#rose has been added to my kin list now

[maliciousspirit]

An analysis of Mom Lalonde’s parenting of Rose:

Thinking abt how mom lalonde was basically the Line on being called abusive.

Mom Lalonde would have been fine if cps had been called, etc etc, but the thing is she was still neglectful. 13yr olds are definitely kids who’re beginning to separate themselves from their parents and fill their needs elsewhere, but that doesn’t mean that they’re able to take care of themselves on their own. Rose was neglected in a way that was invisible to most.

Likely, she would’ve been given lots of “fend for yourself” food nights, but she would still *have food* in the house.

Mom Lalonde was likely never there for Rose in any emotional capacity. If at all, she wouldn’t have been sober, and lots of times that turns it into less of “how can I help” and “here’s *my* issues as well.”

Rose was a victim of parentification, at least to a certain extent, and she was absolutely neglected, and she did not have any sort of parental figure to look up to or admire or get help from

Which, honestly, is why I think Roxy and rose have a good relationship. They were raised *the same way.* The only difference is that Rose had a ghost for a mother instead of someone who wasn’t there at all

Also wish that jade and rose had bonded over that more; they were raised in similar ways. They both *technically* had a guardian- bec and mom respectively- but they really have a person to turn to or a shoulder to cry on in a *human* way.

(Also a solid portion of this is projecting but shhhh)

[thatu]

Today we had a coffee date my brother, my sister, my sister in law and I. At a certain point of the conversation we were very seriously discussing this one aunt we have who - in many occasions - was downright cruel to us (such as buying smaller portions of food to us and bigger to the other cousins) because of her own generational trauma towards our mom and our grandma (who are both dead so she can’t really project on anyone anymore). If you think the food thing is petty and silly, some examples of her behavior include erasing my siblings and my name from a file doc where we shared the stuff that belonged to our grandparents because “no other grandchild was in the list” when the only reason we were there was because we were our mom’s RECENTLY DECEASED NEXT OF KIN. And my favorite;

Seeing everyone in the family text chain mourn the day my mom died and how she’d be missed (my mom died of a very rare brain disease and she lost all of her motor capacities and was in bed for five years unable to move or speak at the age of sixty) and as people said: “we will miss our beautiful rose forever” and shit like that this 70 yr old woman couldn’t just stay quiet and just sent stuff like

“I wish I had something good to say but I think of Rosa and can only remeber the shit she did”.

Shit: sister stuff like stealing clothes and perfume when they were teens. Also this is a family of nine kids.

ANYWAY - so my sister is trying to make an argument about generational trauma and seriously explain that it’s very sad to be this person because she had anger towards grandma for not getting attention and then mom and now both are dead and she can’t get over it (pretty serious heavy stuff). My brother added that he is ok and can be happy most days but since mom got sick he has been wearing more black and lives with an underlying melancholy he can’t shake cause the absence of our mom is always very present. this is going very sad and very deep, my brother is an emotional man and his eyes are looking red (he mentioned the melancholy thing to this aunt once and she replied with a “well it’s already been a while, move on”).

My sister who is the middle child and has always had the “be strong and carry the burdens” approach to life tries to make a case that she can see the point of view of anger and loneliness that she comes from. Everything is serious she says:

Sister: I sometimes try and see, I can put and see myself where she is coming from, look it all from her perspective, put myself in her place and -

Me (under my breath in the softest most polite voice possible): Leave it immediately. *sip my coffee*

[gwynrielendgame]

Nyx and Tamlin’s daughter part 2

Again no one really read the first part, but I don’t care! I have been inspired to write again, so I am just going with the flow. Also, I read somewhere that instead of describing accents you should just write how the accent sounds when the character speaks, but idk. If you think it’s annoying comment and I might change it for the other parts I’ve written.

"I apologize for my parents. They mean well, but I think my mother secretly still harbors negative feelings for your father."

Nyx felt it was necessary to apologize for his parents behavior. They have been less than diplomatic tonight and it must have been because of their pasts with Tamlin. Nevertheless, they invited Tamlin here tonight for peace and instead, offered spiteful exchanges. He glanced at Isa from the corner of his eye as they strolled down the garden path. It was beautiful especially at night. His aunt Elain tended to it often which made the flowers more beautiful than any other garden he had seen. He liked looking at her. Not necessarily for her beauty, although he could say with confidence that she was beautiful. She was not beautiful in the way that Elain or Mor were, but in the way that someone obviously powerful was. It was more about her essence. Everything about her was enticingly unique.

"That is strange, is it not?" She quirked a single eyebrow at him with a smirk lifting the edge of her mouth. He placed his hands in his pockets to avoid awkwardly fidgeting in the way his mother often did.

"What is strange?"

"That your mother left him for another man who zhe iz happily married to with three children, yet zhe haz ill will for him? Zeemz a bit backward, no?"

Nyx gave her a strange look. She had been hiding how heavy her accent truly was at dinner. Perhaps she had dropped her guard now that they were alone or perhaps she was tired of hiding it. Either way Nyx liked listening to it.

"Tamlin was awful to my mother when they were together. She's allowed to feel angry at him."

"Zo the story goez."

Isa stopped to pluck a particularly beautiful rose. Nyx took it from her hands gently. Only to stick it behind her ear. She gave him a small smile before they continued on their walk.

"How have I never heard of you?" Nyx asked the question that had been burning at the back of his mind since Tamlin introduced her. "You must be Pyrinthian's best kept secret."

Again, she sent him a small secretive smile while twirling down the path. Her dress made large swooping motions around her body as she seemed to dance to a song only found in her head.

"It iz tradition that young witchez are raised in their coven, completely izolated from other fae. It iz dangerous for young witchlings when their powers are not yet controlled. 'Unnatural' magic as your kin like to call it, does not lizten to the influence of the witch when their mind iz not strong."

"What can happen?"

"There are stories of young children killing their peers on accident when trying to show off."

"Is that why Fae fear your kind? Because it is unpredictable?"

"All witch magic has a price. The spirits aid us when we call onto them and they seek a price. There iz a method to the price but it iz subject to change depending on the spirit that answers. Your father was not wrong when he said blood magic brings chaos. The reason blood magic iz so feared iz because it can attract all zorts of evil spirits and monsters, which can be part of the appeal." She chuckled as she said this and shook her head. "How many times have your parents required the azzistance from a monster?"

"More than I would like to admit."

"Despite that, not all witch magic iz blood magic. Your father's ignorance iz thinking they are one in the same." Isa took a seat at one of the benches and Nyx followed suit. He sat a bit closer than newly acquainted fae should, but he hardly cared.

"So you were raised amongst your kind? Did you get to see your father much?" Nyx was curious about this secretive female. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

"He caused havoc and mayhem in order to zee me. They refused until my first shape shift when I was two and they realized they did not know how to help that. My mother had been zecretly sneaking me to see him before then though."

"Fascinating."

"How do you know zo much about witches?" She asked while pushing her short hair behind her ear. Nyx reached out and clasped her hand in his. He started to trace a small tattoo on the outside of her pointer finger.

"Honestly? I do not know much. A few of them have given some information over idle pillow talk though." He admitted with a shrug.

"Charming. Speak of your past conquests to your new one." She said it with a wide smile, so Nyx was not concerned that he had actually upset her.

"I would not call you my new conquest." He gave her a cheeky smile that she shook her head to with a chuckle.

"No? Zo you escort me out here to win my heart or from the goodness of your own?"

"Perhaps I escort you out here as a gentleman."

"That iz not what your reputation would suggest." She lifted her eyebrows at him.

"I have a reputation?" Nyx was wholly unaware of any reputation that might precede him unless it had something to do with his parents. Isa pulled her hand back into her own lap.

"Nyx, prince of the night court, zon of Feyre 'cursebreaker' Archeron, high lady of the night court and Rhyzand high lord of the night court. Intelligent and agile. Mediocre combat training, excellent spy potential, enjoys the attention of any and all females, and zuccezzfully gains the attention with uave charm and dashing good looks."

"You definitely did your research." He leaned back on the bench and crossed his arms over his chest as she leaned in a bit more.

"Believe it or not, those words were straight from Lucien before we winnowed here." She mock whispered.

"That seems a bit unfair. He gave me no information on you. I'd also argue I am much better than mediocre at hand-to-hand combat." Nyx felt a bit miffed that he had been described as mediocre at anything, but begrudgingly he knew Lucien was right.

"Be careful, I might be tempted to challenge you." She gave a wickedly mischievous smile before turning her head up to look at the stars. She plucked the rose from behind her ear and began twirling it between her fingers.

"What would we be wagering for?"

"The title of best fighter. Might give our parents zomething to boast about." She continued to look at the sky instead of him.

"Hmm. Not appealing enough. Perhaps for a kiss though?" He jested. Although, he imagined a kiss from her would be amazing.

"I zuppose. If you think winning a kizz will be easier than charming one from me, then you have severely misjudged me."

"Oh I know," he sent a wide, goofy smile her way. "I would need you to kiss the pain away after you kick my ass."

"Relentlezz." A genuine smile finally lit her face up. It made her even more beautiful.

"You are a mind reader, right? Can you tell me what I am thinking of?" She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and rubbed her temples with her pointer and middle fingers. It was the epitome of concentration but it only caused him to laugh and shake his head.

"You mean my daemati powers?" He attempted to infiltrate her mind only to be met with steel mind barriers. He did not think his father would even be able to get past those.

"Daemati?" She drug out the word as if she was testing how it sounded on her lips. "How does it work?"

"For some people, I can slip into their mind and hear their thoughts and experience their memories. Your mind, however," he poked her forehead right between her eyebrows. "Is too guarded. I supposed I will have to get to know you the old fashioned way."

She pushed her bottom lip out in a pout.

"That iz not fun." He laughed loudly at her expression. She seemed truly gutted that he could not read her mind. It was such an opposite reaction to how most people felt of the ability. It seemed like the deepest of privacy invasions to most. It was why he tried to limit using it as much as possible.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Mediocre damn-ti can be added to your list." She stood up and placed the rose that was in her lap behind Nyx’s ear. He laughed but left it there anyhow. They started back towards the house.

"Daemati. And I would say my inability to infiltrate your mind speaks more to the strength of your power than a lack of mine."

She sent him a mischievous smile before grabbing his hand and twirling herself under his arm as she hummed a tune. She amused him with her peculiar behavior.

"Are you nervous to be High lady some day?" He figured she of all people would understand the anxiety he has been feeling lately to fill his parents footsteps. What if he messed up? What if he failed?

"Have not thought of it much."

"Truly?" She gave a simple nod before responding.

"I worry more about my father's death than the power I would have after it. He iz all I have left."

"I always imagined my parents voluntarily stepping down to give me the title. They seem so invincible. Perhaps that is the child in me." He did not like to imagine their deaths, but even so at least he would have a plethora of help. He had so many mentors that could show him the way. He felt bad that Isa only had Tamlin. Lucien too, probably.

"It iz sweet that you feel that way. I have zeen too much to believe that anyone is invincible."

"I just worry that I will fail. Or that I won't live up to their standards." Nyx had many a nightmares about this specific situation.

"That iz a lot of prezzure considering you are not yet High Lord." She bumped his shoulder with hers. He stumbled a step from surprise, but bumped her back.

"I will be one day though."

"What if one of you zisters get the throne instead of you? And then you wasted all dis time for nothing."

"Neither want it. Even if the power transfers to them, they have both said they will leave the title to me."

"You will probably fail and ruin your parents hard work." She said in a serious tone with a grave look on her face.

"Thanks." He deadpanned.

"But you will have me as an ally, no? And I will be ready dig you out of whatever hole you have dug. I am quite wise and known for my generosity." He could sense a hint of sarcasm with her last sentence, but felt honored that she was so freely giving her support anyways.

"Be careful, you might be underestimating how much trouble I could get us into."

[elizahgodswood]

WIP Excerpt: The Dragon War Chapter 16 pt 2

Y’all seemed to like that teaser excerpt, so here’s another excerpt. They’re dragon riders, folks! It’s official!

Perspective: Seida

“Do you know where you stand, Two-Legs?” Kaelom asked as he laid down in the entrance and swept his gaze around the room. “Do you know the history of this place?”

Seida glanced back at Sadra as she made a small noise. Hesitantly, she stepped forward and cleared her throat to speak. “The former outposting of the Gilded Knights, the dragon riders of old.”

The dragon rumbled with pleasure, smoke swirling from his nostrils. “Yes. Long ago--though it is long after your Order rose to fame and power--the two-legs and my ancestors stood where we are now and wrote the pacts that bound rider to dragon for life. Together, we kept peace between the worlds of beast and elf, and maintained order throughout the world beyond.”

“But that peace didn’t last,” Sadra said sadly. “The books we had back in Ist’Heom went into rather earnest detail about the fall of the dragon riders. The dragons eventually grew too large in number, and the mortals turned against them, driving dragons to the brink of extinction, and destroying the Knights in the process.”

“The fall was not so simple as the Order made it out to be. There were many factors that went into it, some of them at the fault of the Knights, others from rival factions including the Order, and others still that neither side could control,” Kaelom said. “Time has changed the world since then. The dragons have recovered, and learned to turn our hunts south to the Wastes. New factions have risen to take the place of the Knights. But now, a new evil plagues the land, and a new faction will be required to handle it.

“With Mons on a rampage, it is only a matter of time before elf and men and even dwarves take up the blade against us once more. I would not see my species culled again, not while there are still Titans that stand to oppose him. The dragons riders of old were a beacon of hope; they were a bridge between us and the world of mortals. If we are to have any hope of defeating my brother, then we must revive that legacy, bridge the gap once more. It is the only way to save the world from falling to his fire. Alone, neither you nor I have any hope of stopping him.”

“What are you suggesting, then? That we revive the Gilded Knights?” Seida stepped forward, standing beside her sister. Perhaps this venture wasn’t as pointless as she had thought it to be. “How would we go about that?”

Kaelom rumbled deeply in his chest. “You would need dragons.”

“You say this now, but will your kin agree to it?” Seida crossed her arms, tempering her eagerness. This was just one dragon. She had seen the massive volcano in the center of the isles, and all the dragons flying in and out of it. There were thousands that roosted here, and probably thousands more to the south in the Wastes.

“They do not go against the bidding of a Titan so easily.” Kaelom yawned, flashing his many teeth, some almost as long as Seida’s forearm. He shuffled his wings and fixed them all with keen eyes.

“Titan? Aren’t you a little small to be a Titan? I saw Mons, and you're nowhere near his size,” Gregorim frowned.

Kaelom snaked his head further in, bringing his eye inches from the boy’s face. A low growl shook the room as the dragon lifted his lip in a snarl. “Aren’t you a little chatty for a meal?”

“Kaelom is the youngest of the Titans.” Sadra shot Gregorim a scathing look. “But he’s still a great deal larger than the rest of the dragons here. Where are the other Titans? Are they here?”

“You know of us surprisingly well for a two-legs,” Kaelom said, seeming pleased. He retreated back from Gregorim, having made his point. “When Mons started his warpath, the other Titans scattered to the winds, some following him, others going into hiding, fearing that he would bring their doom. I remained, and those left behind flocked to me, unsure of who to follow or where to go.”

“So this threat is even greater than anyone realizes.” Seida hung her head. This would not sit well with the queen. They had been sent out to bring back intel and good news, not tidings of darkness and doom.

“Things are grim, yes, but Mons is only just getting started. I can find my missing brothers and sisters, but I cannot do that alone. We need help. Your help, specifically.”

Seida forced back a laugh. “What makes you think that we’re up to the task?”

“You abandoned your Order to fight Mons, did you not? Would you really look a gift dragon in the mouth?”

Tag List: (ask to be added or removed) @gloriafrimpong @eternalwritingstudent @happyorogeny

[xxbyimm]

The Redeemer - Fíli x Elf!Reader

Link to my Masterlist.

This was a (song) request by a lovely anon. It took me so long to write it (I am sorry for that), but once I did the words just flew on paper. Fíli is such a wonderful soul to write about and let me portray this soft side of him that I LOVE! I couldn’t wait to show y’all, that’s why I did not edit it as much as I usually do. It still can be a bit rough, but I think that adds to the charm. 

Also: I used the requested song Redeemer by Paul Cardall  to write this fic. Though it doesn’t appear in the story that explicitly, I tried to pour the deeper layers of the melody in this story. I highly recommend you listen it while reading. 

The Redeemer - Fíli x Elf!Reader

Summary:  It’s love at first sight when Fíli meets this elven reader. She plays the violin for him and Fíli makes a promise.

Warnings: Fluff, teenie tiny bit of angst.

Taglist: @soradragon​ @pistachiozombie​ @legolaslovely​ @tomisbaeholland​ @swoopswishsward​ @fizzyxcustard​ @deepestfirefun​ @ruthoakenshield​ @mariannetora​ @thequeenoferebor​  If you don’t wish to be tagged anymore, please let me know! Or if you’re not on the list and want to be tagged: check out my lists and I’d like to hear which list you want in on!

Everyone else was vast asleep.

Save for one. Fíli, the eldest son of Dís, lied wide eyed on the soft grass. His gaze was fixated upon the sky, where he admired the constellations and the soft light they emitted. On the ground, the little green blades beneath him tickled his feet and the prince smiled. Though the quest for the lonely mountain had just begun, Fíli already felt an overwhelming tiredness.

Not physically, no.

Fíli was a strong dwarf, used to physical combat and the harsh ways of the wild. He had spent enough time on the road with his uncle to know what it was like. No, this exhaustion was more of a spiritual kind. He loved his kin more than anything and he still was honored that Thorin had asked him to come along with the group, but… their constant bickering and loudness was taking a toll. Sure, even he knew he could be loud and annoying sometimes, but to function normally he also needed some time alone. A quiet place where his mind could wander, and where he eventually could let go of all the never ending clattering in his head.

One would say that the valley of the Imladris was the perfect place to unwind, but Thorin had kept his eldest nephew busy enough by barking around various orders. After a dreadful dinner with the elves, which had dragged on and on for hours, Fíli also had to endure all the impolite remarks the others made about the food, their hosts and the music that had been provided. Though not all had been the prince’s taste too, his amad had taught him to respect other cultures, even if it concerned elves. He knew Thorin and Kíli must have felt the same, but somehow they handled it a lot better than the golden lion did.

No, for now he had enough of the quest. And for the first time since he had left home, he longed for the blue mountains.

The golden lion had been lying on the grass for ages when soft, musical sounds reached his attention. Fíli pushed himself up his elbows and listened. The melody was gentle and light, but in that softness he found a profundity that touched his heart. A shiver went down his spine and the prince rubbed his arms. To him, the music spoke of gratitude and hope, but also of loss and a deep sorrow that time cannot mend. Fíli bit on his lip and without thinking further, got up on his feet and moved towards the source of the music.

She was absolutely the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Though she was quite short for an elf, she had this long H/C hair that framed her fair face and flowed over her shoulders up to her hips. Her purple dress was typical elvish: simple and majestic. Her eyes were closed as she swayed along with the melody she was playing. Fíli could have stayed hidden behind the trees forever, watching her skilled, long fingers play -no it was more a kind of caress- the violin, but his morals made him step into the clearing and thus make himself known. 

Not that that she gave any inclination that she noticed his presence. Fíli stood there for a few moments and when he was about to clear his throat, when…

‘Oh, hello.’ She greeted him with a small curtsey and the music stopped.

‘Good evening, fair lady.’ The prince said. ‘I came to thank you for playing such a beautiful composition.’

‘I called it the Redeemer. It’s about hope and kindness.’

‘And about a great loss.’ Fíli added breathlessly. ‘Something time can’t mend.’

A faint smile appeared on her face. ‘You’re being too kind, master dwarf. My father said that your comrades didn’t seem to appreciate our musical arts during dinner and that he doubts if he can endure such insolence again.’

Oh, this again.

Fíli grimaced. ‘Please let me apologize for my comrades’ behavior. They don’t always appreciate the gentle things life has to offer.’

She inclined her head. ‘And you do?’

The prince shrugged. ‘I think I do, but how would I know? I mean, if one doesn’t have the ability to observe those things, one cannot appreciate them anyway. I think we all lack some perspective in a way, but that blindness doesn’t mean that the things we miss are not worthy of our attention.’

Her E/C eyes flashed with a passion he had not seen in an elf before and Fíli felt a tingly sensation in his stomach.

 ‘You’re different than the others.’ she said. ‘Why is that?’

The golden lion smirked. ‘You’re awfully inquisitive for someone who doesn’t even know my name.’

‘You are Fíli, son of Víli and Dís.’ She told him. ‘You are a prince of Durin and you’ve been invited by your uncle Thorin Oakenshield to join the quest to retrieve your homeland.’

‘Fine.’ He smiled. ‘You do know who I am. But can I at least know who you are in return?’

She nodded slowly. ‘You may. I am Y/N, youngest daughter of Elrond and Celebrían.’

‘Ah, an highborn elf.’ Fíli mused. ‘Sister of Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen.’

She gave him a knowing look, but somehow decided that she would not pursue the matter. Instead, she strolled towards the other end of the clearing and just when she was about to disappear behind the trees, she called.

‘Will you join me for a walk in the moonlight, prince Fíli?’

The golden lion cocked a brow. ‘I could.’

The night was passing more swiftly than they both liked to admit. First they had strolled through the garden where Y/N had showed him her favorite flowers. Then they admired the same fountains where Fíli had enjoyed a good bath earlier that day and when he told Y/N about it, she confessed she had seen them bathing. When they finally settled down next to a small runlet and she tentatively laid her head on his lap, Fíli knew something for sure.

Not only was she the most gorgeous lady he had ever encountered, her mind was even more beautiful. She was wise and kind, proud of her heritage, but unlike others she could see past that pride. She was clearly an intelligent creature, her imagination like a wild horse that does not like to be tamed. She possessed a moral compass and her view on life and the universe was intriguing. Fíli found himself hanging on her every word, and though some part of him found it ridiculous (she was an elf, after all), he couldn’t help but wanting to know more about her.

Something clicked. Something filled all the empty parts of his soul that he did not know he had missed before. Upon realizing that, he suddenly understood something very important. He had been looking for someone like her all his life, for she was his One.

‘I think my kin can be horribly distant and cold.’ She was telling him quietly. ‘Like they’re not a part of this world. But they are wrong about that-’

‘You are so beautiful, amrâlimê.’ Fíli whispered, his left hand slightly trembling as he brushed it through her hair. ‘Body and soul…’

‘What?’ she breathed, barely audible.

He purred and brushed his fingers over her pronounced cheekbones. ‘You heard me.’  

She blushed gracefully. ‘Fíli…’

‘I’m merely stating that what I feel.’ The prince told her as he slightly bent over her.  

‘So soon?’ she mumbled, her gaze flashing up and locking with his. ‘How can one be sure…?’

The golden lion smiled brightly. ‘You lot have thousands of years to figure things out. As a dwarf, I can’t afford the luxury of endless time. We know how fickle life can be, that’s why we act certain and swiftly.’

‘That must be so fulfilling…’ she said softly. ‘Living life to the fullest. Enjoying every moment, because you know you’re alive.’

‘It is.’ The prince promised. ‘Of course there’s sorrow and pain. But at least we have love, burning bright in our hearts, joy and laughter in between.’

 They both fell quiet. Y/N lifted her head from his lap and rose, only to curl up on his lap once more. If she moved forward, her lips could kiss his forehead. Fíli gazed slightly up. His eyes darted along her exposed neck before he got lost in her beautiful E/C eyes. Y/N’s mouth opened slightly and her tongue wetted her lips, causing Fíli to groan.

Mahal save his soul.

He would lose his sanity if he had to continue staring (and doing nothing!) at her like this. With a strangled cry he surged forward, his mouth greedily taking in the soft flesh of her neck. She smelled as sweet as a flower. Her skin was hot under his touch, like the rocks in the wild feel when they have been baking in the sun the whole day. Y/N moaned, her hands reaching out and fingers digging in his clothing. He knew she felt the same way as he did and it was only a matter of time before she was his.

‘You are so perfect.’ She breathed when the prince kissed his way up to her jaw. ‘How is it- ah!- possible you exist?’

‘So soon?’ he teased with a smirk, lazily trailing over her jawbone. ‘How can one be sure?’

She laughed and it was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. Not even her violin could match that. That’s why her kiss that followed, took him by surprise. But the shock quickly died out, as it was a most welcome surprise.

‘Come with me.’ He begged against her lips. ‘Please.’

A soft gasp. Her cheeks flushed again. ‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ he pressed.

‘We’re so different, you and I.’ she stated. ‘I don’t think your uncle would approve of an elf no less, tagging along. And my father-’

‘Oh live a little, you pointy ears.’ He jested while his thumb caressed her cheek.

‘Think a little, master dwarf.’ She grinned.

‘So we’re at a stalemate, huh.’ Fíli remarked. He didn’t want to admit it just yet, but the thought of leaving her behind was just horrible. How could he ever? He just found her!

She heaved a sigh. ‘I…’

‘No, I won’t ask such a thing of you.’ Fíli decided. ‘But then… I need to know if you will wait for me.’ he told her, his voice slightly trembling. ‘Here. In Rivendell. I swear to Mahal I’ll come back to you.’

‘Oh Fíli…’ Her eyes were swelling with emotion. ‘If you want to swear on anything…’ she breathed, reaching for the hem of his tunic. ‘Then swear on me.’

He was going to die.

The hateful, pale orc had him firmly in his grip. Fíli was swinging in the air, like a ragdoll, when Azog taunted Thorin Oakenshield with his latest catch. Fíli could see the hurt in his uncle’s eyes, the regret. Uncle would blame himself for the rest of his days for ordering his nephew to search the lower levels. But it didn’t matter. Fíli knew Thorin could not have known that he and Kíli were walking down a trap. Uncle wasn’t to blame. The piece of shit that was about to kill him, was.

The blade that stuck from the filths’ right arm came into view and Fíli knew that this was the end. He braced himself and managed to scream a harsh ‘RUN!’ to his kin. If he had to die to save the others, he would do it in a heartbeat.

His life flashed before his eyes. Amad, Kíli, uncle. Growing up in the blue mountains, causing mayhem whenever he and Kíli went. Amad at her wits’ end, uncle Thorin acting stern, but somehow always smiling too. Fighting lessons from Dwalin. Balin boring them to death with administrative tasks. The gullible but also sassy Bilbo Baggins, who turned out to be more resilient than anyone had thought.

Then her face came into view and Fíli smiled faintly. Y/N. If he had to regret one choice in life, it was that he had not taken her with him. She would have loved the wild and he would have loved to watch her discover the real world. On the other hand, now she didn’t have to witness him dying. But what would she do if the news finally would reach her? He had made a promise…

The blade moved. But somehow it never protruded his back, nor did it slit his throat…

 First, there was a whistling sound which Fíli recognized as another blade, a small one. His favorite blade, to be exact. The one everyone underestimated, because it was small, but it was swift too and could move unseen.

Though that wasn’t possible, because he gave it to Y/N, before departing from Rivendell. It had been a promise, not made by prince Fíli, son of Víli, but by his own soul.

A howling sound followed and Fíli smacked on the ground. He growled in pain and rolled to his side. In a blur, he saw a slim figure jumping on the pale orcs’ back, screaming something he could not comprehend. His dagger was penetrating the orc’s right arm. The wound bled viciously, but Azog was accustomed to pain and reached for the elf.

Fíli saw a flash of H/C hair and his stomach turned. Then he gritted his teeth, got two of his knives and went for the orc’s feet.

‘Don’t you dare to die on me, you reckless dwarf!’ someone hissed. ‘I did not leave Rivendell only to bury you.’

‘I won’t.’ he murmured before opening his eyes.

He was lying in a soft bed, by the looks of it in a hastily set up infirmary in Erebor. Around him, injured dwarves, elves and men occupied the other beds. Y/N was sitting next to him, her hand grasping his. Her thumb stroked lovingly over his wrist. Mahal, she was here. It hadn’t been a dream.

‘How…?’ he managed to ask, eyes brimming with emotion.

‘Sssh.’ She hushed softly.

‘But…’

‘You liberated me, prince Fíli.’ She said quietly. ‘From a beautiful, yet shallow life. How could I not have come after you?’

‘You promised to wait.’ He said. ‘I would have come back. Didn’t you trust me?’

‘Of course I knew you would, but I was fed up waiting for something to happen. I’ve done that for far too long.’ she told him. ‘It was like you said. The world is out here, with you. I wanted to tell you that before you would…’ she fell silent.

‘Before what?’ the prince nudged.

She shook her head. ‘I feared you would forget about me.’

‘Oh, amrâlimê!’ He carefully got up and ignored her judgmental looks. ‘I’ve got this.’ He huffed. ‘I want to kiss these stubborn pointy ears, that’s all.’

‘You could have asked, you know.’ She smiled, while pushing him gently backwards against the cushions. ‘I’ll gladly assist.’

‘How could I ever forget about you?’ The prince inquired softly, moving his hands to cup her cheeks. ‘You are my One and I love you.’

She bit her lip and grinned. ‘You forgot to mention I saved you, reckless dwarf.’

‘That too.’ He chuckled and then grimaced in pain. ‘You saved my life.’

She hummed, lips brushing over his. ‘Are you going to kiss me or not?’

‘One thing, Y/N…’ he breathed. ‘Will you save me from being a reckless dwarf and make me the luckiest dwarf in middle earth instead?’

She blinked. ‘How?’

‘Well…’ he grinned. ‘By marrying me…’

Thank you so much for reading my humble story. Feedback is always welcome.  Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :) And here’s my Masterlist.

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 7

AN: Welp, there was a delay. Work life has been intense and home life has been just as busy lots of sick going around. Add writer’s block and it’s never a good combination. But here! We! Are!

Rafael x Reader. SVU x Good Wife AU. References: GoodWife S.3, E.21 & S.5, E.12

ETA: tag list - @madpanda75 @melissagarner @sass-and-suspenders @dreila03 @bowieisawizard @garturbo @themanwithsass @obsessionprofessional @dreila03 - anyone else just ask; sorry if I forgot anyone.

***

Judge Cuesta was eventually found holed up in a secret chateau off 57th and Central Park West. He maintained his innocence of Bullock’s murder, asserting that he wouldn’t hurt his friend to maintain his reputation. “I had to hide; someone is out for revenge!” he barked angrily at Rafael, now back down at One Hogan Place.

“Your attitude, your honor, it will do more to condemn you than the evidence. You’re on this side of the bench now,” Barba snapped.

Your brows rose but you remained silent, rapping your fingers on a half empty can of ginger ale. You willed your nausea to abate. It did, and you cleared your throat before speaking. “We have solid alibi for Mr. Rooney. Despite your need to secure the conviction, he surprisingly holds no ill will to either one of you. You should be so humble,” you replied sternly.

Cuesta slumped forward, defeated. “I know. We shouldn’t have done it. We were greedy and righteous. I let that cloud my judgment. What now?”

“That’s for the court of inquiry to determine. You will likely be removed from the bench altogether,” Rafael replied.

Your phone buzzed and you reached into your pocket. “Y/L/N here,” you answered holding up a finger to excuse yourself. Rafael nodded and you took the call outside Rafael’s office. You half smiled at Carmen who returned the smile before continuing her typing.

After briefly talking with Liv, you returned to Rafael’s office. You motioned to Rafael and he came over. You whispered what Liv told you and his green eyes darkened. He nodded and turned to face Cuesta, clearing his throat. “We’ve got Bullock’s killer in custody.”

****

A partial print on the pen lead to the Rooney’s son, Patrick Jr. who was so angry about his father’s wrongful conviction, that he was hell bent on revenge. Patrick Sr. was devastated and any forgiveness he may have had at Cuesta and the newly deceased Bullock, was long gone.

“My wife is gone, and now, the only family I had left, is now behind bars. I may be a free man to others, but I forever live imprisoned thanks to selfish pigs like Judge Cuesta and Judge Bullock,” Patrick Sr. sobbed on the news.

Carisi reached for the remote and turned off the television. “Well, he ain’t wrong,” he sighed. He ran his hands through his hair and looked over at you. You were signing off on paperwork effectively closing out the case on Bullock’s murder. “Whatcha got going on this weekend?”

“Laying low,” you replied knowing full well you had a visit with an ob/gyn. “You?”

“It’s my anniversary with my girlfriend. Pulling out all the stops - home cooked dinner - making my ma’s lasagna from scratch, taking her for drinks and jazz,” Carisi replied excitedly.

“That sounds so lovely. I hope you guys have the best time,” you replied smiling. “How long have you two been together?”

“Two years; she’s really great. I am so lucky. This line of work... it can be hard to find someone,” Carisi stated. “I am sure you understand, with lawyers and long hours.”

“I do,” you acknowledged. “Keep that in mind yourself Fordham law,” you subsequently teased. “Happy anniversary,” you added after a beat. You furrowed your brows. Carisi noticed the crestfallen look on your face that quickly appeared and disappeared just as quickly.

“Hey, you okay? I’m sorry if that brought up any memories,” he began to apologize.

“No, no,” you reassured him. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Want to talk about it?” Carisi asked. You noted the concern in his voice. You shook your head, grabbing your bag. “It’s fine; we can talk about it later.”

Carisi opened his mouth to protest but you held up your hand. “I’ll be fine. Go - go enjoy your anniversary before another crime happens and you have to get called back in.” You waved Carisi off. Carisi nodded, and squeezed your shoulder. “Y/N, you can always count on me for a shoulder.”

You smiled. “Thanks Sonny. I appreciate that.” With a final wave, Carisi left.

You gave the paperwork in front of you a final look through. Satisfied, you dropped off the paperwork on Liv’s desk before heading out of the precinct and to your apartment.

As you walked down the street, your phone buzzed. Looking at your phone, you frowned. You recognized the 312 number.

It was Lockhart Gardner. You debated answering or letting it go to voicemail. After two more rings, you answered it, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Hello?” You questioned.

“Y/F/N? It’s Diane,” the voice on the other side answered.

“Diane! It’s nice to hear from you. How... how did you get my number?”

You could almost see Diane’s smile, even an hour away. “Kalinda.”

“Of course Kalinda,” you sighed. Lockhart Gardner’s own in-house investigator and a dear friend of Will’s, had her own ways - sometimes not so legal ways - of tracking people down. “Whats going on Diane? Is everything okay?”

The blonde name partner explained that Will had some remaining equity in the firm that they needed to absolve and as his next of kin, you were the one they needed to buy-out.

“Can’t you just email me the paperwork and I will Fed-ex overnight?” You asked wearily as you approached your apartment.

“No, unfortunately it needs to be done in person,” Diane explained. “With all the remaining partners present.”

You groaned. “Okay, I will see what flights are available. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

“Don’t worry about the flight dear. I’ll take care of it,” Diane replied.

Just as you were about to thank her, a thought occurred to you. “Diane, is Will’s name coming off the door?”

Diane sighed. “There was some talk about it. Particularly from David. But we voted to leave Will’s name. He and I did start the firm after all.”

You thanked Diane before ending the call. Finally, you reached your apartment. Your phone buzzed again. You groaned. ‘What now could Diane want?’ you wondered.

[Rafael, 6:47 PM]: You free?

You debated your response. You watched three dots appear on your phone. They stopped and then appeared again.

[Rafael, 6:48 PM]: If so, want to grab dinner?

[Y/N, 6:49 PM]: I am wiped. Not feeling too hot. Rain check?

[Rafael, 6:51 PM]: Of course.

You felt bad but you really were exhausted. You also very anxious about your appointment. You decided to play your cards to your chest. Once you had your appointment, you could make whatever moves needed to be made. Further, you now how to get ready for a day trip to Chicago.

You plopped on the couch and turned on the television. Before you could help it, you dozed off.

[mymusehatesme]

Castle of Glass

Chapter One: War

Words: 2140

Summary: A Hell Gate has opened on Earth, so you and your siblings decide to defend humanity, inadvertently locking yourselves out of Heaven.  Now you must wander the Earth doing good deeds until your penance has been served.  Unfortunately, your attempt goes a little awry and you find yourself a prisoner of the man they call the Hollow King….  [Female reader, angel reader.]

Warnings: None

Inspiration was this post: https://beka-tiddalik.tumblr.com/post/160726927715/a-tradition

MASTERLIST                      SERIES MASTERLIST

Your brothers were not royalty or rulers, but they were warriors. When the demons rose up from the Underground and threatened humanity, they all shaved their heads and sent it to the Demon King. You did the same and your sisters did, too.

(Now, this is not to say that all demons are bad, or that demons did not walk the Earth before the war. This is to say that when the Underground emptied, the demons turned the world into chaos, burning the land with every step they took.)

You all fought the demons for humanity, pushed the majority back to the Underground. And when the battle was won, the humans all feared you. They would not thank you, they cowered before you.

Some humans stole your blades and started killing your brothers and sisters.

So the angels learned to hide themselves amongst humanity – and you all did it well. You never used your grace unless it was life or death; and even then, you weighed the consequences.

(You might ask why the angels did not return Skyward. It was because if a single angel did anything without orders on the Earth, it upset the balance in their hearts and they would have to do penance before they were allowed back home.)

Over the years, some of your siblings married humans; some married into royalty, some wed commoners, and some of them decided to have fun while on Earth.

You traveled the world and helped those you could. You had no alliances, no ill will towards anyone – but when you came across this kingdom, the Kingdom of Embers, you had to help.

The barren land had been burned decades ago, but had never recovered because there had been no rain there. Black and gray ash covered the land and the towns you came across were practically empty. A riverbed that ran around the entirety of the kingdom was dry and cracked – no longer did it flow with deep, cool water.

So you sat down and made a spell with your Grace. You pulled the white-blue light out of your chest in the middle of a town, not caring what anyone thought, because there was no one around. Within an hour, the sky was dark and rumbling and the air was soaked with the heavy smell of rain. It started raining an hour later.

The soldiers came for you not long after that. They took you to the palace in chains that kept you bound through magical means. A flame and a ring of Holy Fire in the cells trapped you.

You looked up at the Hollow King, Sam Winchester. The circle of fire you were sitting in threw dancing shadows on the walls and the light danced in his eyes. His brown hair swept to his shoulders – signifying he had not declared war in many, many years.

You wondered what war he had declared. What the knife that he cut his hair with looked like.

There was a blade inside your boot that the soldiers had not found and its shape pressing against your skin comforted you.

His face had been like stone throughout your story and now you understood why they called him the Hollow King. You did, however, find it strangely ironic that his presence took up the room.

He nodded. “I see. So, your spell,” he motioned toward the window and the pouring rain outside, “How long is it supposed to last?”

You looked outside and tsked.  "It will rain for three days," you replied, "Then it will stop for three days, and continue in that pattern.  This cycle will repeat ten times."  

"Sixty days," he mused, "Two months."  He nodded and slowly walked around the room.  "You know, in all the years that my kingdom has been in this state-" he gestured grandly out the window, "no one, ever, has offered assistance.  Even when my people left in droves because of the barren land, we received nothing from our allies." He dropped his arms, but kept his tall, powerful stance.  "They let us starve."

You blinked, not sure what he was trying to say.  Strange that he was so cold to you when he first ordered you put in the tower and now, much later, he spoke to you as though you were a few steps away from being a guest.

“Sire,” a voice called from the stairwell. Sam turned to face the newcomer. The messenger handed him a box and a small tool to pry off the nails before leaving the room, leaving you alone with the king again.

You stared at the box and saw how he was hesitant to open it. Markings painted on the sides gave away its contents in Enochian. You fought the smile that threatened to spill over your features. “How long have I been held prisoner here, your majesty?” you asked.

He glanced at you and began to slowly walk the perimeter of your prison. “Two days,” he replied easily, prying off a nail with the tool the guard had given him.

Refusing to let the fact that you had been here two days and he was only now coming to speak to you bother you, you asked, “You’ve already received a message before this, haven’t you?”

No emotions showed on his face to betray the truth. Tink. The nail clattered to the floor and he pried up the next one.

“The messenger didn’t tell you who it was from because you already knew,” you stated.

Tink.

He had walked halfway around the circle by now. He didn’t spare you a glance; his focus was on the box.

Tink.

“You don’t even need to open it – you know what’s inside,” you goaded, practically giddy with excitement.

Tink. Plack!

The lid fell flat on the stone and the king stared at the inside of the box. It was overflowing with hair.

Long hair, short hair, brown hair, black hair, white hair, thin and straight, coarse and curly….

All for you.

There was a note at the top and he picked it up. It was a list of names and corresponding kingdoms.

     Castiel, King of the Kingdom of Mines

     Balthazar, Captain of the Pirate Band in the SouthEastern Seas

     Michael, Commander of the Legion of Soldiers in the Mountains of Triana

     Hannah, Gabriel, Gadreel, Lucifer, Raphael, Anael, Ezekiel, Samandriel, the list went on and he stopped reading.

Sam picked up a long strand of red hair that you supposed belonged to Anna. She had attached her jeweled hairpin to her strand.

You knew that meant Anna held nothing but utter contempt for whom she had cut her hair when she attached her hairpin.

“When was the last time you cut your hair?” you asked quietly.

Because you have refused to return our sister to us, we hereby declare war upon you.

“When I swore to kill a demon,” he replied distantly. “I didn’t end up killing him, but my hair had already been cut.” War had never been waged upon him nor his kingdom, but he knew the rules. You had never seen or heard of any ruler receiving so much hair before.

“What was the demon’s name and why did you swear to kill him, only to not?” There were demons who wanted nothing more than to help, but the price for a demon’s help was always the same: A soul.

Ripped apart by hellhounds and your soul dragged into the fiery afterlife that was the Underground.

Sam looked up at you, his head tilted a bit. “His name was Crowley,” he answered, noting how you stiffened ever so slightly at the Demon King’s name, “and he initially refused to bring my brother back to life.”

You blinked and a heavy feeling of dread unfurled in the pit of your stomach. Bringing someone back from the dead was not an easy or natural thing. Reapers had to be bargained with, the Underground and Skyward would have to have scoured to find the soul, and even IF the Reapers agreed, the GateKeepers had to allow the soul back out.

And that was considering if the soul had been freshly reaped and the body hadn’t decomposed too far.

That bargain would cost much more than the soul of the one who bargained. You thought about the barren land, the empty towns, and the silent soldiers.

“What did it cost you?” you asked, genuinely curious, but cautious of the answer.

“It cost my soul,” Sam stated, practically emotionless as he straightened up to his full height, “and my lands. I agreed to let the Demon King make a Hell Gate here – and when the demons poured out of the Underground, they scorched the earth and made it barren.”

You jumped to your feet as rage flowed through you. “You,” you spat, “It was you, you let them out!” The faces of your brothers and sisters that died during the battle flashed through your mind and you balled your hands into fists as you gritted your teeth.

The Hollow King tilted his chin up a bit. “You are angry,” he noted, “Why does that anger you?”

“My kin and I came down from the Sky to help your kind,” you seethed, “Because it was our duty to protect you, because the scales had been tipped, we abandoned our home and now cannot return for centuries until our penance has been completed!” Your heart pounded as you thought of all your siblings that died at the hands of humans that were too afraid to accept help and killed angels for the sheer novelty of it.

Kneeling down, you unlaced your boot and plucked the knife free. You stood up and locked eyes with the king again. Without blinking, you reached behind your head and shaved off a strand of hair at the base of your neck. You took a few hairs to tie the strand together and then threw it at his feet.

Sam looked down at your hair, a shadow of surprise on his face, and then back up at you.

Your face was grim with hate and determination. Your kin had added decades to their penance for waging war and you would not let that go unmatched.

“I, (Y/N), declare war upon you,” you defied, tilting your chin up, “for having loosed the Demon Hoard upon the Earth, for all the Humans that died at their hands, and all the Angels that died at the hands of your kind, I declare war upon you.”

He didn’t react. His face never changed to show anger or sadness or cocky assuredness. He simply watched your outburst and cold defiance.

It unnerved you. “What say you?”

“I say… that oil has a few more days until it burns out,” he said, observing the flaming ring that held you captive, “I say I do not fear the entirety of the Skyward Host’s war against me.” He looked up at you and finished, “And I say… I think I’ll send for more oil.”

You blanched. Was… was he mad? Perhaps he was suicidal?

“Do you honestly have such faith in your soldiers and abilities as King that you do not fear us?” you demanded.

Pride overtook his features as he smirked, “I do.”

“And when the Demon King comes to collect your soul?” you asked, “What will you do then? What will your abilities be to him?”

“Oh, he’s already come and gone,” Sam said easily, readjusting the box in his hands, “He’s already collected my debt, in fact, he got it right away after our deal.”

You tilted your head, trying to understand. Not only did this man singlehandedly unleash Hell upon the Earth, he defied the natural order of things by bringing a soul back from the afterlife, and he has apparently been living for years now without a soul? “You… you have no soul?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“There is more to this than you can see,” Sam offered, picking up your hair from the floor, but not putting it in the box with the others, “and more than I am willing to tell you right now. But I’ll tell you soon enough.” He smiled at you – just a smile, not conveying any emotion or having any deeper meaning than a half-kindness – and turned to the stairs.

He made it ten paces before you cried out to him to wait.

He stopped, but did not turn.

“Was it worth it?” you asked, nearing the flames as far as you dared, “Was your brother worth the cost?”

The Hollow King silently deliberated. He turned his head over his shoulder, but not enough for him to look at you. “Yes. And I’d do it again.”

Then he faced forward again and left you with the crackling flames.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“An Undying Connection” Part 1: Roni and Archer

This is a gift for @outlawqueenies for Love from OQ! Enjoy!

“Okay, closing time!” Roni emerged from behind the bar, moving the last remaining patrons from their seats toward her door. They groaned and protested as they did so, causing her to scowl. “I need sleep too, you know. So you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. You can come back when I open in a few hours.”

The last patron stumbled out of her door and she went to close when she spotted a familiar form walking down the street. She leaned out, motioning for him to come inside. “You look like you can use a drink, Rogers,” she said.

He ran his gloved hand over his hair, shaking his head. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Not even water?” she teased him. She motioned again for him to come inside. “I got a club soda with lime that’s calling your name.”

“Do you have any coffee?” he asked as he followed her into the bar.

She paused, tilting her head. “This is a bar, not a diner. But I do have coffee upstairs in my apartment if you really need it. I can run up there and make you a cup.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t want to inconvenience you. The club soda should be fine until I get back to my own place.”

“One club soda with lime coming up.” She headed behind the bar, scooping up some ice into a glass and picking up the dispenser to spray the club soda into it. “So how’s Weaver?”

“A bit grumpier than usual but otherwise, doing well for someone who was shot at almost point blank range. It’s actually a bloody miracle that he didn’t die. The doctors wouldn’t tell me much but I overheard them telling the chief that they can’t explain how he survived when anyone else would’ve died from his injuries.”

Roni placed a lime in his drink before setting the glass on a coaster before him. She shrugged. “Weaver is one lucky son of a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Rogers agreed, wrapping his fingers around the glass but not picking it up to drink.

“So,” she continued, several questions running around her mind. “What’s going to happen to Tilly?”

“Nothing. Weaver’s official statement is that he was shot by a masked assailant who ran off after shooting him,” he replied. “He’s protecting Tilly.”

She nodded. While she didn’t completely trust Weaver and he always seemed up to something, there were times he showed he was capable of compassion and being almost likeable. His relationship with Tilly and how he was now protecting added to that. “Good. She doesn’t need prison.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he agreed. “And she’s promised to keep taking her medicine, so I don’t think we’ll have another episode like that.”

“Good.” As he took a sip of his soda, she poured herself a shot of tequila. Downing it, she decided to ask another of the many questions in her mind. “So how long is Weaver out of commission?”

Rogers set his glass down again. “The doctors want to keep him in the hospital for a few more days though he’s fighting that. After that, he’ll need a few weeks to heal and even then he’ll probably be riding a desk until the New Year.”

“He definitely won’t like that. Weaver not struck me as the paper-pusher type,” she said, pouring herself another shot. “What about you? You riding solo until then?”

He shook his head. “Chief talked me before I left the hospital. I’m supposed to get a temporary partner, a transfer from across town. He’ll be here in the morning.”

She poured herself another shot. “An outsider, huh?”

“Yep,” he said after taking another sip. “Haven’t decided if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Might be interesting to get an outsider’s take on Hyperion Heights,” she said. “Henry certainly shook up the place a bit.”

He nodded. “And being from across town means Belfrey may not have her claws in him.”

“It is more likely. Victoria’s obsessed with the Heights for some reason,” Roni said, washing some glasses now. “But she does have properties all over. There’s still a chance she has other cops in her pocket. Tread carefully.”

“Don’t worry. I will. I may not have been a detective long, but it’s definitely already made me question everything,” he said, standing up as he pushed his empty glass toward her. He then reached into his pocket, no doubt going for his wallet.

She shook her head. “On the house.”

He paused, frowning. “I feel bad. You can’t keep giving me free drinks.”

“You’re not drinking my top shelf stuff,” she told him. “It’s just club soda. I can afford it.”

Rogers relaxed as his hand fell to his side. “Thanks, Roni.”

“You’re a friend, Rogers,” she told him, cleaning his glass. She then looked him right in the eyes. “I take care of my friends.”

“Good. I feel the same.” He smiled at her and she understood his message. She had a friend in him and he would help her should she need it.

He glanced at her register. “You need me to walk you anywhere?”

She bit her lip, thinking about it. Weaver usually was the one who showed up around mid-morning to walk her to the bank so she could make her daily deposit. As long as he was laid up, she was going to need a replacement. “Not now but maybe in the morning,” she told him.

“Of course,” he replied. “Ten-thirty good?”

“Sounds perfect.” She then waved him away. “Now go home and get some rest. You’ve had a long day too.”

He chuckled. “Good night, Roni.”

“Good night, Rogers.” She watched him leave before heading over to lock the door. Rubbing the back of her neck, she took in her bar.

Most of her employees had prepared the bar for the night. It meant all she had to do was close out the night and put the money in her safe. Then she could head upstairs and finally climb into bed. She was still tired from the craziness of Halloween so a good night’s sleep would be a god’s send.

As she shut off the lights and headed to her office in the back, she wondered what changes Rogers’ new partner would bright to the Heights. Though she was cautious about strangers, part of her felt a brand new adventure now awaited them all.

Rogers showed up on time to walk her to the bank. She carried the money in her bag and held it close as she talked with Rogers, trying not to look like she was carrying a large sum of money. “So how is Weaver doing?” she asked.

“He’s healing well enough,” Rogers replied, “and he’s back to his grumpy self. Maybe even grumpier than usual. He’s snapping at everyone, me included.”

“Well, I imagine I would be too if I was stuck eating hospital food,” she said. “Any idea when he’ll be released?”

Rogers shrugged. “I overheard the doctor talking with the chief. Apparently they are concerned about the fact that there’s no one to take care of Weaver should they release him. No family and no friends outside of the force.”

She frowned, somewhat surprised. Weaver wasn’t the most social person but she figured he would have to have someone special in his life, whether family or friend. “He really has no one?”

“Ryce, our desk sergeant, swore he once heard Weaver mention something about a son but there’s nothing in his file. We all figure he just misheard,” Rogers replied. “It appears Weaver is married to the job and doesn’t have much of a life outside it.”

They arrived at the bank and Rogers held the door open for her. She made her deposits and did a few other things before they started the walk back to her bar, picking up their conversion where they left off.

“So are they just going to keep him in the hospital?” she asked.

Rogers shrugged. “I think the department is trying to arrange for an aide for at least the first few weeks. Then we’ll all probably take turns checking in on him. He’s not happy about any of that.”

“Weaver does value his privacy.”

“He just wants to come back to work. It’s clearly his whole world,” he replied, opening the door to her bar and letting her enter first.

Henry looked up from the far booth Roni had given him to use, his laptop set up and papers spread out over the table. He smiled at them. “Hey, Remy let me in. I thought I would get a head start on today’s work.”

“Fine,” she said, heading toward the bar. “Just as long as you stay out of our way.”

“Of course,” he replied as Rogers joined him. The two got lost in their own little world and she focused on getting everything ready behind the bars before she opened up for the day.

Her mind wandered back to Weaver’s situation. No one to assume caring for him. Married to the job. No real life outside of work. All those statements struck a little too close to home for her comfort.

Who would be called if she were in the hospital? She was pretty certain Kelly was still listed as her emergency contact but given the state of their relationship, Roni doubted her sister would do anything if called. Her next of kin then would be Margot, but her niece was off traveling the world and often unreachable. While she had good relationships with her employees, none rose to the level that they would even visit her in the hospital let alone be there when she was discharged. She hadn’t gone on a date in years and didn’t really have any close friends.

Henry might come get her, she figured. Maybe even Rogers. She glanced over to where the two had their heads bowed together, pouring over something shady dealing of Victoria’s. They were her friends, she realized. Maybe even her family…

Her bell rang, drawing her attention from her rather morose thoughts to her door. She scowled, wondering who had ignored her “closed” sign, and looked toward it, ready to give them a piece of her mind.

A tall man stood by the door, his hands in the pockets of his black coat. He didn’t appear to be extremely well-built nor lanky, rather falling somewhere in between. She decided he was fit as she sized him up but not necessarily an athlete or health nut. A pair of sunglasses sat on top of his blond hair as he scanned the bar. When his eyes landed on her, he smiled and revealed a dimples on either cheek.

Ignoring how they made her stomach flip, Roni called out: “We’re closed!”

“Apologies, milady,” he replied, revealing a British accent. He approached the bar. “I went to the station but was informed I’d most likely find my new partner here. Name’s Archer.”

He pulled his hands from his pockets, leaning against the bar as he showed her his gold shield. She glanced at it before her attention returned to his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of blue, reminding her of the ocean. Up close, she could see he had blond scruff covering his cheeks and chin, surrounding his rather attractive mouth. It was flecked with brown while his temples had gray hairs mixed in with the blond, giving him a distinguished look.

Roni felt as if her mind had short-circuited and she found herself unable to speak. All she could do was stand there and stare at him as Rogers came over to introduce himself. They conversed as she continued to marvel at how handsome this Detective Archer was and deal with the overwhelming sense of familiarity that had washed over her from the moment he called her “milady.”

If anyone else had addressed her as “milady,” she would’ve jumped over the bar and kicked their ass. However, she felt frozen to the spot as the first wave of familiarity had washed over her. It was as if she had heard it before, like in a dream or another life. She felt both unnerved yet excited by it.

She also had the distinct feeling she had met him before but couldn’t place where. He had never stepped into her bar before that day, she was certain. Roni West never forgot a patron and she was usually going with faces. It drove her crazy that she couldn’t figure out why he seemed so familiar.

Rogers and Archer turned to her, causing her focus to snap from inside her own mind in time for her to hear Rogers introduce her. “Every town needs a no-sense, badass bar owner and Roni is ours,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said before reaching out to Archer. “Nice to meet you.”

He shook her hand and she took a sharp intake of breath. Electricity coursed from his hand to hers, traveling up her arm and and to her mind. The feel she knew him grew stronger as a blurry picture started to form but never getting clear enough for her to figure out how she knew him.

“Have...Have we met before?” she asked in a hushed tone, staring at him in awe.

Archer shook his head, grinning at her. “I doubt I’d ever forget meeting you.”

Disappointment flooded her before she realized she was still holding his hand. Feeling heat in her cheeks, she let go of his hand and cleared her throat. “Sorry. You just seem so familiar. I thought we had…”

“Well, we better report to the precinct, see what’s waiting for us.” Rogers clapped his hand on Archer’s shoulder and nodded to her. “See you later, Roni.”

Archer gave her a little nod. “It was an honor to meet you, Roni.”

“You too,” she said softly. She then smirked as she said: “Remember, let’s be careful out there?”

They stared at her blankly before thanking her. As they headed out, she muttered under her breath: “You think they would know Hill Street Blues.”

“Hill Street what?” Henry asked, sitting at the bar now.

She scowled. He knew nearly everything there was to know about 80’s pop culture but he didn’t know about that particular show. “Hill Street Blues, a police drama from the Eighties. The forerunner to NYPD Blues and Law and Order. One of the characters always told the others to be careful out there after they got their assignments,” she told him.

“Oh,” he replied before shrugging. “Rogers and Archer are both British. Probably never heard of it.”

“True. The Seattle PD has an unusually high amount of British cops,” she noted, thinking of Weaver as well.

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ve met the only ones on the force.”

“And they all end up here in Hyperion Heights?” she asked incredulously. “That sounds like one hell of a coincidence.”

“Maybe Lucy is right and we’ve all been cursed to end up here in Hyperion Heights, not knowing who we are to each other,” he mused, his eyes dancing with mirth.

She laughed at that. “Yes. Maybe he’s really the Sheriff of Nottingham or William Tell.”

“I don’t recall writing about William Tell,” he said, thinking it over. “But I did write about the Sheriff of Nottingham. And Robin Hood, but that ended tragically.”

She realized how serious they were getting about Lucy’s silly daydream and shook her head. “Your book isn’t real. Archer is just another cop about to be in over his head here in the Heights. Nothing more.”

“Do you want him to be something?” Henry asked, smirking as he leaned against the bar.

“What do you mean by that?” She tried to play it cool even as her heart hammered in her chest. Had he seen how weird she had acted around Archer.

Of course he head. Nothing gets past Henry Mills, except the fact his feelings for a certain single mother are reciprocated...

“Come on, Roni. He called you ‘milady’ and you nearly swooned,” he replied, sounding both surprised and amused.

She bristled at that, scowling. “I did not swoon.”

He rolled his eyes before taking on a dopey expression. “Have...Have we met before?” he asked, pitching his voice higher and giving it a breathless quality.

“I did not sound like that!” she protested, snapping her towel at him.

“You did!” he replied, laughing as he threw up his hand to block his face. “If I wrote romance novels, I couldn’t have written it better!”

Her stomach did flips at that and she shook her head. “This is not some romance.”

“Oh, come on, Roni. You clearly felt something,” he argued.

“He’s attractive, I can say that,” she replied. “I have eyes. Doesn’t mean I want a relationship. Relationships and I don’t mix.”

Roni bowed her head, cursing herself. She had gotten more vulnerable than she wanted to be, even if it was only just Henry. All her past relationships had ended badly and at least one tragically. As she had stood in the cemetery, she believed she had finally gotten the universe’s message--she was meant to be alone.

She had made her peace with that. At least she felt she had most days. Unfortunately, today was no longer one of those days after Detective Archer had walked into her bar.

A warm hand covered hers and she looked up to find Henry staring at her with concern in his eyes. His voice was soft when he started talking again. “You remember what you told me a few days ago? On Halloween?”

“Henry,” she replied, annoyed he was about to turn her own words on her. He didn’t understand her past or why she knew there was no one else for her waiting out there.

He shook his head. “I don’t know who you’ve loved and lost. You don’t have to tell me. Just...take your own words to heart. It’s okay to move on, to love again. Don’t miss your chance to be happy.”

She cupped Henry’s face. “My chance at that kind of happiness passed long ago. I have found other ways to be happy though. So don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself and Jacinda. How is that going?”

“It’s not,” he said with a sigh. As he explained how he ended up chickening out when Jacinda invited him to trick or treat with her and Lucy, Roni began to relax. She didn’t know why Archer felt so familiar but she doubted it would mean anything in the long run. After all, he was only a temporary replacement. Once Weaver was better, he would leave the Heights and her life. She knew better than to get attached to anyone, especially someone with an expiration date.

Continue reading on AO3.

[luffysfakebeard]

Or??(prompt anon): after a fight, even stays with his parents for the weekend after telling Isak that he is 'going home'. Isak, who honestly is probably not familiar with the idea of a parent's house being the home away from home, thinks that even believes the apartment isn't home to him anymore. (Sorry, I'm in the mood for some angst)

Home; 1.6k[AO3]

They had had afight.  It hadn’t been particularly big, but Even figured they both neededsome time to cool off separately and that was not possible in their cramped little flat.

So he had told Isak thathe was going to go crash at his parents’ for the night and he’d come backtomorrow.

It had hurt his heart,walking away from Isak like that.  Theyhad agreed pretty early in their relationship not to go to bed angry, butnothing had ever been established about notgoing to bed together.  Teenage temperswere hot messy things, though, and Even knew that being around each other afterthe fight would inevitably lead to more fighting and would just prolong thewhole process.

So he took initiative.

He felt calmer as soon ashe got outside, which made him feel better about his plan.

His mum had fussed themoment he walked through the door, but when he was done explaining everythingthat had happened she actually praised him for doing the right thing.  It was nice to hang out with his parents; hefelt like he hadn’t seen them for ages, although he knew it was probably only afew weeks since they’d last got together.

His mum was catching himup on the gossip at her office when his phone buzzed, and Eskild’s name of all people’s was written across the top of atext.  Even was going to ignore it untilIsak’s name caught his eye and he opened it quickly, remembering that Eskildwas still listed as Isak’s next of kin at the hospital.

Eskild (19.48)you left after a fight???Isak just showed up and that’s all I can get out of himtrouble in paradise?

He wasn’t sure why, butsomething about Isak going to Eskild after their fight didn’t sit right withEven.

Even (19.50)we both needed to cool down. I said I’dbe back tomorrow

Eskild (19.56)Isak seems very confusedI think you should phone himonly if you’ve calmed down though. he doesn’t seem angry now

Even frowned at his phonewhen that message came through, wondering what on earth Isak could be confusedabout.  He had cooled down from their fight, though, and he didn’t want thereto be some miscommunication between him and Isak.  He thought he had been clear about what hewas doing and when he was coming back, but maybe Isak hadn’t been listeningproperly?

With a sigh, Even madehis excuses to his mum and went to sit in his old room.  It was currently being made into the spareroom, but in Even’s mind it would always be hisroom.  He made himself comfortable on thewindowsill and pressed the call button next to Isak’s name, wondering what thisconversation had in store.

“Even?” Isak answeredafter a few rings.  Even couldpractically hear the frown on Isak’sface.  Even didn’t bother to beat aroundthe bush.

“Hey, Eskild said youshowed up at the kollektiv?” He couldn’t help the little chuckle that slippedout of him at Isak’s annoyed groan.

“Bloody man can’t justlet me vent in peace.” Isak huffed.

“He said you wereconfused about something?  I thought Imade it pretty clear that I was going to my mum and dad’s for the night?  Justthe night?” Even emphasised, expecting Isak to exhale with relief and say thathe’d thought Even was leaving him forever and he’d totally misunderstood and-

“I know.” Isak saidquietly, totally catching Even off guard.

“You…know?” Evenrepeated.  “So what are you confusedabout?” It was his turn to frown now. Isak stayed quiet, and Even just knewthat if he tried to rush Isak now he’d clam up and never let out whatever wasbothering him.  Isak still struggled totalk honestly about how he was feeling and his thought processes and Evendidn’t want to scare him off, but shit he just wanted to know what he had done.

“Is?” It had been a fewminutes now and Even was starting to wonder if the call had cut out.  He was about to pull away from his phone tocheck the screen when he heard Isak take a breath.

“You- you said you weregoing home for the night.” Isak’s voice was so small and quiet that Even almostmissed it.

“Yeah?”

“I just- do you…do younot think of our place as home?” Isakasked after another painful minute of waiting. When the question finally came it made Even’s heart clench in his chest.

“Of course I do,baby.  I didn’t mean it like that.  I’m sorry if it came across like I did.” Heapologised.  “But your parents’ placewill always be your home away from home, y’know?” Even realised his mistakebefore he even finished his sentence, and he wanted to slam his head againstthe wall at full force for saying something so unbelievably stupid.

“No, I don’t know.” Isaksounded like he was torn between feeling upset and feeling angry, and Even feltten times worse about sticking his foot in it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before Even could react Isak hung up and he wasleft listening to dead air.

Well.

He fucked that up, didn’the?

***

Even got home aroundlunch time the next day, his temper completely cooled from their squabble butwith guilt chewing at his stomach.  Hecould hear Isak moving around when he let himself in but a quick glance aroundsuggested that Isak hadn’t been home long either.

Even took a deep breathto steady his nerves before he went into the lounge, wondering how his goodlevel-headed plan had still ended up with one of them saying the wrongthing.  When Isak saw Even, Even couldn’tnot notice the way his lip trembledbefore he pressed his lips together tightly and went back to changing theirsheets.

“Babe…I’m sorry.  I didn’t think before I said it.” Evenapologised, once again skipping the small talk. He could see through Isak’s shirt the way his back tensed and his shouldersrose defensively.

“It was a normal thing tosay.” Isak tried to shrug it off, but his movement was too stiff for Even toever believe it was casual.

“It was, but I shouldhave remembered that you didn’t have a ‘normal’ home life.” Even made air quotemarks even though Isak had his back to him.

“No, I didn’t.” Isakagreed stiffly.  Even’s heart was achingin his chest; what did he need to do or say to get through to Isak?  “But it’s not for you to remember, it’s forme to live with.  So let’s just forgetit.” Isak finally – finally­ – turnedto look at Even and the hurt look on his face cut Even like glass.

“Okay, baby, if that’swhat you want.” Even nodded.  He wasn’tgoing to drag this out when it was obviously stressing his boyfriend out.  Barely a second later Isak was crossing theroom and burying his face in Even’s chest, his strong arms wrapping tightlyaround Even’s waist.

And this.

This was where Even’s home was.

***

It wasn’t until they werecuddled up in bed that night that Isak finally opened up.

“I forgot.” Isak said itso quietly that Even almost missed it, just like on the phone the night before.

“Forgot?”

“I forgot that mostpeople think of their family home as homeand not somewhere to run from.” Isak’s fingered tightened in the front ofEven’s shirt, and Even figured that his boyfriend could probably feel his heartshatter in his chest at those words.

“So when you said…whatyou said, I started thinking about all the shit I probably missed out on andstuff and- I don’t know.  It fucks me upthinking about that stuff.” Isak’s voice sounded suspiciously thick, but Evenknew better than to look right away.

“Family is meant to bethere for you to be that home awayfrom home, and mine isn’t but yours is and I guess I didn’t realise how muchthat bothered me until yesterday.” Isak definitely sniffed at that and Even wasdone.

“Come here.” He hauledIsak impossibly closer, pretty much dragging Isak’s sleepy body on top of hisown underneath their duvet and blankets, and framed Isak’s beautiful face withhis hands.

“Your family don’tdeserve you, Isak.  I know they hurt you,and I know the way you grew up shaped who you are now, but now home is nowherenear them.  Now home is right here. It’s us.  It’s not walls or a roofor the postcode, it’s just us.  My home is wherever we can just be. My home is always with you, because you’re the one that has myheart.  And without a heart a house cannever be more than just a house.” Even couldn’t tear his eyes away from Isak’sface, mesmerised by the rush of emotions he could see flickering across thefeatures he so adored.

“You’re such a fuckingsap.” Isak laughed wetly, obviously tossing an insult at Even to deflect fromthe very real tears on his face.

“I know.” Even shruggedwith a grin.  “Besides: what’s mine isyours, baby.  My family loves you; they’dalways welcome you in.  There’s alwaysroom for another Bech Næsheim.” Even added teasingly.  The relief he felt when Isak’s face brokeinto the most beautiful soft smile was indescribable.

“I know I’m going to be aBech Næsheim one day.” Isak whispered, resting his forehead againstEven’s.  “And I’ll never have to thinkabout a Valtersen home again, because I’ll be too busy making a whole new home with my husband.”

And wasn’t that a fuckingmiraculous thing to know?

[jeremystrele]

A Rustic, Inner-City Family Home Of 33 Years

A Rustic, Inner-City Family Home Of 33 Years

Homes

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

This room has been play room for toys and dress ups, and grew as Angela’s kids did with a shared wtudy space. The office area with a balcony opens up with French doors to overlook the garden. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The laundry room – where the dogs are washed, fabrics are dyed, flowers are arranged and shoes are polished! Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Angela’s dream kitchen. ‘This is everything to me’, she says. The kitchen was heavily influenced by Cornish/Spanish/Greek kitchens. The walls are limewashed and rough rendered. Mismatched chairs collected along the way. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Looking onto the garden from the laundry. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The dining room – a combo of pink and red! The carpet was a find at the Agnews Auctions. The French gilt mirror was a gift from Angela’s dad. The chandelier is from hard rubbish. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Lilacs and dogwood sitting with a collection of French ceramics flowers from Nyarys in Albert Park. The simple table has been with Angela since she was a student nurse! Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The lounge room. Those incredible patchwork curtains were made by Angela using a mix of Liberty linen, Indian silk and whatever other scraps she could source. The cushions were also made with scrap pieces of material! You can just catch a glimpse of the Murano light fitting, which was a gift from Angela’s husband. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Nasturtiums painting by Myriam Kin-Yee, a 60th birthday gift to Angela from her children. It was painted especially for this space! The lamp Angela describes as, ‘one of those oddities you never know what to do with. And years later it’s perfect’. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The feature wall in Angela’s sewing room. When she was preparing the walls to paint she fell in love with the raw plaster that’s still there! The mirror belonged to Angela’s mum, alongside other mementos from the past, like Angela’s daughter’s old school lunchboxes. Pink dried Amaranthus from Nyarys. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

‘The Firebird’ print by Boris Bucan from Letitia Morris Gallery in Armadale. Trunk that once belonged to Angela’s dad. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Kantha quilts in the bedroom, adding interest to the otherwise white, calm space. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Light shades from Pear Rivermart in New York. Dresser revamped with white paint and red paisley fabric from hard rubbish. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The main bedroom. Chandelier from hard rubbish. Angela’s grandmother’s hat boxes used for storage. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

A spare room, which once one of Angela’s kids, and has the best view over the park. Lining boards for walls. Angela’s grandfather’s walking stick with bone engraved handle. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

A pretty fabulous outdoor entertaining space! The walls have been limewashed and rendered. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Grape vines, cacti, bird cages and a Turkish tiled table. Market Imports rocking chairs. ‘Can’t go to Greece? Come over’ says Angela! Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The beautiful, lush outdoor area. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The perfect place for a raucous dinner party! Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The view from the study upstairs. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Angela outside her beloved home! Photo – Caitlin Mills.

The grand old dame of a home, filled with decades of family memories and precious mementos from a life well lived. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Looking at images of this layered and lived-in home, it comes as no surprise it’s been in the one family for 33 years. 

Angela Richards, nurse and right-hand woman at Albert Park boutique Albert & Victoria, and her husband Sandy, business consultant and start-up investor, bought this 1860 Victorian Italianate terrace in Port Melbourne back in 1987.

The couple initially rented out a room to friends to help with mortgage repayments, but over time the property became their much-loved family home. Their three children have now moved out, so these days the grounds are shared with nine-year old white rabbit Gypsy, and bantam chickens Rose, Violet Ivy, Daphne, Clementine and Dulsie! 

From the street, the house looks almost exactly as it did in 1860, but numerous changes have been made inside. After 10 years living in the home, two rooms were added above the garage (once used as a party deck!), serving as everything from a dress ups area to a toy room, Lego play land, art space, and study over the decades.

Major renovations were also undertaken in the previously dark ‘70s kitchen, to suit the style of the rear courtyard. ‘Think light, white, lime wash, beams, Cornish/Spanish/Greek, rustic and open,’ is how Angela describes the space. ‘It’s my dream kitchen – this is everything to me…I am a huge fan of open shelves, lime washed rough-render walls, and mismatched chairs collected along the way.’ Meanwhile, a large room off the kitchen was transformed into a laundry/butler’s pantry. ‘I still love this space, and would not do a thing differently,’ Angela says. 

Walk into this kitchen now and you’ll see an ever changing display of glassware, baskets, and other beautifully mismatched items. The dried flowers are a new passion of Angela’s, but she hopes to one day have an entire wreath room! 

While renovations have been completed professionally, the styling of this house is all Angela. Over the years she’s ripped out the carpet and became ‘totally addicted’ to painting the floorboards white, curated a treasure-trove of vintage items that are proudly displayed, and created numerous textile pieces in her very own sewing room. ‘I’ve loved doing it all – it’s very satisfying to create our home’, she says. 

After more than 30 years in this house, Angela and Sandy have decided to move to Merricks Beach where they own an Airbnb in (check out the listing here!) and holiday house.

If you’re in the market for an eclectic city terrace, keep your eyes peeled on Port Melbourne’s real estate listings next month! 

[bluewithpurplepolkadots]

Lego Batman Fanfic: Playing the Part

Or alternatively “Two Dads: Part 2: Electric Boogaloo”.

 Part one can be found [here]

In the after party of Robin’s school play, the Joker, feeling he might be loosing his villain cred, decides to do what a villain should: mess with Batman’s head. 

By seducing his room-mate/rumoured boyfriend Bruce Wayne! Yeah, good luck with that.

Characters: Joker, Bruce Wayne, Robin, Barbara for a moment, other various DC characters.

--

“Okay everybody smile!” 

It was hard not to notice the photographers own wide grin on her face, and the joker couldn’t help but follow suit, snaking his right arm around Bruce Wayne and placing his left hand on Robin’s shoulder in front of them.

“Come on Mr Wayne, at least pretend that you like the guy.” she continued. And The Joker bit back a laugh at the billionaire’s scowl and how he seemed to edge a little away from him, and tried to drag Robin away at the same time.

“Yeah come on Brucey.” 

Eventually the other man complied, putting on a winning smile which had probably put him on that ‘most eligible bachelor’ list for the ninety or so years he kept boasting about. It also looked completely forced. Still the Joker simply rolled his eyes and grinned for the camera as little Robin (Richard) waved his fake tree branches around with pride ( and his costume now currently covered in the roses from earlier save from the one in Bruce’s lapel). 

At least someone’s smile was going to be genuine in this picture.

Bruce seemed to heave a sigh of relief and physically put himself between the clown and the kid. They moved across and through the mingling crowd of high-fliers and their children to a more dimly lit corner of the otherwise glaringly bright golden white room, right next to the kitchens entrance. 

“Kid, go run off to your friends, I think I have to have a little word with Mr Joker.”

At this Robin seemed to deflate a little.

“But Padre, you didn’t even say what you thought about my performance yet!”

“Oh uh it was...”

“It was spectacular kiddo!” The Joker interjected quickly. “Worthy of Hollywood. No, you were blowing those hacks from Hollywood out of the water. Almost thought I was seeing Tree beard from Lord of the Rings.” He somehow found his arm around Bruce again.

“R-Really?” His eyes seems to double in size as he looked up from him to his adoptive father. The Joker wasn’t sure how that was physically possible.

“Uh... yeah. All of that. What Mr Joker said.”

“Oh I’m so glad you liked it Padre!” the kid seemed to squeak struggling his way out of his tree costume and hugging him, causing the billionaire to give his first genuine smile of the evening, though it turned to a slight frown when he noticed the clown staring. “Oh and er, Mr Joker?” Robin said when he released him, rocking on his heels, his hands behind his back, clad now in a brown shirt and trousers. “I was talking to Suzy in the interim, and she said she was sorry and everything!”

At this Bruce blinked and then seemed to flit his head and gaze between the two like it was an interesting tennis match.

“Well.” The Joker intoned sounding dangerously thoughtful. “Isn’t that nice? Quick question for her then: which is her favourite parent? If she had to choose I mean.”

“I uh... wouldn’t really know that?”

“Well why don’t you go find her and ask?” he added giving him a little push. “It’s just idle curiosity you understand.” He held up his hands with an innocent expression which even made the little tyke seem a little suspicious. But in the end he seemed to make a bee line to a little blonde girl near the refreshments table.

“That was...nice.” Bruce said flatly to him as he finally tore his eyes from his adoptive son to the clown beside him.

The Joker rubbed his fist on the lapel of his purple jacket as if shining nails which weren’t there and hummed to himself, smiling all the while.

“Joker. You don’t do nice. What’s really your game here?”

“Oh you know how it is.” he shrugged giving the man’s opposite shoulder a friendly squeeze, reveling in how the man’s eyes seemed to narrow even further (another ocular miracle). “You’re the clown prince of crime and chaos and all that jazz but after a while even chaos gets a little predictable. Sometimes I have to do a good deed or two, just to throw people for a loop.”

“I don’t really think I believe you.”

“Oh well I...”

Suddenly the billionaire grabbed his green and yellow polka dotted tie. Yet for anyone else on the floor it probably looked as if he was just leaning in close. The Joker felt a little thrill as the other man seemed to whisper in his ear.

“The kid told me what went down that night with the vat. What you talked about. You know Robin’s secret identity. My kid’s secret identity. You try to use that against him, you’re up against the wall.”

“That a promise?” 

At this Bruce suddenly let him go and fixed him with a stare, causing the joker to smile further. “You know what I mean.” If anything the effect was ruined a little by the fact The Joker could almost imagine him stamping his foot. Ever the typical rich boy.

Still, The Joker smiled. “For a second there, I almost thought you were your roommate. It was actually kind of exciting.”

At this Bruce eyes seemed to widen and then narrowed at him again.

“And you know just what my uh... roommate will do to you if you mess with his sidekick. But trust me. I’ll be there too.”

And with that he left.

The Joker straightened his jacket and tried his best to look unconcerned.

--

It was a little later after the boredom had set in that The Joker finally admitted it to himself.  He also pretended Bruce Wayne wasn’t boring holes into the back of his head with his stare.

 His line to the billionaire about chaos becoming predictable had been an utter load. And the more he thought about it, the more it rankled, especially as he heard the kid suddenly laugh here and there, causing him to feel all sorts of confusing things which he really shouldn’t have. 

He was supposed to be a villain.

Villains did not help kid sidekicks with their playground issues. They did not like seeing them be happy. They were supposed to if anything, revel in their misery.

  Come to think of it, despite early nervous glares, people in the party were starting to relax around him, and even smile at him. Without laughing gas. He could feel his villainous reputation being utterly ruined as the seconds ticked by!

He stalked to the punch bowl table in a sudden foul mood, wishing he had a chicken costume to at least create the obvious pun.

Or at least he called it the ‘punch bowl table’ in his head.  But instead, in this absurdly lavish spread after a play at “Gothams School for the Children of the Incredibly Rich and Privileged,” they had things like a glass pyramid of champagne for the various butlers to painstakingly use ladders to remove as they spun around the guests. They even had non-alcoholic versions of the stuff for the kids. Honestly all the gold and white and glinting glass was almost kind of blinding.

Did rich kids not like soda or something? Judging from some of their faces as they looked on in distaste, he was pretty sure they’d prefer pizza to caviar at least. He suddenly pondered the idea of calling some in, being faintly amused at how some of the parents would react to it especially the parents of ‘Mikey kins’,  the kid the Brentwoods kept harping about.

“No bad, Joker, BAD! That’s being a good guy.” He muttered to himself.

 A butler stepped a little away from him because of it. It at least made him feel a little better. When Joker snatched one of the lower glasses, causing some of them to crash down he was beginning at least, to feel more like himself.

But not quite.

Still he was almost about to groan loudly, and would have probably drawn even more attention to himself had it not been for a flash of a camera catching his attention from the half hidden coat room.

Pursing his lips, he noticed the lady photographer from earlier and the gentleman, both obviously not one of the rich and elite. Both were dressed to the nines in ordinary sweats with backwards caps, trying to look inconspicuous behind the row of furs, jackets and top hats of the cloak room after the family photo sessions had stopped.

“Ah, the paps.” He took a swig, pulled a face and pondered on the considered pond scum of the media world. 

If you wanted to know how things really were you read a book. If you wanted to know how people thought things were, you read a newspaper. 

Though  it couldn’t be that they didn’t needle on the truth just a little on occasion. If he recalled there was the odd newspaper who more than once hinted at the idea of Bruce and the Bats being an item. 

And even if they weren’t... well. Roommates and all that. The guy Bruce Wayne trusted enough to let his own kid go crime fighting with. Who Bruce Wayne probably bank rolled. A level of trust perhaps not all that easily shaken.

And then the Joker grinned. 

--

It was when he’d slipped his arm into the crook of Mr Wayne’s that he’d gotten another odd look from him. The two women he had been talking too also tilted their heads curiously, the paler dark haired one in the green dress and wheelchair in particular looked wary, but the other one, standing tall, with dark brown skin and dread locked hair and glasses looked almost amused. 

“So Brucey, talking about Junior’s stellar performance?” The Joker interjected.

“Actually we were talking about the recent market with Bludhaven and Metropolis ventures.”  The standing woman chimed in, grinning and twisting her glass. It was then that the Joker felt his eyes glaze over. Her partner finally broke into a smile of her own.

“Sorry: Dinah’s joking. I threatened her with bodily harm if she talked shop tonight: we were just wondering if Bruce here wanted to dance later, he’s usually stag to these things, but maybe he already has a partner this time.”

Dinah nodded swirling her drink looking over glasses. “I mean he can’t keep his eyes off you, can you Bruce?”

“It’s kind of nice, to know we’re not the only ones.” The Joker giggled as Bruce’s mouth dropped open. “You’re sure as hell taking the heat off us with your choice of partner Bruce. Honestly I think those Brentwoods always pop a blood vessel when we so much as kiss a cheek.”

Bruce looked as if he was about to splutter. The Joker nodded leaping on the opportunity.

“Got it in one sweet cheeks. He’s all mine tonight! But if you want perhaps I could offer one of you lovely ladies a dance.”

He held his hand out to the woman in the wheelchair. She looked up to her partner who shrugged.

“Oh, go on then” she said nodding at the handles on her chair for him to take. “You only live once.”

--

Somehow even talking boring ‘shop’ talk as the woman called it was still kind of fun though maybe it had to do with the venue and Bruce glaring at him becoming suddenly amusing. He was probably getting a heck of a crick in his neck as he danced with his partner.

The Joker cackled as he spun the other around in the chair and then began dangling from the back of it himself, some of the kids it seemed, finally joining in on their own spinning games as a result. Still as he stopped, both of them out of breath he grinned and held her hand with a bow.

“You’re an excellent dance partner... uh.”

“Paula, Paula Crock, our little one is Artemis, I think she’s the year above your Richard.” she added. “You’re a heck of a charmer for a clown.” she added.

The Joker brushed a lock of his hair. “Oh do go on.” He smirked.

Then he looked expectantly.

“... well I said go on didn’t I?”

This caused her to laugh again until her wife finally stole her away, her own dance with Bruce having ended. 

Bruce seemed to scowl down at him as he joined him.

“Jealous?” Joker inquired with a snap of his hips in a dance.

 Bruce snorted. He was watching the two women drift away to mingle with some of the other guests and even go over to little Robin now speaking to their own daughter (and he guessed ‘Suzy’).

He sighed.  “Look Joker don’t start messing with the parents of my kid’s friends too.”

The Joker threw his arms around the taller man’s neck and grinned up at his resigned expression.

“Who said I was? She’s a perfectly charming woman. Shame I’m as straight as a curly straw. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Also Dinah would kick your butt.” He added dryly as if the clown wasn’t posing dramatically and seductively in front of him. He fixed him with a stare. “You might have everyone else fooled here but me? Not a chance.”

Not to be deterred, the Joker released his neck and squeezed his arm. “My, do you work out. Blink blink. Blinkety blink.”

“Are you... seriously doing that thing again.” he muttered. “What are you even trying to pull here tonight.” He looked away. 

“Oh I’m just having some fun. Surely you can’t stop me from that.”

“If it involves blowing up the city... I... Batman sure can.” he suddenly corrected, looking back at him.

“Oh that was for complicated reasons really.” The Joker suddenly squeezed his arm again and looked surprised. “I... wow, okay you really do work out.”

Bruce seemed to puff his chest. “Yeah I have a nine... “ he stopped and coughed. “I mean I... work out and I eat nine eggs in the morning every day.”

“That must take a while.” he crooned hanging off the arm in question. He tried not to smile too hard at the faint red tinge on the other man’s face.

“I... blend them and drink it down.”

“... That sounds disgusting.”

He paused.

 “I love it!” He cackled. “Come on Brucey let’s show these high fliers you know how to have some fun!”

The billionaire was spun around the room, The Joker’s hand on Bruce’s waist, and he tried to slide Bruce’s hand to his back. He suddenly plucked the rose from Bruce’s lapel and stuck it between his teeth.

He dipped the man before he could say anything but was almost relieved when he was suddenly and roughly shifted to Bruce dipping him. The other man was far from light.

“Bruce Wayne always leads.” Though if anything, for the first time he almost sounded amused.

“Oh, does he now.” he almost wanted to say but couldn’t due to the flower in his mouth. A camera flashed, a few had, but somehow he’d forgotten what for.

--

“You have beautiful eyes.” Joker had finally gotten the rose from out of his teeth. It might have looked suave, at least initially, but it made the whole seduction thing difficult when you couldn’t speak. (And not really all that attractive when he tried, even if did result in some genuine smirks from Bruce himself as he tried to desperately spit it out. If anything Joker suspected he’d dipped him so much so he couldn’t get it out).

“True as that obviously is. I don’t trust a single thing you say.” he shrugged. “And because I can’t trust you, I’m not letting you out of my sight if I can help it. Not until you’re locked up.”

Joker swallowed. Bruce Wayne cocked an eyebrow.

The Joker could feel his own face turning red.

This hadn’t been part of the plan. The plan itself was dead, dying, and reflected back on himself like a funhouse mirror to boot.

Of course it was at that moment the Brentwoods seemed to choose to make another of their innane comments about the nuclear family as they stalked by that he finally got a worthy distraction. 

It was almost a relief really, even as he tried not to put too much thought in how Bruce seemed to tighten his arms around him in response as well.

--

Robin shook his head when he found them again, the cool night air outside the school tinging his cheeks red.

“I just can’t believe you did that.” 

“Aww relax kid, your old man got the Brentwoods down quickly enough. They should have known better then to bad mouth my lemon squares anyway”

Robin, perhaps wisely, seemed to decide not to bring up that he hadn’t even brought lemon squares.

 His grin widened. “Besides those cops took one look at the fancy school party invite and they waved it off like it was nothing! Probably thought I was just another eccentric rich stiff who liked to play dress up. And well, two out of four isn’t so bad.”

Robin rolled his eyes even as Artemis’ parents were stifling their giggles. They were trying and failing to properly ‘scold’ their daughter for her own role in the proceedings.

“I’m pretty sure Babs will have words to those two cops.”

The Joker waved a hand dismissively. “Ah that’s for the boring grown-ups to decide.” He ruffled his hair and Robin stared for a moment in surprise before smiling.

“Artemis thought it was pretty funny.” he admitted.

“Well there you go, keep being friends with her kid, she’s going places. That whole archery thing she pulled for it was pretty impressive.”

“You’re... trying to corrupt me again aren’t you.”

“Not working is it? Shame.”

Bruce finally wacked him around the head with the inflatable whale he’d used in the proceedings but if anything the party seemed to lighten without those stuffy dingbats around. Even Bruce beginning to give side long smirks when he thought the joker wasn’t looking.

--

In the end Bruce Wayne seemed to keep a close grip in his wrist even as a more responsible police car finally drove up. He’d called them. Though he’d waited until the very end of the night to do so.

“You have very soft hands.” Joker murmured even as he blew a leaving kiss to Dinah and Paula, his lipstick red smile twitching upwards.

Robin seemed to be catching the giggles at this line himself. And Joker once again felt a stirring of pride. 

Bruce flicked his nose with his finger. “You’re hilarious.”

“Ow! Sensitive!”

“... the batman did say that was the case.”

“You mean you talk about me? Blink blink.” A pause. “Ow!”

But before Barbara Gordan herself could take him away, the clown planted a bright red kiss on his cheek. “Call me.”

Bruce seemed to struggle not to smile even as Barbara’s eyebrows seemed to fly off her forehead.

 “Don’t push your luck.”

[salt-moon]

Malignant Shelter

(I am so psyched to be a part of @sylvain-tolbert​‘s current plot!  Thank you for including me and being a great friend!  To everyone else, be forewarned that this story-converted RP is long.  I make no apologies.)

Midsun.  A godsforsaken time in Thanalan, to be sure.  The sun hung fat and swollen to bursting in the sky, bleaching everything it touched to a dry, crackling beige.  The very air rippled under the heat and the ground baked and shimmered.  Such an oppressive, hateful climate.  It was one Charlemont did not enjoy until the evening when the explosions of stars could be seen hung against a black velvet canvas and the temperature dropped enough to prick your arms into gooseflesh with a strong breeze.

Today however, this particular visit, the Duskwight found himself caught under that single hot star instead of a glimmering black sky as he made his way through The Goblet.  He was dressed casually, in a white tunic and deep charcoal colored pants with black ankle boots.  His hair, reading bluer than normal under the screaming blast of light, was of course pulled back into his signature bun, and on his shoulder he carried quite a small messenger bag.

Plot thirteen seemed... flat to Charlemont.  Sun-parched like everything else around him, and somehow almost without life.  It lacked a vibrancy, a spirit.  The air seemed utterly neutral, and it sat ill with him.  The frown that twisted onto his lips darkened his features and drew his eyebrows closer together.  Steeling himself against the possibility of encountering a stranger inside, he took a deep breath and saw himself into the large mansion... only to find it utterly empty.  Disturbingly empty.  Much like the exterior of the house, the interior rang of absence.  

He wasted no more time in the foyer than it took to ascertain that he did not like the pull of the tide here.  His feet carried him to the door of Sylvain's room without a sideways glance, and he clutched at the strap of his bag as he rapped on the door.  

"Time to rise and shine, Lord Tolbert," he thought to himself.

The response came immediately; clearly Charlemont was expected. "Come in," a voice called from behind the closed door.

He was surprised by the instant reply, having quite figured Sylvain for the type of nobility - being the youngest of his house - to trifle away his nights gambling, drinking, and chasing women.  Perhaps he was.  But perhaps he was also quite interested in what Charlemont was bringing to him.  He wasted no time in turning the handle and entering, though his movements didn't seem hurried.

Inside, Sylvain sat on a black sofa, a few dimly flickering candles on the table beside him the only illumination in the room. The windows were thickly curtained against the bright sun, and large pieces of furniture--mostly bookcases--loomed in the room's deep shadows. From Sylvain's office emanated a thick, dark magical aether--but the door was firmly closed. 

The Duskwight blinked a few times as he sealed himself into the flickering, yellow-spiked blackness of the room.  Within a heartbeat the energy seeping from the shut offfice washed over him and pulled his lips into a tight frown.

Sylvain set aside the book he was reading--titled Essences & Permutations--and nodded. No false Ishgardian charm today; no cheerful greeting. His face was shadowed with weariness; his body clad in a simple black tunic and pants that were unadorned. Before him was a silver tea set with steam rising from the teapot. "Have a seat," Sylvain said, his voice equally tired but free of all menace.

"Gods," Char murmured, a knee-jerk reaction to that dark aether, and he ignored Sylvain's offer for the moment.  He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing softly as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.  "I would warn against your boldness in housing whatever it is you're housing inside that room, but I have the distinct feeling that Rendezvous Tea House isn't simply just a tea house."  His lips pursed then and he gave a puffing sigh through his nose before folding his arms over his chest.  He did not sit yet.

For a long moment he let his eyes study Sylvain.  He was weary, as Charlemont was.  That much was certain.  The dark circles under his eyes told tales of his obsession and the dispirited voice ached for freedom.  Resolution.  "So she's stuck."

"Who told you that?" Sylvain could count on one hand the number of people who know of his sister's precise... predicament. He couldn't imagine any of them telling this Duskwight.  

A pink tongue peeked past his lips and was pressed between them.  Char lifted his head up and back slightly, almost as if in thought, but only for a second before he shook his head a bit and slipped his bag off his shoulder and into his hand.  "A man blackmails me and thinks that I wouldn't do my own studying?  Come."  He left his answer at that and stepped over to the couch to sit - a distance away from Sylvain.  "You forget that although stripped of title, I am a noble as well."

Charlemont placed his bag on the floor by his foot, on the furthest side from Sylvain, out of his reach.  "I did a fair bit of searching on your behalf.  Among thieves, mages, witches... my own family.  Everyone asked me why I didn't simply have you killed."  Char leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together and turning his head toward the other man.

As Char went on, a list of possible candidates ran through Sylvain's mind. "The bard or the fortune teller, I'm assuming." He tapped fingers on the armrest of the couch, thinking a moment--but decided it didn't matter. He also didn't seem particularly bothered by Char's last statement, ignoring it to lean forward and take up the teapot. "Tea? This is a tea house after all."

"No.  Thank you."  His eyes narrowed slightly at Sylvain.  "The same bard, no doubt, that you are so willing to sell my identity to, mm?  To pay to take you through my family's mansion, no?"  Char nodded slightly, more to himself than anything, and his next words were poison, swollen with disdain and disgust.  "Such unbecoming, reprehensible behaviour from someone in genuine need of help.  Threats and blackmail when you could have merely come to me as a fellow Elezen in need, respectful and honest."  He sighed and shook his head.  "But I have come to expect no more from Ishgardians than backstabbing and arm twisting."

Charlemont's eyes held Sylvain's for a moment.  "What will you do?  What do you want from me now?"

Steam rose as Sylvain poured a single cup of tea, then added four sugar cubes to the liquid--an Ishgardian brew, by the scent. His gaze was turned downward on the tea, but a worried frown played across his face.

Charlemont's rant was ignored--Sylvain didn't disagree about his kin, and he'd had no intention of blackmailing him. Not that he would tell him that. None of it mattered now anyway.

Finally his gaze returned to Char, and he sighed. "I will get her back. What do you have for me?"

"Get her back indeed."  His jaw was tensing now as he shook his head, but just a touch.  "You say this to someone who knows the dangers better than most."  Charlemont let those words hang in the air, hoping that the gravity of them would weigh heavily upon the noble's shoulders.  That they would slowly begin to sink in and make an impression upon him like a steel yoke.  Bearing down with its burden of truth.

He swallowed and his gaze fell away from Sylvain's face to absently eye the teapot.  His eyes flickered over the set without really studying it - instead he was mulling over his next words.  "The reason, if you were wondering - and I'm sure you're not - that I didn't simply have you killed is because I have a sister as well."  Char's voice was quieter now, slower, lulling back into that odd, rhythmic cadence of his that he had when he was more thoughtful and relaxed.  "And I would move mountains for her."

Charlemont fell silent for a while.  He closed his eyes and let the dark aether bleeding out of the other room swirl around him, almost beckoning it to him though without motion or sound.  After a deep, slow breath, he exhaled and spoke again.  "What I have for you comes with a non-negotiable stipulation.  And you must agree to it before you know what the item is."  His eyes reopened and his head turned back to Sylvain to regard him.

Sylvain snorted a humorless laugh and took a sip of tea. It made him grimace, and he stood, walking across the shadowed room to a corner. He returned with a bottle of some amber-colored liquid and added a generous shot to his teacup before holding it up in an offering to Char.

The other man declined, lifting his hand almost politely, not particularly wanting to ingest anything in this room, let alone this house.  The eerie, empty vibrations from before were still tucked away neatly in the back of his mind, and he pushed them aside once again to listen to Sylvain.  

"Sure, why not. Everyone else has stipulations. Do your worst, my lord." The last was said with a trace of Sylvain's usual sarcasm, absent from him so far this day. "What do you want? Money? My firstborn? A chance to lick my father's boot?"

Char’s eyes narrowed at the jab, but he bit back any retort and shook his head once more.  This time, almost sadly.  "No.  I just need it returned to me," he stated simply.  Charlemont sat back in the couch and crossed one leg over the other, knee over knee, and folded his hands in his lap.

Again Sylvain laughed, this time with genuine surprise. "Is that all? Done. Assuming there's anything left of me, that is." He sipped from his boozy tea. "I've been told, over and over, that this will be my death."

"It could be," Charlemont stated simply, for the reality of it was something he'd very much lived through.  "Or your fate could be much worse."  He did not elaborate; there was no need.  If Sylvain had come this far there would be no deterring him.  He already knew what was at stake.  "But you have a better chance with what I've brought for you."

His eyes regarded the worn, worried man for just a moment before he finally leaned down and pulled his messenger bag from the floor onto his lap.  "Come sit down, please."  Char was already unbuckling the strap at the front, and as he slid the flap open a gentle, muted wash of aether began to seep from inside.  It was a twisted, sick aura even this faint, one that seemed to reach into your stomach and squeeze.  Though Charlemont seemed utterly unaffected.

Another swallow finished the cup of tea, and, now fortified, Sylvain returned to the sofa. He sat, closer this time to the other man, and turned to look at the bag. The magical aura was alluring, despite its darkness.

Or maybe because of its darkness. Sylvain didn't think about it.

Charlemont couldn't help but turn his head to look over at him as he felt his weight sink down onto the couch.  His hands had paused in their movements, and his lips parted as if to speak... but then he simply closed them again and shook his head slightly, only once.  Long, dusky fingers disappeared inside the bag, then his hand, all the way past his wrist.  The item he pulled back out was simple - a small black velvet pouch - but what came along with it was not.

That same aura grew by leaps with the further opening of the leather messenger bag, and then bounds when Charlemont held the small, dark pouch in his naked hand.  Lying there on his palm, whatever was tucked inside seemed to hum and vibrate, teeming with an otherworldly energy that the flimsy velvet did nothing to conceal. To someone attuned to the many varying and fluctuating nuances of magic, the life of it was clearly, tangibly visible.  It twisted black and purple around Char's fingers, caressing them, curling like smoke around his hand and dripping downward towards his lap.  It reeked of void magic and... almost a sort of personality.

"I do not know you.  And I am a fool to entrust this to you for even a moment."  Charlemont looked back at Sylvain to gauge his reaction before he continued.

The magic was nearly a physical presence, and Sylvain reeled with the heady aetheric aura. Like all magic, it was irresistible. Unable to hide his interest, Sylvain leaned closer, eyes on the pouch Char held. "You'll get it back," he said, the impatience clear in his voice. He refrained from reaching for it, but only just.

Charlemont's eyebrows drew closer to each other as he watched Sylvain nearly froth at the mouth.  His lips pressed together in a flat line and his fingers closed around the pouch in his hand.  Char misliked the tone in his voice, so eager and hungry.  "I cannot guarantee that it won't corrupt.  I'm rather... immune, as it were.  But if it doesn't, it should keep you safe."  Safer than you'd be otherwise, he thought, though he didn't give a voice to it.

Without another word he pulled the top of the bag open and leaned forward, upending it onto the coffee table in front of them.  A flash of golden metal and crimson jewel glinted in the candlelight as an elegant ring dropped from the bag and hit the wood.  It bounced a couple of times before stopping, cocked slightly sideways but upright there on the table.  Tainted, infected aether swirled around the ring and then spread, filtering over Sylvain's coffee table like the fog from dry ice.

When Charlemont spoke again, his voice was slow and quiet, but strong and matter-of-fact.  "This ring was worn by Lady Amandine Dartancours until her final dying day.  It is saturated with void energies."  He licked his lips before continuing.  "As I'm sure you can tell.  That alone would be enough to 'disguise' you, so to speak.  But it is also very much imprinted with her.  And she was very much a void friend.  As it were."

The skin on the back of Sylvain's neck prickled; strong magic always affected him so. He placed his hand over the ring, not touching it, but hovering an ilm or two over it. The aether rolled over his hand like smoke, almost as if curious about him.

"A disguise. Twelve, but that's genius." Sylvain's broody lethargy was gone, replaced by interest. "And something I'd not thought of. I have the spellwork prepared; since she's a blood relative, I can call her to me, and not have to venture in deeply myself. With this in addition, perhaps I can hide my intentions and avoid attracting the attention of anything too tainted."

Char listened, and he nodded, his gold eyes wandering over Sylvain's face as he spoke.  There was a dull sort of worry tugging away inside him, unsure of how the ring might affect another person.  It would serve its purpose well enough, but the remnants of its influence...

He licked his lips and swallowed, then spoke again, quietly.  "Ishgard holds a bookshop at the end of the Jeweled Crozier.  Blink and you might miss it.  Anyone lacking magical abilities or inclinations would look right past it.  Those in tune with the darker side of things, however..."  Char shook his head quickly and continued.  "I had a chat with the owner.  He is relatively certain this will do the job."  He paused, and spoke softer.  "As am I.  But like I said... I cannot be certain of its effects on you."

Sylvain lifted his head and flashed a grin at Char--charming but genuine, not his usual Ishgardian sneer. "Shall we find out?" Without waiting for an answer, Sylvain closed his fingers around the ring, lifting it from the table in a haze of void-fog.

In a violent reversal of movement, the swirling, plum-black aether appeared to suction off the table and siphon upward toward Sylvain's fingers along with the ring.  The air swept suddenly cold up the length of Charlemont's spine and coiled icy fingers over the crown of his head, then went utterly still.  The sight, the sensation, the total lack of movement in the room made his breath catch in his chest.  Char stared at Sylvain with wide eyes and parted lips, and with his next thundering heartbeat his gaze flickered back down to his hand.

There that same infected aether from before started to ooze back out through his fingers, only this time it began to wind its way up Sylvain's arm.  The color blossomed, growing wild and hungry, blacker than before.  Purples like bruises and morphing into magenta began to tint red.  Blood red, spiraling faster up his arm.

"Sylvain," Charlemont whispered.

The reddish tint reflected in Sylvain's eyes, and he laughed--actually laughed--at the tainted blooms spreading up his arm. He dropped the ring back down on the table and grinned at it, looking fascinated rather than frightened.

Had Sylvain ever seen the disappointed, scolding gaze of a father boring fierce holes into his son - and Charlemont was sure he had - the expression would be mirrored in this Duskwight's eyes.  Char's lips pursed into a tight, unamused line as he reached out for the ring and removed it from the table.  Held between his fingers that same aether flowed from it, though in a much more fluid, familiar tide.  He seemed relatively unaffected by the fog, and he dropped the ring back into the black velvet pouch.

"Hells, that's bloody powerful, isn't it?"

"I should say it is.  Considering who it took to finally put her to rest."  Back into the small leather messenger the pouch went, and with it along did most of the energies.  Once it was firmly shut, the atmosphere in the room retreated to it's previous state from when he'd first entered.  Shadowed now with only the magical residue leaking from Sylvain's office.

Charlemont sighed and placed his hands on the bag in his lap, then looked at Sylvain.  "I want to ask if I can trust you with this, but I hypothesize there's little point."  His lips drew into a thin line once more before he spoke again.  "Please do not abuse this ring.  Please take it seriously."

The magic left his body and Sylvain sighed, immediately missing the rush of pleasure-pain that dark things always left in their wake. "Of course. I always take such things seriously." How reassuring.

Whatever else it might have done, contact with the ring seemed to have restored Sylvain's flippancy. He smirked at Char. "I plan on working the spell soon. Tomorrow, likely. Until then, I'll keep your precious family artifact locked in my office. Good enough, my lord?"

Char’s eyes narrowed at the noble, dark and tight with skepticism and warning.  Words weren't necessary at this point.  Sylvain would do whatever it was he planned to do, and his constitution and heart would be the deciding factor in the outcome of it all.  Not whether he would save his sister, but whether he could return unscathed.  Charlemont has his doubts.  The glint in Sylvain's eyes breathed of a certain unsatisfied lust for things unknown.  He was ever so familiar with that look.

His fingers slipped into a side pocket of the bag, pulling out a crimson linkpearl - interestingly enough about the same shade as the jewel the ring held - and he placed it on the table.  "Should you need me.  Should you not, destroy it."  Char let his eyes wander over Sylvain's face, studying it for a moment before he decided there was no more he could see.  No more he really wanted to, either.  With a sigh, he stood and offered the bag to him.

"When shall I meet you again?  And where?"

"Likely I'll be working the spell in Ishgard. From the place where she first disappeared. What about our favorite tavern there? Ah, such fond memories..."

Charlemont couldn't help but roll his eyes as he handed over the bag.  "Evening, I assume."  His gaze flickered down to the bag, feeling nausea creep over him at the thought of leaving the ring in someone else's possession.  A ring no one else knew still existed.  Char pursed his lips and turned away, heading toward the door and feeling utterly off; too light, too unencumbered, as if he were missing a part of himself.

"I hope none of this turns ugly," he lamented, his voice quiet and terse.  He rested his hand on the doorknob and looked down at it before he spoke again, his back toward Sylvain.

"Good luck."

"I do thank you." Sylvain turned to the door, his face free of acridity as he called after Charlemont. The little bag was on the table in front of him, probably wisely not clutched in his hand. "And if it works, I'll thank you again. I will be in touch."

Char nodded once, slowly and solemnly, his eyes lingering at his own fingers that curled around the doorknob.  As they clutched around it and twisted, he turned his head back toward Sylvain just a touch - not even enough to really look at him.  He paused, searching for the right reply, but in the end he simply opened the door and left, closing it behind him.

On the other side, alone in the hallway, Charlemont closed his eyes and expelled a heavy sigh.  He rubbed his face with both hands and took a moment to disconnect his appearance from the turmoil inside before he saw his way out.  Back to Ishgard.

(For the next little tidbit, check out Sylvain’s post here!)

[ballbustedego-blog]

Secret Agent Man - Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The Frenchman

Kin infiltrated the factory without any difficulty. The place was filled with perfume bottles of different brands. The whole factory was dark except for a light coming from a window that led to a room above some stairs. Kin made her way under the window where she could hear Louis from inside the room. Judging from the sound, he was defiantly alone. He was mumbling to himself in French and breathing rapidly. Kin took out her gun and burst in the room like a hurricane, pointing her gun at the man. Sitting in front of her behind a desk, dazzled, with his dick in his hand, was Louis Couilles, a dangerous mercenary wanted by the agency, masturbating to some cheap porn. Kin was disgusted by the man's behaviour.

''Mais putin. What is this? A man cannot masturbate in peace?'' he commented.

Kin had him exactly where she wanted. She could have killed him right then and there. With her license to kill, it would be nothing but good work.

''Who the fuck are you bitch?'' Louis asked with a strong accent.

Killing him would be too easy. This asshole needed a lesson. Kin put her gun away.

''Is this my birthday? You came to spank me? You don't talk too much,'' Louis added as Kin walked to him.

''And you speak too much,'' Kin replied as she planted her foot on Louis' crotch.

''Oh la vache! What the fuck are you doing? Don't you know men are sensitive in this area?'' Louis shouted.

Kin added pressure for more effect.

''I despise you. You cause mischief everywhere you go. The world would be better off without you. You swear constantly. And you have no shame, showing your penis to a woman you've never met,'' Kin said.

Louis was getting annoyed. He was not the type to bargain and became aggressive.

''Get your fucking foot off my nuts you slut,'' he demanded. To which he got up, even though Kin had her foot on his balls. Kin backed away a little.

''Now tell me who you are, before I fucking murder you, whore,'' Louis added.

''My name is agent Kin Tama. I work for a secret agency. You have been on our 'most wanted' list for years and we know you are one of the leaders of the Gemini Six. I'm here to kick your ass, or should I say, your balls,'' Kin answered.

''Fait chier. You think you can take me on without your gun, little bitch? I've never lost a fight in my life. I will break you. Then, I will rape you!'' Louis claimed.

Kin took that last comment very personal and lunched her leg forward toward Louis' package. Louis took the hit right in the testicles but barely flinched.

''You obviously want to fight, but you have no idea who you're dealing with... I propose we do this the 'street way'. You hit, I receive, and vice versa. A dog fight, so to speak. You win, I tell you everything you want to know. I win, I rape you, and I kill you,'' Louis suggested.

''Agreed, but if I win, I also get to pop your testicles, something I usually do not lower myself to do,'' Kin added.

''Like hell you will ever win. You started so it's my turn!'' Louis claimed, before punching Kin in the breasts.

Kin didn't expect a hit like that and grabbed her boobs from the pain Louis had inflicted. However, it was her turn. She aimed carefully, sprang her leg back, Louis even widened his stance knowing the hit was about to come, and shot it right into his exposed scrotum.

Louis felt this one. He took a moment to breathe in before punching Kin in the tits a second time.

Kin massaged her breasts a little before moving on. She came up close to Louis, put her hands on his shoulders and smashed her knee into his balls. Louis grabbed his nuts in his hands and walked around a bit to ease the pain. He knew women had a tendency for aiming at the testicles from experience.

Louis' turn was up. This time he grabbed both of Kin's nipples and twisted them hard. Kin let out a scream as Louis kept the pressure on her nipples. After a few seconds, he let go.

''No fair, grabbing doesn't count as a hit,'' Kin retorted.

''Hey I didn't make the rules,'' Louis answered.

''Okay then. How about this?'' Kin said, before grabbing Louis by the balls and squeezing as hard as possible.

''OH BORDEL DE MERDE! YOU MEAN BUSINESS!'' Louis managed to say, as Kin squeezed his testicles.

''How can you be so resilient to having your balls squeezed that much?'' Kin inquired.

''I grew up with four cousins, all girls, all sadists. I was the youngest but all four of them had a nasty habit of 'training' me by using my balls as reinforcement. I guess my balls are used to abuse thanks to them,'' Louis answered.

''That would explain why I can't bring you to your knees in one blow,'' Kin added.

''Or why I still have a boner,'' added Louis.

Kin barely had time to acknowledge the comment before Louis punched her on the left breast with tremendous force. Kin doubled over, grabbing her soft mound. So far, it seemed as though Louis had a slight advantage. She needed another approach. As she rose back up, she took off her shirt, leaving only a modest bra to cover her beaten breasts. Louis smiled as he gazed upon her rack.

''You like them?'' Kin asked in a coy way.

''Fuck yeah!'' he said.

''Then why not take a break... Since I disturbed you earlier, I say, jack off until you feel relieved, and we can start again when you're done. Deal?'' she said.

Louis didn't even reply. He pulled out his chair, sat down, grabbed his dick and started pumping away.

While he masturbated, he never took his eyes off Kin's breasts.

''Lean forward!'' he requested. Kin obliged and gave him a spectacular view.

''Squeeze them together!'' he demanded further. Again, Kin did as he requested.

''Oh yeah, I can feel it coming! Stay like that! Keep massaging them! Oh oui,'' he moaned.

Kin kept playing with her rack as Louis finally got his rocks off. His seed shot far in the air but did not reach Kin as she got back up and let go of her tits.

''Okay, time to resume our little game. And I believe it was my turn,'' the woman claimed.

Louis, satisfied and relieved, got up from the chair and spread his legs, knowing full well Kin was going to aim for the testicles again.

Kin got into a fighting stance, stared at Louis' package and gave the man a devastating kick. Her foot caught both balls in the process. Louis' eyes crossed as he sank to his knees, not able to comprehend why her kick was so painful.

''Looks like you felt that one asshole. Come on, get up,'' Kin said.

''I can't... You.. got me good... I...'' Louis managed to say before rolling into a ball on the floor like a wounded animal.

''You fell right into my trap. You see, testicles are way more sensitive after a cumshot. Why would I let you jerk off in front of me and accept perverted requests otherwise?'' Kin added.

Louis kept whining on the floor cupping his nuts. He did not even see Kin crouch next to him and slide her hand between his legs to reach his jewels and grip them tight.

''Now, for my price, you tell me everything I want to know, and I might just reconsider popping your nuts,'' she said as she let go of his right testicle to focus on the left. ''You've got two chances,''

''First, who is the main leader of the Gemini Six?'' she said.

''Her name is Viktoria Hoden. She has a mansion in Dresden. I was about to visit her for business in a couple weeks,'' Louis complied.

''And who are the other four leaders?'' she said.

''I can't reveal their identities. They would kill me if I - OOOOUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHH!'' he managed to say before Kin squeezed his left gonad to the breaking point.

The poor testicle gave way as the sexy agent squeezed with all her might. Kin then reached for the right testicle.

''That's one. Let's try again,'' she added.

''There is Angela Coglioni, Erich Eier, and the twins Hua and Xiu Qiu,'' he cried, trying to cope with the pain inflicted by the female's hand.

''And what is the Gemini Project?'' Kin asked as she squeezed brutally on the soft orb.

''ARGH! I would rather take it to my grave! FUCK YOU! POP MY BALL IF YOU WANT! I'LL NEVER REVEAL SUCH INFORMATION TO A WHORE LIKE YOU!'' he shouted, blinded by wrath.

''As you wish, pig,'' Kin replied as she popped the remaining testicle of the notorious Louis Couilles between her fingers.

Louis passed out. Kin used that time to tie him to his chair and call in the agency to pick him up. After that, she headed for Dresden.

***

Meanwhile in Dresden, Nigel had found the mansion of Viktoria Hoden and was sneaking inside the basement thanks to a window giving on the backyard. Once inside, he went from room to room, not making a sound, and most importantly, making sure not to be seen. There were no cameras and few guards. At the intersection of two corridors, Nigel heard voices coming from the side. He quickly went inside the nearest room and locked the door behind him.

''How nice of you to drop by, agent Bollocks,'' a seductive voice called out from behind.