tanned male would gaze in your direction during Seokjin’s update, only being able to fix a smile on your face to try and hide the heat creeping up the skin of your neck and cheeks.

Why are there so many attractive people here?

Your eyes widened when you spotted another handsome man chatting up a group of girls nearby, and then another two were walking together towards the champagne table, acting as if they weren’t snatching the hearts of every young woman in the place.

“May I have a dance with the lady?”

You heard Taehyung’s low raspy voice as he made the request and snapped your gaze to Seokjin to see how he would react. You wanted to dance with the young man, but something about leaving Seokjin’s side felt weird. It’s not like you’d never left him at one of these events before, but tonight you were just brimming with all kinds of depraved tension.

“Sure, I’ll be over with Hoseok and Jimin.” Seokjin nodded, meeting your gaze briefly before turning away. You didn’t know why a small part of you wanted him to refuse the birthday boy’s wish, but you were going to enjoy yourself anyway.

“All good, I’ll take you over to them once we’re done,” Taehyung said to you as you both made your way to the floor. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Have you enjoyed the party so far?”

“Yeah it’s been great.” Taehyung smirked, “Became even livelier when you arrived, milady.”

You couldn’t suppress a gasp of surprise before huffing softly. You reached the floor and the tall man pulled you into his hold effortlessly.

“Your flirting could use some work, it’s a bit outdated. Plus, going for a married woman isn’t something you should practice.” You flashed him your own confident smirk, but he only twirled you around into a sudden dip that had your breath hitching again.

He chuckled, and continued to sweep you off your feet with his skillful dancing. “Come on (Y/n)-ah, it’s all in good fun.”

You already knew you were craving a man’s touch, because you’d been starved of contact for way too long and this dancing was not helping your situation. Taehyung was giving you everything you wanted and more. Letting you fall into him and lose yourself to the music and dance. It was absolutely exhilarating.

“Okay, I think you need to go back to Jinnie.” Taehyung laughed breathlessly as you stumbled off the dancefloor. You couldn’t wipe the grin from your face as you made your way to the food tables, one of Taehyung’s large hands resting on the small of your back and making your insides squirm in delight. At this point you just blamed it on really needing some attention.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I called him that one day?” You chuckled airily after chowing down on some expensive tasting food to restore your depleted energy. Taehyung stifled his giggle of amusement and put on a serious expression.

“I would condone it, but I’m not sure you’d leave that conversation alive.”

You both let out sniggers as you imagined Seokjin’s deadpan expression, glaring you down before you ultimately met your doom. Though the older male was usually calm and composed when you were alone together, you’d seen him get annoyed or irritated more than a few times around his other more well-known peers.

“Okay I get it, it’s a strictly family or friend nickname. Speaking of, how are you related to him?”

Taehyung finished swallowing his piece of bruschetta and met your eyes calmly. You didn’t know why a sudden sadness had washed over his features, but it was quite jarring to see considering that the man was so bubbly and animated.

“Well I’m his cousin, my mother was known to everyone as Aunty-”

“You guys took an awfully long time getting back,” Seokjin’s voice cut into the sudden tension you’d created for yourselves, and the way you jumped in your skin was utterly embarrassing.

“Hyung you should have seen how much fun she was having! Don’t you dance when you go to parties?” Taehyung cleared his throat and beamed his boxy smile, once again returning to his lively attitude as he poked fun at Seokjin.

You pursed your lips and thought, when we go to dance, it’s to talk, not actually dance.

You exchange a knowing look with Seokjin and scramble around in your brain to try and figure out what to say to the young handsome man before you. How could he possibly know that you weren’t the happily married couple everyone thought you were?

“Yes, we do. Actually, I’m going to take her now.”

You balked as the black-haired man left no room for argument, he gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist and tugged you back towards the dancefloor. You had no choice but to wave a hasty goodbye to a puzzled Taehyung, not feeling the disappointment for long due to the feeling of Seokjin’s warm hand enclosing your wrist.

“This is sudden, is something wrong?” you asked softly, wondering why he appeared so agitated all of a sudden.

“I just needed to take you away from Tae. That conversation wouldn’t have led into anything nice. It’s not a story he should be going around telling people.”

Once again, I need to stop over-promoting myself here. I’m still part of his version of ‘people’, otherwise known as ‘not trusted enough’.

As you made it to the floor, a slow song started playing and there was no need for a proper waltz. You thanked God, because after Taehyung had taken you out you basically had no energy left for proper dancing. Your feet were aching too, and here you thought you’d mastered the art of heels at this stage.

“It’s okay, Seokjin.” You sighed. “If you want to tell me someday then you can, but I won’t pry into it. Just know that I’m here with you as your partner, not just a random girl off the street whose attention is completely paid for all night.”

In other words, I’m not an escort. I’m in this with you, not for you.

Seokjin seemed to be in one of his stunned silences, but when you looked up at him he was simply gazing forwards in some kind of daze. Perhaps he was reliving some old memories? You didn’t know, but you did know how handsome he looked under this lighting. You noticed how you felt at ease in his arms, and how safe and secure this sense of normalcy with him made you feel.

After months of sharing a house and outward appearance with him, things had begun to feel more like home.

When you snapped out of the deep train of thought, you found your arms sliding themselves up and around Seokjin’s broad shoulders, your head leaning into the firm warmth of his chest. Almost as if on instinct, his own hands came up to hold your waist with no sense of the shyness he’d had that first time.

He felt as strong and broad as his shoulders implied.

“What are you doing?” he asked, obviously confused as you just pressed your body closer to him, eyes unfocused as they settled on the sliver of exposed collarbone his shirt had to offer. With his hands keeping you anchored in place against his frame, you felt the most comfortable you ever had throughout the past few months of being together.  

“Well, you’re warm and I’m just craving human touch right now. You can blame Taehyung for this if you need someone to pin it on.”

Did I really just say that? I sound drugged.

“Human touch? Did he do something to you?” He repeated your words, sounding so unbelievably perplexed. You let your body sway with his for the next few moments before pulling away, almost losing your cool and snorting with laughter at how he had just gone with it.

“No, he didn’t do anything. I just wanted to know what it was like…” you tapered off, not knowing how to explain how you felt to this man who had never shown any signs of needing, or even wanting the same thing.

“How often do you have cravings … like that?” Seokjin murmured, still confused but keeping his hands firmly plastered on you so that you wouldn’t move away.

“Seokjin, don’t make it sound like some pregnancy snack. If you don’t let me step aside, I’m probably going to do something I’ll regret. I’m too unfocused right now,” you warned, somehow stopping yourself from laughing because you knew he wouldn’t find the humour in it.

“Okay, but answer the question,” he urged while drawing his hands back sharply, as if he’d touched a burning hot iron.

“All the time, okay? All the damn time.”

You sighed, stepping away from his well-built figure. “Growing up with no one around me meant that the only affection and contact I got was either from the staff at home or people at school. With my friends, I was always the reserved one because I was used to less touch and attention compared to everyone else. It’s just how I’ve grown up.”

You’d gotten progressively shyer the longer you spoke, and you were now rubbing one of your arms with a free hand to try and rid yourself of the humiliation. You’d made yourself so vulnerable to him after so many months of both of you just trying your best to coincide with no extra interactions. It was so strange suddenly opening up, and awkward to think that it was in public while being surrounded by many, many people.

Before the black-haired man could respond, the song changed and the couples around you started dancing a little faster. You quickly left the floor and made your way to the refreshments table for some water. Your mouth had become so dry it could rival a desert.

“Hey, you alright?” a loud but deep voice caressed your ear, accompanied by an arm slinging around your shoulders to massage your exposed skin comfortingly. Taehyung looked into your eyes with concern lacing his features, wondering why you’d become so pale.

“Yeah, I just need a drink.” You laughed, leaning into the tall man’s embrace slightly before detaching yourself from the alluring body heat.

“Okay well let me know-”

“Sorry Tae but I think we’re going to head home early.”

Both you and Taehyung whipped your heads up at the sound of Seokjin’s steady tone. You noticed he looked slightly tired, but it was unusual considering how early into the night it was. His beautiful eyes found yours and you almost felt your legs give way at the slight apologetic hint swimming in their captivating depths.

He’s taking you home because he feels bad after what you said, (Y/n).

He never cared before about problems as trivial as this, so why was he suddenly concerned for you? Why was he caring? After all this time, why was he still making your heart beat so erratically?

Yes, you respected him and yes, you wanted him to acknowledge you and have a similar sense of mutuality between you; that was how you built most of your relationships, but this was way too different to be cut from the same cloth. You craved this man in so many ways because you just valued him so fucking much, it hurt sometimes. You cared about him much more than he seemed to care about you, and you’d accepted that very early into the game.

So why was it hurting?

“Okay, yeah I’m feeling a bit beat.” You sighed, downing your cup of water before smiling weakly at Taehyung. The younger man seemed absolutely stunned at your abrupt change of attitude, but you’d already made your way to Seokjin’s side before he could really say much else.

Both of them had just seen you go through a million emotions at once, and it looked like you hadn’t been as skilled at hiding them this time around.

“See you Taehyung, it was really nice to meet you. Hopefully we’ll meet again at the next one.”

You waved, waiting for him to bid his own farewell before turning away. You didn’t want to show him the pained expression making its way onto your face.

Seokjin led the way to the car, as his longer legs meant he could walk that much faster. Usually you’d stop to watch him as he talked to the driver or packed a bag of gifts into the trunk of the car, but you couldn’t bear it for once. you just slipped into your usual seat and waited for your husband to get into his, slowly but surely.

Once he was seated, the car began to move. You and Jin gazed at one another in silence before you finally cracked and caved into the weariness clinging to your bones. You’d been torturing yourself emotionally for too long tonight.

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’ll get over this problem by tomorrow and things will be normal.”

Seokjin’s brows furrowed and he looked like he was going to say something to argue against your words, but then his plump lips pursed, and he heaved a heavy sigh.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n).”

Then he looked away, and you could tell he was thinking hard.

          Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[mecomptane]

MQ: Barnabas of the Adrestia

Part one of... many. So many. Oh no.

Also, my italics for Greek and/or emphasis no longer exist, so that’s great. 10/10. Might try uploading to dreamwidth first from now on, and then copying/linking in to here.

-

“Kephallonia is… here?”

Barnabas leaned over from the wheel, turning so that his good eye focused on where Kassandra was pointing. “Hm? Aye, that’s Kephallonia--and just to the north, there, that’s Ithaka!”

“I know Ithaka,” Kassandra retorted, toeing the island painted on the deck of the Adrestia idly. “I’ve looked at it almost every day.”

The real Ithaka--and Kephallonia--were well behind them, bare specks on the horizon. She’d spent the first few hours since departing sitting on the stern bench, watching over her shoulder as the land she’d spent the last twenty plus years on slipped away. They weren’t home, not really: not Ithaka where she’d honed her hunting skills, and not even Kephallonia, though all the friends left to her in the world lived there.

But a job was a job, and between the plague slowly spreading over the islands and the sudden hush of contracts that came in the wake of facing off against the only other mercenary on the island in spectacularly violent--and public--fashion, there wasn’t much work or coin coming her way any time soon. Kassandra sighed and scuffed her toe against the painted map again, slowly cataloguing the different lands and waters, so carefully rendered. So many places to see, so many people to meet, armies to fight… and somehow, with all those people and across all those lands, Elpeanor managed to find her. Decided to hire her.

To kill the Wolf of Sparta.

Nikolaos hadn’t been a young man when Kassandra was growing up, a General of Sparta and one of the greatest warriors the city had seen since the death of King Leonidas. He’d gained fame within Sparta for his tactics and skillful maneuvering, and renown through the rest of the Peloponnese for his treatment of enemies and allies alike. Not merciful--he was Spartan, after all--but a certain amount of respect. Other generals might take prisoners as slaves; Nikolaos was more likely to ransom them back to their cities or, if seriously injured, grant them an honourable death.

“It’s so isolated,” Kassandra remarked, still staring at the map. “But I can see the coast of the Peloponnese from my house.” House, shack, hut. It was newly built a hundred years ago and left to ruin sometime after; she’d claimed it and fixed it up, but it wasn’t any sort of luxurious.

Barnabas laughed at her, gesturing to the map as he turned back to the helm. “You can? You must have the sight of the gods, then!”

“Or maybe I just have two working eyes,” she snarked back. Sight of the gods, right.

But Barnabas laughed again; did nothing upset this man? “Or perhaps four eyes; I see you talking with that eagle of yours!”

The eagle in question--proud, defiant, and a mother hen in turns--was perched on the wooden screen that shielded part of the stern bench, alternating between watching the sea and watching Kassandra and Barnabas. Kassandra clicked her tongue to get his attention; Ikaros shrilled at her, fluffed his feathers, and turned back to the sea.

She sighed at him; her oldest friend was an eagle. A stubborn eagle, at that. “The only thing we talk about is him taking off to hunt and me scolding him when he shows up just in time to annoy me.”

Kassandra looked up just in time to see Barnabas shaking his head, his whole body shuddering. “Hey! Are you laughing at me?”

“You talk about your Ikaros like my old friend talks about his wife.”

She snorted. “You live with someone long enough, I suppose it all starts to sound the same.”

One of the skeleton crew below called out for Barnabas and instructions; as the old captain saw to his people and ship, Kassandra lounged back against the bench, tilting her head towards the sun.

They were heading for Megaris, which Barnabas assured her was the current major battleground in the war between Athens and Sparta. Elpeanor had said that Nikolaos would be there, but she trusted the old seaman over some shady mainlander who let his guards get killed as a test to see her skills. Or however he reasoned it; she didn’t want to ask, because that meant interacting with him more. Whether he was hiding out on Kephallonia to avoid Nikolaos and the bounty he’d put on the Wolf’s head was Elpeanor’s way of avoiding some consequence, or if he was on Kephallonia for another reason and wanting Nikolaos killed was incidental, she didn’t know that, either.

Kassandra shifted, pulling out the old broken spear her mater had given her, so long ago. She’d never taken a bounty contract before--the closest was hunting down a handful of local thieves (who were a drachmae a dozen on Kephallonia; the island wasn’t entirely made up of criminals, but it was probably a fifty-fifty split between law abiding citizens and those who just did not care). The contract to kill Nikolaos was more an excuse to get off the island that’d been her home since she was eight, see more of the world, make a name for herself. That didn’t mean she didn’t intend to uphold her end, and to do that… sword, short sword, spear, bow and arrows would all work, but using the broken spear wouldn’t just be effective. It would be poetic justice.

The man who married Leonidas’ daughter, killed by Leonidas’ own broken spear. One of the kings had sent Spartans to recover the spear from Thermopylae at the same time as they recovered Leonidas’ body for a burial with honours, and it had been given to Myrrine after the internment. Or, knowing the woman, she had demanded the last relic of her father to be handed over immediately, and everyone who stood in her way suffered for it.

Kassandra ran a finger down the edge of the spear’s blade, testing the sharpness and checking for rust. None, as normal. As much as she liked to think it was all the maintenance and care she paid to the old weapon, the metal shone in a way that she’d never seen before and no matter what she stabbed or threw the spear into the edge never dulled. Good for a quick kill, then, and that’s what this would have to be: a quick kill. Stealthy, maybe. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that between Nikolaus’ skills and the Spartan army, there was only one way she could really hope to complete the contract: a proper assassination.

“What are you frowning about, o mighty misthios?” Barnabas’ voice broke her from her thoughts.

She startled upwards, coming to her feet and not-so-accidentally treading on the painted islands in the process. “Barnabas! Don’t startle me like that.”

“Eh, I know you wouldn’t hurt this poor old, one-eyed man,” he shrugged off her annoyance. “I need to go below; do you know how to handle a ship?”

That brought her up short. “Do I know how to… what?”

He waved her forward to the helm. “Come, come, let me teach you quickly. We have another day of sailing before we make it to Megaris, more than enough time for lessons!”

She reached out to grab the old wood, worn smooth by many hands over the years. “What am I--what do you want me to do?”

“Keep her on the same heading, there--no, no, sun just slightly behind and to the right, we want to head east-south-east,” he instructed. “There we go! See? I knew you’d be a natural!”

Kassandra flexed her fingers, checking her grip. “And I just… stand here?”

“Exactly! Any questions?”

“Yes: why are you trusting me with this?”

He laughed and patted her shoulder. Flinched slightly away when his hand contacted the hard lines of metal and buckles that were hidden by the Shroud of Penelope Kassandra had wrapped around her shoulders and head. “Well, obviously you have sailed before! How else would you get from the mainland to Kephallonia?”

She tried not to stiffen or show another reaction, but from the corner of her eye she could see Barnabas looking at her worriedly. “Me? From the mainland?”

“From the Peloponnese, somewhere, probably,” Barnabas confirmed, would-be casually. “You sail as long as I have to as many places as I have, and you can pick out details like that, too. A bit of an accent, and a way of framing your sentences that sounds more like Lakonian or Messenian, maybe Arkadian. But most of the time you sound Kephallonian! If that’s why you’re worried, the accent of your latest home comes through clearly.”

She shook her head at him. “Kephallonia isn’t my home.”

“Even after… however long you’ve lived there?”

“No,” Kassandra confirmed. Even with Marcos and Phoibe and the few other people who were almost friends, almost family. “No, not Kephallonia.”

Barnabas hummed, apparently having forgotten being called away. “Then… wherever you were from before? Is that your home?”

She couldn’t help herself; she snorted. In her mind’s eye she could easily picture the spear, Myrrine, Nikolaos, the masked men, baby Alexios, the mountain. “I might have been born in Sparta, but I was never really Spartan.”

“Spartan?” Barnabas asked, surprise lacing his words. “And you’re looking for the Wolf of Sparta?”

Kassandra nodded; Barnabas had said he took no side in this war, even having been an Athenian captain, once upon a time. Still, Kephallonia supported Athens, and so far most of public opinion--that Kassandra had heard, anyway--swayed in favour of Athens, too. It would make sense for her to be after a Spartan General if she had been from Athens or somewhere that was firmly part of or on the side of the Delian League. She could see why Barnabas would be surprised.

“I am,” she confirmed, her lips curling upwards. Not a smile, not a sneer; she wasn’t sure what she was feeling about this, but it wasn’t anything good. “I’m going to track Nikolaos down, and before I kill him I am going to get some answers.”

“Answers?” Barnabas parroted.

She nodded, shortly. “Answers. When I was eight, the oracle said that my baby brother--who was in perfect health--would bring about the fall of Sparta if he was allowed to live. Mater fought against the order, but we were all brought up Mount Taygetos and---and Alexios was thrown off the mountain cliff.”

Barnabas hadn’t completely retracted his hand before from her shoulder; he rested it again against the shroud, patting gently. “That must have been difficult to witness, Kassandra. I am sorry. ...but what does that have to do with the Wolf?”

“He was there,” she answered after a minute. She had to refocus; Barnabas had actually sounded sincere. When was the last time someone had actually meant what they said to her? “He was there, he let them kill Alexios… and when I fought back, pushed the priest who had thrown Alexios off and killed him…. Nikolaos threw me off Mount Taygetos, too.”

She could feel Barnabas withdrawing, air abruptly sucked through clenched teeth. “And you survived?”

“I did,” she nodded. “That’s the night that Ikaros found me.”

“So you’ve known him for a long, long time,” Barnabas surmised, looking up at the eagle. Ikaros’ attention was focused wholly on them; she’d noticed the minute he’d zeroed in on them, but the predatory gaze had long been comforting. “But you know what happened then. What answers are you looking for?”

Kassandra shrugged, careful to not jostle her hands and change their heading. “Just one answer, I guess,” she conceded. “I want to ask him… I want to know why, when the priests said that Alexios would bring us to ruin, when they told him to kill me in return for the life of one of their own…

“I want to know why he sided with them over his own children.”

[kpoptrashibnida]

Enchanted Pt. 1

A/N: So I am a total liar because I said I was going to do a Taehyung One Shot, but I am not. I don’t think I was meant for the One Shot lifestyle. I think my problems stems with having too many details in my work :( but I hope that you guys enjoy the beginning of this Tae mini series. I am going to try and stick to 3 to 4 parts, but we shall see. Happy reading! And as always, constructive criticism is always welcome/appreciated!

Moving to South Korea on your own seemed like a good choice at some point. Especially since you came to live with a boyfriend you made online and he promised you a wonderful life in an exciting country. Of course you were too naive to see what was really happening even though your friends and family tried talking you out of it the whole time, up to the day you were due to leave for Incheon.  

It was a big surprise to you when you arrived at the airport and he wouldn’t answer your texts. You figured he was stuck in traffic or on his way and didn’t want to text while driving, which is a good thing. But after waiting at the pickup curb for half an hour with still no answer, you started to worry. What if he got in an accident? Is he okay? He couldn’t have forgotten that you were arriving today because you sent him a screenshot of your flight info. Deciding that you had enough, you finally decide to call him. 

We are sorry, the number you have dialed is disconnected or no longer in service. Goodbye. 

“What the heck?” You whisper to yourself. You try it one more time and get the same message, your heart sinking. Is he ignoring you right now? Why isn’t he picking up? You log into your instagram to message him and your stomach twists in knots when you realize he blocked you. Your chat was no longer available and when you looked him up by username nothing came up. Tears welled up in your eyes at the realization that he was not coming for you and he just completely ghosted you. How could he do such a thing? Why would he promise to live his life with you and have you come out to a foreign country where you only know him just to abandon you? Did he mean it when he said he loved you? Or was it all just a game for him? 

Deciding that wallowing in self pity at the airport surrounded by strangers was not something you were about to do, you wipe away the stray tears and get to work.

‘This is why we came with a plan.’ You say to yourself, glad that you didn’t just come without a proper plan in place and blind trust on that bastard you once called your boyfriend. 

You looked up a hostel near the airport that was accessible by bus and started on your new journey. Thankfully the public transportation in Korea is amazing and you didn’t have to wait long to get on the bus. Once there, you made sure you kept your ears open for the name of your stop, grateful that you were smart enough to learn some basic Korean so you can get around without a problem. 

Taking a deep breath you try not to let your pain crush you and you manage to keep your tears at bay. Even though things are not going the way you planned, that was not going to ruin your plans to live in this country. You are going to make it work and show that bastard that you don’t need him.

****3 months later****

“Hey do you think you can cover my closing shift tomorrow? I have to go wedding dress shopping with my sister.” Minyoung, my coworker asked.

“Yeah that’s fine.” You say with a smile. Any extra income is welcomed especially because rent is almost due and you’re short. 

Working at the cafe part time makes you just enough for your rent, but it’s still not enough. The cafe is close by some entertainment agencies and it’s always filled with crazy hopeful fans and on rare occasions, the idols themselves. It was hard to know sometimes because most of the time they were wearing face masks, but on rare occasions they came in without one. You weren’t particularly a big fan of any of these artists but you could say that they were very talented. Minyoung was your closest coworker and she was extremely obsessed with them. She would listen to their music all the time and talk about them non-stop. It was endearing but you were lost half of the time. She tried getting you into it but you were busy with work and your side job as an English tutor, that you didn’t really have a lot of extra time available. Binge watching music videos and tv performances is a luxury you couldn’t quite afford. 

Your English tutoring was what made it possible for you to survive without having to eat ramen all day every day. It was great because that way, you didn’t have to call your family and ask them for help. Your parents were no longer angry with you, but they were concerned. You assured them that you were fine and everything was under control, even though they didn’t know that you were actually ditched the second you arrived in the country. You were going to tell them, but you wanted to wait and make it seem like you broke up later on. 

Now, however, you were struggling to make ends meet because the family you tutor for left for a two month vacation and you were out of that extra income for that time. So you were more than willing to cover as many shifts as possible, even if it wasn’t the same as your tutoring job. What mattered was that your bills were paid on time, even if you had to eat ramen with Kimchi every day. 

You sighed a breath of relief when it was finally time for you to clock out for the day. Your back and feet were so sore, the thought of a hot shower excited your tired limbs. You bid goodbye to your coworkers as you grabbed your purse and left the building. You saw a huge black van park in front of the cafe and you felt grateful that you were off and didn’t have to help the huge group that was coming in. It looked like the type of vans that idols use, but it could also be a school group or even a church group. Regardless, you were glad it wasn’t your problem and you can go home to relax. Besides, who gets coffee this late? The cafe was practically empty now. 

Your apartment was close to the coffee shop therefore your commute was short. You lived in an older building but the rent was low and your landlord was nice. She was a sweet old lady that helped you out and didn’t treat you differently just because you were a foreigner. She checks up on you a lot and gives you some banchan from time to time, which you always appreciate because her cooking is amazing. 

You take your shoes off as soon as you enter your apartment and sigh at the mess you left in the kitchen this morning before going to work. You woke up late and in a rush to eat some breakfast and make some coffee, so it looked like a tornado passed by your kitchen. You were extremely exhausted and decided that the kitchen could wait until after a nice hot shower and maybe some fried chicken from the place down the street.

After your much needed shower and a clean kitchen, you were able to enjoy your fried chicken while watching some TV. You didn’t watch a lot of Korean TV, mainly sticking to streaming apps like Netflix. But you did enjoy watching the music shows from time to time and tonight was some kind of comeback stage. You watched as the myriad of girls screamed on the TV screen and rolled your eyes at the noise, extremely amused at how they idolized these people. You had to admit that these artists were all gorgeous- men and women, although you knew that the makeup was attributed to it as well. You never knew that men could be cute and sexy at the same time. These pop idols were not afraid to rock some femininity but still managed to look manly and sexy all in one. It was something completely different than what you see back home, but you were not complaining. Before you knew it, exhaustion crept over you and pulled you under without warning. 

*

The second you walked into the cafe you could feel a buzz of energy in the atmosphere that was a little too much for you at such an early hour. 

“What’s going on?” You ask Minuk, taking in the giddy whispers of some of the female staff.

“They’re losing their minds because BTS came in yesterday to get some coffee and they are practically drooling.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous situation.

“They would.” You shake your head, knowing that Minyoung is going to cry the second she hears that BTS was here after she had gone home.

“When did they come?” You ask the group of giddy girls.

“Literally like a minute after you left yesterday! If only you had stayed a little longer.” Bora answers, she was the one who worked the evening shift with you yesterday and she stayed to close the shop.

“It was so amazing. They’re all so nice and down to earth.” She swooned, tying her apron around her waist.

You chuckle at her dreamy expression, thoroughly amused at the whole situation. BTS are a very popular group so it makes sense that they came to get coffee once the place was empty and they had a low chance of getting mauled by crazy fans. You had to admit that they are very talented and passionate about what they do. Since Minyoung is a huge fan of theirs, she would force you to listen to their music and stream any music video that they would release. You would oblige but you haven’t gotten too into KPOP. While you enjoyed listening to it over the speakers at the cafe, the grocery stores and basically anywhere you went, you weren’t a hardcore fan by any means. You were still trying to get fully settled in this country and your priorities were different right now. Perhaps in the future it’s something that you can get more into. 

The day went by in a rush and you were surprised at how tired you felt once you finally sat down to have your lunch. Well, it was more like dinner because you were all so busy that getting a break was almost impossible. Today was the first day of the holiday drinks and it seems like all of Seoul was anticipating this day because the incessant line of customers just died down five minutes ago. You were closing for Minyoung today and you were working the closing shift with Dara. she insisted you take a break to eat something before she headed home for the night. You were very thankful because you were starving and your feet ached. 

“Okay I’m all done.” You say, coming back from the back room. 

“Did you chew your kimbap at all?” She teased, noticing that your break was way too short.

“It’s fine.” You waved her off, you much preferred to get your cleaning tasks out of the way to make closing easier. 

“You know what I noticed? Since it was busy all day no one ground the coffee beans for tomorrow’s opening shift. I’m going to do that right now before I leave. It should take me about twenty minutes.” She informs you.

“Oh gosh, yes please. We cannot leave without doing that first. Are you sure you want to stay and do it? Your shift is basically over.” You say, not wanting to keep her here unnecessarily. 

“Of course. Besides, it's dead right now and I doubt anyone is going to come in within the next twenty minutes.” She brushes you off and heads to the back where the coffee grinder is. 

Thankful for the help, you decide that you should start on your cleaning tasks so you can get out of here soon too. You were concentrating on trying to get a stubborn stain off a table that you were startled when you heard the door’s bell jingle, signaling someone coming into the cafe.

“Welcome.” You quickly greet, bowing at the customer. 

“Are you still open?” The deep voice asks, his eyes looking at you intently.

“Yes we are, no worries.” You say, quickly walking back to the register. “What can I get for you?” You ask, taking in the customer’s appearance. He is wearing a black cotton face mask so you can’t see his face that well. 

“I’ll have a medium hot chocolate.” He says, looking right at you.

You type the order in the POS system and try not to turn red under the strangers gaze. You are a foreigner after all and you should really be used to the stares by now. One thing is seeing a foreigner on vacation, another thing is seeing them working and living here. 

“Okay, anything else?” You ask, briefly glancing up to look at him.

“Just that.” He answers, shaking his head lightly. 

“Is it for here or to go?” You ask as you run his card for his total.

“Here.” He says and you quickly look up at him. He just stares back at you and you quickly look back down, the heat now spreading all over your face. It wasn’t very often that people would have their drinks in the cafe this close to closing time, but you couldn’t complain. You informed him that you would bring his drink to his table and he thanked you in that deep voice of his.

You quickly got to making his drink and you carefully took it to his table. As you approached, you could see that he removed his face mask and it was dangling from one of his ears. You were curious to see if his face was as attractive as his voice. The moment you were in front of his table, your breath hitched in your throat. He was very handsome, his smooth skin looking beautiful under the cafe lighting; his hair was fluffy and it looked so soft, making you want to touch it.

“Here you go.” You say with a smile, carefully placing the mug in front of him.

“Thank you.” He says, looking right at your face. You held eye contact for about two seconds but inevitably looked away and walked back to the barista station, deciding that it was the perfect time to clean the area. 

You kept glancing back to the table where the guy was and noticed that he would be looking in your general direction and that made you nervous. You hated being watched as you did your job, but he was the only person here.

“Hey, I’m all done with the coffee, I’m going to head out.” Dara says, coming from the back and breaking you from your inner freakout.

“Okay, thank you so much for that.” You thank her, glad that your workload has lessened.

“Oh, I didn’t hear the customer come in.” She says, barely noticing the man sitting at the table. “Oh my gosh.” She suddenly whispered, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“What?” You ask, looking back at the customer and noticed he looked away the second you looked his way.

Dara quickly pulled you to the back, away from his sight.

“That’s Taehyung from BTS!” She whisper-shouted, her body trembling slightly out of excitement.

“Oh. No wonder he looked kind of familiar.” You shrug, his ridiculously good looks now making sense. 

“How can you be so passive about this? He’s BTS’s Taehyung!” Dara shakes you slightly, making you laugh at her excitement.

“He’s just a human being.” You reply, rolling your eyes.

You walk back out to the front of the cafe and almost jump back when you see that Taehyung is no longer sitting down but standing right at the counter. Dara eyes you nervously but says her goodbyes, leaving you alone with Taehyung.

“Sorry about that wait. Is there anything else I can help you with?” You ask, your customer service voice on.

“No that’s all, I just didn't want to leave the mug on the table.” He explains, smiling at you. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” You say, bowing slightly and picking up his mug.

He stood there watching you place the mug in the sink, making you feel self conscious about your actions. You slowly turn to look at him, his soft eyes watching your every move. He held eye contact with you for what felt like an eternity but was probably about five seconds. Before you could break eye contact or say anything, he gave you a cute boxy smile, your heart beating irregularly at the sight. 

“Have a good night.” He finally said and bowed, before turning around and heading out.

“..Um, uhhh, yeah you too.” You mumble, watching his figure walk out to a car that was parked across the street. 

You shook your head and tried to forget the odd encounter, focusing now on locking the door and making this place sparkly clean for the morning shift… which you are working. 

By the time you made it to your front door you were practically dragging your feet, exhaustion wracking your whole body. You went straight to the shower and then straight to bed, too tired to even feel hungry.

*

“You freaking bitch, tell me all about it!” Minyoung screeched the second she walked through the doors of the cafe, which thankfully was empty at the moment. 

“Will you keep it down?” You chastise, worried that customers are going to be coming in while she is screaming and cursing. 

“Dara texted me last night and said that Kim Taehyung, THE Kim Taehyung was here last night! Is that true?” She questions you, wanting all the details. She is a hardcore BTS fan after all. 

“Yes, I didn’t realize who it was until Dara told me.” You tell her, rolling your eyes at her whines about how she can’t believe that you didn’t recognize someone as amazing and handsome and Taehyung.

“Okay but all that aside, I do want to ask you something.” She says after the first wave of customers finally leave. 

“What’s that?” You ask, scared of what she might come up with. 

“Want to come to a BTS concert with me? My friend and I bought tickets a while ago but she can’t go anymore. If you’re interested, you can have her ticket. You haven’t been to a kpop concert yet and it’s a great experience you should have.” She tried to convince you.

A concert sounded like a lot of fun, especially since you haven’t done many fun things since you arrived in Korea. Minyoung is the first friend you made and you haven’t been able to spend much time with her outside of work because you’re always so busy and you need some distraction. 

“Okay, I guess I’ll go.” You give in, smiling at her excited jumping. She promised that you would have a great time and not regret it, which you hope was right. 

*

It was the day of the concert and you were excited to go with Minyoung, even though she was literally going crazy with excitement. She coordinated your outfits in case you got to meet the boys; which you knew was almost impossible but you let her be with her wishful thinking. You felt comfortable and confident in your all-black ensemble, your cute skirt and top giving you a confidence you have not felt in a while, ever since your ‘boyfriend’ ditched you the second you got to this country.

This concert was unlike anything you have experienced back home and you were feeding off people’s energy. Everyone in the stadium was excited and you could feel it in the air and it was contagious. You laughed at the way everyone screamed at the top of their lungs the second the stage started to rise, indicating the start of the concert. The noise was deafening, especially since you had tickets in the pit, right below the stage. Words couldn't describe what you felt throughout the concert. These guys were not just excellent artists, they were amazing performers. The energy they radiated was incredible and you soon found yourself screaming along with the thousands of fans. You were familiar with BTS and knew the name of the different members so it was easy to follow along with the fan chants. There came a point in the concert where the members went to different parts of the stage and they were singing, dancing, being silly and waving at the fans and the cameras. You immediately recognized the member that went to your side of the pit, since he was just at the coffee shop not that long ago. Minyoung was next to you, singing at the top of her lungs while you swayed next to her, smiling at the soulful way she was singing. You were so busy taking everything in, you didn’t notice the person staring at you; his eyes glued to your face and not looking away.

“Omg, look!” Minyoung practically shouted in your ear, your eyes following the direction her finger was pointing. 

You see Taehyung walking in front of your section, singing his part of the song, all while looking right at you. You made eye contact with him and he did not break away. You telt like you were in a trance, his brown orbs so tantalizing you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. You felt as if the earth stood still and the only people in that stadium were the two of you. It felt silly to say, but you honestly felt as if there was an invincible cord pulling you towards him, strong and unrelenting. You don’t know if he felt it too, but the way his brown eyes looked at you, it made you feel like perhaps he did. 

The moment was broken when he suddenly looked away and ran back to his members that were standing in the main portion of the stage again. The beginning of their last song for the night started and you watched amazed as you still felt that strong pull. Was this something all the fans felt? If so, you totally understand now why they’re so loved by them. The concert ended with a spectacular performance and you were surprisingly sad that the concert was over. Perhaps it was time for you to start finding some time to get more into this band. 

“Okay, bitch! What the hell was that?” Minyoung asks excitedly as you walk back to the subway station. 

“What was what?” You ask innocently, hoping she would buy your bs lie.

“Girl don’t play dumb with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Minyoung was not having your faux innocence today.

“I honestly have no idea what you are talking about.” You try to play it off but it was no use. You knew she was not going to let you off the hook that easily. 

“Come on, don’t be a jerk and tell me!!!!” She practically yelled, earning some glares from a few of the older people waiting for the subway.

“Okay fine.” You relent. “I honestly don’t know what that was all about, but it looked like Taehyung was looking at me. It could have just been a coincidence though.” You try to brush it off, but your heart was being fast at the memory, calling you a liar because it knew that it wasn’t just a coincidence.

“Yeah, okay, coincidence my ass. He was looking right at you and you know it.” She insists as you enter the subway, sitting down on the empty seats.

“Do you think he remembers you from the cafe?” She asks, eyes twinkling at the possibilities.

“I don’t think so. They see and meet a lot of new people all the time, I highly doubt he remembers me. Maybe it’s odd for him to see a foreigner at a show here in Korea.” You offer, not believing that you were special enough for such a successful man to remember.

“Whatever! There are tons of foreigners at their shows here. Trust me girl, I know what I saw. And if he comes by the coffee shop by himself again, then I know I’m right.” She insists as the both of you get off at your subway stops. 

“Well if you insist, but I don’t think that’s true.” You say with finality. 

“Yeah yeah yeah.” Minyoung waved you off, the both of you parting ways.

You arrive at your apartment and make a beeline to the shower, wanting to wash off the sweat and makeup from the night. Your mind was still buzzing from the encounter at the concert, your stomach fluttering with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Your mind told you that it meant nothing, that it was pure coincidence. But there was a small part of you that wondered if he really remembered you and the look you shared meant something more.

You fell asleep still thinking of those brown eyes, their warmth encompassing you into unconsciousness. 

*

It was two days after the concert and you were exhausted from working two double shifts in a row. Dara had covered your shift so you could go to the concert and now you were paying her back. You also picked up an extra shift because you wanted to eat more than just ramen once your rent was paid. It was an hour before closing and Hana had just left since it was a slow night. You sat at a stool and rested your back for a second, your lower back killing you. The cafe was empty and you needed a small break before you started to clean all the tables. Hopefully you wouldn’t get many more customers at the end of the night. 

“Hi, are you still open?” You hear a gruff voice say as they enter the cafe. You stood up at the speed of light and walked back to the counter, embarrassed that a customer walked in and you’re just sitting around.

“Yes, welcome.” You say, bowing slightly. 

You look up to take the order of the customer and your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes not believing the sight before them. There stood Kim Taehuyng, his mask hanging from one of his ears. 

“Hello, can I get a medium hot chocolate?” He orders, a small smile gracing his lips. 

“Oh, of course. For here or to go?” You ask, suddenly wishing that he says to go. 

“For here.” He answers.

After you collect payment, you quickly get to work on his hot chocolate. You notice that he sat at the bar and was watching you make his drink, which was extremely nerve wracking. You take a deep breath and turn around, meeting his curious brown eyes. 

“Here you go.” You say and place the cup in front of him, averting your gaze.

“Thank you.” He says, his soft deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

You get to work, hastily cleaning up the tables and hoping that he leaves soon. He makes you oddly nervous and you don’t know why. It could be the way his eyes seem to stare intently at you, but you can’t be sure. Maybe that’s the type of person that he is and it means nothing. But something in the depths of your stomach makes you feel like that’s not the case. You’re almost done cleaning up the cafe when you hear the stool scrape against the floor, indicating that he has gotten up. You look over, expecting him to be halfway to the door by now but were surprised to see him still standing by the bar.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, wondering why he is still here.

“No that’s all.” He says, still staring.

“Okay.” You answer, staring back at him. 

The silence was very awkward and you didn’t know what to do so you stood in place. He was just looking at you and you could feel your face getting red, giving you away. Could you be blamed? He is such a gorgeous person, you really did not know how to react to him standing there and looking at you like he’s never seen such a monstrosity before. 

By the grace of all things holy, he finally broke the silence.

“What’s your name?” He asks curiously, confusing you further. 

You stared at him in awe, wondering why the hell Kim Taehyung wanted to know your name. After a few seconds of stupefied silence, you mumbled your name, hoping it was coherent enough.

“I’m Kim Taehyung.” He introduces himself, such a silly thing.

“I know.” You say without thinking, mentally slapping yourself for being so stupid.

He chuckles slightly and you can feel the redness coating your face once again. Great. 

“Were you at our concert the other night?” He asks and you swear you have to be dreaming. None of this is real. 

“Um, yeah?” You say uncertain, not understanding what’s going on at all.

“I remember you. I hope you enjoyed it.” He flashes a heart stopping smile and you swear you have died and gone to heaven. What the hell is going on?

“Yes, um, I had a great time.” You nod, the urge to pinch yourself very strong because you swear this is a lucid dream. 

“Good, I’m glad. I have to get going now.” He tells you and you nod, not understanding what he wants you to do with that information. Of course he has to get going, he can’t stay at the cafe all night.

“I don’t normally do this but, I was wondering if I can get your number?” He asks and has the audacity to look shy and cute and hot all at the same time. Who is this man?

“Uh, ye-yes.” You mumble and write your Kakao id on a sticky note and hand it to him. 

“Thanks.” He flashes you a bright smile and bows, waving goodbye.

You bow back and watch his frame walk out of the cafe and into the night. Slapping yourself across your face, the sting indicates that indeed, you did not dream all that up. It was reality and you had no idea why Kim Taehyung wanted your phone number. 

You quickly finished cleaning up the last few things you needed before finally closing the cafe and heading home. It was a chilly night and your light sweater was not enough to stop the nippy air from hitting your skin. You power walked home and sigh in relief when the warm air thawed out your skin. After your shower, you had some leftover kimbap for dinner and settled on the couch to watch some late night tv. You were so concentrated on the show that you jumped at the sound of your KakaoTalk chime, indicating you got a message. Reaching for your phone, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you see the unknown sender’s message.

KTH: Hey this is Taehyung. Did you get home safely?

You jumped on your seat and blinked your eyes repeatedly, not believing what your eyes were seeing. Was he actually serious?

Me: Hey, yes I did. Thank you for checking in.

You sat on your couch in anxious excitement. Biting your thumb nail, you were staring down your phone to see if he would reply. When did you turn into this person?

KTH: Good, I’m glad. I was wondering that if you are available, would you like to get something to drink tomorrow night?

Oh crap. Is he serious?

Me: Sure, that sounds great.

Your knee was shaking in excitement, the disbelief coming and going in waves. Was this actually happening? What did you ever do to deserve this? 

KTH: Great! I’ll text you the details tomorrow. Good night :)

Me: Good night

You screamed into your pillow, heart racing at the possibilities that tomorrow will bring. You? Getting drinks with THE Kim Taehyung? You don’t know what brought this on, but you will not question it, that’s for sure.

[jellydishes]

Warden Bethany Hawke was a very unfortunate woman to have in Skyhold.

Not in the sense that she was poor company, of course, quite the opposite - Josephine easily could and had spent hours talking with her. The truth of the matter was, Josephine found her attention lingering on Bethany even when the warden was nowhere around.

She was certainly striking, with strong features framed by curls gathered into a long braid and clever, long-fingered hands. Josephine sometimes caught herself torn between looking at Bethany’s face when she spoke or her hands. She couldn’t help it, she had always been fascinated by beautiful hands, and Bethany’s were both well-formed and fascinatingly dotted with scars and calluses. Her hands had character, and Josephine couldn’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like.

That train of thought made her flustered when she was completely alone in her office, let alone when the woman in question came by for a consultation.

Today was even more of a disaster on that front than usual. Bethany had come straight to Josephine’s office from a mission with Leliana’s scouts, and if Josephine lifted her head just so, she would be able to see where a smear of mud met the deep red birthmark that streaked across Bethany’s nose. She did not raise her head, but she didn’t have to. She could see it in her head as clearly as the letter she was, or had, been writing. Had, because it was impossible to concentrate with Bethany in the room. Her presence was almost suffocating in the very best way, her very presence stealing all of the breath from Josephine’s lungs and leaving her lightheaded.

For a woman who had been raised to keep a calm, level head in any situation, she was finding it remarkably difficult to concentrate on what really was a very important piece of legislature she had been puzzling out ways to evade, and-

“-phine?”

Josephine went still. There came a laugh, full-bodied as the most luxurious wine, and a gloved hand settled on the desk beside Josephine’s. “Look at you, lost in the clouds,” Bethany said, with such a smile in her voice that Josephine could no more resist glancing up than a flower could resist turning towards the sunshine. She was just in time to catch a flash of a dimple, and was caught. She only realized she had been staring when that laugh came again. “Something on your mind, my lady?”

Coming from Bethany, those words did not sound at all condescending. In point of fact, she found her cheeks growing hot as Bethany started to lean over her desk. Josephine wasn’t sure if it was to say something else in that light, teasing tone that had so enraptured her or to touch her, but the very thought had her lurching to her feet. “You must excuse me, warden! I have very important matters to see to!” She almost stumbled over the words, and did stumble over her own feet as she came around her desk.

She didn’t have the time to be embarrassed or even properly think at all. Everything seemed to move very fast, and very slowly all at once. She saw the slide of her foot in the wrong direction and knew that she was heading for a very embarrassing fall in front of the very last person in the world she’d want to. There was just enough time for the word ‘shit’, to flit through her mind, and then warm arms settled around Josephine’s waist, swinging her in a half circle and up against Bethany’s chest.

Josephine stared wide eyed, mouth parted, and very, very aware of how very warm Bethany was. This would have been a perfect time to put her vaunted skills to good use and to say something suave and charming, something that would make warden Bethany Hawke laugh. Well… in that, she succeeded. “Shit!” Josephine blurted out, and brought her head down to Bethany’s shoulder as that delightful laugh came again.

“I don’t know about that,” Bethany said, her arms circling just that much closer around her. “If this is all I’ll get to see out of you before your very important meeting, I’ll take it.”

Josephine stared, and she couldn’t help it. She laughed. “It isn’t as important as all that,” she admitted with a smile. “At least… I just keep going around in circles, owing entirely to a certain someone.”

“Is that so?” Bethany raised eyebrows shot through with the same silvery strips of scar tissue that marked wherever her skin was visible. “Should I go, then? Leave you to your work?”

It was impossible to tell if she was teasing or not, and Josephine instantly shook her head. “No!” She tucked a hand close to her face, flustered and thrown off what little balance she’d had left after quite literally tumbling into Bethany’s arms. “No, I- you-“ She started and then stopped, her cheeks darkening still further from her earlier blush. “You simply make it impossible to collect myself! Do you do that on purpose?” Josephine blurted out, and almost started to regret it until Bethany’s inscrutable expression broke into an impish grin.

“Of course I do,” she laughed, and Josephine couldn’t help but notice that Bethany had not made the slightest attempt at putting her down. Josephine was very, very content with this development. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you for days now. You almost make me wonder if I need to practice, the way they all flew right over your head.”

“I wouldn’t say all of them,” Josephine said under her breath, thinking back to all of the seemingly unintentional touches that lingered a little too long, laughter and smiles and the almost uncanny way Bethany always seemed to come by just when Josephine was alone. “Just… a significant amount.”

“Well in that case!” Bethany’s golden-brown eyes crinkled, and Josephine found herself unable to look away more than ever. “Still, I think I have to prove that my skills are intact, don’t you? For the sake of my bruised pride, you see.”

“Prove your- oh!” Josephine almost jumped as Bethany set her gently back on her feet, only to take up one of Josephine’s hands in hers, tucking the other behind her back. She started to stammer an embarrassingly inarticulate jumble of syllables as Bethany bent over her hand, pausing just shy of it to glance up at Josephine with a smile.

“May I kiss you, lady Montilyet?”

“Only if you use my name!” Josephine said without thinking, then winced as Bethany laughed again, pressing her forehead to the back of Josephine's hand, then straightened.

“Of course. Josephine, may I-“

It was Bethany’s turn to be surprised as Josephine almost leaped forward to press her lips to Bethany’s. Her lips were warm under Josephine’s, and parted on a gasp. She tasted like tea and cheap liquor, and it made Josephine shiver. “I’ve been trying to get you to kiss me for the past few minutes!” She said breathlessly into Bethany’s stunned expression when she finally pulled back. “It gets so you almost make me question if I need to practice!” Bethany stammered in turn, which was very satisfying all on it's own, and Josephine did the little triumphant dancing wiggle of her shoulders that always made Leliana laugh. “Trouble? Is that a ‘Yes, Josephine, I would dearly appreciate you kissing me again, and perhaps aga-‘“

It seemed they were going to take turns interrupting each other, Josephine thought distantly. Only, Bethany hadn’t kissed Josephine on the mouth the way Josephine had her. She had instead begun to press a line of scorching kisses down Josephine’s throat, making her let out a squeak. Bethany muffled a laugh into Josephine’s neck that made warmth pool at the base of her spine. “You underestimate me, ambassador. How disappointing. And here I thought we understood each other.” Even as she spoke, Josephine had reason to discover just how clever Bethany Hawke’s fingers were.

Josephine gasped, her hips stuttering up in a way that Bethany must have found very gratifying indeed, because that laugh came again. It was warm and low and throaty, with the slightest rasp that she ached to hear again almost as much as she ached for Bethany to ”Move, for Andraste’s sake!” It did not seem that she had any plans to do any such thing anytime soon, however. Naturally, this meant that Josephine was forced to take matters into her own hands, leaning up to press a warm, thoroughly sharp kiss to Bethany’s lips. Bethany made a particularly pleasing noise and arched as Josephine gave a sudden twist so that their positions were reversed, with Bethany bent back over Josephine’s desk.

“Now that isn’t fair!” Bethany laughed, half a gasp, fingers tightening on the shoulders of Josephine’s dress.

“Whoever told you that I had any intention of playing fair?” Josephine murmured back, tilting her head further to press a line of scorching kisses down the line of Bethany’s jaw. “I am Antivan, after all. And you,” Josephine murmured between pressing soft kisses to Bethany’s throat that served as a contrast to the sure grip on her hip, tugging her just where Josephine wanted her, “are wearing entirely too many clothes.”

“You’re the ambassador, you’re supposed to use that gilded tongue of yours to talk me out of them, aren’t you?” Bethany said archly, and was plainly thinking the follow-up joke about what other uses could be made of Josephine’s gilded tongue. There was only one thing to do about that, or perhaps several. And while Josephine may be inexperienced about some things, she knew enough about persuasion to know that words weren’t needed at all at this juncture, only a smile and entwining her fingers with Bethany’s. This, out of everything, made Bethany Hawke blush, and Josephine knew that she was willing to do quite a lot in order to see it again.

Yes, Warden Bethany Hawke was a very unfortunate woman to have in Skyhold if you had any intention of getting any proper work done. But if your intentions were to stumble after the warden’s laughing gaze, your hand in hers… well, then you could count yourself as very fortunate indeed.

[phoneboxfairy]

Working Up a Sweat (The Gym Fic!) (smut alert)

Ao3 link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405093 (Includes all proper formatting/italics/etc)  Commission for @a-god-of-calamity :)   Magnolia, Fiore, a fair sized city boasting sixty thousand residents, and home to a few notable families. Perhaps the most notable is the Dragneel clan. Unlike other families the Dragneels are not old money. Rather, Igneel, the family patriarch often referred to as The Dragon King, earned their wealth and notability slowly but surely, starting with the purchase of a single hotel a few years before the birth of his son. By the time the son, Natsu, was in middle school that single hotel had transformed into an empire. A second hotel was dedicated in providing luxury accommodations for travelers who otherwise might not have been able to afford it. Eventually the empire grew to include include shelters for families in need and the Dragneel Fund, which provides support to those who need it. But even Igneel the Dragon King cannot live forever, so making sure his heir would be ready to take over became a priority starting right around the same time Natsu entered high school. He made sure the boy had extra lessons on proper business management as well as plenty of first hand experience helping in various positions within the organization. By the time Natsu was twenty five he knew that company like the back of his own hand.  Even the old man was frequently heard praising his son’s skills. But lately...lately it all seemed like it was a bit too much. As much as he loved his family and the company, he desperately sought some sort of an outlet. Natsu tried to work out at his private gym, knowing full well how working out can relieve so much pent-up stress. But his efforts here were fruitless. When he was at home he couldn’t help thinking about work, about the company that led to his family’s wealth. Good thing Magnolia has some pretty awesome gyms. The newest one in town was called Fairy Tail, and already had a reputation for its facilities, classes, and top-of-the-line equipment. One afternoon after a stressful meeting, Natsu made a detour from his usual path home, instead ending up in the gym. He paid for a membership and made his way to the locker room. That’s where he first saw her. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of what he immediately described as a smoking hot blonde.  She’s curvy but clearly works out, he thought, judging by the way her sweatpants and tank top hugged her form. Her hair was tied up in a sloppy ponytail, and she had this fierce determined look on her face. What a babe. Wow. He shook his head to clear his mind, turned around… ...and walked right into a locked door. Thwack It didn’t go unnoticed. A few people snickered. But otherwise nobody really seemed to care about Natsu’s silly blunder. He dusted himself off then headed in the direction of the weight room...this time paying attention to where he was walking. As soon as he got to his destination he got right to work pumping iron. For a while that’s all he could think about. Then a voice caught his attention. "Are you alright?" "Hnh?" He looked up and saw her, the babe from earlier. Oh shit, better play it cool. "I...saw you run into that door. I would have stopped but I was running late for my class. I didn’t want my students to miss any yoga time." She was blushing. The rosy tint to her cheek made her look even prettier. "Ohh. That's nothin'. I'm fine. Thanks for asking!" He flashed a smile. Her blush deepened. "You're welcome." Pause. She bit her lip. "I'm Lucy, by the way. Lucy Heartfilia." "Nice to meet ya, Lucy." He recognized the name. She was the heir to the Heartfilia travel company, a group that sent quite a few customers to Dragneel hotels.  Rumor had it she had spent part of her inheritance buying a small bookshop and turning it into what locals referred to as paradise for bookworms. She was also every bit as beautiful as he had heard. "Likewise. You're Natsu Dragneel, right?" "Yeah, that's me. How'd you know?" "I saw your family crest on your hoodie. And I, um, recognized you from the paper." Those publicity pictures don't do him justice at ALL, she thought. To say nothing of how utterly hypnotic it was watching him do dumbbell curls. "Wow, you're beautiful and smart. I like that." “Thanks.” Her smile lit up her face. “So, what brings you to Fairy Tail? Don’t you have a private gym in your mansion?” “Yeah but sometimes you just need to get away, ya know? Escape from everyday life.” “I definitely get that. I should go, though. It’s been a long day and I’m supposed to meet my friends for dinner.” She handed him a folded up scrap of paper, blush setting her cheeks ablaze. “Call me if you want. Or, you know, if you have time.” “A cutie like you? I’ll make time.” A smile that exposed a fang and made Lucy’s heart flutter. “Al...alright! See you later, Natsu.” With that she left, leaving Natsu feeling pretty good about the whole situation. It wasn’t every day you had a meet cute with an absolute babe like Lucy, after all. With her on his mind, he couldn’t help smiling. That first night they shared a few texts. He wasn’t really surprised she didn’t talk much. After all, she did say she was meeting with friends. No way was he going to monopolize her free time like that. He also wasn’t surprised when they met up again a few days later after their respective workouts and immediately began flirting. Natsu was, however, quite surprised when Lucy asked him out. “Do you, um, want to go out sometime?” “Like a date?” Flustered nod. “Sounds good to me. I know! I can take you to dinner Saturday night.” Lucy paused and seemed to contemplate this for a minute. Then she smiled. “I like that idea. If you want I can show you around my bookstore first...” The light in her eyes suggested she wanted to, so why was she acting so shy about it? Well, Natsu wasn’t about to make a beautiful woman feel bad about something she was so clearly passionate about… “Sure!” Another one of his bright smiles. “Text me your address and let me know when you wanna meet up. Don’t keep me waitin’, alright?” Mock sternness. She saw right through his ruse, giggled,  melted his heart. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Dragneel.” Lucy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Natsu’s eyes widened. He sure as hell hadn’t expected that, not so soon anyway. “Is that a hint of things to come?” “Only if you’re good.” Her response left him speechless, eyes wide as he stared at her in admiration of her boldness. She treated him to another cheek kiss, giggled. “See you Saturday night.” With that the pair went their separate ways, both contemplating their upcoming date. Truth be told it was quite an exciting prospect. Neither one were exactly unlucky in love, but all previous relationships seemed to be lacking...something.  Natsu was fed up with women trying to hook up with him in an attempt to score some of the family fortune, and Lucy had had more than enough of men seeing her as nothing more than a smoking hot body and a prolific bank account. Their meeting had been quite fortuitous. Lucy didn’t care how wealthy Natsu was, as she had money of her own. And sure, Natsu thought Lucy was a total babe, but he was also quite enamored with her personality, her sense of humor, and the way her smile made her entire being light up. Sexual attraction was there, sure, but with it was also the possibility of something more, something sweet, something lasting… Natsu sure hoped so, anyway. With these thoughts in his mind, the heir to the Dragneel Fund spent his Saturday morning preparing for this date. Lucy spent hers minding her shop for a bit, although she did close early to make sure she was adequately dolled up for her suitor. “Adequately” was an understatement. She thought she looked beautiful, a perfect mix of relaxed and classy in a black uneven tank top, matching skirt, a white overshirt, cut out leggings, and black boots. Her long hair was tied into two side ponytails, and a light dusting of makeup accented her face. By the awe-struck smile on Natsu’s face when she opened the door, he was pretty impressed too. “Hey, Lucy! Looking good. I feel kinda underdressed.” A gesture at his black dress shirt and jeans. “Don’t feel that way. You look great, Natsu.” Cute blush, beautiful smile. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.” The Celestial Gate was a shop like none he had ever experienced. It had that old book smell that reminded him of his father’s study growing up. Lots of shelves were lined with an endless quantity of books. There was even a cozy little reading area with couches, beanbag chairs, and tables to set snacks on. Now, Natsu didn’t exactly visit a lot of bookstores, preferring to order any needed reading materials online, but somehow he found Lucy’s shop every bit as appealing as its owner.   “I have an idea.” “Hm?” Lucy would never admit it but she had been glancing at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking.“Why don’t we stay here? We can order something to eat and get to know each other.” That look on her face seemed to be a mix of surprise and relief. He suspected, given their similar backgrounds, that she too had had more than her fair share of glitzy, ritzy dates. Here’s the thing about glitzy, ritzy dates: You can’t properly get to know someone on them. Not really. “I’d love that.” “Awesome. Hungry for anything special?” “This is gonna sound weird but...pizza!” She giggled. Natsu grinned. He didn’t think that was weird at all. That’s how Natsu Dragneel and Lucy Heartfilia came to spend their first date sitting together in an oversized beanbag chair she called a fuf, eating pizza and talking about their life experiences. Once the food had been put away he laid back, stretching his arms behind his head. She quirked her head, bit her lip. “Can we cuddle? Is that okay?” “Duh. Go ahead.” A gesture and a smile beckoned her closer. She paused for a moment, smiled, then snuggled next to him. As if on instinct he curled his arms around her. Why not? It felt right to hold her close like this, although he couldn’t explain why. His fingers dared to stroke over the bare skin of her midriff. She didn’t object. In fact, she snuggled closer and let out a content sigh. “So warm...I like this...” “Me too.” He chuckled. He lifted his other hand to her cheek, let his thumb brush over her chin. She gazed up at him, eyes full of curiosity and wonder...with maybe a little anticipation thrown in. She nibbled her bottom lip. His heart melted. So cute, so absolutely beautiful. She looked like she needed a little tenderness, and honestly he was glad to give that to her. That decided, he leaned in, took her by surprise, kissed her. No resistance. That kiss was sweet...but entirely too fast. “Natsu?” “Yeah, Luce?”Luce...I like that... “Kiss me again?”“Alright...” Another softer chuckle. Another kiss, then another. She seemed to melt into his arms, and almost all her inhibitions floated away.Almost.As good as it felt to make out with her, to feel her body against his, Natsu couldn’t help noticing a little hesitation. And undeniable chemistry or not, he wasn’t the type to force someone into something they weren’t comfortable with yet. Especially not Lucy. So he pulled away from the kiss, rested his forehead on hers. Smiled.“That was nice...” “Yeah… we should do it again sometime.” “Definitely.” Here she kissed his cheek. “Thanks for an amazing first date.” “First, huh? That means there’ll be more, right?” “Duh.” She giggled. Natsu waited for Lucy to lock the shop up, then walked with her to her apartment door. They shared a tender kiss with a promise for more, and he watched to make sure she made it inside safely. Then he went home, unable to keep himself from smiling. Maybe an hour passed since Natsu had kissed Lucy goodnight and headed home. He had enough time to hop in the shower, change into comfy pajama pants, and flop on his bed and turn the TV on when his phone buzzed. A message...from Lucy? And a photo at that? It wasn’t exactly a surprise. After all, they had sent each other silly selfies before. So he opened the message, opened the photo file… ...and was treated to an absolutely stunning vision.  There was Lucy in a rather racy lingerie set. Black silk and lace. A pushup bra and a low-rise thong, accompanied by a cheeky message. “New set...you like?” Oh yeah, he liked, alright.He sent back a single word.“Wow.” She didn’t reply right away. That’s when he realized something was, well, amiss. His suspicion was confirmed when her response came through.“Oh my GOD wrong convo. I meant to send that to my bffs. Sorry sorry sorry!” She was mortified. Aw, poor girl... Natsu got an idea.“It’s fine. I like seeing that side of you. Let’s make it even, though.” “...you like it? And what do you mean, make it even?”He leaned back on his bed, grinned, snapped a pic, and sent it to her. “Fair’s fair ;)” At first he wondered if he scared her off, since she didn’t respond. When she did..she was clearly impressed. “Well...that explains why you always wear baggy pants ;)” One message made him blush. How could she be so adorable and sexy all at once? “Duh. ;) Just know you can always be yourself with me, sexy-as-hell selfies and all.” “Thanks, Natsu. I should go to sleep, tho. I can barely keep my eyes open. Talk tomorrow, k?”“Of course. Night, Luce. Sweet dreams.”A kiss emoji was her last message of the night. From that point on, things seemed to change between the two. To be clear it wasn’t a bad change. In fact, Natsu thought it was an improvement. Lucy was becoming more open and flirty with him, whether they were on a date, in the gym, or texting at the end of a long day. They had known each other for a little over a month, and had gotten into a routine. Chat and flirt at the gym on the days Lucy taught her class, go on dates every Saturday. Then Lucy caught Natsu by surprise by sending him spicy little snapshots every night accompanied by the same three word message: “Just for you… * kiss*”   The first night she was wearing an outfit that reminded him of a librarian...well, except for the way her top was unbuttoned to reveal a flash of black lace bra and the curve of her breasts. On another night she was laying down in a silky nightgown that accented her form perfectly.One night he was treated to the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend’s body barely wrapped in a towel, offering him a teasing glimpse of generous underboob and soft freshly washed skin, skin he wanted to kiss and touch more with each passing day. Late Thursday night, she surprised him yet again with a text. “Rough day?” “Yeah. Ugh. Board meetings suck.” “I feel that. Here. Maybe this’ll make you feel better...” Accompanied by a rather large download file. Curious, he clicked it...then realized it wasn’t one pic, but several. The folder was titled “Yoga Fun.” Yeah, he liked the sound of that. There was Lucy in a tight tank top and shorts that hugged that beautiful ass of hers, doing a variety of sexy yoga poses that succeeded in taking his breath away and sending blood straight to his cock. He couldn’t, wouldn’t stop looking at the utterly erotic vision before him. Then his phone buzzed again. “What do you think?” He responded with a pic of his own, showing one hand stroking over the growing bulge in his sweats. Buzz buzz. Another photo file showing her in the bath, her completely bare body covered in nothing but warm water and bubbles. “Mm, yummy. Now to enjoy a nice bath. More tomorrow...” Followed by a wink and a heart. That night Natsu gave in to temptation. He let his imagination wander as he flipped through Lucy’s photos, his fantasies focusing on what he would very much enjoy doing with the voluptuous blonde. At this point the sexual tension between the two was as thick as fog. They were clearly both head over heels for one another, both pretty damn sure they were going to hook up at some point… but the question was, when? The answer turned out to be sooner than either expected. The next night, after some pretty intense flirtation and a goodbye kiss that included him grabbing her sweet little ass in the middle of Fairy Tail’s evening rush, Natsu got a message. “Want to play with me tonight?” The accompanying image made his mouth water. She lay on her back in a rather skimpy ensemble consisting of a cupless bra and low-cut lacy panties. Her free hand, the one not holding the camera, stroked over her bare skin. Her hair was down, flowing freely around her, and there was a sinfully inviting look on her face. There was only one acceptable answer here. “YES.” “Good. What’cha wearing?” For once words failed him and he went for the direct approach, took a hopefully appealing selfie showing off chest and low-hanging sweatpants, and sent it to her. Her response sent his heart racing. “Yummy, but a bit overdressed, yes?” “If you say so...” He paused, flung his sweatpants off, took another pic. “Is that better, babe?” “Getting there. I’ll give you a special treat if you lose the boxers, Dragon Prince.” One single text sent his pulse racing. Was she serious?! Gods, he hoped so… He also didn’t want to keep Lucy waiting, not with such an intriguing promise hanging in the air. So off went the boxers. He grasped his cock and snapped another photo, hoping she would like what he had to offer. By the looks of it, she was quite impressed. “Dragon is right. I’d love to ride that...” Accompanied by a wink. He blushed. For several moments there was silence. Natsu wondered if Lucy had forgotten about this special treat… then his phone buzzed, indicating a received video file… That video file… holy shit, it was hotter than anything he had ever had the privilege of witnessing. Lucy was on her knees on her bed. Her legs were parted, and she ran her hands through her hair. The whole time she was flashing a sexy little smile at the camera. Her hands roamed. They cupped and squeezed her generous tits, and fingers brushed over perky, berry pink nipples. Holy shit she’s fucking perfect… He couldn’t, wouldn’t, take his eyes off of her, slowly pumping his cock as the video continued. Her hands wandered downward, stroking over her tummy and lower. She did a little shimmy dance as she hooked both thumbs into the waistband of those tiny panties, tugged down, exposing silky skin and a bare hint of blonde hair… “Natsu...” Her seductive whisper made his cock twitch. He grasped harder, eagerly anticipating what was next, wanting to see her most intimate regions… ...but the video stopped there. Knowing Lucy, this was deliberate. She did like teasing, after all. He sent her a video of his own, showing her exactly what he thought of her special treat. “More please?” “Of course…*kiss emoji* You know… I think of you when I touch myself…and I feel like playing tonight...” “Oh? I’d like to see that.” “You can if you want...vid chat, maybe?” “Yes please.” The text went through and perhaps a minute later Natsu’s laptop beeped. Incoming video request. He did a flying leap over to his computer desk, perched himself in the chair so he was comfortable and visible to the camera, and accepted the request. There was Lucy, beaming up at him in all her beautiful glory. He could see her a lot clearer now, thanks to the larger screen. Her skin looked so soft, supple, glistening with a fine mist of sweat. “Ready, Natsu?” “You bet,  Lucy. Let’s play.” His voice was dark and low, practically a growl. The sound gave her a sweet chill. Playing with him was going to be fun… “Alright...” Soft giggle. She bit her lip, gazing up at him with those big brown eyes as she tugged her panties off and let them fall to the ground. One hand shifted between her legs, parting her lips so he could see easier. “You like this, Natsu?” A purr as she traced fingers over her clit and those delicate pink folds. “I love it, Lucy...” Definitely a growl as he grasped and pumped. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her pull out a vibrator from under her pillow and gently trace it over her skin, taking the same path her fingers had taken moments before. “Shit...I wish that was me...” “And I wish you were...right... here...” She slipped the toy into her pussy, then let it buzz away as she fucked herself. Her voice got a little higher. She sounded a bit like a video girl when she moaned, except those girls had absolutely nothing on his goddess. “Babe, if I were there you wouldn’t have to play with that damn toy...” “Ohh...really… what, mnn, what would you do to me if you were here?” “Anything you wanted.” Fuck, the thought of really being with her was making his already impressive erection even bigger. “I think I’d lay you on that soft bed of yours, warm your entire body up with my mouth, then take my time pleasuring and fucking you until we were both completely satisfied.” “That sounds like heaven. Mnnn...” The toy was drenched, and he could see her horny juices leaking from her folds as she humped her hips, one hand pinching and tweaking her nipples. “Na...Natsu...” “Go on, Lucy-baby.” He caught a glimpse of her nodding in response. Then she moved the toy up to rub little circles against her clit...and immediately cried out. “Ohh….Natsuuuuuu!” Her entire body trembled in utter ecstasy, all for him. Natsu kept pumping, fueling his own passion with the thought of being buried deep inside her, imagining her milking his cock as she came… “Lu...Lucy….!!!” One last mighty pump brought forth a spattering mess of his seed. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t say he cared. It’d get cleaned up eventually. “That...that was fucking amazing...” “M-hm. It was...” Big happy sigh. “Hey Natsu?” “Yeah?” “I’m gonna hop in the shower. I’ll call you when I get out, alright?” “Alright. Take your time, baby.” A giggle as she blew a kiss, then the screen went blank. She did indeed take her time. He had time to get cleaned up and was loafing on his bed, this goofy happy smile on his face. He had also had time to send a message to the company’s merchandiser requesting that a Dragneel Fund hoodie be sent to a certain bookshop that next morning along with a large bouquet of flowers, which explained part of that goofy smile. Ring Ring They exchanged some sweet talk followed by the comfortable pause of two people very much in love. Then Lucy sighed. “What’s up? Everything’s good with us, right?”“Everything’s wonderful. I was just thinking, that’s all.” “Thinkin’?” “Yeah...” Was it his imagination or did her voice falter here? “I...I think I love you, Natsu. Isn’t that crazy? I mean, we haven’t exactly known each other very long...”“That’s not crazy, Lucy.” His voice was low, soft. He was imagining holding her close as they talked, maybe even running a hand through her hair. “You’re not the type of girl who’d be so open and sexy with someone unless you really cared for ‘em.” “...how do you get me so well?” “Because I love you, duh.” Too late to take the words back now, not like he wanted to. “It’s weird. This whole thing started out as a big physical attraction but the more we’re together, the more I’m around you, the more I realize it’s gotta be love.” Sniffle, sniffle.“Lucy? Are...you crying?” “Y..yeah, a little. Because I’m happy. You...you make me happy...” Siiiigh. Then,  “I... think I have an idea for our next date.” “Alright. What’s that?” “We could meet at your place and have some, um, private gym time. I could show you some yoga moves in person...” Yoga moves...the implication was clear with the tone of her voice. Oh, they were going to get flexible, all right. “I like the sound of that. Same time, right?” “Yeah.” Yawn. “Sorry. I’m about to fall asleep.” “It’s okay. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Sweet dreams, princess.” “Night, Natsu. Love ya.” Click.That was that. Both fell asleep easily, smiling even in slumber. In the blink of an eye it was Saturday afternoon. Natsu got an early start, heading down to his gym to make sure everything was in order an hour before Lucy was due. Then he started lifting weights, pumping iron until the doorbell rang. There she stood, smiling at him in a slightly oversized hoodie and those same shorts she had teased him with the other night. “Hey, beautiful.” “Hi.” Blush. “Where should I put my bag?” “Anywhere’s fine. I’ll get staff to take it up to my room.” “Okay.” She set the overnight bag down, then made a show of unzipping her hoodie. She peeled it off slowly, flashing him a saucy smile as she revealed a skimpy crop top that accented every curve.Damn…“So, ah, how do we start?”“Watch me and follow my lead.” A quick kiss that would have been chaste were it not for Lucy nibbling his lip. Watching her was no problem, not when the sight of her enthralled his senses. He wasn’t great at yoga, but she was more than willing to help. She brushed her hands against him, giving him subtle hints at how to correct his posture. Eventually she started showed him some more complex poses, more for the sake of showing off for him than anything else. Splits, bending over, even a rather suggestive headstand. Then she felt a warm hand stroke up her thigh. Siiiigh. “That feels good...” “Want some more?” “Yes please.” “Whatever you say. Keep posin’.” And pose she did. She did another headstand, starting with her legs straight up but moving into splits. His hands found her ass, squeezed, then adventurous fingers stroked over the front of her shorts. She blushed, exhaled, didn’t protest. She also didn’t tremble at all, no small feat when she was being intimately fondled. Damn him and his amazing hands. Slowly, carefully, she moved her legs straight upward. “Hold still.” “Okay.” Inhale, exhale. She didn’t have to wait long to find out what he was up to. His hands roamed again, this time tugging her shorts upwards and off her legs. “Oh...Naughty boy.” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Dark chuckle, flash of fang. “I like it...and I think you’d like it if I got rid of some of these clothes.” “You know I would. Show me. Please.” “Anything you want, love.” In one smooth motion Lucy got back on her feet. Then she made a show of peeling her top and sports bra off...a show Natsu watched intently. She didn’t break eye contact, not even as her hands roamed and cupped her now bare breasts. He caught a glimpse of her tongue flicking over lips. Holy shit. “Now what?” “Don’t tell me you’re playing innocent, Natsu...” “No, no way.” Here he reached over, cupped her cheek, smiled at her. “I want you, but I want you to have a say in what we do tonight.” “Oh...okay. In that case...” Her eyes brightened and her smile turned mischievous. “Tie me up.” Not a question, none of her usual shyness. He nodded then wrapped some athletic tape around her wrists. Then he took a good long look at her. There she lay, naked except for those little panties. Those would come off soon enough. First he focused on her bare form, leaving kisses and love bites all over her body. He grabbed and kneaded her ass. She squirmed. Good sign. "Hold still.""Okay..." He tugged her panties off, baring the sweet pink treasure between her thighs.And what a treasure. He gazed at her in reverence. One hand stroked over her tiny tuft of soft blonde hair."Damn, Lucy. You're perfect.""Thanks. Don't be shy, though." Eyes heavy, voice low and sensual. He nodded then turned his full attention to lavishing pleasure on her. Fingers traced over her clit with feather soft touches while his other hand parted her lips oh so gently.She smells incredible... Growl. He leaned in and flicked his tongue against her delicate pink folds. She trembled, quietly begging for more."More" was exactly what he wanted to give her. His free hand stroked her thigh then squeezed her ass. Then he treated her to a spank. She moaned and arched her back. So he did it again, his hand leaving a red mark on her peach skin. Her scent changed, and she was definitely getting wetter. “The cute rich girl has a spanking kink, huh?""Mm-hm.""What if I spank you while I'm eating you? That sound good, Lucy?""Why don't you see for yourself?" She winked and giggled...but then his hand met her ass again and the giggle became a moan.He nibbled her clit. His fingers kept her lips parted as he moved again, letting his tongue trace over her slit. She was a hot, delicious mess: squirming, tits heaving, biting her lip as she begged for more. Another spank. She made an absolutely feral sound, which he took as encouragement to go on.Not that he needed encouragement...His tongue slid into her slick folds, lapping up her delicious wetness. He had wanted to taste her ever since they had played together on camera, and reality exceeded his expectations. She was a goddess, and her pussy tasted like heaven. He wanted nothing more than to savor her, to satisfy her over and over...He also wanted to carry her up to his bedroom, pin her down to his bed, and bury himself so deliciously deep inside her...Well, that would happen soon enough. She shifted, draping her long legs over his shoulders, spreading to give him better access. He slipped two fingers into her, fucking her with his hand as he licked and nibbled. He hit a certain spot. She shuddered.“Ahhhh!” Aha!He hit it again, rubbing what had to be her g-spot with increased pressure. "Holy shit Natsu just like that....mnnnnh...yes..." Another nibble, another thrust. Lucy didn’t just moan Natsu’s name. She screamed it as her body was rocked by a glorious orgasm complete with a spray of her juices. Never had he ever made a girl squirt before, but no other girl was quite like his Lucy… he smiled at the thought as he untied her, feeling her soft hands fluff through his hair as he licked her clean. “Thanks for the snack, babe.” “Mmm, and thank you for the orgasm. I’ve never cum so hard in my life, love.” It amazed him how she could go from delicious temptress to sweet girl next door so quickly, but he could honestly say he loved both sides of her. With that decided he pulled her into a kiss, one he hoped conveyed every bit of feeling he had for her, one she was happy to return. “Let’s go to bed.” The softest of whispers yet so sensual. He nodded, picked her up and carried her to his room. He lay her on his bed with another oh so tender kiss. In all his fantasies he had imagined playing as rough with her as possible, taking her with animalistic fervor. Now that she was in his bed...it didn’t seem right. His Lucy deserved to be pleasured, savored, worshiped. And Natsu was very keen on worshiping her. She helped him shuck his sweatpants off and he got right to work. He kissed and nibbled her body, caressed her soft skin, taking in every reaction. She had to be exhausted from their ordeals down in the gym, but you’d never know it. She writhed with each touch, moaning with each caress and kiss. He nibbled her collarbone while his hands explored her breasts. Soft, smooth, full. He squeezed and kneaded, all while suckling the tiny berry of her nipple. Every so often he switched, mostly to devote equal attention to both sides. Then she let out a sound kinda like a whimper. “Want it, baby?” “I...need it. Please, Natsu...” “Alright. Gimme your hand...” Nod. He clasped her hand and braced himself over her. She wrapped both legs around his waist, her way of encouraging him to make the next move. When he pushed his hard cock into her sweet, damp, depths, the euphoria both felt was audible in their moans and sighs. “Nnnnnh, feels so good, Natsu...” Words couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being one with her, of making love to this woman who meant so damn much to him… They moved together, each motion accented with kisses that raised in intensity as passion heightened. Her hands wandered. He wondered absently if there was a rhyme or reason, or if she just wanted to explore his skin with her fingers. Either way it felt incredible. She felt incredible. He paused mid-thrust, towering breathless over his goddess, gazing at her and seeing her gazing back at him, her eyes amber with love light. “Love ya, Lucy.” “And I love you. Now shh.” Delicate fingers traced over his mouth. Her hand slipped to his cheek and pulled him into a kiss. He got the hint right away and resumed pleasuring her.  So warm, so inviting. So perfect. Minutes...hours...how long did they spend together that night, entwined in passion? Neither cared about time. Being together was all that mattered. Once passion reached its peak and the waves of bliss subsided they lay together kissing and cuddling. They only paused, reluctantly, when Natsu got up claiming a need to pee...which ended up taking longer than Lucy expected. He came back, scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, settling her into the warm waters of a bath. Then he got in with her and treated her to a kiss. Later on, dried off and cuddling in bed, Lucy grabbed her phone and took a selfie. Natsu quirked his head at her.“For memories.” “Ohh. We’ll have plenty of those.” He kissed her and she knew he meant it. This beautiful night was just the beginning... (Epilogue coming as soon as I can get it written :) )

[chrysalispen]

xix. all white with wreath and spray

AO3 Link here

splitting into two parts for length, the next part will be up in a day or two

===

 Aurelia’s booted feet crunched through the thin layer of powder snow as she adjusted the bundle of fallen wood on her back. Given the conjurers’ tenuous peace brokered with the elementals, the city’s inhabitants were rationing: they were to collect only those things which nature had already shed, and that bounty in itself was limited. Despite the fact it was mid-morning, the Shroud was as still and quiet as an open grave. 

Winter had come to the wood, and with it, the hardships borne of poor harvests across all of Eorzea. 

The forest’s predators, deprived of their seasonal food sources, soon became a common danger on the roads, and with the Greenwrath so newly quelled the forest was still volatile and hazardous. The city council had done as much to prepare the townspeople and the land itself for the cold months as they were able in the time they had, but their efforts had still fallen short and the outbreak of flux among incoming refugees had strained Gridania’s supplies further. Many people had been forced to winter in unfinished houses or had taken up with friends and neighbors in what space was available.

J’nehda’s ‘storms’ had more trouble yet to presage, so it seemed. 

“Are you not cold, Miss Conjurer?” 

She glanced over her shoulder. Keveh’to was shivering visibly, his tail wrapped close about one leg when he wasn’t moving, looking quite put out indeed. He had also drawn his shortbow, though either of them had yet to see any game worth the marking. 

“Hm? No, I’m well, thank you.” She wore a fleece-lined doublet, leather breeches, a pair of old cotton gloves, and knee-high doeskin boots beneath one of Miounne’s traveling cloaks - along with, of course, the ubiquitous oversized head covering intended to conceal her third eye. Overall, it was far lighter attire than the heavy parkas and thick boots most Gridanians had donned. “Do you want to borrow my cloak?”

He squinted at her as though she’d asked him to wear one of her dresses. “I’m fine too,” he said, somewhat defiantly. “Just…  not used to the snow, is all. We rarely get it this far south.”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

“Garlemald is very cold, I hear.”

“Yes, it is.” She bent forward with a soft grunt and dropped her bundle to the ground in favor of the medium-sized branch she’d sighted half-buried under snowfall and dead leaves. “We measure snowfall in fulms, rather than ilms. And it stays on the ground a good long while.”

“How long is ‘a good long while’?”

“Mmm... I should say usually around six, mayhap seven months- er, moons out of the year? ‘Tis longer on occasion, should the season prove particularly brutal.”

“Seven moons of winter?” Keveh’to echoed, horrified. “Seven moons of snow and ice--”

“Aye. And barely any light. And gales that could tear the skin off a gigas.”

“How do you survive it up there?”

“We almost didn’t.”

“By the gods, no wonder you lot want to spread out over the whole bloody star. I’d be keen on beachfront property myself if I lived in the depths of the fourth hell.” 

Aurelia began to laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

The Miqo’te’s consternation gave way to widened eyes and an embarrassed flush when he realized what he’d said. 

“Er. I- that... wasn’t the most, er... tactful... way I could have phrased that, I suppose. Sorry.”

She raised one booted foot and kicked the side of the branch. The blow dislodged a wet clump of white powder, shaking it onto the leaves below like confectioners’ sugar onto toast. 

“You’ve no need to apologize. The capitol is bloody awful. If I had my say I would much prefer Ala Mhigo. It’s hot as blazes in the summer, but at least you don’t run the risk of instant frostbite.”

“What is Ala Mhigo like? I hear the refugees talk about it sometimes when they think other folk aren’t in earshot. Curious. Like they don’t want none of us overhearing.” He fidgeted, hopping from one foot to the other, and she couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable or simply trying to ward off the chill. “...You don’t have to talk about it either, you know, if you’d rather not.”

“In truth, I’ve naught of interest to share.” Aurelia shrugged. “There is precious little I could tell that you wouldn’t hear from the refugees and you’d learn more of their native land from them than you would from someone like me. Ala Mhigo was my childhood home but I’m the first to admit I saw very little outside my father’s villa, and that was by design, I'm certain.” 

“Mm,” Keveh’to said, absently. “Mayhap you’re right.”

A not-insignificant part of her hoped he was simply attempting to make conversation. She was reluctant to face the censure she was sure she would see in his eyes did he chance to speak to the refugees as she had suggested, but what else was there to say? Most of her memories of Gyr Abania were very personal and very limited. 

“...We should be getting back.”

“Do you need me to carry that?” he asked.

“I can do it.”

“But-”

She cast him a brittle smile before lifting the branch and tossing it in the bundle with the others, then rearranged the hempen wrap so that the weight was equally distributed and none of the larger pieces would fall before folding the corners, grasping the fabric, and hoisting her burden back over one shoulder. 

They trudged back towards the city, the only sound to be heard the crunch of dead leaves and powder beneath their feet, before Keveh’to finally said, “Forgive me, Aurelia. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said. “I am sorry. Perhaps I do feel a bit nostalgic.”

“For this?”

“Of course not, but... “ She adjusted the weight she carried on her back and paused. “...there are things I miss. Small things, you know. Luxuries that one takes for granted.”

“Such as?”

“My garden, for one.”

“Your... “ He trailed off, but she saw the light go on behind his eyes when she glanced back in his direction. 

The laugh she granted him was a light and silvery thing, spilling across the snow like a sunbeam. “You heard correctly. I had a garden back in Garlemald."

Aurelia would have said 'home,' did the utterance of that word not stick so securely in her craw. Garlemald was many things, but a home had never been one of them.

"A proper garden, then? Like with roses and such?"

"Yes. It belonged to my aunt, really. But she would much rather look at the flowers than grow them herself. I feel a similar sort of… I don’t know. Peace? Serenity? As close as one can get to those things when I’m about the woods gathering.”

“...all right, now I get it. I thought it was passing strange you would be as interested in botany as you are."

"Mhm."

"But if you had a- ...but wait, how’d you have a bleeding garden ‘n all, if the weather’s like this all the blasted time?”

Aurelia shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “Magitek.”

“I don’t follow.” 

“There was a greenhouse on my uncle’s grounds. It had heat lamps set to cycle every eight bells, and an environmental control system that- …ah,” she stammered, seeing his blank and uncomprehending stare, “never mind.”

Keveh’to did not respond. Aurelia could feel his confused gaze still boring into her back as they continued up the hill onto the path. 

She flushed, thinking that of course her attempt at explanation would have made little sense to him. Most parts of the star had no access to magitek so it was still a rare and fantastic novelty without the Empire’s borders, and Eorzea’s smallfolk most certainly would not have access to such wonders. 

Even in Garlemald a self-sustaining greenhouse to preserve perennials was very much a luxury, one afforded only to the wealthy: usually, albeit not always, peers of the imperial aristocracy. But she had loved her aunt Marcella’s greenhouse. Its unique heating system had originated as a student project, one of many annual exhibition entries at the Magitek Academy. Quite often, winning projects were put to practical use whether by the government or by the creators themselves, and in this instance the student's work had been noticed by her uncle. He had gladly improved upon his prototype for the commission. 

Her uncle Janus had bragged that the unit was one of a kind because the young man had elected to join the imperial army upon completing his studies, no doubt to build weapons for the legions afield. ‘Twas hardly an uncommon story, he had said with a shrug. There was more profit - and personal glory - in innovating warmachina for imperial conquest than in customizing heating systems for a rich man’s rose gardens.

Aurelia could not take comfort in his explanation, saddened as she was. That a man capable of creating daily wonders for the purpose of preserving living things would be able to turn his obviously brilliant mind towards such callous and violent ends - it defied her understanding. 

As was the case with most of her recollections of her years spent in the capitol, even the relatively pleasant memory of her aunt's flowers was bittersweet.

“I… I think I’m a bit chilled after all,” Aurelia lied. She plucked the hood of the cloak from her back and draped it over her head until the top half of her face was all but concealed from view. Frost spilled forth from her lips in a white cloud. “Let’s hurry along. I’ve a mind for some tea.”

She swallowed back the harsh lump she could feel forming in her throat, unwilling to grant it any further leave for expression.

~*~

Miounne was waiting at the staff entrance upon their arrival: wiping her hands in the fabric of her apron, eyes fixed upon the pair. Aurelia shrugged the heavy bundle from her shoulders as if it were feather-light and raised a gloved hand in greeting. 

“Welcome back, you two. A decent haul this morning?”

“Decent enough.” She lifted the first branch from the top of the pile and dragged it to the stump they had been using to roughly cut the scavenged tree falls for firewood. “I know we’re a bit late returning, but the Sergeant thought he saw something fit for the stewpot. We’ll have this set up for you in just a-”

“Ah… one moment, if you please,” Miounne said, and Aurelia’s outstretched hand froze in the act of reaching for the wood-axe. “I’ll get one of the lads inside to cut the wood.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Keveh’to frowned, dusting a thin layer of snow from his lapels, “but is there some reason why we can’t just go on and do it ourselves?”

“Your presence has been requested. Or rather, Aurelia’s presence has been requested. E-Sumi-Yan asked that I send you along to the Fane as soon as I could.”

...The guildmaster? 

Cautiously she studied the woman’s face. She didn’t trust unexpected summons of any sort, never had- but, she realized, Miounne was smiling. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that unpleasant. “Did he happen to elaborate?”

“No, but I don’t doubt he will explain himself in full when you arrive.”

All… right then. She glanced at Keveh’to. 

“I assume he’s allowed to come along.”

“Of course.”

Few souls had braved the outdoors this morning- owing largely, Aurelia suspected, to the snow. This part of Eorzea was quite temperate, more so even than Mor Dhona, and snow was a rare enough occurrence that people tended to take to their hearths upon the slightest dusting of white upon the stones. 

In truth ‘twas less the weather she found refreshing than the empty streets. In the wake of the increasing food shortage the people of Gridania - already rather inclined towards isolationist behavior - spared few quests and even less coin for Miounne’s adventurers while treating refugees and prisoners of war with barely concealed contempt.

But tension aside, the city was as quiet as the forest. No one accosted or addressed them as they made their way down the snow-lined paths. The only sounds were birds and the soft rhythm of their breathing, and the quiet crunch of their footsteps upon ice and loose gravel. 

Even the Fane seemed all but deserted. The sight of the tree filled her with the same dread it always did - but there was a measure of relief as well, for Brother E-Sumi-Yan stood before the entrance holding a neatly wrapped paper parcel in his youthful hands.

“Good morning, Aurelia. Mother Miounne told me she had sent the two of you on your way,” he said, beaming at her. “Come, let’s sit and take tea here by the brazier. ‘Tis a most bracing morning, is it not? I'm afraid all I have in my larder at the moment is chamomile tea, but I was preparing to break my fast. Both of you are welcome to join me if you haven’t already partaken.”

There was chamomile tea with mint, and spiced frumenty, and even- to Keveh’to’s undisguised delight- venison sausages. E-Sumi-Yan speared three onto each plate alongside a small slice of tomato and three coarse-cut pieces of wheaten apiece. 

“Twelve,” the Miqo’te said, his voice trembling, “that’s real bleedin’ honey, too.”

She felt her mouth water as she stared at the plating. It was as much food in one sitting as either of them had had all week, and she suspected the guildmaster had been well aware of it.

“Where did you...” Aurelia began. 

“From my own cold pantry, never fear. I rarely have guests and eat very little on my own, but seeing as this is a special occasion I can hardly be stingy.” He gestured to the unadorned smooth stones about the brazier. “Please. Sit. Eat. I have a matter I must needs discuss, and by its nature, it concerns you both.”

Gratefully she began to dig into the meal, with Keveh’to doing the same at her side. She ate neatly and carefully, trying to make it last. After so long with only a small cupful of oats a day, the Guildmaster’s spread was like unto the feasts at her aunt’s dinner parties.

Her minder - possessed of no such sensibilities - wolfed down the sausages practically whole, his tail slapping cheerfully against the ground.

“What did you wish to discuss, E-Sumi-Yan?” she asked, curling her fingers around the warm teacup after a long and contented sip. 

The fresh-faced Padjal - who ate as carefully as she did, his attention to social etiquette equally conscientious - likewise balanced his cup upon his knee. “Your basic lessons have progressed with remarkable speed,” he began. “In truth, you have taken more quickly to mastery of your own aether than many who have spent the entirety of their lives beneath the Twelveswood’s boughs.”

Aurelia flushed despite herself. How long had it been since she’d heard genuine praise from anyone that hadn’t seemed perfunctory, or given under duress?

“I... thank you,” she said, unable to meet his calm grey eyes, and hastily took another sip of her tea. “It has been no simple task, as you know. I am sure I have much still and more to learn.”

“I quite agree. But I think it is time you continued your studies- in the field. I’ve a mind to send you to the Arbor. There are outlying settlements there in need of our aid.”

“Truly? I had not thought that any of the current Hearers would be willing to, er...”

His answering smile was serene. “Take you on as an apprentice conjurer?” 

“....Well, now you mention it, yes, precisely so. I realize the rank and file would have no idea, but the Hearers must surely know the truth. I can't imagine any of them would take kindly to a Garlean woman as an apprentice.”

“You are, unfortunately, correct in assuming that few would be willing. However, the individual overseeing the region where I would send you has little choice but to accept you.” 

Keveh’to scoffed. “That bad?”

“Bad?” E-Sumi-Yan laughed. “You misunderstand, Sergeant. No, this is simply a matter of life events necessitating a change. His apprentice is due to be wed in the next two moons and he is aging out of the field himself, and at present I have no other novitiates better suited for the position. I would have you assist him with the villagers’ needs as well as those of the forest. He will require aid whether he is desirous of your help or not.”

Aurelia grimaced. 

“I need hardly say this does little to inspire one’s confidence.”

“I do not doubt you will face difficulties initially. That said, I think you will ingratiate yourself to them in due time. Our people are insular and often slow to trust outsiders to the Twelveswood, that much I will allow. But they are not so foolish as to ignore a helping hand indefinitely. No matter the form it takes.”

With a sigh she set the cup back in its saucer and placed it in the empty place sitting on her left. It made a soft, chiming rattle against the stone.

“You are asking me,” she said, “to subject myself to their likely censure.” 

“Yes,” E-Sumi-Yan replied. He didn’t bat an eye, nor appear the least bit sorry for it. “I think it will not be as dire as you fear. Truly, this might even be a valuable lesson for all concerned. Yourself included. And you will have Sergeant Epocan there if-”

This time it was Keveh’to’s turn to flinch.

“No offense, Guildmaster,” he said. “Due respect and all that, but... you know full well how most of your folk feel about Keepers.”

“It will be made clear to the Hearer that you are there on an official assignment,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. The Miqo’te’s shoulders hunched defensively, but he didn’t retort. “At any rate, preparations are being made. The Elder Seedseer has given her authorization and asks that you accompany Aurelia to her new position. If the powers that be feel she is not a flight risk, I see no reason to delay the process.”

The woman in question had turned her gaze to the snow-covered clearing, watching two small sparrows clean themselves in the powder with a flurry of their little brown feathers.

“Well,” the Garlean said at length, once she realized all eyes were upon her. “Suffice to say: I have precious little if any say in this affair, being a captive audience in every meaningful sense. So, I will keep any further observations to myself. Should you believe my current skillsets might be put to better use elsewhere, then that is sufficient and I will abide by your judgment -- and that of the Elder Seedseer’s as well, I suppose.”

His small brow wrinkled at her reply, noncommittal as she knew it was. 

“Aurelia, this isn’t the army. You do have some say in whence you go.”

“Again, whether or not I might mislike the assignment does not factor into such matters. You have my compliance regardless.”

“Be that as it may-”

“Guildmaster, your thoughtfulness in asking for my input is appreciated, but you and I both know it is unnecessary.” Her slim shoulders lifted and dropped, as if the outcome made no difference to her either way. “I shall await orders.”

“I will send word along when all is made ready,” E-Sumi-Yan said at length. 

He did not speak his reservations aloud. That he sounded none too pleased warranted no comment.

[falloutmelody]

All I know is a simple name, and everything has changed- Thirteenth Doctor x female!reader

(GIF NOT MINE, FULL CREDIT TO THE PERSON WHO MADE IT!!)

WARNINGS: Pretty big focus on gambling and casinos at the start as the reader works in one! Outside of that though, there’s nothing major here! This also doesn’t contain any spoilers for the show, so don’t worry there!

REQUESTED BY: @anahiranz​ Thank you for being my first request, I hope this brings your idea to life!

WORD COUNT: 2,275! This is a long one! I had a lot of ideas for this one, so it’s super long! Hope you enjoy!

Also, Y/N is your name, and Y/F/C is your favourite colour! The dashed line is meant to represent a timeskip!

In this line of work, you had seen a lot of things. Fights. Drunks. Corrupt table dealers. Very shady looking businessmen who you’d learned very quickly not to focus on for too long. Quite frankly, you thought you’d seen it all. And then, one fateful evening, she turned up, and proved that your assumption couldn’t be further from the truth.  

It was a Thursday evening. Business was thriving, as always, and the clock had just passed 9pm when she first caught your attention. There was nothing super absurd about her at first glance, so quite truly, you weren’t sure what had drawn your attention to her in the first place. Perhaps you were just bored. Providing entertainment and feigning interest in the frequently tedious conversations of patrons at the tables night after night tended to do that to you. Not that you hated your job. It was just… rare that anything unexpected happened. However, you immediately brought your attention away from the woman in question before you had a proper chance to try and figure out what it was that had drawn your focus to her in the first place, as she met your gaze. Knowing better than to hold the gaze of anyone in this place, especially strangers, you quickly snapped your focus back to the table.

The man that you’d been assigned to that evening and told to entertain was about to take a bet, so you decided to focus on your job. At this point, it all came instinctively to you, the playful laughing at what were frequently unfunny jokes, batting your eyes to motivate the patrons to bet more, playfully blowing on the dice when prompted to ‘bring luck’, it was a routine that you’d been doing for years. Just as the dice you’d blown on hit the canvas material of the table, an unfamiliar voice reached your ears.

“Can I play?” Glancing up from the table before you once more, your attention soon moved in the direction of the voice, your heart plummeting into your stomach the mere moment you realised who it was. It was the woman. The woman who you’d been staring at. Oh god. Oh god. Had she come to ask why you were staring at her? She didn’t seem to have an aggressive demeanour, not in the slightest. If anything, the vibe she gave off was excitable and warm, a very welcome difference to most of the people you encountered in here. Anxiously, you swallowed down the lump in your throat, deciding to not take any risks and to try and behave as formally as possible.

“When this round is over, of course,” you responded, a courteous smile soon forming on your expression as you met the blonde woman’s gaze. You were rather surprised when that response earned you a beaming grin from her.

“Great!” She responded enthusiastically. The blonde soon leaned slightly towards you, clearly intending for her next comment to be solely heard by you. “Now, this isn’t the variation with the exploding cards, is it? That version always seems to end in a very… messy way.” What? Had you heard her question properly? Exploding cards? Where did she think she was?

“Um. No?” You responded, your tone reflecting the undeniable confusion you were experiencing in that particular moment. This didn’t seem to faze the woman though, as she gave a gentle nod and pulled away from you.

“You seem to know a lot of things. You work here?” The blonde queried. You supposed it was a fair enough question. You weren’t dressed in the typical uniform that the rest of the employees wore, with you currently being dressed in a loose y/f/c dress. It had been decided by the big boss man in a rather questionable move that dressing you in a more classically beautiful outfit would make it easier for you to do your job of providing entertainment.

So, you gave a soft nod in response. “Yeah. Is there something I can help you with, ma’am?” You didn’t feel the need to elaborate on your exact role. Just leaving it as ‘yes, I work here’ would be effective enough.

The woman once again perked up at your response. “You don’t need to call me ma’am. It’s the Doctor.” You couldn’t help but tilt your head somewhat at her response, finding yourself once again confused by her strange mannerisms. This time though, you got an answer. “My name. I’m the Doctor. Now, tell me…” It took you a few seconds to realise that she was trailing off to indicate that she wanted your name.

“Y/N. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, that’s a nice name.” Her compliment was warm enough that you genuinely believed that she meant it, resulting in a small smile to form on your expression. Perhaps that warm vibe she’d been giving off earlier was a little more genuine that you’d believed. “Now, tell me, Y/N. You noticed anything a little off recently? You know, people going into rooms they’re not meant to? Weird noises? Strange visitors?” Once again, her question caught you a little off guard. Was this woman some sort of inspector? Could you get into genuine trouble if you answered her question sincerely? This job might not be ideal, but it was the only one you had.

The Doctor seemed to pick up on your hesitation once more, her expression softening as she proceeded to meet your eyes once more. “I know that you don’t know me, but you can trust me. I’m here to help, I promise.” Her tone was soft once more, clearly indicating that her words were meant solely for you. In that moment, you took a brief moment to internally curse yourself for having a soft spot for pretty blondes. You really were about to divulge company secrets to some stranger just because she was nice to you, weren’t you?

“Are you here with someone?” The question fell quickly from your lips. If you were going to tell this lady the truth, you needed to ensure that she wasn’t with some sort of organisation. Immediately, the Doctor softly shook her head.

“Nah. Just me. Left my friends on a luxury vacation planet in the next galaxy, they said they wanted a break.” Was she drunk? She didn’t seem it. After working here, you’d become more than acquainted with the obvious signs of someone being intoxicated to some degree. Perhaps she was just joking. Either way, once again, you decided to not question it, allowing a small but polite laugh to escape your lips. You took a quick moment to glance over in the direction of the dealer at the table, wanted to make sure that if this did turn out badly, it wouldn’t necessarily backfire on you. After doing so, you slowly brought your attention back to the Doctor.

“There’s a locked room in the back that most of the staff aren’t allowed in. It was only put in last month. Sometimes when I’m here too late, I hear weird noises from there. Drilling, I guess.” It was strange, sure, there was no denying that. However, you’d decided that it wasn’t worth the risk checking it out further. “I wouldn’t recommend checking it out though. The boss doesn’t appreciate people looking into things they shouldn’t.” You tried to warn the Doctor, but this only seemed to encourage her more.

“That never stopped me. Never could resist a locked door.” You could only stay silent as the blonde once again gave you a grin. “Thank you for your help, Y/N.” The Doctor then proceeded to turn on her heel and walked off in the opposite direction, causing your heartrate to spike inside your chest in anxiety.

Oh god, she was being serious, wasn’t she? She was actually going to investigate.

Ignoring your more rational instincts that just wanted you to stay at the table and act like nothing had happened, you proceeded to quickly apologise to the person you were meant to be accompanying, claiming that you’d be right back, and then, you quickly followed after the mysterious blonde. You easily caught up to her, gently placing your hand on her right arm to get her to momentarily pause. “You’ll get lost, it’s a bit of a maze back there. If I can’t dissuade you from doing this, at the very least let me show you where the room is. You’re less likely to get caught and hurt if you’re with a member of staff.” Nerves caused you to soon allow your hand to let go of her coat, your hand falling down by your side as the woman proceeded to enthusiastically nod.

“Alright. C’mon then, Y/N. Lead the way,” she responded.

And so, you began to lead her in the direction of the backrooms, having absolutely no idea about how much that decision would turn your life entirely on its head.

                                                     -------------

Needless to say, things hadn’t ended well. You’d always believed that your boss was a little less than human, but the revelation that he was actually an alien android hell bent on destroying humanity? Now that was unexpected.

And yet, the thing that had captured your mind the most and what was still revolving around your mind as you stood outside the now destroyed casino was how the Doctor had reacted to this and everything that you’d witnessed her do in the building.

She wasn’t phased by the revelation your boss wasn’t human in the slightest, and she hadn’t hesitated to save the day with your help when her pleas hadn’t brought your boss over to the side of humanity. The woman was undeniably strange, but also incredible. You’d truly never met anyone quite like her.

“Hey, Y/N.” That now familiar, accented voice caught your attention, causing you to glance over your shoulder, looking away from the ruins of your former employment. There she was, leaning against a dark blue box that you’d never seen there before. “I, uh, I just wanted to thank you for your help.” Quite why she was thanking you when she’d been the one to do most of the saving, you weren’t quite sure, but you appreciated the sentiment, nonetheless.

You gave her a soft nod in response, a smile momentarily painting your lips. “You don’t need to thank me. You were the one who saved everyone. I just… led the way and got everyone out before anyone got hurt. No big.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you soon continued to speak. “So, what’s next for you? Got more people to save?”

You asked your question, purely because you presumed this had to be a frequent thing for her, just from the way she held herself in dangerous situations and the way she spoke.

“Probably gonna go get my fam back. I’ve got more stuff to show them.” The Doctor answered. Ah, yes, you’d heard a lot about her friends. Ryan, Graham and Yaz. Based on what you’d experienced that evening, they were either the luckiest people in the universe for getting to experience such bizarre things, or the unluckiest for constantly being in some kind of danger. You weren’t entirely sure which it was, but either way, you couldn’t deny. A small part of you somewhat envied them.

“Good. You need someone to keep you out of trouble.” You jokingly remarked, earning a brief laugh from the blonde. “Don’t know what I’ll do now, given my job kinda… exploded, but I’ll find something. There’s bound to be other casinos that need an entertainer that aren’t run by evil androids, right?” Your words sounded so preposterous and had someone told you a day ago that those words would fall from your lips in a sincere manner, you would have declared it insane. But, no, this was your life now. How you were meant to bounce back now that you knew aliens existed, you weren’t quite sure, but you were sure that you could power through.

As you came out of your thoughts, you realised that the Doctor had a clear look of contemplation on her expression. You watched quietly as the blonde momentarily glanced back at the box behind her, before returning her attention to you. “I, um…” Her hesitation once again caught you off guard, and your body language once again reflected this, as you tilted your head somewhat. Your actions apparently motivated her to keep talking. “I was wondering. Did you wanna, maybe… I don’t know, come with me?” For what felt like the hundredth time that evening, you were speechless. It was undeniably an appealing offer, a chance to see something new each day and essentially start over, even if it did possibly come with the downside of danger.

“Won’t your friends mind?” That was the first thing you were able to say when your voice returned. Surely, they’d object to a random stranger just turning up and travelling with them?

The Doctor gave a soft shake of her head, soon gesturing to the box behind her with her right hand. “Trust me, there’s enough space in here for everyone. I’m sure they’d love you.” She reassured you. Would the weird things she came out with ever make sense? You weren’t entirely sure. Perhaps this woman would always be something of an enigma to you.

However, you didn’t need to contemplate her question for too long. The mere moment that it had sunk in, you had made your mind up. You took a moment to briefly glance behind you at your former place of employment, almost as if you were bidding it goodbye, before you turned back to face the Doctor.

“Then I would love to.”

AN: And, I’m gonna end it there! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! It’s my first piece of long-form writing in a solid while, so I appreciate it might not be a masterpiece but hopefully it was readable! Do not hesitate to send requests to me (especially if they’re for Thirteen, I adore her and I had so much fun writing this, I would love to write some more!) You can find my ask here, feel free to send me any request you would like!

Hope you’re all having a good day, I’ll see you all next time!

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with FAUST CONTRERAS, who is FORTY-FIVE years old. He is often called FORTINBRAS and works for the MONTAGUES as their INITIATE. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

Faust’s childhood was a relatively peaceful one, all things considered. He was the son of one of the three major organized crime groups in Chile at the time, and while he saw the violence, bloodshed, and addiction first hand, he also experienced the relative luxury of his life. His shoes never had holes in them, he always had food on the table, he had a good education and as many books as he wanted to read. Perhaps it is this even-handed existence that has given him a patient and methodical temperament in adulthood. He thinks before he acts and looks before he leaps, and it has rewarded him well; in a nation defined by being the middle-man between those around it when it comes to drugs, trafficking, and all sorts of exploits, it is best to know what you want before you sign on any dotted line. Born and bred for leadership, it was no surprise that he took to it well, and by the time he was twenty-five he had cultivated the people he knew would be with him, his inner circle, for the rest of his time as Don. It was picture perfect, as the life of an heir went; perhaps that is why it was destined for tragedy.

His right and left hands were Vicente and Mateo, cousins both and more trusted than anyone had any right to be. Together, and with the aid of their family, they built more than a familia. Together they would build an empire. They expanded the Contreras investment in drugs and took over the hospitals slowly and methodically, then moved on to poaching trade routes. Some might say they were reaching too high, and far too fast, but Faust had watched the other families grow lax as he grew into adulthood, secure in the knowledge that the status quo would be maintained. That was not good enough for a man like Faust. He wanted control, utterly and absolutely, and he would wade through blood to do it. He may have been handed the crown, but each new mission he dipped it in blood, until it soaked through his hair and into his very skin. He had never been taught the simple morality of a civilian, you see, and he had never had a gentle influence to temper him. The boy grew into a man as sharp as a blade and with a tongue as precise and deadly, and in the fifteen years of his reign, he was nigh unstoppable.

Yet all things come to an end, and Faust’s end came at the sound of a gun, at Vicente’s blood on his hands. He was coming for you, he breathed as his own gun fell from his hands, I was almost too late. In the blink of an eye, Mateo and Vicente took each other from this world, as they had all come into it together. For a moment, he considered joining them. What use was it to be the king when he had been so fucking blind? He hadn’t seen how Mateo chafed at acting in secret, how he had grown arrogant and bold beneath his notice. Nor had he seen how Vicente protected him, not only from the flash of the muzzle but from the very knowledge itself. One, too eager to act without worrying him, and the other eager to displace him. It was a terrible blow to someone who considered himself so thorough and patient, who had never been prone to hedonism or hubris. Faust Contreras had been out-played twice over, and though the rest of his familia wasn’t told the details, it wasn’t hard to deduce. He left them before someone sorrier and worse able to manage their affairs decided he was ripe for another test, leaving the empire in Chile to his own heir; his sister’s boy, who was clever and charismatic and more than anything, observant. He wished him well, in the end. A better life than Faust had conjured.

After that, he wandered. The power of his name was still enough to sustain him, for the Contreras’ had their hands in every pot in Latin America, all roads to profit running through them. He garnered some talent as a fixer, but soon he found that he had more ambition than he thought, for fixing other peoples’ problems didn’t quite satisfy his hunger. Kings are born one of two ways: wading through the gore of a conquest with their sword at their side, or with golden crowns atop their heads and rings on their skeletal hands. Faust didn’t care which he was anymore, some amalgom of both and neither, but he knew one thing: there were places on this earth he could still rule, if he wished it. That was what brought him to Verona, after all, and he’d already treated with Damiano as the ghost he’d left behind. It was easy to play to the man’s pride, to let him lord how far Faust had fallen over him, never quite realizing that it was Faust’s choice to fall, like the angels of old. The man was easy to fool, and Faust counted himself content, because Verona was a city in need of order. If there was any place that he could renew his crown, it would be here, in the midst of chaos and viciousness. The old Fortinbras was dead, he figured, out of hubris and shortsightedness. He couldn’t blame the man; both were easy to fall victim to, but he’d made his mistakes enough already. He could take this old name and make it his, and with or without the blessing of Damiano Montague, show Verona what a real King could do. It was only a matter of time.

ARMAND GIORDANO: Ghost. The moment he saw Armand, he saw Vicente’s eyes in an entirely different face. It was so startling, in fact, that he hasn’t been able to meet Armand’s eyes since. Does he know? Can he see the way he haunts Faust with every word, every look, every step in his direction? He’s not sure whether Armand cares, as focused as he is on Roman, but sometimes he wants him to look, if only to see the grief reflected back. Don’t let yourself get subsumed by it, he pleads without words, because the thought of explaining it all makes him sick. That empty devotion will lead him to his grave if he’s not careful, but how can Faust explain what it is to thread the needle? How can he show someone how to balance on the edge of a knife, between losing yourself in the needs of others and not being there when they do, in fact, need you? It’s not a selfless desire to protect that he sees in Armand, it’s a selfish one, and that scares him more than anything. 

CARLO AMARANTE: Mark. It’s not difficult to spot the indents of a collar on someone’s neck when you’ve put a dozen or two there yourself. Carlo is all hunched shoulders, all paranoia, all exhaustion, and Faust knows that look so well because he’s cultivated it. Here is a tool ready-made, and he would thank the gods for sending them into his path, if he believed in them at all anymore. Instead, he merely finds ways to feel Carlo out, to spend time with them and see where their head is at. They’ve been rode hard, that much is certain, but are they ready to open themselves up to the words of another deity? He can’t tell, but when Carlo is ready, Faust will be ready as well. I’d take much better care of you, he thinks as he watches the weight fill his eyes and the hopelessness sink in, I’d make sure you never felt the marks. 

BATTISTA TAHAN & POPPY: Protégés. Faust made his empire by being a middle-man, and it’s that same quality he now sees in these two, though for very different reasons. Poppy has the makings of a perfect money-laundering system at her feet, but she remains wild and volatile, endangering what she’s worked so hard to build. He doesn’t want to tame that part of her, but he wants to use it to build her reputation - if she’ll let him. For Battista, it’s simple: medics and hospitals are the easiest ways to traffic drugs in the world. If he would get himself a proper license, he could deal throughout Verona without detection from the police; hell, he could deal to the police in their sickbeds, but he’s reticent to do so, and Faust for the life of him can’t understand why. He’s in the mafia, is he not? He wanted to be there, did he not? Then he better get used to what being a part of the machine means, and Faust will teach him the easy way or watch as someone else teaches it to him hard. 

IVAN RAHAL: Potential. When he first realized that the Capulets were using one of the greatest technical minds in the world to run a fight club, Faust thought it was a joke. Sure, in his off time, maybe, but as his main position within their organization? It was a foolish decision indeed, and he began to wonder just how little the Capulets value that first rate mind, if they’re keeping it in a place like that. Curious, Faust began to attend those fights, and even began to win them, enough that he would interact with Ivan at any rate. Playing as though he was curious about the other side (as an Initiate, it wasn’t hard), he instead began to feel out whether Ivan was interested in crossing the adige, with methodical, careful precision. His words were not honey; they were far too pragmatic for that, yet they certainly have their charms, for Ivan Rahal still listens, and sometimes Faust thinks he catches the glimmer of interest before it’s hastily tucked away.

Faust is portrayed by PEDRO PASCAL and was written by ROGUE. He is currently OPEN.

[zorarpg]

“Some people think that life is about lying all the time, and some think it’s about being truthful all the time, but really it’s a very mundane matter of knowing when to do which.”

- Ned Vizzini

NAME: Benjamin Stacy BIRTHDAY: March 14, 1871 GENDER: Cisgender Male SPECIES: Witch OCCUPATION: Bootlegger YEAR THEY JOINED ZORA: 1918 FACECLAIM: Timothy Olyphant

HISTORY

TW: Mention of homophobia

There’s power in names. Especially when it comes to magic. Benjamin, Benny to his friends; of which they numbered in few, was born the second child–only son–to a powerful magic family; rich in wealth and rich in power. Their name meant much, it was draped in gold and silk. It afforded him a great many luxuries, luxuries that came with strings. While their family, kept mum, was matriarchal and before his third birthday, dear Benjamin already had an arranged marriage in mind. In the works. They met, in passing, sweet girl. That’s what he was told to say. She was powerful, she was perfect–another branch to add to the family tree with oomph.

What a shame he felt nothing. He could blame it on her wits, on her sharp tongue; on any number of things–even if the girl had earned every right. Her ego was not overblown, it was matter of fact. Then again, it wasn’t meant to be a marriage of love such things were not done. “You’ll come to love each other, and if not–what does it matter? The heirs you produce will be fantastical. Powerful. And in the end, power is all that matters.”

Did he want to find someone to love? Even if a red string tied them so close together? It was more a noose around his neck. Not even ten and he couldn’t breath. Boarding school was a paradise, the private lessons to supplement the ordinary. After all, magic was far greater a secret than any other to be had. Even if he had one he held closer to his breast.

His first kiss was at fourteen. Stolen in the vast campus library between rows upon rows of books; with another boy. Another secret kept, further avenues explored. His family’s coin may have bought him every luxury here but this was something that could not be bought. This was a secret greater than his gift of magic, the illusions and wonders he could spin. The way fire could dance at his fingertips. Men fancying men was an illness, and while the odd casual touch–a kiss, a brush of hands; nothing more, the terribly, terribly human boy who was his world yearned to be ‘normal’ to be rid of his sickness but outside of their whispered romance, kept a friendship; just as dear. It was almost as sweet to have a friendship with someone so separate from his own world. So sad it could not last.

Graduation came and went, wedding bells lingered on the horizon and he hightailed it as far as far could be. Cowardly? Maybe. But he was tired of playing pretend. He took odd jobs, drifting from place to place; ‘call me Benny’ said with a crooked grin and a shake of the hand. At first, he sticks out like a sore thumb; it’s obvious in a way that he’s not like the rest. Educated. An accent of wealth, of status. Too clean, not enough sharp edges despite the bite of his too-perfect teeth. They wonder if he bleeds blue. But, he’s a fast learner. He adapts. Evolves. A proper scoundrel. ‘I prefer puckish rogue’ he drifts right and proper. A few close calls with family sniffing round. Locator spells. Tracking. Hunters. The good and the bad, sometimes he slips up with his magic; can’t let it bottle up too long and turn potent. Rotten. He puts on odd shows, a proper criminal; all flash and awe. There’s regular human magic men, pulling rabbits out of hats but he goes the extra mile. The only extra mile a witch can.

It earns him attention, both good and bad. Continuing to swallow back his other wants in favour of this; filling the hole with grandeur. Doesn’t stop him from wanting. Another charade, another boy–this time a man, he’s sweet and kind and terribly human. In awe of the small tricks and sleight of hand, at first he thought he’d struck gold (as what runs in his veins) no strings attached. No judgement. What once was physical became softer still. And more. The distances he traveled became smaller, shorter stints away from what he found himself calling home. The man, sweet Samuel opened his door and arms every time with a sweet kiss to his lips and a smile as he said ‘Welcome home.’. His fear is rank, ice cold in his vein. There’s no point in love his parent’s voice says to him, but the way Samuel looks at him, touches him…sure as hell feels like love. And Samuel tells him such one morning over breakfast, his cup of coffee halfway to his lips. And he freezes.

He runs the numbers, the details between their worlds; the thin line he’d been toeing. Was this just another illusion he’d been spinning subconsciously? A reality he desired so much he’d played the ultimate trick with himself as the sole audience member? He’s gone the next morning. Drifting–no, running. But, his pride won’t let him call it that. How arrogant of him to still cling to such. He’s between one scam and the next, though he’d not call it that–funny how he dances around the truth (and what a smooth dancer he is), when he cons the wrong mark. Picks the wrong pocket with a quick magical touch. The man catches him two blocks over, somewhere between annoyed and impressed. Snatches his wallet back, triple checks the contents and though doubt must arrest his tongue he asks outright “Are you a witch?”

He’s been called worse. No manner of bullshit keeps the hound off his tail and soon, in one gentlemen’s club while other men talk of war he stews on the possibility of…more. What was he running from? How long could he keep up the charade? Cigar between his teeth as he chews on the end, the other asks him his thoughts, wondering if it would come to America’s shores. And Benjamin considers letting his accent slip, letting the blue slip free. The crisp cut. Wouldn’t that be funny, the ultimate little jest. He laughs to himself and helps himself to a glass of something impossibly aged. War plagues his homeland. He wonders if his family has suffered any losses.

Or perhaps they bought their golden ticket towards paradise. A safe haven away from the violence. Of war. Soon, America joins the fight–to show them how to do it right, some claim with arrogance form their plush chairs and clean hands–while men below them, any man but they; are sent to the trenches. Benjamin is the same, he keeps clean; polished loafers kept shiny and new. Belly full and every inch of him kept sated, less so horizontal and carnal–that’s a deed, almost a sin kept close to heart (Samuel’s warm smile) and he becomes a regular at that club. Beating the wealthy at their own game, what do you hope to gain? How much gold will it take to satisfy you? When will the void be full?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. But, the emptiness is less noticeable when he’s winning. When he’s another dollar richer. It’s been years, nearly a decade really since he’s last seen Samuel–funny that, he’s not the last man he’s kissed. Nor laid with, but it’s been hollow. And chases every lick of self-hatred with a stiff drink. It’s just an itch to scratch. Better than being his family’s bitch back home. If he even had a family left to call his own. Then again, they never were bonded in more than blood and even that he’d diluted with a poison of his own making. It’s been fun. The war ends. The people celebrate in the streets and he lets himself celebrate with them, in his expensive suit and polished loafers. He dances with a beautiful woman whose name he does not know, he doesn’t stop to taste–indulges in revelry almost as sweet as memories past. And then a man finds him again months later, kindred spirit; almost. Magic at his fingertips, a wry smile–all knowing. “Aren’t you tired of running?”

He’s been doing alright, he almost says. But the man speaks of sanctuary of a town filled with people like him. He grew up around witches, can’t say he’s a fan. What of the others? And whose to say it had to be a forever thing? Zora he says. Needs new blood, needs smart men who know their way around the world. He knows a great many things, a great many people. More connections than he knows what to do with. Nets himself a tidy profit day in and day out; wouldn’t it be nice to have a safe place he could lay his head with not a single question asked? No more pretend? Benjamin couldn’t fathom such a thing.

But the idea was a novel one, and he pondered it some time further. Like a new puzzle. He gets an interview, not unlike the sorts he’s exchanged prior. Benjamin Stacy, Call me Benny. He’s provided money, he’s supplies-where needed. Spends his time while in Zora as a general layabout. Why bother? He’s got the wealth to avoid such thing, he dabbles when needed but when 1920 rolls around brings a new avenue of wonder. Bootlegging. It scratches the itch and serves a purpose. Sometimes he can be found around The Royal Flush when it’s in full swing. Dressed to the nines perched on a stool drinking scotch from the stash kept private purchased separately and shared with a special few. The people are kinder here, women lay with women and men with men; they do not judge. Why stoop to human levels when you’re anything but? It leaves a sour note that no top shelf hooch will chase away.

For the most part, he’s an odd staple around town. Drifting with the wind, rolling in with one shipment or another–expertly hidden with layers weaved of illusion and a little human ingenuity. Best of both worlds. He can get you what you need, what you want, whatever it may be–for a price. Like a human tumbleweed, he hardly remains stationary but…he has something akin to a home. A charming brownstone in which he lives alone. It’s a far cry from the grand manors he grew up in, or the smattering of cramped quarters in between, from Samuel’s cozy loft, or the penthouses of the rich and powerful. But, it’s something. Something almost nice. If he doesn’t think about it too much. He’s almost happy to call himself a citizen of Zora, separate from it’s complicated history as he’s woefully fresh meat. But that’s okay, when the going gets tough; the tough get going. He has sworn no fealty to them, and he certainly won’t die for them. Let alone bleed for them. He’s good at keeping secrets and he doesn’t intend to spill but…as the clock ticks forward he finds himself fond, housing less of a desire to run. And that scares the daylights out of him.

CONNECTIONS

N/A

STATUS

Benjamin Stacy is taken.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins

I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself.  Inspired by Pyro’s gothic romances, and that ridiculous Slate letter.  Sorry also for the purple prose, I’m sure St. John is a much better writer than I am.

           It had been a few weeks, and Tansy was starting to settle in to her role as governess.  The manor house, which had seemed to loom menacingly at her first approach, now settled around her like a faithful watchdog, although she would not roam at night without a candle in hand.  Sometimes she thought she saw flickers of movement in shadowy corners, odd reflections in the mirrors, but it was surely her imagination.  She had to be strong and sensible, with a fanciful child like Rowan in her charge.

           “There’s things in this house that you cannot see, child,” said old Mrs. Scragg when the two of them took tea alone at the kitchen table, far out of earshot of Lord Edgeware.  “Believe me, there’s old blood in this house.  But none of the spirits will mean you any harm, not a sweet girl like you. It’s the living you’ve got to fear.”

           There was only one man in the house that Tansy truly feared, and that was Lord Edgeware himself – stern and cold, with a face as hard and sharp as a bare mountain crag.  Tansy could barely bring herself to speak in his presence.  But the rest had found a place in her affections.  Lord Edgeware’s son Edgar, a beautiful, gentle soul whose eyes were haunted by tragedy of his wife’s passing.  Their son Rowan, who had inherited his father’s dreamy, melancholic disposition – Tansy often had to call him to attention during lessons. Edgar’s sister, the Lady Estella, a lively and intelligent woman, although there were times when sadness seemed to creep over her as well.  Perhaps it ran in the family, or perhaps it was simply living in the shadow of their tyrannical father.

           She got along with her fellow servants.  There was the family lawyer, Paul Bryson – every inch a gentleman, but always kind rather than condescending, and he treated her with such warmth.  Bill Wick the groundskeeper, brawny and rugged, who made up for his lack of manners with open-hearted good cheer.  Despite his rough manners and immense strength, Tansy always felt completely safe around him.  There was Ambrose Lockley the valet, who radiated peace and calm no matter what mishaps befell the household – he was often on the receiving end of Bill’s chatter, but never seemed to mind.  Mrs. Scragg the housekeeper, who spun wild stories but seemed to take a motherly interest in all the manor’s inhabitants.    

Unfortunately, there was one other guest at the manor.  Lord Edgeware was the only man that Tansy feared, but there was only one man that she hated – the Spanish nobleman Fernando Cortázar.

           It wasn’t entirely clear what his connection was to the family – no one seemed to want to claim him.  Paul said that he was the son of Lord Edgeware’s old business partner, although the two of them never seemed to discuss any actual business.  Fernando seemed more interested in drinking up the family’s good wine, and cornering the maids in stairwells.  Mrs. Scragg proclaimed him to be the Devil in human form, and would cross herself whenever his name came up in the kitchens.  

           He’d set his sights upon Tansy from the moment she’d crossed the threshold, a predatory stare that made her shiver.  He was an attractive man, that much could be said.  His face was noble and well-formed, and he had long scarlet hair that made Tansy think of a crown of autumn leaves.  But, just as hints of cruel Winter lurked beneath Autumn’s glory, malice peeked out through Lord Cortázar’s handsome visage – a certain gleam in his eyes, cruel lines around his thin mouth.  Tansy hated to be alone with him, but he seemed to track her through the house, like a hunting dog on the trail of a fox.

           She had just finished putting Rowan to bed, telling him stories and stroking his hair until the poor, nervous child drifted off to sleep, when Cortázar found her again.  She was in the drawing room, searching for a suitable book to pass the lonely evening hours, when he suddenly came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her golden hair.  She could not stop herself from shrieking, pulling away with a startled jolt.

           “Forgive me, my sweet, I did not mean to frighten you,” the Spaniard purred, grabbing her hand and pulling it forcefully up to his lips.

           “My Lord Cortázar, please do not take such liberties.  Perhaps things are different in Spain, but I am a proper English girl,” Tansy scolded as harshly as she dared, folding her arms around herself as if to protect from further assaults.  He seemed to occupy a place of importance in the household, despite being disliked by nearly everyone, and she could not risk offending him.

           “So you are,” Cortázar chuckled indulgently.  “I apologize for such unseemly behavior, but I was so moved by your beauty that I could not help myself.”

           “I am not so beautiful,” Tansy said, turning away.  It was true.  Her arms and legs were too slender, her eyes too large, and an old shade of blue that in certain light appeared almost violent.  With her pale blond hair, she seemed almost unearthly – a fairy-like creature that could not exist among normal folk.  It was her curse to bear.  How she longed for a plain, simple face like a proper English girl.

           “My darling, you are ethereal.  You are angelic.  You are la belle dame sans merci, and I am in your thrall.” Cortázar took a step forward.  Tansy stepped back.

           “Then I release you, good sir,” she said, attempting to walk around him, but he blocked her path.

           “You cannot.  That face, it haunts me.  Your voice sings in my blood.”  He grasped her hand and began kissing his way up her arm.  Tansy wished desperately that Paul would suddenly appear. Although she couldn’t stand the shame of such a compromising position, surely he would see her reluctance. Surely he would put a stop to this.    

           “Please, control yourself,” she begged, managing to pull her arm away with a jerk.  “Surely you should not lower yourself to the likes of me.  I am but a simple governess, from a poor family.  You could have your pick of any woman.  Someone closer to your station.”  Not she wanted Cortázar to unleash his passion upon Lady Estella, but she suspected Estella could deal with him quite easily.  Estella did not suffer fools.

           “Oh, I already have many,” Lord Cortázar said, waving his hand as if it were trifling matter.  “My wife, she understands.  And my many mistresses.  But I am always looking for a new member of my harem.  They would welcome you with open arms.”

           “Harem?”  The word was unfamiliar to Tansy, but she was more focused on what she did understand. “Did you say you are married, sir? Then surely you must cease this behavior and keep faith with her.”  

           “I have a wife who understands.  There are many women in my house, and they all understand.  I am a man of extreme passion.  My appetites are larger than normal men.”

           “This conversation is quite inappropriate,” Tansy said, retreating again. This time she moved towards the doors on the far side of the room that let out onto the veranda.  

           “Ah, you English are so prudish,” Lord Cortázar laughed, following her again.  “But that is part of your charm.  You are so innocent.  Pure and untouched.  Let me take you away from here.  With me, you would not be a servant.  You would live in luxury.  I think my English was mistaken previously – I said ‘house,’ but I really meant ‘palace.’ You would have your own set of rooms, maids waiting upon you hand and foot, the finest foods.  I would drape you in silk and diamonds, as such beauty deserves.”

           “Surely you have enough women, sir,” Tansy tried.

           “Never enough.  You must understand, I am cursed with…certain problems.  It is difficult to speak of –“

           “Then perhaps you should not speak of it.”

           “Oh, but I must!  For you to understand.  As I said, I am a man of appetite.  And I am too much for any one woman.  I require such extensive…..stimulation…that as much as I delight my partners, they quickly tire.  My wife could not bear such a burden alone – it would destroy her health and send her to an early grave.  I must look for outside conquests for the sake of my wife, so that I will not harm her with my relentless passion.”      

           Through the drawing room doors, the full moon shone upon the windswept moors, and just beyond that, the cliffs that overlooked the ocean.  When the window was open in her bedroom, she could hear the dark waves crashing against the shore, seeming to murmur dreadful secrets. Lord Edgeware forbade anyone from venturing near the cliffs, citing the danger, but Tansy had often seen Lord Edgar staring out across the moors with a hungry, longing expression.  And of course, it was forbidden to speak of the white-shrouded figure that was sometimes seen wandering through the bracken towards the sea, although she had heard servants whisper of their own encounters. Even so, Tansy was at that moment weighing in her mind whether or not to fling open the doors and run wild upon the moors, even to those dreadful cliffs, if it meant an escape from Cortázar’s company.

           “It can take hours, you see,” Cortázar continued.  Tansy placed her hand on the door handle.  “And I am….not built like most men.  I can take a woman to the heights of ecstasy, but the toll upon her body and mind…..It is like looking upon the true face of God, no mere mortal can withstand –“

             “So, when will the silly girl realize her mistake and fall in love with Cortázar?”  Fabian asked, putting the book down for a moment with his finger keeping his place within the pages.

           “That’s not exactly the direction I’m going with it,” said St. John.  He had been watching Fabian read in much the same way that he might watch someone open a lovingly gift-wrapped dog turd.

           “No? Don’t tell me he’ll die some beautiful, tragic death!  Or perhaps he’ll find another woman more worthy of him.  Perhaps this ‘Tansy’ is not really the main character, and she’ll soon be replaced by some fiery noblewoman who will join Cortázar’s harem.”

           “He’s not really meant to be the main character.”

           “But why not?  He’s so handsome, strong and virile!  The perfect epitome of machismo!  How could you put such a man in the book and not let him be the hero?”  Off to the side, Avalanche choked on his beer, and had to spend a moment coughing before taking another swig.

           “I mean, he’s a bit of a prat, isn’t he?”  St. John suggested.

           “I can’t imagine what you mean.  He must be charismatic to have charmed so many women.”

           “Yeah, about that.  He’s also a bit of a liar.”

           Fabian’s eyes widened in surprise, then he began to nod sagely, as if he’d just solved a difficult riddle.

           “Oh, of course, of course.  I should have seen it.  He is a fraud.  What a brilliant twist.  You set up the image of a perfect man, then shatter the reader’s expectations.  It is a shame, though, to waste such a likable character.  Perhaps he has a twin brother, who really is brilliant and handsome and virile, and Fernando is copying his life out of jealousy for what he can never be.  And then the twin shows up at the end and sweeps Tansy away in his arms.  Why aren’t you taking notes, these are brilliant suggestions.”

           “I’ll consider it for the sequel,” St. John shrugged, taking no notes whatsoever.

           “So, is that really the only thing you noticed about Fernando Cortázar?” Dominic pressed.  He seemed to be getting impatient.  St. John preferred to just quietly wait for the bomb to go off, it was more fun that way.  Although Cortéz was so unbelievably thick, it seemed like perhaps it never would.  “He didn’t seem at all familiar to you?”

           “Well, I am well acquainted with a handsome Spanish aristocrat,” Fabian preened, putting a hand on his own chest to emphasize the obvious.  “I was flattered at first, but from what you’re telling me about the story’s development, obviously he can’t possibly be –“ Fabian stopped abruptly, realization dawning in his eyes once more.

           “Oh. Oh, I get it.  This is all a bit of a joke.  The suave Spanish nobleman who is not what he seems.  You’re making fun of that pendejo de la Rocha, aren’t you?”

           This time Pyro was the one to choke on beer, while Avalanche thumped him helpfully on the back.

           “Yes, yes, mate, you’re exactly right.  I’m making fun of Empath, and not anyone else,” he said when he could speak again.  “You should go tell him that right now.  Read the book aloud to him and the other Hellions.  It’ll be great.”

[vicscratchpages]

Excursions Abroad (Prologue)

“Princess!  I was hoping to see you soon.  How are you?  Ila said I might find you here.  Aunt Tu’l said she invited you to breakfast.  Are you coming?  You don’t have to, but it’d be lovely to see you.  Do you need any help?”

The princess shifted to one side, letting the top three boxes from the bakery slide into Koteh’s arms. He caught them with ease and the continued down the lane.  The orphanage was not far ahead.  

“Eml and I were just thinking of you the other day—when we all met in Columbia.  I mentioned you might be going back there soon.  Would you like any company?  Or have you made arrangements with others?  I wonder if our other friends would be able to meet us there.  Probably not, but it would be a happy reunion, don’t you think?”

Koteh’s voice didn’t echo off the walls of the tunnel; instead, it seemed to lower in volume.  A trick of the earth.  The damp smell was sweet, calling to mind memories of home. Koteh had never told anyone this, but the smell reminded him of the place where he’d been born.  No one knew he remembered it—and he didn’t, not really. But there were bits, fragments, little pieces sharp enough to snag on the semblance of memory.  

The red door appeared as suddenly as it always did, and Koteh grinned.  They pushed their way through this first entry, stepped through the mudroom, and then into the titanic kitchen.  Children thumped in the floors below, shouting and giggling with eagerness for the day.  Some of the older children were setting the table.  Koteh’s Gran’m approached with a towel over her shoulder and a frown on her face.

“Did Gion send you for all this?” she scolded.  “I told him to let you know you could still visit, not that you had to bring every pastry in the village!  It’s a good thing he sent Koteh with you.”

“I only happened to fall into step with her on my way here,” Koteh said. “Aunt Tu’l asked the princess to breakfast, and I was curious if she might come.”

“You mean to tell me Gion sent you for all this and expected you to carry it all yourself?”

But Gran’m knew better, as did Koteh.  The princess had spent her own money for the treats, and would have carried them the whole way if Koteh hadn’t happened along.  Koteh would have to see if there was a way to offer the princess a gift in return.  The princess sidestepped the question by going to the cabinets, helping with the last few plates and forks to finish setting the table.

“I can’t stay to eat,” she said.  

“Kole Theodore those treats are not for you!” Gran’m barked.

A jumble of words, something along the lines of I’m just making sure they’re fresh.  Koteh polished off the little pinch of pastry and caught the princess’s eye. A white-powdered smile played on his red lips. Gran’m put a napkin in his hand, pushing him toward the door.

“Does that mean you’re coming to breakfast?” Koteh asked around his Gran’m’s shoulder.  

The princess took a look around the counters and the rapidly filling kitchen.  

“Best you be going if you’re to go,” Gran’m said.  “I would hate for that boy to eat everything before it could be enjoyed by those for whom they were meant.  There will be plenty for you to do the next time you visit.”

The princess glanced at Gran’m and sighed.  A moment later she and Koteh were out the door, but not before Gran’m blessed them both with a peach.  The princess tucked hers into a pocket of her dress, but Koteh’s was two-thirds gone before they were halfway to Aunt Tu’l’s place.  When they arrived, Gion greeted them at the door.  His smile wasn’t as wide as Koteh’s, but it was easy to see the gentle mischief that united them.

“Princess,” Gion said, half bowing at the waist and extending an arm to usher them in.  “An honor to have you at our table.”

“Enough of that, Gi,” Aunt Tu’l said.  “I’m sure she’s had plenty questioning from your nephew.”

“Gran’m says hello!” Koteh said, washing his hands at the sink.

He glanced around for Eml and saw him by the stove.  He leaned over to kiss him, but Ila stepped between them on her way to the kettle and he caught her cheek instead.  Ila gave ab ark of surprise, while Gion and Eml and Koteh couldn’t help but laugh.

“Really, Koteh?”

“She does say hello,” the princess said a moment later, offering Aunt Tu’l the peach from her pocket. “I wasn’t able to stay long.”

“You work too much, Aye,” Ila scolded, giving Eml and Koteh a wide berth as she came to the table with the tea kettle.  “Can’t Uncle Gion come up with some sort of invention that keeps you tied to a chair?”

“Aye would point out ten ways to make it better before I finished tracing it out on paper!” Gion said with a laugh.  

“Perhaps you two could try it out on Koteh,” Auntie said, “and see if he’ll wait until after the blessing to reach for the sweets.”

Eml kissed away a freckle of cinnamon and sugar topping from Koteh’s cheek, although plenty of his natural freckles remained.  Koteh squeezed Eml’s hands—which were perhaps the only thing which would keep him distracted from eating anything in sight.  How Koteh managed to stay so lean seemed impossible considering his appetite for sugar, but then again staying so excited must require quite the metabolism.

Aye slipped into a seat by Gion while Ila sat on Eml’s other side.  Auntie stood behind her chair with her hands laced in front of her, offering a simple prayer of thanks before she sat as well.  Uncle Gion started to serve her first, but she nodded to Aye instead.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Eml said, offering a small smile.

Aye regarded him for a moment, symbols floating before her eyes.  Reversed searching, shared between souls.  The Sign of the Willow.  She blinked them away and nodded, shifting her eyes to her plate.  She was still not used to divining a soul so easily.  It was one thing to do in the factory, where her Sight aided in her work.  It was another to have runes floating before one’s eyes whenever one happened to look at another person.  

“You look to be well.”

Eml tilted his head a moment, considering her words.  Ila and Koteh were arguing over tea and geography while Gion played referee. Auntie caught Eml’s eye and gave him an encouraging nod.  Aye knew he was trying to make sense of her words, but she didn’t offer any further explanation.  She simply ate quietly, savoring the sweetness of fruit and tea, the savory croissant with spinach and feta.  

Gion slipped another croissant on her plate before Koteh could grab a third—or perhaps it was his fifth. She cut it in half and gave a portion back, wondering at Koteh’s mention of Columbia and the night they had first met Eml.  The Sign of the Willow was fitting; they had all grown in the years since.  

“Kolraven’s Rusted Tea is sharp and sour,” Gion was saying.  “Better than coffee, for late night studies.”

“Koteh?  Studying?” Ila teased.  “I’ve never seen such a thing—only a sheer panic the day before a test.”

“Nonsense!” Koteh said. “Usually I’ve no idea there’s a test until it’s announced.”

Eml couldn’t help but laugh as he wondered,  

“What does Rusted Tea taste like?”

“River water and bloody spit, your father would say,” Gion said, glancing at Tu’l.

Auntie gave him a pointed look, warning him not to ruin the idea f the beverage before Eml had a chance to try it.

“It can be tart,” Aunt Tu’l said.  “Some brews are stronger than others—the more rust-colored, the sharper the taste. Sometimes the flavor is softened with a hint of vanilla and honey.”

“Have you ever eaten fresh cranberries?” Koteh asked.  “It’s supposed to taste something like that, but very different from cranberry juice. I’ve never tried it—”

“And a good thing you haven’t!  I couldn’t possibly tolerate you with caffeine in your veins, as you already drive me half mad.”

Koteh laughed, giving Eml a look that almost said ‘What can I do?’

“I’m sure the Princess will share some with you,” Gion said, smiling as he leaned back in his chair.  

He tipped his mug to his lips, tasting the green tea with a contented sigh.  A leisurely weekend morning was a luxury, especially in the company of the young ones he cared for.  Aunt Tu’l squeezed his hand under the table, knowing her feelings echoed his own. He lifted her wrist to his lips and kissed it.  As if reminded, Koteh kissed Eml’s hand, although their fingers remained entwined during the meal.  

“Aren’t there rules about that?” Koteh asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In proper company, it wouldn’t be an issue,” Gion said with a nonchalant shrug.  “If Ila bans you from having any, then there’s certainly someone to keep an eye out.”

“This might be the only exception where I would trust Koteh as a chaperone.”

“As if you would ever fail to look out for Aye,” Auntie said, looking at Gion.  

“I’m certain she could easily learn entire the Kolraven factory without me—but I’m glad to offer my company.”

Aye glanced at Eml again, tilting her head.  She had wondered through Gylraden’s factory on her own when she had first arrived. She had been searching then, just as Eml had been searching when he had met Koteh.  With a blink, she realized the similarity between herself and Eml was a shared desire to learn.  He wanted to know more of Blacksmiths and their society.  She, on the other hand, was curious about the designs of the tools used in the other village’s factory.  

“Will you come with us?” she asked.  “Kolraven is closest to your kingdom.  We should visit both.”

“Really?”  Eml glanced at Koteh in surprise.  “I—I wouldn’t want to intrude on your plans.”

“Myrdaven is technically closer,” Gion said.  “But it’s faster to get to your kingdom from Kolraven because of the terrain.  No mountainous twists and turns, only the flat Sore Desert stretching from Kolravn’s caverns to the meadows nearer to you.”

“Koteh mentioned seeing the others from our first party,” Aye said.  “A visit would be proper.”

“I’m sure everyone would be delighted to see you again!” Eml said, grinning.  

Everyone who could see, that was.  One person had been left blind by that night’s events—blind and bedridden.  He was well-kept, perhaps better than he deserved, but he could not be killed.  Two visits were in order, then.  Aye glanced at Koteh before nodding to Eml.  Gion was watching her closely, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Perhaps in another six months, she could tell him what had happened on her first trip outside Gylraden.

(next)

[starfast]

Cross the Kingdom- Chapter 6

“Consider This Revenge”

Word Count: 4296

Read on Wattpad: Link

More about this project: Intro Post | Other Info

 When Caleb came to his senses, he found himself in a tiny dark room with his cheek pressed against the cold, hard ground. Everything seemed a bit hazy and while he didn’t recognize his surroundings, he had an idea as to where he was. The room had no real discernible features, aside from the metal bars in the door’s peephole and a lack of windows. Caleb was the only thing taking up space in the room. Perhaps it was because there was no room for anything else, or more likely the Patrol just wanted him to be uncomfortable. 

 Caleb tried to bring himself into a sitting position, only to realize that his hands were cuffed behind his back. He struggled for a few moments, but ultimately gave up and lay back down on his side in the position that he had woken up in. He could feel a throbbing pain in his left ankle, and he stared at the base of the door as he tried to recall what he had done to it. His brain seemed to be working in slow motion as the memories came trickling back to him. 

 His memory was a bit fuzzy, but he remembered enough of the major details to remember what had happened. He remembered falling and the Patrol guard injecting something into him. He remembered them breaking into his house, and Eva telling him to--- 

 The thought of his sister sent a jolt of panic through him. What had happened to her? Caleb had never seen her leave the house, which meant one of two things. She was able to find a way to escape without being seen by anyone, or the Patrol had taken her too. Although he wanted it to be the former, he strongly suspected that it was the latter. If she was alive and also in the prison, Caleb figured that she could hear his thoughts. Eva, he thought, if you can hear me please let me know your alive. 

 He knew that it was a shot in the dark, but he still hoped for some kind of response. Caleb waited in anticipation, growing more and more anxious as each second passed. It took him a while to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to get a response from his sister. He lay in the cell trying to rationalize with himself, coming up with different reasons as to why Eva hadn’t answered him. Maybe she was sedated still or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention. Maybe she was back in Farrowin still, trying to find a way to rescue him because there was no way that she wouldn’t at least attempt it. Caleb would have done the same for her. 

 Another possibility far worse crept into his mind. Caleb tried to push it away. He didn’t want to think about it, but at the same time he couldn’t ignore that it was a very terrifying possibility. This was the Patrol after all, and Eva had powers. 

 Caleb shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose her. She was the last bit of family that he had left. He wouldn’t believe it to be true until he could be certain. He didn’t want to make an already bad situation even worse by worrying about something that didn’t even happen. Eva was safe. She had to be. 

 Caleb tried not to think of his sister as he lay in the prison cell, but it was hard to think of anything else. His mind eventually wandered back to Farrowin, and the bleak life he had lived there. It felt like an entire lifetime ago that his biggest problem in life was being cheated out of his money by the master sweep. Yet, it could have only been a few days ago at most where he was sweeping out the chimneys of Farrowin. He had always thought that he would have preferred anything over working as a chimney sweep, but here he was now. He would have given anything to go back to work. Even spending long hours climbing up tight chimneys was better than being at the mercy of the Patrol. At the very least there had been an element of familiarity to his work. Every day he would wake up at the crack of dawn, sweep chimneys until sunset before getting paid and going home. Here, all he knew was that whatever the Patrol intended to do with him would not be good. 

 Caleb had never had a proper education. Much like a lot of the slum kids in Farrowin, his parents taught him everything he needed to know. He was lucky that his parents knew how to read and write, because that was a luxury that few slum kids had. His parents had taught him everything that he knew about the Patrol. Most of what he knew was based off of rumours and speculation, but it all boiled down to the same thing: The Patrol wanted people like him gone. Not just him, but everyone else who had powers. He had heard all kinds of stories about how they had killed their victims. Sometimes it was quick and painless. Other times the deaths were long and drawn out, making their victims suffer for as long as possible until they eventually died. Although Caleb couldn’t say with any certainty how much of it was actually true, he had an uneasy feeling that he might soon find out. 

 Right when Caleb thought that things couldn’t drive himself any deeper into a pit of misery and despair, he heard the soft click as the door to his cell unlocked. The door swung open and two men stood in the doorway. They both wore the same bright red swallowtail coats with two rows of black buttons. The one who stood in the middle of the doorway was tall and slender. He had piercing blue eyes, and blonde hair that was starting to turn grey. He also wore a patch on his right sleeve-- two gold swords crossed in a V shape on a black shield. The other man was slightly shorter but evidently younger, as his angular face showed was free of any wrinkles aside from the slight crease between his eyebrows that were stuck in some sort of permanent scowl. His dark brown hair was slicked back and didn’t have even a single strand of grey as far as Caleb could tell. Caleb also noticed that this man didn’t wear the patch on his sleeve, but their outfits were otherwise identical.

 “Get up,” The blonde man barked, “And don’t you dare try to run, or I guarantee you’ll regret it.” 

 Caleb struggled into a kneeling position. His ankle still ached, which made it hard for him to get to his feet. He tried a couple times to find a way to stand up without putting too much weight on his injured ankle. 

 Evidently, he was taking too long because the blonde man glared at his younger companion. “Jack, would you help him up already,” He snapped.

 The dark haired man stepped forwards. He grabbed Caleb by the collar of his shirt, still blackened with soot from his work. “Get up!” He shouted at him. 

 Caleb whimpered as he was shoved forwards, partly out of fear but partly from the pain when he stumbled forward and was forced to bear weight on his injured ankle. 

 Jack seized him by the shoulder, holding him so tightly that Caleb felt like his bones would shatter from the man’s firm grasp. The other man grabbed his other shoulder, not quite as tight which was somehow equally unsettling. 

The two men began to usher him down the long dark hallway. Both sides were lined with wooden doors, identical to the one that led into Caleb’s cell. There were oil lanterns interspersed between every couple of cell doors to provide a little bit of light in the shadowy hall. Tiny flames flickered inside of the lanterns, casting shadows down the hall. If it came down to it, Caleb could easily manipulate the flames into a much larger blaze that would allow him to escape. He put some serious consideration into it, and was waiting for the right moment when the blonde haired man tightened his grip on him. 

 “Don’t you dare think about trying to run,” He reminded. 

  Jack shook his head. “They always think about it,” he said to the older man, “Even after we tell them not to. Sure makes our job more interesting.” 

 “True,” the blonde man said, “But I don’t reckon this one would get very far.” 

 As much as Caleb hated to admit it, but he did have a point. He could barely walk on it, so running was out of the question. In addition to that, he had never been a very fast runner to begin with. Even if he could run fast enough to outrun his captors-- and that was a big if-- he would have to figure out if Eva was in the prison and which of the hundreds of cells she was in. The thought of escape drifted further and further out of his reach the more he contemplated it. And, he realized, he still had his hands cuffed behind his back. Escaping the prison was about as likely has the master sweep paying him in the six figures at this point. 

 They reached a large metal door at the end of the hall. Jack kept a firm grip on Caleb’s shoulder he pushed the heavy door open. The door opened with a loud groan only to reveal the most unpleasant looking room that Caleb had ever seen. The walls were lined with racks of whips, spears, knives, battle axes, maces, and several other types of weapons that he didn’t know the name of that all looked like something out of Caleb’s worst nightmares. He spotted a couple bows and arrows, far nicer than the homemade ones he had used in Farrowin, but no doubt used for more nefarious purposes. More disturbing than that was the wooden platform with the rope tied in a noose dangling above it. The site of it sent shivers down his spine as he wondered how many people had died in this exact room. 

 Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of the wooden scaffold. He had heard that back in the day there were gallows in every city. Some of the larger cities even had multiple scaffolds set up, always areas where that drew in a lot of people so that the Patrol could really set an example to the public. The one in Farrowin had allegedly been set up in the city’s Main Square, but no evidence of it remained. At least if they were going to kill him it wouldn’t be a public execution like it would have been when the Patrol’s reign was at its peak. The last thing he needed was to have the entire city turning against him, humiliating him moments before death. The thought didn’t bring him much comfort since the two men would probably humiliate him anyways. 

 “I changed my mind,” The Blonde Man said, “We won’t kill him today.” 

 Caleb let out an involuntary sigh of relief. 

 “Don’t get all excited, boy,” The man said, “We’re still going to have some fun with you.” 

 “What’s the plan then, Victor?” Jack asked. 

 Victor examined the rows of weapons and torture devices. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said,“Go draw up some water. Quickly now.” 

 Jack grabbed a metal bucket and left the room, leaving Caleb alone with Victor. He returned a few moments later with the bucket filled with water. He dumped its contents into a larger wooden tub before exiting the room with the smaller metal bucket again. 

 “This is ridiculous, Jack,” Victor scoffed when the younger man returned for the third time, “We’re going to be here all day.” 

 “If I’d known you’d wanted me to do this I’d have done it sooner,” Jack replied in a snarky tone. 

 “Go find someone else to help you,” He ordered, “Douglas should be around, but I’m going to go ahead and get started.” 

 Jack scowled before he left the room for the fourth time, taking the metal bucket with him. 

 “This building wasn’t meant to be a prison,” Victor said after Jack slammed the door shut, leaving them alone in the sinister room. “Back in the day, we used to serve the King. We even used to be called the King’s Patrol. Did you know that?” 

 Caleb nodded, too terrified to speak. 

 “I come from a big military family,” Victor continued, “Back when we were in our prime, everyone knew the name Valeer. My great grandfather worked closely with King Isidore, but when his son came into power… well, I’m sure you know.” 

 Caleb only vaguely knew about the Patrol’s downfall. King Isidore’s reign came to an abrupt end after he had been assassinated. When his son, Enoch came into power his first act as King had been to shut down the Patrol. Caleb had heard that all of the Patrol’s high ranking officials had been put on trial only to be found guilty and were executed, but if Victor was who he claimed to be then that was clearly not the case. 

 Victor let go of him and began walking to the other side of the room, towards a cast iron stove. He kept his eye on Caleb the entire time, making sure that he didn’t try to run away. Caleb remained frozen in place as he watched Victor open the door to the little stove. 

 “Do you know what we used to do to people like you?” Victor asked as he tried to get a match started. 

 Caleb hesitated before shaking his head. He had always thought that the Patrol just killed their victims, but Victor had made it clear that he wasn’t going to do that. Yet. 

 “You’re dangerous, as I’m sure you know,” He tossed the lit match into the stove before picking up the bellow that was hanging up just beside the stove. “Sometimes we liked to let people know who they should look out for.” He picked up a metal rod with an upside down triangle on one end. He stuck the end with the triangle into the fire, and at that moment, Caleb felt sick as he realized what was happening. 

Caleb glanced over to the door. It wasn’t too late to run. He could try to escape. 

 The door swung open and Jack returned with another blonde haired man. They both held a metal bucket which they poured into the wooden tub. As the pair headed to the door, Victor called out to Jack. 

 “Tie him up before you go,” He said, nodding towards Caleb, “I have a feeling he won’t want to cooperate.” 

 Jack gave a halfhearted salute before he grabbed Caleb and pulled him towards the wall. He forced him to Caleb knees before he shackled him to the wall. 

 Caleb started trembling as Victor pulled the branding iron out of the fire. He could feel his fingertips growing warm again as Victor began walking towards him. He clenched his fists trying to retain control over his powers. They weren’t going to help him in this situation. He had learned the hard way that just because he could create fires and control them, didn’t necessarily mean that his flames wouldn’t hurt him. His skin would burn just like everyone else’s and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

 Jack began unbuttoning the buttons on Caleb’s shirt. He tried to pull away, but Jack grabbed him and held him steady. Caleb still struggled as Victor drew nearer with the red hot iron. 

 “Hold still,” Jack demanded, “It’ll be easier for all of us that way.” 

 Caleb did his best to give in and remain still, but it was difficult when he knew what was coming. Jack pulled back Caleb’s shirt exposing his bare shoulder. His body still shook, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was so terrified or because of how cold the room was. The cold air crept over his exposed skin like the gentle waves of Lake Farrow lapping up against the shores. 

 “Consider this revenge,” Victor said with a smirk, “You deserve this.” 

 Caleb pulled against his restraints in one final attempt to escape. At the back of his mind, he knew that he would be unsuccessful, but every fiber of his being was telling him to run.

 Jack grabbed him in a tight bear hug, trying to keep him still. “I said sit still, you dumbass!” He shouted, “Where the hell do you think you’re going anyways?” Caleb continued to struggle against the man’s tight grip. 

 It wasn’t until Victor slapped him hard across the face that he finally gave in. It was useless to try and escape, especially since he was still chained to the wall. There was no escape this time. He was just going to have to endure it. 

 “The more you try to escape the more we’re going to hurt you,” Victor said, “Understand?” 

 Caleb nodded. 

 “Good,” Victor said, “Let go of him Jack. Let’s get started.” 

 Jack let go of him, but Caleb didn’t dare to move. He closed his eyes. Maybe it would be better if he couldn’t see it coming. At this rate, the branding was inevitable. It wouldn’t kill him, he reminded himself. He would get through it. 

 Caleb felt the heat radiating off of the branding stick before it even touched his skin. It was bearable at first, providing him with some warmth in the chilly room. It didn’t take long before the heat became uncomfortable but there was no way to escape it. Caleb’s breath came in short gasps as the heat grew more intense still. 

 He knew the second the iron made contact with his skin. Even though his eyes remained clenched shut he never saw it happen, but he did feel it. 

 Caleb had acquired several minor burns while he had been learning to control his powers. At the time he thought that the tiny burns on his hands and arms were the most painful thing he had experienced, but they paled in comparison to Victor’s branding iron. Red hot pain seared through him, spreading across his body with the intensity of a wildfire. He could smell the pungent scent of his own flesh burning and sizzling at the mercy of the iron. And he screamed. He screamed louder than he knew that he was capable of. His anguished cries echoed all throughout the room as he begged them to stop. All he wanted was for it to end, but it seemed to go on for an eternity. 

 When Victor finally pulled the stick away, Caleb’s throat was raw and dry from his screaming. He hadn’t even realized that he had been crying until he opened his eyes and felt the tears streaming down his cheeks. He drew in several shaky breaths as the room seemed to spin around him. 

 “Impressive,” Victor said, though if he truly was impressed nothing about his tone body language indicated it. 

 Jack nodded in agreement. “He really gave our last guy a run for his money.” 

 “Didn’t scream quite as loud,” Victor replied, “But he came pretty close.” 

 Caleb had collapsed to the ground. He lay on his side still trying to deal with the pain. It was as if a lightning bolt had shot him right through the chest. He didn’t even want to look at what the damage to his skin looked like. 

 “We’re not done with you yet,” Jack said, realizing that Caleb was no longer in a kneeling position. 

 Jack went over to the tub of water that he had filled up earlier and dragged it a few feet so that it sat in front of Caleb. He helped him into a kneeling position in front of the wooden tub. Caleb tried to comply so that Jack wouldn’t get as rough with him. He didn’t want to have to deal with any more pain than he had to. While Jack didn’t get quite so aggressive this time, Caleb still found himself wincing in pain after Jack’s manhandling him. 

 Caleb stared into the large tub. There was nothing sinister as far as he could tell. He could just barely make out his forlorn reflection staring back at him. His face was still covered with soot aside from the pale white streaks that ran down his cheeks from where his tears had washed away the debris. 

 Without warning, Jack suddenly forced Caleb’s head down into the tub of water. The cold pierced through him, as his lungs screamed for air. Caleb struggled against Jack’s hand, but the man just held him under for longer. 

 Right when Caleb thought that he couldn’t take it any longer, Jack grabbed him and pulled him out of the water. Caleb drew in a deep breath, trying to draw in as much air as he could. 

 “The last time we had this much fun was four years ago,” Jack said before forcing Caleb’s head back into the tub of freezing water. Just like the last time, he held Caleb’s head underwater and right when he was on the verge of passing out-- when he couldn’t take it anymore-- Jack would pull him out. 

 “We only take the brand out for the real trouble makers,” Jack said. He forced Caleb back underwater once more. He repeated the sequence a few times, while Victor watched on. Every time Jack pulled him up, he would speak to Caleb and tell him more about their last victim.

 “Our last one screamed like you,” he said, “He also cried like a little baby---” 

 He forced Caleb underwater

 “He begged us to stop, but we kept going---”

 “Told us we couldn’t do this, but we did it anyways---”

 “He thought we were going to kill him, but he took care of that himself---”

 “He drowned in the river just shortly after he escaped---” 

 “Don’t know if it was an accident---”

 “Or if he was so miserable after what we did that he just decided to end his own sad life---”

 “But let that serve as a warning to you.” 

 “Jack!”  It was Victor who spoke this time, “That’s enough for now.” 

 Caleb’s breath came in short gasps. The air almost tasted sweet in his mouth after being deprived of it for so long. His dark brown hair clung to his forehead and his teeth chattered from the cold. He could see dark circles dancing at the edge of his vision. His whole body trembled as he prayed that this was the last of it. He couldn’t take any more of this. 

 “Take him back to his cell,” Victor ordered. 

 Jack took out a key, unshackling Caleb at last. Caleb didn’t try to run this time. It was no longer a realistic option. He wasn’t even sure he could stand up on his own at this point. He had completely forgotten about his injured ankle until he tried to walk on it. The pain from being branded like cattle had taken his mind off of the twisted ankle. It hadn’t gotten any better, but it paled in comparison to what he had just gone through. 

 Jack led him back down to his cell. Perhaps Caleb had imagined it, but somehow the hall seemed to have gotten even longer. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity as Jack led him back to the tiny cell at a painstakingly slow pace. Caleb almost hated to admit it, but he wanted to be back in the cell. After all that he had been put through he just wanted to be alone without Victor and Jack hurting him both physically and emotionally. 

 Jack finally opened up the door to his cell and shoved Caleb in. Caleb sank to his knees, as Jack slammed the door behind him. He heard the faint click as Jack locked the door. 

 “One more thing,” Jack said, peering at him through the bars, “That girl you came in with, she’s your sister, isn’t she?” 

 Caleb nodded. He had almost forgotten about Eva. All he could do was hope that she wasn’t as scared or as hurt as he was. Both Victor and Jack had mentioned that they rarely took out their branding stick, so if they had hurt her then at least it wasn’t as bad as the way they hurt him.

 “We killed her,” Jack said bluntly, “Hung her this morning. It was very quick and painless. Just thought you should know.” Then he left. 

 Of all the horrible thing that Jack had done to him, it was his words that hurt the most. Caleb curled up on the floor of his cell and began to sob uncontrollably. He was truly alone. He had no family left. Eva had died in the horrible prison, and Caleb knew he probably would too. No one would miss him; back at home he was just a lowly chimney sweep with no real friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if no one even noticed he was gone. 

 How were they allowed to get away with this, Caleb wondered as he lay on the cold ground of is cell. Did the King know that this was even happening? Would it make a difference if he did? They had killed Eva, and Caleb knew he would be next. Caleb didn’t even try to find a silver lining. He didn’t have anything that was worth staying alive for. He curled up in a little ball, utterly defeated and cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. 

--

Author's note: Sorry for uploading this a little late. I was super busy yesterday and I had less time for editing than I thought I would. I'll try to be more diligent in the future about letting everyone know if I won't be posting on time. Anyways, thanks for being patient. The next chapter should be ready on the 12th (so back to my regular posting schedule). 

--

<<Previous Chapter

Next Chapter (Coming Dec. 11 2019)

Tag list: No one yet, but please let me know if you’d like to be added.