#so he gets to sit through Nez

[monkee-mobile]

Girl

[emospritelet]

Homecoming - chapter 28/?

I am so, so sorry this has taken so long. Work has been crazy busy and my health has been terrible and I'm also doing a postgrad qualification, so time and spoons to write have been lacking in the extreme. It's been 84 years since I wrote anything, and aeons since I updated this fic, but I have about half of the next chapter done, so I'm hoping I can update again pretty soon.

For anyone that remembers this fic, it's an AU in the Long Game verse, set in Edwardian Britain. Last time, there was a post-coital engagement, in the hope of a quick wedding.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16976583/chapters/169038403

The house seemed wonderfully quiet after the bustle of Furton Grange, and Ogilvy listened to the clock’s heavy tick as he walked back and fort-63+h across the library floor. Belle had taken the children up to change out of their travel clothes and get ready for bed, Alice had gone to change for dinner, and Doc had muttered something about a nap and had gone to lie down.

Ogilvy had been unable to sit down since arriving at home, the pure joy he felt at having had Belle in his arms once more making him restless. He had gone through the letters that had arrived since they had left, run an eye over the accounts, and was trying to burn off his nervous energy by pacing. It wasn’t really working, so he decided to turn his attention to their wedding. It was going to take some organisation on the part of the household, however understated the ceremony itself would be, and there were staffing matters to consider now that Belle was going to be his wife. His wife! Passing the fireplace, he allowed himself a broad grin, then tugged at the bell-pull, completing two more lengths of the library before Mrs Wolfe entered. Ogilvy clapped his hands together, making her give him a level look over the top of her pince-nez spectacles.

“Ah!” he said. “I have some news, Mrs Wolfe, and I’ll need to discuss some changes to the household with you. I’m delighted to say that Miss Marchland has agreed to become my wife.”

If Mrs Wolfe was surprised by his marrying a woman whom, to her knowledge, he had only known for a matter of weeks, she gave no hint of it beyond a momentary widening of her eyes.

“May I offer my congratulations, sir,” she said.

Ogilvy waved a hand at her as he resumed his pacing.

“I know it’s sudden,” he said. “But we’re remarkably well suited.”

“Miss Marchland is a lovely young woman, sir,” said Mrs Wolfe. “And so good with the children.”

“Yes,” he said. “But we’ll need to look for another governess. And a lady’s maid. Can’t have Ivy looking after Belle as well as Alice, she’d be run off her feet.” He looked around as Mrs Wolfe hesitated. “Did you have someone in mind?”

“Perhaps, sir,” she said. “My niece’s girl. She’s in service down in Bristol, but is looking for another position. The family is moving to America.”

“Well, I’ll leave the arrangements to you, if you think she’d be suitable,” he said. “I’ll speak to Belle about the governess position.”

“Very good, sir,” she said. “May I ask when you expect the wedding to take place?”

“Ten days or so.”

There was a moment of silence in which he could almost hear her struggling to retain a neutral expression in the face of such unseemly haste.

“No point in waiting around,” he added. “We don’t want any fuss. And frankly, I’m not getting any younger.”

“Very good, sir.”

“If you could have a word with Mrs Potts about the wedding breakfast,” he said. “Nothing too fancy, there’ll only be the family there. Tell her to make it something simple that we can help ourselves to; I’ve a mind to give the staff the day off after the wedding.”

“That’s generous, sir, but won’t you want dinner later in the day?”

“She can leave us something cold and we can serve ourselves.”

“But you’ll want tea…”

“I daresay we can manage to boil a kettle if needed,” he said, and Mrs Wolfe smiled.

“Very good, sir.”

She turned to leave, just as Belle entered the room, and Mrs Wolfe bowed her head slightly, smiling as she left. Belle gazed after her curiously.

“I just told her of our plans,” said Ogilvy. “I suspect she’s trying to decide how much deference she needs to show you before we actually get married.”

Belle giggled, slipping inside the room and hurrying over to him.

“It must be a surprise to her,” she said, blushing a little. “It was a surprise to me, after all. We leave the house for a couple of weeks as employer and employee, and come back engaged!”

“Well, I’m not about to admit how ahead of ourselves we got at Lady Ella’s,” he said, with a grin. “That really would shock her.”

Belle bit her lip, her blush deepening, and he reached for her hands, pulling her closer.

“I said we’d give the servants the day off after the wedding,” he added. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, I think it’s a lovely idea.”

He smiled, raising her knuckles to his lips to kiss them.

“We should get a new governess,” he said then. “I wasn’t sure if you had anyone in mind.”

Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“Perhaps,” she said. “I have one or two old acquaintances I might contact. There’s no rush though, I’m more than happy to continue teaching the children.”

He kissed her knuckles again.

“I fear that we will need to be away from home on a regular basis,” he said gently. “It would be better for the twins to have some stability, particularly if Alice is going to join us, which I suspect she’ll insist on.”

“Oh.” She caught her lower lip with her teeth, then nodded. “In that case, I shall write tomorrow.”

“And I have Mrs Wolfe making enquiries for a new lady’s maid,” he added. “We should really see about getting you some new dresses, too.”

“Such haste to turn me into a creature of fashion,” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “My own clothes will do well enough for now.”

“Nonsense. We’ll ask Madame Etoile to make you up an entirely new wardrobe.”

Belle smiled, sliding her palms up his chest to twine around his neck as he pulled her close against him.

“It would be nice to wear fine clothes and bright colours again,” she admitted. “It’s probably the one thing I miss from my old life. That and my father’s old library. Although yours is admittedly far superior.”

“And I shall expect you to add to it,” he said.

She smiled, closing her eyes and tilting her head back in invitation, and he bent to kiss her, savouring the soft warmth of her mouth and the scent of her in his nose.

“Goodness, is this what I shall have to endure?” Alice’s voice made them pull apart, and she was watching them from the doorway with her arms folded and an amused smile on her face. “Such displays of affection are most unseemly, I’m told. You’ll give poor Mrs Wolfe the shock of her life if she walks in on you.”

“A good thing you’re here to interrupt us, then,” said Ogilvy dryly. “Is Hatter upstairs, do you know?”

“He was taking some hot water into your room as I was coming down,” she said, flopping into one of the chairs with a flutter of pale blue silk. “The twins are asleep already.”

“Good. In that case I’ll change for dinner.” He took Belle’s hands, raising them to his lips again, and flashed a smile at her before making for the door. Alice watched him go, grinning.

“My, he really is besotted, isn’t he?” she observed. “It’s so nice to see. I’m so happy the two of you are to marry.”

“So am I.” Belle crossed to sit beside her, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees. “He wants to hire a new governess. And another lady’s maid.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” mused Alice. “Ivy probably couldn’t do it all: she helps Mrs Wolfe out with other things. Though I’m not sure who he’ll get for governess; I think we’ve been through most of them by now and we were losing hope until you arrived.”

“I might have some ideas,” said Belle. “I shall need to write a few letters. I can continue to teach the twins their lessons until the new governess arrives, of course.”

“And we’ll be a proper family,” said Alice happily, grasping her hand and squeezing. “It will be perfect!”

-

The wedding was arranged in a matter of days, with Ogilvy obtaining a special licence to marry at the nearest register office. There was a seven-day waiting period, as he had thought, but this was time enough to make the arrangements they needed. Lady Ella sent a long letter admonishing him for shocking her new scullery maid with their antics at Furton Grange, and gushing over the two of them having, in her words, finally seen sense. When Ogilvy wrote back to tell her the wedding date she sent another indignant telegram, but by that time it was the day before the ceremony, and so she confined herself to complaining about how sudden it was, insisting upon a honeymoon visit, and promising a generous wedding gift.

The matter of the new governess was quickly resolved; Belle had corresponded with an old acquaintance from Girton College. Mary Blanchard was the eldest daughter of the vicar of Lower Malton, in Devon, and had been running Sunday school classes in the parish. Belle thought she would jump at the chance to teach a broader range of subjects, not to mention the prospect of being able to obtain independence from her family, and so it proved. Miss Blanchard had written back in haste to agree to a trial period of three months, but Belle was certain that Alice and the twins would love her.

“She’s a kind and gentle soul, but she’s firm when needed,” she said to Ogilvy, as he read over the letter. “She won’t put up with any nonsense, and she’s very knowledgeable.”

“Firm but kind sounds perfect,” he said. “I see here that she’s keen to start right away.”

“She can be here the day before the wedding,” sad Belle. “I think she’s excited at the prospect of getting away from her parents. Her father is – somewhat overbearing.”

“Well, she’s welcome to attend the ceremony,” he said. “No doubt keeping the twins still for the photographer will be an excellent test of character.”

Belle giggled.

“I’m sure they’ll adore her,” she said. “Nicholas loves animals and birds, and I recall that Mary has a lot of nature books with wonderful illustrations that the twins will love.”

“Hmm.” He looked amused. “Perhaps she’ll be able to teach them to write something other than curse words.”

Belle gave him a level look.

“I didn’t teach them curse words, they knew them already,” she said primly, and he grinned.

“She’ll find London very different to Devon,” he remarked. “But a trial sounds like an excellent notion. Three months, is it? If she can survive Alice and the twins for that long, I’ll even raise her salary.”

“I haven’t scared away a governess in months!” objected Alice indignantly.

Belle chuckled, and leaned in to kiss Ogilvy’s cheek.

“I’ll send a telegram,” she said. “And I thought I might go into town. I should have something new for the wedding outfit.”

Ogilvy smiled, and kissed her in return.

“Spend whatever you wish.”

“May I come?” asked Alice eagerly, and Belle smiled.

“I should like the company.”

-

Belle and Alice spent a pleasant few hours browsing through shops, purchasing ribbons, handkerchiefs and buttons at the haberdasher’s, new linen underclothes and nightgowns, and an ivory wool coat for Belle that needed only minor alterations to fit perfectly. After she had arranged for the altered garment to be sent to the house, they set out in search of a new hat for the wedding day. The perfect hat proved to be elusive, and Alice sighed as they entered another milliner’s, the smiling proprietor ushering them towards a display of elegant hats before turning back to another customer. Belle frowned as she scanned the hats, mentally discounting most of them. Alice was shifting from foot to foot as though she was uncomfortable, and Belle glanced across at her.

“I’m not sure there’s anything here I particularly care for,” she said, in a low tone. “Perhaps I should have bought that cream toque we saw earlier. I could add a veil and some feathers to it and it might be quite lovely.”

Alice sighed.

“We can go back to that other milliner’s,” she suggested, sounding as though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Belle smiled.

“I think perhaps we need some refreshment first,” she said. “Why don’t you go to the tea room across the street and get us a table? I’ll look through the last of these and join you.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” said Alice fervently. “I thought my feet were going to fall off! Just tea?”

“A bun of some sort would be nice.”

“I’ll see you shortly, then,” said Alice, and disappeared.

The other customer proclaimed loudly that she couldn’t possibly wear lilac, and the milliner began fluttering around in consternation. Belle walked deeper into the shop, and pursed her lips thoughtfully as she picked up a pale blue hat with a flat brim. The shop doorbell rang again, a faint tinkle she barely noticed. She put the hat on, eyeing her reflection, and almost immediately took it off with a shake of her head. That won’t do at all. I really ought to just buy the cream hat.

“Scholar.”

An unfamiliar voice made her start, and she turned on her toes, heart thumping. A woman was smiling at her, dark of hair and eye, with smooth, olive skin. She was wearing a green dress and coat, a black, flat-brimmed hat pinned to her hair at an angle and sporting feathered plumes. There was something very familiar about her.

“You are to be married,” she said, and Belle blushed.

“Yes, I—”

“I told your Spinner that I could return your memories to you,” the woman interrupted. “The lives you have lost. My wedding gift to you.”

“I – I’m sorry?” said Belle weakly, and the woman’s smile grew.

“The gift of memory,” she said. “I can give you your past. If you want it.”

Belle’s heart was thumping almost painfully, and she licked her lips, nerves making her skin tingle.

“You’re the Seer,” she whispered. “How did you—”

“—know you were here?” The woman raised an eyebrow, looking amused, and Belle blushed.

“Of course,” she muttered. “You – you saw it.”

“I was waiting for the right moment,” said the Seer. “For when you were – open to the suggestion.”

She slipped a heavy ring from her finger and held it up, the golden-hued stone gleaming like a cat’s eye. The tip of her index finger pressed against it, swirling in tiny circles, and Belle frowned at a sudden, oppressive feeling in the air. She could have sworn that there had been a brief flicker of light within the stone, as though it contained lightning. As though it heralded a storm to come. The Seer held it up to her between thumb and forefinger.

“You will have your own in the next life,” she said. “I see no reason not to lend you mine for a short time. Unlike the stones you three have, this needs no other to do what it must.”

“And what is that?” asked Belle warily.

“It will return your memories to you,” said the Seer. “But you must be sure, absolutely sure, that that is what you want. There is no undoing it, once it is done.”

Belle gazed at the ring, watching the light glint on the heavy gold band. The stone was a citrine, she thought, or perhaps yellow topaz, its surface round and smooth as a pebble, rather than faceted. Much as Ogilvy’s own moonstone was. There was something strange about it, a sense of great age. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to touch it.

“It will give me my memories,” she said slowly. “Of Tristan, of the Prof—of Doc. That sounds like a good thing.”

“All your memories,” the Seer went on. “Life and death, loss and grief. It is a burden you once agreed to bear, Scholar. A terrible burden.”

“But surely remembering what we had, the lives we shared…” She shook her head, confused. “Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Knowledge of the past can be as painful as knowledge of the future.”

Belle looked up sharply. There was something in the Seer’s dark-eyed gaze. Pity? Sorrow? It was hard to tell.

“Tristan said there would be a price,” she said. “Is that what he meant? The price of knowledge is pain?”

The Seer sighed.

“It is more than that,” she said. “Darkness tore you apart. It has kept you apart for centuries, ripping the bond between you until only the thinnest of threads remained. You, finding the others: this is the first glimmer of light in the darkness. To break the curse, to defeat the darkness and find each other in the next life, that demands a heavy price. In this life and the next.”

Belle swallowed hard, looking down at the ring.

“What sort of price?” she asked, and the Seer’s mouth flattened.

“That is unclear to me,” she said, sounding irritated. “I sense loneliness and desperation, darkness and grief. The Lesser Gods are silent. Perhaps they know no more than I.”

Belle glanced over her shoulder, but the milliner was still trying to please her demanding customer and paid them no heed.

“Is it certain?” she asked, her voice low.

“There is always a price,” said the Seer. “And the choice is yours to make.”

She pulled the ring back as Belle reached for it.

“You must be sure,” she said quietly. “Know that you may only make this choice once, for good or ill. Be sure that you want it, and remember the price.”

“If there is a price, I shall pay it,” said Belle, and the Seer smiled sadly.

“You may not have that option.”

Belle swallowed. Goodness. What if it isn’t my price to pay? What if it’s Tristan’s, or Doc’s, or Alice’s? What choice do I make then?

“I understand,” she said. “I shall wait until I’m certain of my choice.”

The Seer nodded, and held out the ring. It dropped into Belle’s palm, an unexpected, somewhat ominous weight to it. Belle turned it over in her fingers curiously, watching light gleam gold in the depths of the stone.

“What do I do with it?” she whispered.

“You must press the stone to your third eye,” said the Seer softly. “The midst of your brow. Let yourself open to it, and will yourself to wake.”

Belle swallowed, her heart thumping.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” The Seer caught her chin with a finger, raising her gaze. “Be sure you are with the others. Do not try to wake yourself alone.”

“I understand.” I don’t understand at all. Am I dreaming? This seems like an elaborate, fantastical game I never agreed to play.

The Seer’s palm cupped her cheek, and she smiled.

“May you have many happy years with your Spinner,” she said softly. “Whether you choose to remember your other lives or not. Be assured we shall meet again in the next.”

She turned swiftly on her heel with a whirl of green skirts, and Belle watched her slip from the shop and disappear into the passing crowds. She glanced down at the ring in her palm, and hastily tucked it out of sight.

She was unable to concentrate on shopping after the encounter. Tea and a piece of walnut cake helped to revive Alice, but Belle remained deep in thought, the ring tucked safely inside the neck of her dress, and feeling heavier than it should. When Alice suggested that they return home, she agreed immediately. A new hat could wait.

-

“Ah, you’re back.” Ogilvy strode across the library to kiss her cheek. “I hope you got everything you needed. Would you like some tea?”

“I – no, no thank you.” Belle bit her lip. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course.” He steered her towards the chairs. “Doc is still lying down. One of his visions, I think. Is Alice well? She disappeared upstairs with barely a word.”

“Sore feet, that’s all.” Belle sat down with a sigh, the ring heavy in the neck of her dress. “I – I met someone today.”

“Oh?”

Belle hesitated, raising her eyes to his as he sat opposite.

“The Seer,” she said, and his eyes widened as he leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, and she nodded.

“Dark hair, dark eyes, very pretty,” she said. “She called you Spinner, and – and me Scholar. Does that mean anything to you?”

Ogilvy nodded. “The names she gave us when we were first bound together,” he said. “What else did she say?”

Belle reached inside the neck of her dress and hooked out the ring, holding it out to him in the palm of her hand.

“She gave me this,” she said. “She said – she said it would return my memories.”

Ogilvy sat forward, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He reached for the ring with shaking fingers, turning it over in his hands and watching golden light gleam in the polished stone.

“Her stone,” he whispered. “She had a stone like ours. Or – or maybe more than that. Maybe this stone can work for anyone.”

“She told me that, if I choose to use it, I need to press it to my brow and will myself to wake,” said Belle. “But she said I had to be sure, absolutely sure, that I wanted the memories. She said that there would be a price.”

He looked up with a frown.

“What price?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know.”

“I do.” Doc’s voice came from the library door. He looked weary, his shoulders sagging a little, and Ogilvy stood, gesturing him towards one of the chairs.

“A vision?” he asked, and Doc nodded, sitting down heavily and glancing from him to Belle and back again.

“We won’t remember,” he said heavily. “We won’t remember this life. When we meet in the next, it will be as though this life never existed. Everything we do here, everything we build together - we’ll remember none of it.”

Ogilvy shook his head, as though by that action he could undo the premonition.

“But - but when we’re woken in the next life, when the stones are used—”

“Never,” Doc said shortly. “It’s not often I get such a clear vision of what is to come. I’m afraid it’s true. Of all our many lives, there will be one we never remember. This one.”

He gestured between them all, and Ogilvy felt as though his heart had turned to stone, sinking heavily into the pit of his stomach. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“Alice,” he said numbly. “The twins. Any children we might have together—”

“None of it.”

Ogilvy swallowed hard, his hand curling around the ring in a fist.

“She said something about overcoming darkness, and it having a heavy price," said Belle. "In this life and the next. She talked about loneliness and grief. Isolation."

“If we enter the next life unable to remember this one—” said Doc.

“—we won’t remember Belle being back in our lives,” finished Ogilvy. “It’ll be like she never found us, like we never—” He cut off, covering his face with his hands and hissing a long breath out through his fingers. “Gods, Doc, I don’t think I can go through this again!”

“You can and you must,” said Doc firmly. “Just as you have in all our other lives. I shall be there to help you through it, and we shall help each other, as always. And now that we’re together, things may be easier in the next life. I may see where Belle is, as I used to.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Ogilvy let his hands drop to his lap, looking heartened. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Belle finding us this time… perhaps that was enough to strengthen the bond.”

“Perhaps.” Doc’s voice carried a warning. “But our memories of this life are not the only things that will be affected. There was something else, something beyond… I couldn’t see it, but I know it’s there. Perhaps it will come to me in another vision.”

“A heavy price,” said Ogilvy quietly. “That’s what she said. What could be worse than having no memory of a life spent together?”

Doc reached out to grasp his shoulder and squeeze it.

“What if I don’t use the stone?” asked Belle suddenly. “What if we live out our lives without that? Would we remember this life then?”

“Yes,” said Doc. “And therefore the choice will be yours, my dear. The memories are yours, and you have the right to them.”

“And this other price?” asked Ogilvy. “This ‘something beyond’? What about that?”

“There’s no price without using the stone,” said Doc. “However much she spoke in riddles, the Seer always spoke the truth.”

Ogilvy sighed, and straightened up, glancing at Belle.

“The choice is Belle’s,” he said. “The memories are hers, and so should the decision be.”

Belle walked a few paces, thinking hard. She was desperately curious to know more of their past lives, but if it meant losing all memory of this one… She shook her head.

“I will not use the stone,” she said. “Not unless I have no other choice. Perhaps we will find a way around it. Perhaps there will be an alternative price. Either way, I believe we should wait.”

Ogilvy nodded, pushing to his feet and holding out the ring for her to take.

“Keep it with you,” he said wearily. “Doc may have another vision.”

He ran his hands over his face, exhaling deeply, and she tucked the ring back into her dress, stepping closer and putting her hands on his waist. He peeked through his fingers at her, then let his arms drop with a sad smile.

“We’re together,” he said. “That’s what counts.”

“And you still have all your memories of our lives,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest and smiling up at him. “You’ll have to tell me all about them.”

His smile widened, and he kissed her gently before pressing his forehead to hers.

“I can do that.”

[landofspaceandrainbows]

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!

~

Dark and Stormy Night:

Or a different story about Dominic and the strange book, from a different timeline -

~

Well, Pinhole books never quite panned out, and he never got rid of that damned book in latin, but Dominic Swain had been waiting for vacation, and he was going on vacation anyway, successful trip to a creepy bookstore or not.

His doctor had cleared him for travel even with the weird extreme lightheadedness he'd been having recently, and besides, he was bringing the book with him, Spanish and Galician and Catalan etc. were closer to latin, and the tour was stopping at a monastery on the way, maybe he could get someone to read it to him.

He was still curious about it, all the old illustrations full of stars, even the one, the fucking one, that was full of damn heavily-drawn lightning of all things. He didn't like to think on it to much, but lightning? It was almost like the book knew every bad, selfish thing Dominic had ever done, even as a kid.

He could swear the book somehow knew about the incident with Mike... somehow, even though that would be impossible. But even that page fascinated Dom, in a sick way. Anyway, he'd love to be able to read that book even a little so he brought it along for the monastery.

Anyway, that might be the only part of the vacation that went entirely according to plan, Dominic had been struck by a series of rainy days, from drizzly days to outright peals of thunder. In the high parts of the Pyrenees, and even on the bright white cliffs of France's Nez Blanc on the way over. And he could have sworn the same companion was there to help him all the time. Handing him a tarp or umbrella, hard to see in the downpour but always wearing some sort of scarf and with dark hair and pale, pale skin and eyes.

The only time it wasn't raining on a special outing was that peak in the Canary Islands with all the telescopes. (A man with a scarf loaned you his sunscreen there.) All Dominic could see there was the blue of the ocean stretching out below him all around - like a great gleaming chatoyant sapphire.

And now he was face to face with the man again, in the Picos de Europa,

"Excuse me, do you know the way back to the path up to the Torre de Cerredo?"

"Yes, but for you, only for a fucking price. And I think you know what." The stranger's voice held an angry edge to it, and the man laughed darkly and it made Dominic shiver.

"The book, right?" The man nodded. He took his hand and lead Dominic through the sheets of rain and the grey and white of rock and ice. When the ground leveled out again, Dominic chewed on his lips, not liking the idea of taking the book out into the rain, but knowing what he must do.

The man loosened his scarf to show a bright white branching scar, and a matching flash lit up the heavens in a similar fashion. "Mike?" Dominic mouthed to himself. As the man grabbed the book, and brought it into the rain, the ink seemed to pool and run, scoring more black lines into his skin.

The ink seemed to disappear into the ends of the man's scarf, into his coat, and at last into his skin, lightning, and stars, and the endless curls of ocean waves.

And then Dominic was left with a business card with a work address and a scrawled note. "Come see me, once." And as the storm cleared -

Dominic was left with a clear sky and the great peak of the Torre de Cerredo looming above him in noon's light. And his little pool of safety on the bench he was sitting on below it. He shivered again, half in pleasure and half in fear, and a bit in relief.

[asa-writes]

Aphrodite of Old Hall - 07

"The Ton dissipates"

Anthony Bridgerton x F!OC / Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC 18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: alcohol and smut if you squint

It hadn't stopped raining for over two days now and to add to insult, there was a beastly wind blowing through the grimy London streets. Elisabeth sat in front of the fireplace and read a book. It wasn't anything that interested her - Old Hall's libraries seemed only to contain religious and botanical books, much to her chagrin - so she looked up at every little sound, hoping someone would come in and talk to her. As always, her mind was all over the place. The sounds Anthony had made yesterday had turned everything inside of her into a hot, trembling jelly. Sweat dripping down his muscular chest and his strong arms holding her, roughly caressing her... She felt like a lovesick puppy. He was supposed to be the lovesick puppy, not her!

Putting the book down, she wandered over to her secretaire, out of which she pulled some of George's letters. At least he always knew right from wrong, maybe his words would bring her to her senses... Lifting the paper up to her lips, she tried smelling the perfume he had spritzed on it, but alas, it had faded away long ago. Like him, she thought and shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. He would've laughed at her sentimentality. Hearing gentle knocks on the door, she turned around to see a footman holding a silver tablet with a single red rose and a letter. "Milady, hand-delivered by Lord Anthony Bridgerton. He is waiting in the entrance hall." Damn. God damn that man, always coming to her when she thought of him.

She walked over to the footman and took the gifts. "Thank you. You may escort him up here." He went as quickly as he came, leaving her alone again, the wind howling around her sitting room, which Stephane had gracefully given her. Unclipping her pince-nez and straightening the front of her dress, she gave herself a small, reassuring smile and sat down on her settee, pulling her skirts in a way that looked more glamorous. The door opened and a wet, tousled Anthony walked in. "Good morning, Elisabeth, I hope I'm not disturbing you." Grinning, he walked up to her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Elisabeth pushed him towards the chair next to the fire, shaking herself playfully like a wet dog. "Good morning to you too, you wet mop. Did you seriously just walk here in this weather? I'm surprised that you haven't been blown away."

Rolling his eyes, he grinned. "I have, just yesterday evening..." She shook her head, blushing. After a few silent seconds he pointed at her decanter of Schnapps. "That is not water, is it? I would strongly discourage you from drinking it. I wouldn't want you to get sick." Elisabeth grinned. "You believe me to be so foolish? Come, try a bit." Pouring him a short glass, she gracefully presented it to him. "Prost!", She said, winked at him and finished her own. Clearing his throat, he raised his eyebrows. "That was... Stronger than I expected." Giggling, she poured herself another one. "You'll get used to it. At least I hope you will - my cook prepares a mean schnapps pudding, which almost dissolves, for it is so drenched."

Anthony just shook his head and took off his jacket, trying to get it to dry in front of the fire. "Have you read my letter yet?", He asked rather impatiently. Sighing, Elisabeth shook her head. "Why-ever should I? You are here with me, you could just tell me!" Rolling his eyes, he gallantly offered to open it for her. "Gestures, not words, that's what you said, didn't you?" She nodded. "Well, then turn away please." He looked at her quizzically. "I wrote it for you, no need to hide anything from me." Bashfully looking down, she retrieved her pince-nez from her bedazzled black reticule. "I... I can't see well..." Damning his wet clothes, he stood up and sat next to her, carefully putting the ridiculously hideous things on her face. "There. No need to be ashamed, my dear. As long as you can see me without them..."

She looked up at him, her eyes bigger than teacups. He gently broke the wax seal and opened it for her, trying his hardest not to look at her. By god, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and known, but there was no way she would keep those if they were to be married. Surely, he could find someone to make a more agreeable pair for her. Then again, it didn't really matter that much to him. She knew, hopefully, what was best for her. "There you go, dearest."

"Unto my dearest Lady Elisabeth, Seeing as the majority of the Ton had scrambled away to their country estates, (there shall be no end in sight with this weather) I have decided to take my family and go to mine as well. May I take the liberty of inviting you to come with us? I had a most interesting talk with Benedict, who has told me that the die had been cast and that he shall not be courting you anymore. As soon as the weather will end, we will certainly return again, for Eloise has yet to find herself a suitor. Yours ever lovingly, longingly and adoringly, Lord Anthony Bridgerton P.S. Oh, might I add that your bedroom has a secret passage to mine that nobody knows of?"

It was most fascinating to watch her read; her eyes darted from one side to the other - she read faster than anyone else he had known. She gasped, blushed and fluttered her eyelashes. Quickly taking off her pince-nez before looking up at him, she beamed, her cheeks reddening gently. "I must thank you... You... you love me! When are we leaving? Are you sure that your family is alright with me coming with you? However might I repay you?" Anthony chuckled and kissed her. Her lips still tasted of (what he presumed to be cherry) schnapps. She looked so fascinatingly beautiful when she tripped over her own words, looking up at him like her life depended on it. Like yesterday...

"One after the other, Ellie. No need to thank me, my love. Yes, I love you... And have to damn myself for not telling you yesterday. We could leave now, if you would want us to, I am completely at your will. I am the family's head so no, they wouldn't mind at all. Do you even need to ask me about the repayment?", He said, whispering seductively at the end. Glancing at the windows, she quickly straddled him and took his face into her soft, gloveless hands. It took a lot of control to not just pick her up and lift her skirts... She did know how to drive him wild. "Anthony...", She whispered, caressing his cheek, "I'd be delighted. I'll tell my servants to prepare a suitcase. Until it is ready, I shall like to come with you to your house, so we could all leave together..."

He slid his hand along her thigh, looking at her face faltering as a look of pleasure had rolled over her. "Really? Looks like you enjoy this a lot more..." Stopping just short of her mons pubis, she took a sharp breath, quickly standing up and flattening her dress. With a sly grin, she shrugged. "We do have a long carriage ride in front of us and, not to mention, the connected bedrooms. Now, as I've said, would you like to escort me to your home?" In his mind, he would've very much liked to just do her on the floor, but having her teasing him was a thousand times better. Standing up and putting on his rather uncomfortably damp coat, he quickly walked up to her and smacked her beautifully plump buttocks. "Then that is what I'll do, dearest. Just you wait..."

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 8

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton

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8. Thoroughly Ambushed

That Monday morning starts like every other; Mordecai puts on a suit, brushes his hair and fur to acceptable standards, trims his jaw fuzz back and finally, chooses a tie. He favours the red silk frequently, but today he chooses a forest green Esther made - her first and only foray into needlework thus far. It's not his best, but it is sentimental, and after this weekend he's feeling nostalgic for simpler times, before his mother started trying to wed him off to a near stranger.

Smoothing the fabric into his waistcoat, he pauses when his gaze catches that of his reflection. With such a busy life, he hasn't noticed himself growing up; his round, childlike face has become angular, a sharp jaw fringed with tidy whiskers framing piercing green eyes set into dark fur. Ears no longer too big for his head sit attentively forward and balancing out his overall appearance, signature pince nez rest on a white muzzle.

His hands fall to his sides as he regards himself, wondering if it was a gradual process, or a sudden change. Had those changes been what prompted his mother to start seeking a match? He's aware some of his congregation were matched far earlier, almost as soon as their bar mitzvah occurred, but Mordecai hasn't had time to worry on such things before. Keeping a secret second life was plenty enough to focus on.

Nor do I possess such luxuries now. Taking a moment to straighten his tie and secure it in place with his silver tie pin, Mordecai grabs his satchel and heads out. It's still early - barely past eight - but he has a lot to do, with the new week commencing. Orders to finalise, stock to count and horses to vet for fresh odds flow through his mind, organising into a schedule by the time his key presses into the lock.

"It's Katz, righ'?" 

It comes so naturally now; in a moment he's Elijah Katz, the manager of the races with no patience for imbeciles, entirely detached from his emotions for efficient business practices. Unfortunately, It also bleeds into Mordecai Heller outside of work, reducing an already restricted capacity for empathy in his real life. Mordecai considers it a tolerable side effect of living dual lives, one he's already resigned to when turning to face his guest with a scowl.

Three men stand just feet away, all wearing identical black suits and skinny black ties, the ornate golden tie pin clipping each in place making it painfully obvious they're part of the same organised crime syndicate. The two men flanking the last have a hand tucked into their blazers, signaling they're packing heat and ready to use it, expressions set similarly to Mordecai's own; cold and intimidating.

He knows he should be afraid, but his body refuses to feel it in his current state of mind. Instead, his gaze falls upon the third man, who stands with his hands on his hips and a grin on a pure black muzzle. A bushel of dark hair sits untidily on top of his head, his piercing green eyes shining from within a black abyss of fur as white teeth glisten when he smiles. "Elijah Katz?"

Mordecai narrows his gaze, an ear flicking in agitation. He's not yet sure who he's dealing with, but few citizens would so blatantly flaunt firearm possession beyond the police or the organisation. Assuming his own bosses wouldn't approach with such hostility and unaware of a rival crime syndicate in the area, he decides to play devil's advocate for the least likely option. "Am I under arrest?"

The black cat laughs loudly then makes a subtle gesture to his enforcers, who immediately take empty hands from suit jackets and turn their backs, bodies forming a makeshift perimeter between their boss and the public. A kid wanders too close and gets snarled at, whereupon his mother whisks the kitten away at breakneck speed to cross the street, and in turn others do the same, giving them space to talk.

"Ha! Fiores said you were a real card!" The feline chuckles and approaches Mordecai, offering a hand to shake. When the tuxedo doesn't take it after an extended pause, the slim black cat takes it back without offense, still smiling as he reaches into his jacket for a smoke and lighter. "The name's Hink. I was one of Fiore's hires, back in the day. Just like you, kid."

Not entirely grasping the scope of the conversation yet, the tuxedo sighs. Hink finally stops talking to light his smoke, a pause Mordecai takes full advantage of. "What precisely do you require of me? And please, be precise. I have an inordinately busy day ahead of me."

"That's exactly what I'm here about." Hink takes a deep toke of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose before he speaks again, waving his hand vaguely at the tracks. "Fiores sent them books you started to Mr Savage for the year's taxes, a whole stack of 'em. Even told 'im about that thing you dug up on Jimbo. He were real impressed, Katz. So impressed, he wants you on a new assignment, not in this shithole."

Mr Savage is not a name Mordecai hears often, but it's one he knows not to take lightly. He's above Fiores in rank, most likely an underboss for the head honcho himself. Getting his attention is not something the tom ever wanted; he wants to do his job, earn money and save. Yet here he is, apparently unfortunate enough to be seen, yet: A new assignment? 

Mordecai frowns, the ire leaching from his features. A new assignment could mean a better wage, further opportunities and the chance to buy his mother a decent home far sooner. However, it comes with uncertainty; there's no guarantee he'll excel, and his old job likely won't be available if he falls from grace. Not to mention Jimbo's crimes were fabricated by the tuxedo himself. Should that ever come to light, being as far from Savage as possible would be preferable.

"I appreciate the recognition," he states carefully. "However, I will have to decline. I have no need for a new assignment."

"That's great, but I'm afraid I have to decline your decline." Hink crosses the few steps between them and swipes the key dangling from the lock before Mordecai can react. As he tucks it into a concealed pocket, he turns back to the tuxedo with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Mr Savage booked you a ride already. Would be rude not to take it, wouldn't it?"

Alarm bells ring in Mordecai's head, finally surpassing layers of suppression to conscious appreciation, warning the feline something is very, very wrong with this situation. Before he can assess an escape route however, Hink places a hand on his shoulder and firmly steers the adolescent towards the road. A car idles, its engine running, rear door slightly open. 

Mordecai swallows nervously, not only because he's entirely unsure if he'll survive this encounter, but also because he's never been in a car before. He's well aware of the hysteria that first surrounded them - that raucous speeds could peel flesh from a man's face and liquify his intestines - and while he does not believe such idiocy, it doesn't sit well amongst his current anxieties either. "If I might just-"

"Nothing doin' here for you no more." Hink yanks the suicide door open wide with his spare hand then pushes down on on Mordecai's shoulder, the other coming his head as he's forced into the car. "You'll be thanking me later," Hink shouts as he slams the door behind him. "Don't worry, Katz! The tracks are in good hands! Fiores sends his regards!"

On all fours between two opposite bench seats, the smell of leather wax is the first thing to assault his senses, followed swiftly by a vibration through his hands and knees as the engine revs. The sensation shocks Mordecai into trying to stand but he struggles to balance in the moving vehicle. Eventually, he plants his hands on the ground and the rear facing bench seat to steady himself, stumbles to his feet and falls unceremoniously onto the bench, where he closes his eyes and takes a moment to inhale a deep, steadying breath.

Once re-centred, he opens his eyes and looks around, only to regret the decision as soon as his eyes fall on the seating bench facing the direction of travel. Three men take up the entire bench, but it's the burly characters flanking a smaller man that monopolise his focus. They're easily twice his width at the shoulders, a full head taller than the third man, and they each hold a pistol aimed directly at Mordecai's chest at their sides.

I'm going to die. Strangely, the thought isn't accompanied by panic or fear but rather, hollow regret. He's still only saved a fraction of the funds required to move his family out of their decaying home, and he's not even written a clue to where it is for his mother to find. If she doesn't receive the money, all of it, - especially his death - will be meaningless. Regret becomes a deep sorrow as his heart picks up its pace in anticipation of taking a bullet. I'm sorry, mother… 

The third man hums quietly and turns a page in a brown file resting in his lap. It's a simple gesture, but enough to draw Mordecai back into the present. With no time for sentiments if he does want to walk out of here alive, he studies the third man to ground himself. 

He's a siamese of average height and build, hands and ears tipped with coal black fur also present on his muzzle, dark patches that stand in striking contrast to a champagne pelt. He wears a navy pinstripe suit and matching hat, setting him apart from the black-clad cohorts, though a yellow tie is still secured with a golden pin, signifying his allegiance to the same syndicate.

Unnaturally blue eyes meet green as the man straightens, then rests an ankle on the opposite knee to prop up his file, expression remaining flat. Anxiety gnaws at the tuxedo, who has to make a concerted effort not to stare at the weaponry, but digs his claws into his thighs to maintain focus while still aware of his precarious situation. Now isn't the time for fear.

"Savage assumed you'd be taller." The siamese comments, then shakes his head and looks at his file. "But it's hard to take the measure of a man using an alias." Sharp blue eyes scrutinise Mordecai. "Savage doesn't like aliases, you see. They make him angry, makes him not trust you. So how about we start over, for his sake? You tell me your real name, and I'll ask my men to put their pieces away. Sound good, 'Katz'?"

It doesn't sound good, but he doesn't have a choice in the matter; if he refuses, he'll likely be peppered with bullets and tossed out the car into the ocean. Katz might be defunct, but thanks to Nataliya's prying father highlighting the need for a stronger story, he has another, more believable alias ready. Now, he just has to sell it, and he hesitates to make it feel more genuine. "...Fitzgerald. Isaiah Fitzgerald."

The siamese grins, dark lips curling into a satisfied smile. A gentle wave of a finger and the pistols are tucked away into blazers. Mordecai sinks into his seat in relief he's survived. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" His interrogator asks in such a condescending tone, Mordecai scowls. He doesn't seem to take offense as he closes his file. "I'll make sure to update your boss while you're on assignment today. He'll be pleased you were cooperative. You're a valuable asset after all. One Savage wants to make the most of."

That vague statement doesn't sit well with the tom. A frown overtakes his scowl, brows knitting as green eyes narrow. "I don't understand. Was I not as effective at the tracks? I can make alterations to-"

"You were real good at the tracks," the siamese interjects with a more genuine smile on his muzzle, now business has been concluded. Somehow, this smile is more unsettling to view than his last. "You should be flattered, kid. Savage is a busy man; he doesn't take an interest in people often, but those books of yours were impressive enough to make him pay attention. He wants to see what else that brain can do."

As they pull up outside a dilapidated factory on the outskirts of the city, a feeling of dread settles over the adolescent. He was expecting another accounting job, some front business in need of careful auditing. There's no auditing to be done in an empty warehouse. Dark ears fold with uncertainty as the closest enforcer opens a door and slides out, presumably to accompany him to his next destination.

"Go on," the siamese prompts the adolescent tom, his smile seemingly more sinister in the shadow of the factory. "Just don't fuck it up, Fitz. This high up the ladder, you won't survive the fall, not unless Savage decides you're worth a parachute."

[marloray]

NABCABL ~ {1: The Musician Next Door}

1911, June 5 (Age Count: Mordecai - 12, Marly - 10)

     A Burmese cat slipped her arms through the straps of her cello case. Smiling, she checked herself out in the mirror. Marly wore her best suit, and had cleaned her case and her eyeglasses. She was young, but an aspiring professional cellist, and was already getting to it, being very talented for her age. Marly was content with how she looked for today and trotted down to see her parents.

     "I'm gonna go play with the neighbors kids!" She called out, and her mom smiled at her.

     "Gonna show them your cello?" Her mom chuckled.

     "Yep!!" Marly exclaimed, and her mom smiled, allowing her to go. Marly dashed down the stairs as carefully as possible so she wouldn't lose her balance and fall down, breaking her instrument. Soon the Burmese reached the nearest tenement, and knocked on the door. She waited, and soon the door was opened, and a dark pelted molly stared down at her. She looked kind, and had soft eyes when she smiled at Marly.

     The woman had glasses and was carrying a baby, her dark pelt had a bit of white markings here and there.

     "Hello," She started, "Why, look at you all dressed up! Are you one of the new neighbors from over there?" The molly pointed to Marly's apartment building, and the Burmese nodded her head. Marly just now noted how tired she looked, but she brushed it off, not wanting to get a bad start with the neighbors! New York City is a big place, and because of this Marly thought it would be good to have a group of people and friends that you can count on.

     "Yes ma'am!" Marly mewed with a smile, "I wanted to go check out and meet the nearby neighbors, and you and your family are some of them!" The Burmese peered at the baby her neighbor was holding, her ears perking up as her smile widened, "Oh she's so cute!" Marly exclaimed, and the molly smiled.

     "That's Hannah," She meowed, "You can call me Zippy," Marly nodded her head, what a fun name! Zippy continued, "I have three other children, go meet them," She smiled softly. The Burmese nodded her head and entered Zippy's apartment room when gestured to. When she stepped in, the molly called out, "Rose! Esther! Mordecai! Our new neighbor is here to visit!!"

     Soon, three tuxedo cats padded up to Marly. The smallest bounded up to her, young and bright.

     "Hi! I'm Rose!!" She mewed excitedly, circling Marly, her tail swishing side to side. The next tuxedo was also a girl, and she smiled at Marly, her hair in one large braid.

     "Esther, nice to meet you," Esther meowed, grabbing Rose's paw and gently pulling her closer to her sister. She seemed about Marly's age, perhaps.

     The last tuxedo stared at Marly through his circular yellow framed pince-nez glasses, but didn't speak quite yet. He held a book in his paws, and he adjusted his sweater, as it was falling off one of his shoulders. Marly watched him with intent, taking interest in his character. If she remembered correctly, this one was Mordecai.

     Footsteps approached them as Zippy stood behind Marly, smiling down at them all, "Mordecai, say hi to your new neighbor" She meowed. The tom kept his distance, but spoke.

     "Hello," Mordecai mewed quietly, glancing down at his paws. Zippy led them to the couch, where Marly took off her cello case and lay it down in front of her as she sat down.

     "I'm Marly," The Burmese mewed to them all. Rose waddled over to the instrument sitting next to Marly, eyes sparkling.

     "What's this?" She asked, looking up at Marly, her tail flicking in curiosity. Esther looked at Marly with a smile, also wondering. Mordecai opened his book, but listened to the conversation.

     "Oh, this?" The Burmese smiled, pointing to her cello, "It's my instrument, the cello," Marly mewed. Esther smiled widely, and Rose's tail wagged with excitement. At the word 'cello', Mordecai lifted his head up to look at the cello case, then at Marly, intent and interest in his eyes. Noticing this, she smiled softly at him, and hoisted her instrument to her lap as she began to unzip the case. "Wanna hear me play something?" Marly asked the three tuxedo cats. While Rose and Esther nodded their heads and exclaimed of how they wanted to hear her, Marly watched Mordecai instead. The tom looked at her instrument in her lap to avoid eye contact, but his gaze flickered up to hers as he spoke.

     "Yes, please," Mordecai meowed quietly. Marly's smile widened, and she continued to unzip her instrument. She set the empty case down on the floor, and held her cello and bow in her paw. The Burmese sat on the edge of the couch, and pulled out the end-pin, adjusting it so that the cello would lay comfortably against her body. She quickly tuned her instrument, and then looked at her crowd of three. Rose was hushed by Esther as she wriggled around. Mordecai even proceeded to set his book down, and moved closer to the couch where Marly sat, staring at her and the cello as he watched her. When she decided that everyone was settled, the cellist took a deep breath, before setting her bow down to the string.

     Marly proceeded to play Dvorak Cello Suite, closing her eyes, as she has already memorized the majority of the piece. She projected her sound and tone perfectly, each note ringing out and stopping when needed. The cellist used the perfect amount of vibrato on her notes, to help enunciate each one. The music was very emotional, capturing many different emotions in it's writing and notes. Marly played flawlessly, unaware that her crowd was in awe. Rose wasn't chattering away, Esther seemed more calm than usual, and Mordecai's eyes widened ever so slightly as he watched the Burmese. Despite being quite loud and probably clumsy, her movements seemed to flow when she was with the cello. Marly seemed like a whole new cat as she played, but it was just a side that only showed in certain situations.

     After a few minutes she stopped, well knowing that the full performance would be about 40 minutes, and Marly also knew that Rose probably couldn't sit still and quiet that whole time. So when she finished movement one, she broke off the song when she finished movement one. Opening her eyes, she was met with the tuxedo cats, and Marly smiled warmly at them all as she grabbed her cello case, pulling it closer to her, ready to put her instrument away.

     "Y'all like that?" She asked with a grin, and Esther nodded her head, Rose going off about "how cool the loud part was". Mordecai nodded his head, his ears flopping ever so slightly. The tom eyed the cello case, before speaking softly.

     "May I see your cello, please," He meowed as he stared at the instrument. Marly pursed her lips as she thought. She rarely let other cats ever touch her most prized possession. Yet, by his nature and the way he looked at the cello and the way he watched her play, Marly decided that he wouldn't do anything horrible.

     "Sure," the Burmese mewed as she stood up, slowly padding over to where he sat, and sat in front of him, but not too close. Taking the large wooden stringed instrument, she set it in his lap. Mordecai's gaze flickered up to hers, and he slowly took the instrument in his paws. Marly had left the end-pin still unscrewed, curious of what he would do. The tuxedo cat ran his fingertips along the body of the cello, and quickly reached to the end-pin, looking up at Marly as a small smile crossed the Burmese's face. He took this as an invitation to go ahead, and Mordecai quickly slid the end-pin back into the cello, screwing it back tight. He then ran his fingertips along where the neck of the cello was fitted to the main part of it, feeling how the two parts welded into one another. Marly's ears perked up as she watched him. His touch seemed very light along the instrument, as if the cello would crumble if he wasn't careful. Marly smiled softly as she noticed this. Most cats, if Marly handed them her cello, would have plucked all four strings way too hard, holding her priceless instrument in a way that made the Burmese surprised that the cello hadn't broken yet.

     The tuxedo cat looked over Marly's cello, and his gaze lingered on the top half of the cello. Mordecai peered closer at something on the cello, and Marly knew that he was probably staring at the small crack in the top left side of her cello. Mordecai traced a finger over the little crack. It wouldn't be noticeable if Marly was far away as she played, like on a stage, but up close it was clearly present.

     "There's a crack, on your cello," Mordecai mewed softly, looking up at Marly. Marly nodded her head. The crack has been there for a while. It wasn't that bad, but Marly needed to find time to fix it, and her family was quite busy.

     "Yeah, I know," The Burmese sighed, "It happened a while ago. My parents were unloading the cello and dropped it, hence, it cracked. I'm going to fix it soon though," Marly smiled hopefully. Mordecai seemed to think it over a bit, before speaking again.

     "The crack makes your cello asymmetrical," Mordecai replied matter-of-factly. Marly almost laughed, but she held it in. It seemed like a very out of pocket thing to say, she was unsure of what to respond.

     Esther spoke up, "Mordecai isn't fond of things that aren't symmetrical," she mewed. Marly nodded her head, thinking.

     "Oh," She started, "Well, I'll fix it soon, I promise," the Burmese mewed. Mordecai looked at Marly, nodding his head back slowly.

     After a few minutes of silence, Mordecai gingerly picked up her cello, supporting it as he held it. Marly smiled as he handed it to her, and Marly took it in her paws, laying the cello on its side as she stretched to pull her cello case over to her. Rose trotted up to Marly, a wide smile on the toddler's face.

     "I liked today!" She exclaimed, "Play more music for us!" Marly laughed cheerfully as she lay her cello into it's case, zipping it up.

     "Then I will, but not today. I have practice and stuff," The Burmese smiled, standing up. "I guess I should probably go now," Marly grinned. She had things to do, but this was genuinely really fun. It was rare she would play for such a small audience like this.

     As she walked towards the door, she spotted Zippy. Marly smiled at her, waving a paw at her.

     "I think I'll head out now," She began, "Thank you so much for having me," As she was about to head out, Marly poked her head back in, asking Zippy a question. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your last name?" The Burmese felt more comfortable calling adults by a title, then their last name. Zippy looked at Marly, a kind smile on her face as the molly still held the infant, Hannah.

     "Heller, that's this family's surname," She mewed calmly.

     "Alrighty then, Ms. Heller! See you all soon," Marly grinned back, as she headed out the door, carrying her cello on her back. The Burmese dashed up the steps and floors of her own apartment, before reaching her own room. She knocked on the door, and the sound of scuffle behind the door was clear. Probably her siblings. The door slowly opened as her father smiled at her. Marly walked into the room with her family, slipping off her cello case and laying it down on the ground near the entrance.

     "Hey Marly, how was it?" Her mom asked her, a smile crossing her dark pelted face. Marly grinned, taking a seat down onto the couch. As she was about to reply, a shout came from her younger sister, then one from her brother. Marly smiled, a chuckle coming from her lips. Sibling fights. The cellist soon turned to face her mother.

     "It was really fun! They all liked the cello. And they were all very nice," Marly mewed. Her mother nodded her head.

     "Really? How many of them were there?" Mrs. Divata meowed, excited to hear of their across the street neighbors. Marly's eyes lit up, she was always one who was happy to speak about her day and the fascinating people she had talked to.

     Marly spoke of Ms. Heller, the kind molly who tended to her infant, Hannah. She spoke of Rose Heller, the ecstatic youngin who was always so chipper and smiling. She spoke of Esther Heller, the tuxedo cat who was probably her age, who always seemed so chill and nice. Marly spoke of Mordecai Heller, the quiet tom-cat who watched her playing so intently, and who was so gentle when he handled her cello.

     Marly spoke of each of these cats so kindly, and as she spoke of each of them she knew she would give them another visit soon, with a new song to play. 

[positivelybeastly]

"So, my friend Jacob has a problem."

Tess doesn't so much as wait for Hank to reply, easing down into a seat across from him. The fire in the fireplace gives a merry little pop! as she stretches out her long legs.

"He's had it for a long time." Each word is delivered with the utmost earnestness, and she searches his face as she speaks, as if working up the nerve to ask for his wisdom. "It was starting to worry him to death. The good news is, he decided to do something about it and went to see Dr. Goldberg. He's off in Midtown, but--" she rolls her shoulder in a shrug. "I'm getting lost in the details."

She laces her fingers together, resting her hands on one thigh. "'Oy, doctor. Have I got a problem. Every night, when I get into bed, I think there's a supervillain under my bed ready to take me hostage. I'm going meshugga with fear. Please help me.'"

A slow, measured breath as she gathers her thoughts. "Well, the doctor promised to cure his phobia, but said it'd take time--and what's time with a therapist? You guessed it." One corner of her mouth turns down. "The cost of the sessions."

Another pop from the fireplace as a log collapses into a flurry of smoldering sparks. She turns her attention to the bright specks of firelight, watches them instead of Hank. "And they see each other months later at the bodega. The doctor asks Jacob, 'why didn't you decide to come back? Why didn't you let me help you?'"

Her lips thin. She gives a little grimace, regards Hank askance before her eyes skim back to the fireplace. "'Well, Dr. Goldberg, your fees are too high, and so were every other shrink I talked to.'"

It's true. Psychiatric help is prohibitively expensive. "'You know, my rabbit gave me the cure for nothing. I was so happy at saving all that money, I went to see my sister in Detroit'!"

A moment of silence. She raises one hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And of course, Dr. Goldberg asked, 'how did your rabbi cure you?'"

Now, there's a hint of lightness in her deep voice--just a hint that this might not turn out to be such a terrible story after all.

"'Easy'," my friend Jacob tells him, "'he told me to cut the legs off my bed. It's so low now, only Mr. Fantastic or Ant-Man can get under it."

Pop pop pop. Boy, that's a happy little fire!

Hank twigs that this is an extended joke set-up from almost moment one. No-one ever has a friend called Jacob. And no-one ever sits down and talks to people about their friend's problems. Occasionally, you might get an, 'so I have this friend that's very much not me,' but Hank's been a teacher long enough that he can tell when those are coming.

Still, he has faith in Tess' comedic ability, so he sits and makes the noises and the sounds and the facial twitches she desires. He has faith this'll be a good one.

Oh, supervillains? That's good, that's a decent remix, he thinks. He's going to have to go through his generic monster/nightmare/sleep paralysis demon material and see if he can apply that to older jokes he doesn't get to tell as often.

Are Kitty and Tess friends? He feels as though they should be. He's certain Kitty's told him a few jokes like this, though certainly not this one. He knows he's heard about this mysterious Dr. Goldberg enough to know he has a subpar waiting office and that, despite being a medical doctor, he often has to deal with patients treating him like a psychologist. Poor Dr. Goldberg.

He chuckles. It's a pretty decent joke. He could be a pedant and point out that you wouldn't want most versions of Yellowjacket or Black Ant under your bed, but that would very much ruin the cozy atmosphere they've got going. They have a happy little fireplace and everything.

How best to repay the joke?

Oh, he's got one.

He turns to face her, as erudite as you please, pince-nez perched at the end of his feline nose. Pinching it, even. Appropriate name for a style of glasses.

"You know, every now and then, I have to fill in for Logan when he's teaching World History, and when it comes time to teach about the early 20th century, I like to tell them this story. I think you'll like it."

"It concerns a political recruiter from the Italian Fascist Party arguing with a rural socialist that he should join the Fascist Party instead. “How can I,” said the potential recruit, “join your party? My father was a socialist. My grandfather was a socialist. I really cannot join the Fascist Party.”

He quirks a brow at Tess. A fairly reasonable, if traditionalist argument. Is this a joke about rural socialists? Hank might qualify, he's not exactly right wing and he grew up on a farm, though this isn't exactly a joke about chickens unionising, is it? Where's this going?

“What kind of an argument is this?” says the Fascist recruiter, reasonably enough - for a fascist." Hank is quick to clarify that fact. Reasonable for a fascist. "“What would you have done,” he asks the rural socialist, “if your father had been a murderer and your grandfather had also been a murderer? What would you have done then?”"

Hank leans back, astute, confident that he's won the argument. This is surely unassailable logic.

“Ah, then,” says the potential recruit, “then, of course, I would have joined the Fascist Party.”

Rimshot.

[evaemiel]

The Ghosts - week 7 of #alphabetsuperset

back to the usual programming

There’s a reluctant light coming through the blinds when I wake. It’s very early still, the softest twilight of the not-yet-morning. My dreams stretch out their spindly limbs to catch onto whatever part of the waking world they can. Here and there, the fabric of reality shows tiny rips, allowing dark, oozing subconscious to push through. But the bathroom calls, so I get up and fumble blindly to find my slippers. It’s cold, and the floor is even colder; I better make this quick. Two steps out of bed, and something about how the blackness wraps itself around my vision has me feeling wary.

It’s one of those nights.

It doesn’t take long for me to spot the first one. Good old Shade. Lamp shade, Shady, Shaders, etc. As per usual, she’s hanging out a couple of steps behind me. There’s no point in me looking her way; she’s nothing but a deep shadow, untethered from her surroundings; no discerning features, no face, no clothes, nothing. And she’s a real screamer too—nothing like a bit of extended eye contact to make her blast you with a bone-rattling cry that has your heart beating a million times per minute. So I keep my eyes in front of me, but I acknowledge her presence with a soft “hey babe,” and I keep going.

I sit down on the toilet and close my eyes while resting my head against the icy tiled wall to my right. It’s an attempt to keep me drowsy enough to fall asleep easily once I return to bed while simultaneously staying awake enough to not do anything stupid. You know, like talking to ghosts.

Not even 30 seconds in, and I can hear soft scratches at the door. I ignore them at first, but then it jumps to making mini splashes in the toilet’s water tank. I sigh and give in, looking behind me. Obviously, there’s nothing there. I figure that’s the end of it, but when I open the door, I can see a blur of movement near the floor. I finish washing my hands and want to move back in the direction of the bedroom when I hear scratching again, this time coming from the back. It’s loud too, which is unusual for Scritch; it prefers to hide itself in small spaces and make little noises here and there, just enough to be seen on occasion, but never so often that it doesn’t have plausible deniability.

My curiosity wins out, and I stumble further down the hallway. Scritch is sitting on the floor in plain sight. I notice it’s gotten smaller again. It used to be the size of a Rottweiler, but the years have chipped away at its presence, and now it’s no bigger than a rat. It moves like a rat too. It figures it has my attention, and it slips into the back room, briefly making the cat flap open and close before I can vaguely see it run into the garden. It disappears under one of the shrubs near the back wall.

As I try to follow where it went, I see a familiar shape near the summer lilac: a man wearing a long, classic-cut coat and a non-descript hat. His face appears like a painting — an amalgamation of crude brush strokes and drips of sallow color added by a palette knife. One big smear seems to suggest a thick mustache; a hint of ocher gold could be the frame of a pince-nez. As always, he looks up into the sky, gazing at the paltry stars above us. I step outside and glance up briefly; I don’t remember ever seeing the firmament so clearly and so abundantly; it usually never is in the city. “Guess I’m still dreaming, huh.” Stargazer eyes me, two dark spots shifting right under the brim of his hat, and nods, then shrugs. I’m wondering what that is supposed to mean when he points back at the house.

His wheezing voice forces out the words with great effort, “There’s… another — one — here.” At this point, Scritch emerges from underneath the summer lilac, wrestling itself into all sorts of erratic shapes. Even Shade appears in the frame of the back door and seems hell bent on getting herself into my view, which is immediately unsettling in the worst way. She doesn’t scream, but there’s an uncharacteristic guttural sound coming from somewhere inside her two dimensional shape.

I take the hint and try to walk as briskly as I can past Shade, praying to the gods of sleep that she won’t freak out on me. I count my lucky stars when I reach the door and feel her presence floating behind me at a safe distance; the sound stops too. Oddly enough, the two others seem to follow me as well.

Walking back down the hallway, I give every shadow a sideways look, but nothing seems out of place. Nothing that makes my chest contract or the hairs on my neck stand on end. It’s only when Stargazer appears beside me and gasps out a barely audible “there —” that I see them too.

They’re sitting on the sofa in the living room, back straight, with their head bent downward as if reading. When I move closer, I can see that they are indeed holding a book. Never seen a ghost do that before. They turn around, and the deep lines on their face fold into a peaceful smile. I recognize them at once, and a hot fear grips me.

“Please don’t run.” Their voice is confusingly familiar. Of course I was going to run. Of course they would know that.

They wait for me to make a decision, and so I do; I stand still and do nothing. They let their fingers tap rhythmically on the cover of the book. I look at it, and they look at it. Their face lights up, and they only say “yes.” I think I understand.

“I’m only here to say this; the time is now, always now. Remember that.” They smirk; I get the reference. Of course they would know that.

Before I have time to respond, a flurry of blue light passes by the window, twirling strings of color that temporarily fill the room and my eyes. Then the ambulance is gone as fast as it came. I blink and find myself awake, in front of my couch, at four AM, with no ghosts in sight.

I inhale slowly, trying to calm my brain while also clutching at any memories of what just happened; otherwise it’ll all be gone come morning. As I stand there, the cold catches up to me again, and I’m forced to rush back to my bed, this time with better hand-eye coordination. Lying down, I stare into the dark and repeat every step and every image, locking it into a narrative in my mind. I keep rotating the events in my head until I hear a slight skitter underneath my bed.

“Yeah, I know, you’re right. Goodnight Scritch.”  I sigh and roll myself into my blanket. “And sweet dreams to the rest of you”, I add silently before falling into the deep abyss again.

Credit Image – To All Appearances, It Has a Hand of Flesh and Blood Just Like My Own (1896) by Odilon Redon. Original from The MET museum. Used under CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) Public Domain Dedication Font – Bungee font family. Used under SIL Open Font License

[oh-austin]

mistaken (austin butler)

summary: in which austin brings ines to set and shes a little confused to see her dad kissing someone who isn't her mom

ask: reader x dad!austin - the reader brings their daughter (a baby) to set and everyone is happy to see her but when they start filming their daughter sees austin and olivia kiss which confuses her so she starts calling olivia mommy. angst.

authors note/warning: no warnings! my first angsty kind of piece ahh, hopefully it's not crap- because im a fluff girl through and through tbh. part four of going method will be out soon my loves!!

────── ∘◦❀◦∘

Bringing a 14 month old to set wasn’t necessarily a bad idea. Everyone loved Ines. She was a smiley baby, who slept through the night at 7 months and was happy to be held by anyone when in a good mood.

Ines was a little confused at first when seeing her daddy all dressed up in costume, but she soon realised it was him when looking into his blue eyes- ones that matched hers exactly.

Ines soon became a regular on set, babbling whilst Baz spoke to her daddy, loved being held by Tom and had taken a special liking to Olivia. All of the cast did enjoy having her around.

Since you got pregnant within the first month and a half of filming, everyone felt like a special part of Ines’ life. They were there when you went into labour, when Austin would freak out if you weren’t sitting down after hitting your 36 week mark. They saw it all.

Now with filming almost at an end, Ines was growing faster than the cast and crew liked to see.

Today they were filming Priscilla's first scene. Olivia had unruly curly clip-on bangs and Austin was looking very official in Elvis' army suit. Ines was on your lap as you sat in Austin's chair, his name on the back of it. Baz spoke with the producers as Austin was getting ready to shoot the scene.

You always made sure Ines had her pacifier in whilst they were shooting, a guaranteed way of having no baby noises in the back of the scene. If she ever fussed, you were very quick to leave the sound stage. Ines was very well-behaved though- Austin said she was very good at reading the room and that she knew she had to be quiet.

"Ready to watch Daddy, huh?" You whispered to Ines. Austin was getting last minute makeup done as you looked over to him.

"Dada," Ines pointed over at Austin, a smile on her face.

"Yeah, Nezzie say hi dada?" You showed her how to wave over at Austin, she replicated your gesture.

"Dada!" She called. Austin's eyes looked up and met his daughters.

"Hi my girl," Austin came over from the sound stage to come see you both, "You're getting so big," Austin picked Ines up from your lap. "Gotta stop growing for dad, yeah?"

Ines went to go touch one of the badges on Austin's suit jacket, "Nezzie, no," Austin said softly, shaking his head at her. Ines looked up at him with her big blue eyes, "No touch," Ines nodded, putting her finger back in her mouth. "Good girl," Austin held her close to his chest before placing a kiss on her head.

Baz called out for Austin to come back to the soundstage. "Daddy's gotta go," Austin gave Ines another kiss before handing her back to you. Austin kissed your cheek quickly before heading back ready to shoot the scene.

"Ready Nez?" You kissed her cheek a few times as you bounced her on your knee. Baz called for everyone to be quiet on set, as you popped Ines' pacifier in her mouth.

"Action!" He yelled.

"And then he said to me," Olivia began, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “You know what, Priscilla?" She changed her voice and made it deeper and more gruff. "You gotta listen to me, sweetie, because this guy, he’s got girls all over the world, okay?"

You watched as Olivia and Austin moved around one another, performing the scene that you had read with Austin multiple times before. They were doing great. You and Ines were relatively close to the soundstage so you could see everything that was happening.

The scene finished with Austin and Olivia kissing on the fake windowsill, Baz called cut. Austin came over to get his water from you in between takes, Olivia followed him.

"Oh my gosh, Nezzie! Look out big you're getting," Olivia crouched down in front of you and your daughter. You were very lucky to be so welcomed on set, Olivia often offering to babysit Ines for you both.

"Mama!" Ines shouted, reaching her arms out to Olivia. Your heart dropped a little and Austin stopped rubbing circles on your hand.

"Oh no, baby," Olivia shook her head with a smile, "That's mama," Olivia pointed up to you.

"Mama!" Ines shouted in what seemed to be protest. Austin sighed picking her up.

"She's probably confused," Austin bounced her up and down. You knew that he could tell it had upset you. At the start of your relationship, you had reservations about dating an actor- someone who would be kissing other people as a part of their job. However, overtime you came to adjust.

But now your own daughter was calling someone else her Mom, because she had seen your husband kissing her. "Sees us kiss and then watches the scene, she's just a little take back, hey Nez?" Austin kissed her cheek. "Look at mama," Austin pointed to you. Her eyes followed her dad's finger, but then Ines looked back to Olivia and you felt like crying.

Austin wanted to stay around and comfort you, talk you through how you were feeling, but Baz called him and Olivia back for another take. Austin whispered a soft apology when he had to hand Ines back to you. You heard mutters of Olivia apologising to him, but you knew it wasn't her fault.

You snuck out during that take, heading back to the trailer with Ines. When Olivia realised after the next take that you had left, she felt even worse than before- but Austin assured her that you probably went to feed her. He knew that you hadn't.

You sat in Austin's trailer, trying to shush Ines to sleep for her nap. Soon, she was out and it was just you in there all alone with your thoughts. It wasn't anybodies fault that Ines was confused, she's only a baby. That's what you tried to tell yourself anyway. It wasn't hard to let negative thoughts penetrate your mind.

"Y/N?" You heard Austin's voice from outside the trailer around thirty minutes later, "Baby? I'm gonna come in, okay?" You didn't respond. Austin felt so guilty seeing you sit with small traces of tears glistening over your eyes.

"Hey," You whispered to him. He sighed before coming to sit next to you and a sleeping Ines.

"You know she knows that you're her mom, right?" Austin was still in his cadet outfit, his hair perfectly slicked back. You were about to open your mouth in protest, "No-" Austin stopped you- "She does," He whispered. "Baby, she's just one year old, like freshly one," He chuckled, "She only knows three words!"

"I know, it just-" You sighed- "It really sucked," You looked down at your daughter, who was a carbon copy of Austin. His blonde curls and blue sparkly eyes were all him, but he claimed she looked so much like you- you could never see it.

"I know baby, but she's not used to seeing her daddy kiss people other than her mommy, you know that" He grabbed your hand as you held Ines. You nodded, meeting his eyes. "The other day, she called Tom dad!" He told you with a wide grin, "Funniest thing I've ever seen," Austin recalled, "She's just little, but she knows that we're her mom and dad,"

You closed your eyes for a moment, relishing in the peace between the three of you. "She called Tom dad?" You asked from your spot against Austin's shoulder.

"Well it was more like 'dah', but close enough," He kissed your head with a smile. "She knows that you're her mom, yeah?"

"Yeah," You let out a deep breath that sat on your chest, "She does. Thank you," You looked up at your husband.

"Always," He smiled down at you. You were very lucky to be Ines' mom, just as lucky as you were to be Austin's wife.

[tsu-kitsu]

Daily ZenNezu Brainrot with yours truly, Tsuki!

One thing that always boggles my mind is when KNY fans say Zenitsu and Nezuko are a ‘rushed ship’, or ‘weren’t written well’.

In hindsight…they were! Gotouge San took great pride in this relationship, and wrote them very well. And here’s why!

Zenitsu, a broken boy— No familiarity with…well, family!

Being an orphan, it’s no surprise he pinned for women quite often. He acted out of pure desperation, opening his heart to anyone and everyone who would dare show him an ounce of affection. The poor boy didn’t know much better, thus being an target with easy vulnerability for women to manipulate.

When he saw Nezuko, sure, his boyish giddiness took quite a turn on overdrive, but a part of me feels that Nez served as a goal for him. I think it heavily has something to do with his respect towards Tanjiro. He described the Kamado’s sound as ‘gentle’. Knowing Tanjiro was willing to die for whatever was in that box, it changed Zenitsu’s perspective quite a bit. (What a sweet boy.) So, knowing how important Nezuko was, gave him a sense of responsibility— to fight hard in the name of his beloved, whether or not she would actually return to a human. (Which, in my opinion, makes it so much cuter. To him, it didn’t matter if she was a demon or not.)

Now, onto Nezuko!

Nezuko, a broken girl who lost the ONLY thing she knew: family!

It was made clear that the Kamado’s were in fact ‘country bumpkins’, just a bunch of oblivious kiddos who’s social circle was very small.

Now, we weren’t given the perspective of Nezuko’s reaction to the loss of her family right off the bat. Her dazed out demon state can be hard to read, but after Urokodaki’s hypnosis (?), she uses the image of her family when relaying protection for strangers. Tanjiro also stated in a Taisho secret how her siblings looked up to her greatly, Nezuko being the light in the dark times they’ve been through.

With that in mind, it’s no doubt Nezuko lost a part of herself following the death of her family.

Back to what this has to do with Zenitsu…

A taisho secret revealed that, when reverting back to human form…the blurred memories of Zenitsu saving her made her heart beat faster.

Even in her flashbacks leading up to the completion of her transformation, a panel of Zenitsu was shown.

He was the light in her darkness!

All that time spent in a demonic fog, the presence of the giddy blonde boy kept her company. This statement is even stronger when you realize the many times Zenitsu spent time with her to make Nez feel included, such as the goldfish viewing (taisho secret), flower field (light novel) and the many times he would sit by her box spewing about his daily happenings.

…What point am I getting to?

Zenitsu and Nezuko complete each other. They’re both the missing halves to broken hearts.

Think about it:

Nezuko, a girl with strong heart, who lost her family. And Zenitsu, a boy with a healing heart, who hasn’t had a family. Its a harmonizing balance.

Nezuko and Zenitsu alike became their sense of family for each other. He was able to open his heart to her, with no judgement nor manipulation— her presence serving as family. She was able to lean on him, giving her hope—his presence serving as family.

Its great chemistry.

(And with the thought that Nezuko was a bit oblivious to love, while Zenitsu had a clear understanding of it, only makes Zennezu have a cuter dynamic. Both of them are shy cuties who forget how to form coherent sentences when around each other.)

🌸🌼

I headcanon that, during Tanjiro’s bedridden woes post Muzan battle, Nezuko would sit by his bedside and ask him very…awkward questions.

“Onii-Chan, what does being in love feel like?”

Maybe I’ll do a headcanon post later on.

Credits to Petite Kimetsu on TWT for the clear scan of this!

[aquadestinyswriting]

A Circle None Can Break- Part Three

Summary: Selene is finally called to a meeting with the King and one of the Head Librarians, only to get a lot more than she bargained for.

Words: 2,389

Warnings: Aside from some very mild bad language, I don't think there's anything that needs to be warned for. Please let me know if I'm incorrect

tags: @druidx, @strosmkai-rum, @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings

Note: The Miranda Rights might be different to what many expect. That's because I used the UK (Scotland) one.

Selene frowned as she followed Stormbreaker through the halls of the palace. Those damned magic-dampening runes now seemed to cover almost every inch of the place. Almost. There were definitely areas that had been missed. Whether that was by accident or to allow the staff to use magic for some of their work remained to be seen.

"Right, wait here 'til ye're called. I'll let His Majesty ken ye've arrived." Stormbreaker suddenly said, stopping in front of a rather plainer looking door than the wizard was expecting. Selene nodded and stood to one side of the door, leaning against the wall as the kingsguard lieutenant stepped inside. The antimagic runes hastily carved into the stone sparked slightly at the contact, causing an unpleasant shiver to run down the wizard’s neck. It had been a very long time since Selene had last been bereft of the ability to sense the magical weave of the world and the sensation was even less pleasant than she recalled. Not only that, but now she was also without her connection to her familiar. She hoped that Chrackle wasn’t panicking at the lack of connection to her. The last time she’d been inside an antimagic field the bird had at least been able to see her. She looked over as Stormbreaker opened the door again and stood to the other side of it,

“Presenting the Grand Magus of the City of Toreguarde, Lady Selene Frigidwake.” he intoned, gesturing for the human woman to get to the door. Selene pushed off from the wall and made her way to the door. She inclined her head in a short bow as she stepped into the little room. It seemed to be a study of some sort. A desk was placed to one side of the room, two stacks of parchment neatly piled to one side and a quill sitting in the ink pot. Directly ahead was a large fireplace, around which several comfortable chairs were placed and a smaller table between them. Three tankards filled with ale had been placed on the table, along with a platter of various meats, assorted cheeses, dwarven hardtack and some of the fruits that grew on the side of the mountain. 

In one chair, sending the human woman a wide smile, was an elderly dwarf, his beard having long since turned grey. He was wearing scholar's robes and a pair of pince-nez glasses were perched on the end of his nose. Standing in front of the fireplace, back currently turned to Selene, was a much younger dwarf. Dark hair fell in ringlets down his back, partially obscuring the Goldseeker family crest that adorned the back of his rich, purple, fur-trimmed cape. He was wearing a kirtle embroidered with gold and silver thread and he wore a ceremonial pauldron on one shoulder, to which the cape was attached. Selene could just about make out the glint of mythril chainmail peeking out from beneath the kirtle. King Storri Goldseeker, his hands clasped behind his back, addressed his guest, his back still turned to her,

“It’s no’ very often we get to meet the greatest heroes of the age more than once in one’s lifetime.'' he stated levelly, “I’ve heard some reasons as to why ye’ve decided to visit our hallowed halls once more, but I would hear them in your own words.” Selene took another step into the room, glancing to the librarian with a puzzled look, before returning her attention to the monarch,

“Your Majesty, I am incredibly grateful to have been welcomed back to your majestic home, even after all this time. As to why I’m here; I am not sure how much the good Abouna told you, so forgive me for my bluntness-” 

“Forgiven. Proceed.” 

Selene bristled at the interruption, but tamped down her temper and carried on,

“Your Majesty, I came here seeking information that would help me to permanently close the Hellmouth that currently lies beneath Toreguarde.” she said. The Low King of Fangthane finally deigned to turn around and look at his guest, eyes narrowing,

“And what makes you think we have any pertinent information that would possibly help your cause?” he asked. Selene did not know what she had, personally, done to insult the dwarven man in front of her, but she could feel her temper wearing dangerously thin. Perhaps the antimagic runes weren’t such a bad idea after all. She inhaled deeply through her nose and slowly let it out before replying,

“To be perfectly frank, Your Majesty, I do not know for certain.” she said, only just managing to keep her tone even, “I only know that I have very thoroughly exhausted all other avenues at my disposal.” 

“What kind of information are ye after, lass? That will at least help us to figure out if we can even help ye.” The soft voice of the librarian was music to Selene’s ears. She turned to the elderly dwarf, a genuine smile lighting up her face,

“Thank you, Derek.” she sighed, “I’m looking to see if you have any information on-” Selene stopped and looked over to the door of the study, suddenly aware that there were raised voices coming from the other side. King Storri’s already thunderous frown deepened even further. He looked to the door and began a march towards it just as it burst open. The Captain of his Kingsguard- a tall and broad shouldered dwarf dressed in elaborately decorated full plate armour and a spec helm with a large, feathered plume on top- saluted the younger man and bowed deeply, holding his helmet under his arm,

“I apologise for the intrusion to this meeting, Your Majesty, but we have a situation.” he said, glancing over to Selene. King Storri groaned out a sigh and simply gestured for the Captain to carry on, pinching the bridge of his nose. Captain Bloodvein turned to the door and nodded to his Lieutenant, who ushered an unseen person forward. Selene froze as a troupe of Kingsguard marched into the room, hands on their weapons, surrounding her. Following in at the back, were two Ironguard and in the hands of one of them…

“Chrackle!” Selene yelped, her eyes widening on seeing the state her familiar was in. The corvid was wearing a falconer’s hood over his head and his wings and feet were tightly bound to his body. A thick, leather thong was wrapped tightly, too tightly, around his beak. Selene barely had time to process this when one of the Kingsguard snatched her staff away from her and two others forced her to her knees. Derek leapt to his feet, but was waved down by King Storri, who looked to Captain Bloodvein,

“Captain Bloodvein, what is going on?” he asked calmly. Bloodvein heaved a sigh and stepped towards Selene,

“Lady Selene Frigidwake, you are hereby placed under arrest by the authority of the Council of Fangthane under Section 1 of the Criminal Charges Act. The charges placed against you are as follows; of Conspiring with enemy agents, political Espionage on behalf of enemies of the Crown and plotting with enemies of the Crown to assassinate persons of political interest on the Fangthane Council. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.” Selene was silent as a pair of shackles were roughly placed on her wrists and she was hauled upright. Captain Bloodvein turned back to his king,

“Again, my most sincere apologies, Yer Majesty. I ken ye had questions for the Grand Magus, but they’re going to have to wait for now.” Storri nodded, glaring at Selene while she was walked out of the study,

“If the Council believes that she’s conspiring against us, I’d rather she were questioned properly about her motives.” Derek scoffed, lumbering over to the king and glaring at him,

“The charges are a load o’ nonsense, and you know it!” he snapped, “Now I don’t know who on the Council has a beef wi’ the lassie, but you ought to ken better.” Storri snorted,

“Do I now?” he rumbled, “Tell me, Head Librarian, does she not work as an official of the City of Toreguarde?” he asked smoothly, “Is Toreguarde not considered a part of the Drakemari Empire? And, lastly; is she, or is she not, a close friend and confidant of one Alexis Dalliance? Who, may I remind you, has been charged with attempted murder following a failed assassination attempt?” The older dwarf blustered for a moment, before recalling himself and bowing deeply,

“Point made, Yer Majesty.” he grumbled, “Well then, since my services are, apparently, no longer required, I suppose I’d better get back to the library.” he said. The longbeard paused at the door to the study,

“One last thing, Yer Majesty.” he said. Storri, who had turned back to the fireplace, glanced over to him,

“Yes?” he sighed wearily. Derek sent him the gravest stare that the king could ever remember being sent in his direction,

“Tread carefully. The last thing we need is for Toreguarde to have a reason to retaliate. There are good dwarves living there.” he said, closing the door as he walked out of it, leaving Storri to stare into the fire.

~*~

Edwin drummed his fingers on the table he was sitting at. He had been sat in the Hammer and Anvil for the last hour, having arrived after finishing his last service of the day, and Selene still hadn’t shown up. While he knew that she was in the city on business, surely speaking to the king shouldn’t have taken the whole afternoon? He looked around the busy pub, smiling as he watched the people around him enjoying their night. While he might have looked out of place to any outsiders, the dwarves here considered him one of them and any suggestions to the contrary would likely end with the ignorant sod being thrown out on their arse just out of principle.

Edwin watched as the pub’s landlord intervened in an escalating argument between a father and daughter, forcing both back into their seats and sitting between them. The Galanite did not envy Snorri;  his family were known for being hot-headed and everyone knew not to get involved in Ironforge internal disputes, especially ones the youngest daughter was involved in. Not unless they wanted a minor explosion of divine magic going off in their faces. Edwin lifted his tankard to take another swig of his ale, only to find that it was disappointingly empty.  He huffed and got up, about to make his way to the bar when the door of the pub slammed open.

As one, all the patrons turned to stare at the dwarf that had just arrived, huffing and panting as he stood in the doorway. The newly arrived patron stared around the pub, found Edwin and rushed over to him,

“Abouna! Abouna!” he called, “News that’s just filtered down from the Palace!” Edwin turned to the shorter man and quickly filled his currently empty tankard with some fresh water with a quick prayer. He handed it to the dwarf and sat back down,

“Alright, Firrik, calm down. What’s going on?” he asked. Firrik took a gulp of the water and stared up at Edwin, his eyes wide,

“Word in the vein is that your wizard friend’s been arrested.” he said. All other chatter in the pub died down as everyone else tuned into the conversation,

“The one that arrived this mornin’?”

“I thought she was invited?”

“Seems a bit stupid arresting an official that’s representin’ a city we’re meant to be allies wi’.” Edwin tuned out the rising noise of questions being called out, his heart hammering in his chest,

“On what grounds?” he asked, loudly enough for everyone else to hear. The noise quietened back down as Firrik fidgeted in his seat,

“I’m no’ sure of the exact charges. But from what I heard, it’s somethin’ to do wi’ conspiracy against the Crown and plotting with enemies o’ the Crown to assassinate the king.” Edwin stared at his friend, processing the information he had just been given. The rest of the pub was silent, everyone within waiting with bated breath to see what the Abouna would do. Everyone remembered the events that had occurred the last time one of his friends had come to the mountain. They’d have to have been living under the mountain’s roots to not. It was also extremely common knowledge, that the Grand Magus of Toreguarde was a close friend of the now publicly shamed and derided Alexis Dalliance (though if you asked any patrons of the Hammer and Anvil what they personally thought, many would say that she was a fine, upstanding woman and that the charges levied against her were probably a load of hogwash).  

For his part, Edwin felt oddly calm about the situation. Of course someone was going to try and get one of his old travelling companions arrested. Especially one that was so politically involved in a city that half the nobles of Fangthane despised. He felt a prickly touch in his chest as Galana made Her opinion of the matter clear. Edwin knew the allegations against Selene were egregious and used that knowledge to channel his mistress’ wrath. Before he could open his mouth however, he felt a surge of power from a table to his left. He glanced over just in time to see Snorri’s niece get up from her seat, the young woman’s face twisted into an angry snarl, the floor under her table rumbling,

“No! This isn’t right!” she snapped, “First, Dar Alexis, now the Grand Magus? What in the bloody Pit is the Council playing at?” Snorri reached over and pulled the girl back to her seat while her father glared at her,

“Merri! Language!” Well, that was two Gods who were none too pleased with this development, Edwin noted. He stood, a surge of righteous power gathering around him as well. The dwarves closest to the two clerics shifted back several feet as Edwin turned to the young Moradhir and nodded,

“Don’t worry, that’s something I fully intend to find out.” he growled, grabbing his staff and storming out of the pub, a trail of thorny vines following in his wake.

[radiantsouth]

the legend of the high king

Caspian sighed, slouching deeper and deeper into the upholstery of Doctor Cornelius’ favourite armchair. His tutor had let him have a break and doddered off to check on the potions simmering in the alcove nearby; he was supposed to be reading A History of Telmarine Conquest after five minutes, but nearly ten had passed and he had yet to open the enormous tome. Why did he need to read about this, anyway? He’d heard plenty from Uncle Miraz already.

Discreetly, Caspian pulled out a book from the back shelf, the one least likely to be examined by visitors. Tales of the Golden Age was a favourite of his—Doctor Cornelius told him it was a book of fairytales, but to Caspian it read like the other books on the more conspicuous shelves. The fact that the book was well illustrated, which made it all the more interesting, was only secondary to why Caspian was so attached to it.

He turned to a page depicting the four kings and queens of old on their thrones, the exquisitely rendered walls of Cair Paravel surrounding them. It all felt so real to him, even though Doctor Cornelius and all the lords of the castle said otherwise. It would be much easier being a king, he thought, if there were others to rule beside you. As it stood, the Telmarines would only have one throne—one that he was supposed to fill.

Doctor Cornelius finally returned to the large oak table in the middle of the room, peering at the book on the table with his pince-nez. “That doesn’t look like A History of Telmarine Conquest, young prince.”

Caspian sighed, closing the book with a sullen thud. “I’m sorry, Professor. I’ll get to reading right away.”

His tutor waved a dismissive hand. “You’re in no mood to study, anyhow. It’ll all go right through you.”

Caspian smiled. This was what he liked most about the good old doctor; he knew when to waste his efforts on Caspian. “Can I read this book, then?”

Doctor Cornelius eyed the Tales of the Golden Age warily. “You risk a great deal, my prince. You know your uncle...”

“I’ll be discreet,” Caspian promised. “I’ll read it here.”

“You’ve read the book more than all the others on your reading list. I think not, Your Highness.” At Caspian’s sigh, he amended. “Would you like to hear something that’s not in the book, then?”

“Oh, yes!” Caspian perked up, sitting straight in the armchair. At his size, the top of his head barely reached the middle of the chair’s back. “I mean—yes, Professor. Please.”

Chuckling, Doctor Cornelius situated himself in the twin chair across the table. “What forbidden tale would you have me tell, dear prince?”

Caspian opened the book again with great effort. It landed on an illustration of the four monarchs on the hunt, with all the symbols that were commonly attributed to each of them. In the lead—always in the lead, always first among his siblings in the illustrations Caspian liked—was High King Peter, the sword Rhindon strapped to his side.

“It is strange,” Caspian began. “To think that a king would still have another that ruled over him.”

The professor hummed, eyes following Caspian’s gaze. “Ah. Yes, the thought of having a High King is certainly one that would never occur to the Telmarines, let alone any of the other nations.”

Caspian found himself nodding. “It must have been very confusing.”

“Contrary to that, dear prince, it is very simple.” Doctor Cornelius picked up an ornately carved pipe from the desk and set it alight, puffing thoughtfully from the stem. “It’s in the name—he is king over all kings, and they all defer to his wisdom. And I daresay he deserved it.”

“Deserved it?” Caspian was not sure if the Professor spoke of merit or punishment.

“It was commonly thought that the kings and queens were inhuman, the High King most of all,” Doctor Cornelius continued. “After all, what human could make the earth tremble beneath him when he walked? What human could shape the skies to his will, make the trees come to life with one word? Just the thought of what he could do with his power was enough to strike fear into their hearts.”

“But they loved him, of course,” Caspian insisted.

“They loved him as they would any fair monarch,” Doctor Cornelius agreed, expelling a cloud of smoke. “But any wise person feared High King Peter.”

“And was he really? Inhuman, I mean?”

“Tales have a way of weaving themselves, you know, and the High King never gave them any reason to think otherwise. I suspect High King Peter is as human as you or your family, my prince.”

“Oh.” Caspian felt quite disappointed; the story would have been much more grand if he were some sort of creature that defied explanation. It must have been a great man, indeed, who would lead all the kings that came after him.

Catching wind of his expression, Doctor Cornelius added, “He is human, yes. But Narnia loved him enough to listen when he spoke, and to do as he said. That is the truth of it.”

“If Narnia loved him so much, then why fear him?” Caspian wondered.

“The High King’s road is a lonely one. He is second in authority only to Aslan; he stands above them all, even brother and sisters. Every day he makes decisions that shape the future of Narnia.” Is, stands, makes—the Doctor spoke as though the High King was still present. “That kind of responsibility, well—it makes you terrible, doesn't it?”

“But I thought he was called magnificent?”

“A prettier word, to be sure. But magnificence can mean many different things. The power to lead thousands of men into battle—that is magnificent,” Doctor Cornelius nodded. “Knowingly leading those men to their deaths—that is terrible.”

“When I become king...” Caspian frowned. “I will have to do terrible things.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said wistfully. “Such is your burden. But High King Peter was not without guidance. He is never alone in those paintings and illustrations you are so very fond of.

“Narnia loves its High King, but all it ever does is take. Narnia demands blood and sacrifice, and as High King, he is the first to bleed. But King Edmund, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy... they loved him first.” Doctor Cornelius smiled. “Just as you have people that love you, dear prince.”

Caspian only barely stopped himself from vaulting over the table to embrace his tutor. He was too grown for that, he decided—but only just. “Promise me you’ll be there when I am king, Professor,” he said. “I will never be without need of your wisdom.”

The old doctor chuckled. “That is why I am here, Prince Caspian. I have no intention of leaving your side.”

[diphthongsfordays]

Word Find Game

This one comes from the wonderful @avrablake, thanks!!

Wind (Niv and the Neverwhere)

“Silent earth,” Nez swore softly, all the blood draining from his wind-tanned face. “Those people don’t just burn villages Niv, they literally salt the ground behind them. You won’t find so much as a knuckle bone if they turn on us.” “Don’t get too worked up,” said Niv. Her voice came out a little too brittle. A little too quiet. She swallowed, and pushed on. “Those are just rumors. And he’s not even good at being a bad guy. No subtly, no nuance, his version of intimidating is just smacking people and throwing a few insults at them.” “He could still ruin us.” “I know, I know. I didn’t insult him again.” “Good for you.” There was no comforting sarcasm in her brother’s voice. He reached for Niv’s hand, and she took it, their cold fingers curling together. It’s just a few days. We just have to make it a few days.

Disappoint (Deathdancer - Zaul POV)

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Zaul nodded, holding out the envelope. She snatched it immediately, rifling through the papers. “If these don’t hold up to scrutiny-“ “They will. I’ve already filed the corresponding travel documents. Welcome to Aramzind. I hope your caravan enjoys their time here.” Without a word, she swept away, leaving Zaul alone in the alleyway. He darted off the other way, running a few streets away at random, making sure he wasn’t followed before turning back towards the Oasis District. It was an easy precaution to take, and things already felt off tonight. The stranger sneaking around the Oasis had set him on edge for some reason. Maybe he should have stuck around, alerted one of the Dumdarin that someone was near the Zazari’s offices and residence. But then he would have missed this meeting, and something told him this was not a woman he wanted to disappoint.

Roof

Niv’s mother had told her a story once, about a man with a red shadow. Not bright, like a fire or a sunset, but muted. Quiet. A flower hidden in the shadows of jagged stones. Blood-soaked black sand in the moonlight. We were just children, she’d said, smirking slightly, knowing the reaction she was about to get. Sitting on the roof. It was the first time your father and I were truly alone, if you know what I mean. Mom! Nez had wrinkled his nose, waving his hands in front of his face, trying to banish whatever unwanted image of their parents he’d already conjured up.

Weak (Deathdancer - Zaul POV)

“Wait,” rasped Hita, chest heaving, face set into grim lines. “Make me.” Hita shook her head. “Zaul, you-” A lawkeeper yelped. Zaul jumped, whipping around to see what had happened, in time to see a figure that looked frighteningly like Orvon launch out of a wagon and bolt. An instant later, a tall woman dived after him, her mass of black coils bouncing as she waved the lawkeeper away. Zaul’s knees went weak, head spinning from their wild run. If he could have, he’d have done a long, dramatic exhale, but given he was lucky to manage not passing out that wasn’t really on the table. She’s alive.

I tag (no pressure!!): @sleepyowlwrites, @sleepysera, @memento-morri-writes, @shaheenarnitipsyart, @akindofmagictoo, and open tag for anyone who wants it!

Your words are: Still, Proud, Floor, Strong

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S REDEMPTION - CHAPTER 29

*Warning: Adult Content* 

Maria Walker's chair clatters backward to the floor as she rises abruptly. 

Taking an unsteady step towards the woman in the doorway, she reaches towards her with a shaking hand.

"Inez?"

"Who else?" the other woman replies with a weary grin. "Now who wants to tell me what in hell is going on?"

"Mom!" Jack and Elliot Walker exclaims as one, leaping up and striding to take Inez Walker in a shared embrace. 

Cass and Sofia Walker follow suit, though they hang back a little, giving the brothers room.

"What the Hell, Mom? Where have you been?" Elliot asks, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.

"You know where," Inez replies, patting and rubbing her boys' backs and sounding a little confused. 

"I went to pick up the supplies. I was on my way home and I must'a blacked out or something, had one a' my episodes. Next thing I know I'm standing outside the lodge. I must'a walked the whole way home," she laughs. 

"No wonder I'm so damned tired."

"Mom," Jack says, releasing his hold on her to cup her face in his hands. 

"You've been missing for a week. We found your car. We... We thought you were dead."

His voice breaks and he hugs her again.

"A week?" Inez shakes her head. 

"That can't be..."

"It's true, 'Nez," Maria says, her voice watery and rough with tears. 

"We've been searching for you day and night and then Ian and the boys here found your car, all burnt to Hell and we thought..."

"Ian?" Inez asks sharply, registering my presence fully for the first time. 

"Ian Foley?"

"In the flesh," he says, rising and extending my hand. 

"I'm very pleased to meet you, ma'am. I didn't expect I'd have the privilege, given the look of things."

"They're with me," Ian confirms, stepping back to rest his hand on Sam's shoulder, feeling more possessive and defensive than is probably called for. 

After what happened this afternoon, though, Ian thinks he can be excused if his feelings are a little raw.

Her eyes skip over Carlos Martinez and settle on Sam Asato. 

She studies him for a moment and then blinks as though to clear her vision.

"Y'all aren't just messing with me, huh?" she says. 

"It's really been a week?"

Everyone confirms that it has.

"Well... I'll be..." 

She stumbles a little and Jack and Elliot both move to offer her support.

"Whoa, Mom, let's get you set down," Elliot says, guiding her to a chair. "Have Cass check you over."

Leading her to one of the more comfortable, upholstered leather chairs in one of the sitting areas, the brothers sit her down while Cass runs through a quick check.

"Can't be sure without all the proper instruments," they say after a minute or so, patting Inez on the arm. 

"But as far as I can tell you seem fine."

"'Nez... where have you been?" Maria asks, kneeling beside the chair. 

"I swear we searched every damn inch of ground in a twenty-mile radius and there was no trace of you anywhere. You must remember something."

Inez just shakes her head. 

"I swear, I don't. I picked up the supplies, started on the drive back and then... Now."

"Well, I don't understand it," Maria says, smiling. 

"But it's a goddamned miracle. Second one today, in fact." 

She glances at Sam.

  "It's about time we had some good luck."

Ian’s not sure he believe in miracles and Inez's story leaves a lot to be desired in the way of details. 

He'd like to press her for more but it's not his place. 

He can't help asking one question, though.

"You didn't see anyone else out there, did you? On your way back to the lodge?"

She looks up at me and shakes her head. 

"I came to standing on the porch," she says. 

"Didn't see a thing. Why? More folks ain't missing, are they?"

Maria and the other Walkers exchange looks.

"We'll give you some space," Ian says, gesturing to Carlos and Sam. 

"Let you catch up. I'm glad you're alright, Ms. Walker," he adds, nodding at Inez. 

"Perhaps tomorrow we'll have some time to talk."

"I'd like that." 

Her face crinkles with a smile and then she turns her attention back to her family while the rest of them retreat.

Ian keeps his eyes on Sam as they ascend the stairs to their new room. 

he’s barely looked away all night, even the surprise appearance of Inez hardly interrupting his vigilance.

He almost lost him today. 

He came close enough to know what it would have felt like if he had, and he never wants to feel that way again.

They pause at their door. 

Carlos has a smaller room down the hall and they bid him goodnight.

"Call Toni in the morning," Ian tells Carlos. 

"Inez might be back but somebody died in that car. Maybe it wasn't our business to begin with but I have a feeling it's our business now and I don't want to give the Walkers a chance to change their minds about calling in outside help."

Carlos nods in agreement. 

"I'll call her now," he says. 

"It's late but she'll answer. After what happened today, I think I'm ready to hear her voice."

Ian pats his shoulder awkwardly. 

"Good man."

To Ian’s surprise, Carlos reaches for Sam and draws both of them into a hug. 

"I'm glad you're okay, muchacho," he says and kisses Sam on the side of the head. 

Then he smacks them both lightly on the backsides and winks. 

"Sleep well."

With that, Carlos wanders off down the hall and disappears into his room.

"I think Carlos is lonely," Sam muses, watching him go.

"Hmm," Ian agrees but it's not a problem he’s willing to solve.

In our room, Sam retreats to the bathroom and Ian hears the sink running as he brushes his teeth.

"I wonder what happened to Inez?" he says when he emerges. 

"Maybe she was being held behind another barrier like the one that hid her car. Or maybe she was abducted by aliens. Do you believe in aliens, Ian? I think multiple dimensions is more likely, myself, having spent a lot of time in several demonic realms but..."

Ian pulls Sam to him gently, silencing him with a light kiss, just brushing his lips over his.

Ian looks up at Sam, dark eyes soft and wide.

The memory of how Sam had looked lying in the water comes back to Ian and he shut his own eyes against it, drawing a breath that shudders in his chest.

"Hey," Sam says quietly and Ian feels his hands on either side of his face. 

"I'm okay, Ian. I'm here, thanks to you."

Ian opens his eyes and looks down at Sam again. 

His expression is open and unguarded, that look Sam has seen a few times before, like he's offering him everything and holding nothing back. 

It still scares him. 

Ian feels like a clumsy brute being given something precious and breakable to hold, something he doesn't deserve to have. 

Ian also understand that he can't refuse it anymore.

"You're no good for me, Sam," Ian says shaking his head. 

"You know that right?"

Sam frowns, his pretty mouth dipping down at the corners just the slightest bit. 

Ian smooths his fingers over Sam’s pinched brows and smiles.

"You're like sugar or liquor or some sweet drug and I can't get enough. Even if it kills me, I can't quit."

Ian kisses him again, feeling the press of his soft lips against his and walks him back until his legs hit the bed. 

He starts to push him down but Sam resists and Ian stops.

"Ian, wait. Let's talk a bit." 

Sam sits and matching his unhappy expression with his own, Ian joins him.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ian asks.

Sam shakes his head and smiles but he still looks sad.

"No. I just need you to understand some stuff before we go any further."

"Okay," Ian says slowly, rubbing his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand. 

"What?"

"I made a pact with you, right?" 

Ian Foley nods.

"Well, for an incubus, for an Ainasya like Samasa, a bond like that is... well, it's a serious thing. I thought that being what I am now, it wouldn't be like that. I mean, Karin forced me into more pacts than I can count and it was never like this."

"Like what?" Ian asks, feeling uneasy.

"The longer the pact goes uncompleted, the stronger it gets, the harder it gets to resist. I feel like I'm yours and you're mine, so much so that I think even death couldn't drag me away from you right now and you couldn't go on living if it did. But..."

Sam bites his bottom lip and squeezes Ian’s hand.

"Those feelings are, like you said, almost like a drug. Once the pact is complete, they might vanish. They might not be real."

Sam looks up at Ian and he see the shine of tears in his eyes and realize that, for whatever reason, that possibility really has him scared.

"Sam," Ian sighs, brushing the silky black hair away from his face. 

"I'll tell you a secret, okay? I wanted you before you kissed me the first time, before we made that pact. I'd bet you anything I'll still want you once it's complete."

"Anything?" he asks, somehow managing to sound hopeful, seductive and teary at the same time.

"Anything," Ian promises.

"You know it's not wise to make deals with devils," he smirks, sniffing and scrubbing his sleeve across his nose.

"I've been called a lot of things," Ian says, leaning over to kiss Sam’s temple. "'Wise' is not among them."

Sam looks over at Ian and his eyes go to his mouth. 

"Alright, Ian Foley," he says softly. 

"Tell me what you want."

They undress one another slowly, almost like a ritual, until they stand together naked and bare.

Sam steps forward, taking Ian’s hands in hi, and then pulls him with him to the bed.

Lying back, Sam lets Ian see him, touch him, explore his beautiful body with his eyes and mouth and hands. 

Ian makes Sam moan and sigh and shiver, kiss the tears from his eyes and licks the salt from his skin.

When he’s made Sam spill his essence twice, Isn kisses him once more, thinking to finish himself with a few quick thrusts into his fist but Sam arches against him and makes him stop.

"Ian, wait. I want more," Sam says and Ian realizes the little demon is still half hard.

"More?" Ian asks. 

‘To be honest, I'm getting a little tired from leaning over him.’

"Oh." 

Ian’s mind jams as he realize what Sam means. 

"Now?"

Sam Asato nods.

"I... I'm not sure I have the right... supplies," Ian says. 

‘I'm a safe-sex kind of guy, usually.’

"I don't mind. I've never been with anyone and you..."

"I'm clean but still..."

"Please?"

Ian sits up and brushes his hands through his hair. 

"Okay but... I don't want to hurt you and..."

"I think we have enough, slickness, between us now to make it work," he says.

"Uh..."

Sam rolls over and lifts himself onto his knees, resting forward on his folded arms.

At that sight, the thinking part of Ian’s brain stops working.

Somehow, Sam's right and Ian’s able to enter him, though he takes it as slow as he can.

Apparently a little too slow.

He’s about half-way there when Sam rocks back against Ian with a sudden thrust, taking him as deep as he'll go and utters a soft little cry that gets me  Ian right in the balls. 

After that, it's fast and hard, a little on the rough side, even though Ian’s barely doing half the work.

Finally, Sam gasps and arches with release, Ian’s name on his lips and a moment later Ian does the same, collapsing over Sam and crushing him beneath him into the quilt. 

After a minute of heavy breath-catching, Ian rolls off him and lies at his side.

"Holy fuck," Ian says when he can speak.

"You got that right," Sam grins.

They lie for a moment in silence and Ian studies Sam’s face, his sweet, beautiful features and examines the feelings in his heart.

"You know what?" Ian says, pretending to frown. 

"I don't think that worked. I don't feel any different."

Sam’s brows pinches in a frown.

"But... it was what you wanted, right?" Sam asks, sounding a little hurt.

"Yeah. But I guess there's something else I want even more."

"What?"

Sam half lifts himself on one elbow and Ian hopes he's not thinking that what he wants is another round. 

‘He might be twenty-one but I'm sure not.’ 

"What?" Sam presses. 

"Tell me."

Feeling suddenly shy and a little selfish, Ian is not sure that he dares to say it out loud but he does anyway, like the man he wishes he was.

"I want you to love me," Ian says 

"For as long as you'll let me have you."

For a moment Sam looks shocked and Ian wonders if he’s messed up after all.

Then, he smiles and turns as golden as the sun.

[sooibian]

The Spy Who Loved Me

gif credits @byunvoyage​

Pairing: Spy!Baekhyun x Assassin!Reader ft. Chen, Chanyeol

Description: It’s an obsessive cat and mouse chase

Themes: Dark comedy, angst, heavily inspired by season one of Killing Eve

Warnings: Violence, strong language

Word Count: ~2.8k

A/N: This one-shot comes during a very busy season for me so if you can make time for feedback, I’d be very grateful. Thanks :)

———————————————————————–

It’s the way light escapes their eyes.

Fear. Despair. Hope. Then…nothing.

They hope to be spared. I have a family…what about my children…please…why are you doing this to me…. The utterly foolish ones even offer you money. This imbecility makes the corners of your mouth curl upwards - especially when they’re out of breath from running or begging or whatever it is that gets their heart rate up. Eh. Factor in some cardio before dissolving into a permanent state of slumber, maybe? Poor things always mistake the twitch of your lips for impending clemency…what they don’t know is that it’s always been the breathy ones that peak your excitement.

There’s not a single hit you’ve regretted.

Mostly because you don’t bother with the futility of why. They give you a name and you jet off. To you, it’s really a fun job involving travel, costumes, languages, a hefty allowance, sticking pointy objects in the right places and theatrics. You’re not one to just do your job and slip away quietly. No arterial air embolisms, no unidentifiable fumes or poisons. No boring and discreet.  Where’s the fun in that? Flamboyant is your middle name. Every assassination is a heroi-comical poem for you - killing an asthamatic nez with a fatal concoction of perfume or a feeble-hearted fetishist with clamps that turned out to be a wee bit too intense for him.

You’re good at this. No, infact, you’re the best there is, the best there was, the best there ever  will be.

“The NIS has deployed a team of four to hunt you down because of the mess you left in Beijing. So you’ll be working with a team now. No more flying solo.” Your handler Chen says nonchalantly. 

Shit.

Beijing. “Make it look like a suicide”, had been the directive. The assignment Kasia had been put under witness protection after you’d murdered her mafia boyfriend. She was in a hospital - injured and deranged from the shock of it all, watched over by armed men. Things obviously didn’t go as planned and the security detail bloodbath was, well, collateral damage.

You saunter towards Chen with an intentional swing in your hips, a pout on your lips. You sit a little too close to the astute man, almost purring with seduction, “NIS, you say. Give me a name." 

“Byun Baekhyun.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile as he stealthily adds a foot long distance between the both of you.

“Never heard of him”, you say neutrally, gliding closer to his stoic form.

“He was a security officer before this. A nobody. In fact, he was fired right after the Kasia debacle in Beijing. She was his responsibility.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, he gets up on the pretext of fetching a glass of water.

“Why the sudden promotion, then?”

“A change of jobs. He’s heading a team…Operation Jinseong, they call themselves. Apparently, he’s the only one who believed that the murders have all been executed by a woman. If they can get to you, they can get to them. The organization. This conjecture has seemed to have impressed a higher up. After firing him, they swept his computer and found hoards of theories and all the intelligence he could gather about the faceless demon that’s actually…you. An insider thinks he’s fascinated. And a little cuckoo.” Chen’s laughter is throaty and taunting. 

He takes a sip of water and places the glass carefully on the counter, eyeing you the entire time. Chen. It’s a nom de plume. He’s a ghost - a shadow of a shadow, if you will. You know nothing about Chen but you know better than to snoop around. He’s always been affable yet distant, but he has this maddening habit of scrutinizing people. The changes in the expression, the dilation of the pupils. The man doesn’t miss a beat. And he stares unapologetically. You wonder what he thinks when he looks at you. You wonder how he feels. Disgusted? Lustful? Terrified?

He wants to know everything that’s behind those vacant eyes. With him, you feel disrobed.

“You’re only as good as your last”, he says finally, in his threateningly soft voice, thrusting a thumb drive into your hand. But you don’t feel threatened. The truth is, you feel nothing at all.

He’s at the door when you exclaim, “You never have sex with me!” Feigning annoyance.

He laughs and states matter -of-factly, “I’m married”, before closing the door behind him.

Like that’s ever stopped a man before.

***

Byun Baekhyun.

You search the thumb drive and a fresh faced man with luminous eyes smiles at you from the screen. His arm is wrapped around a slender, honey-skinned woman with big hair and big teeth. They look like an advertisement for home buyers.

A wave of recognition floods your mind.

He was there. 

He was there at the Beijing scene. The beautiful man who helped you with the coffee maker in the hospital. The very same coffee you doused barista Kasia with. 

There’s an inexplicable swell in your chest.

.

.

.

You’re no team player.

The undertaking with your ex and her boyfriend didn’t go as planned. Chen should’ve known. 

After a disagreement, you instigated her to off him, your shin getting injured in the scuffle. Then you ran her over with the jeep - once, twice. The third time was just to be sure. This commotion affected the escape of the NIS Agent you were after.

The mole that ratted out Baekhyun’s Operation Jinseong. 

The murders of your “colleagues” you could manage to explain - you’d tailored them to look like accidents. However, the assignment’s escape was sure to reflect poorly on you.

You’re only as good as your last.

The Agent scurries across a field of dead grass towards the feeder road, putting considerable distance between him and an injured you, where someone sat waiting anxiously in the driver’s seat.

Oh, Baekhyun…

It’s the first time you look into each other’s eyes, the moment stretching between you. It is like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper. With the wind in your hair, the world at your feet but in this space exists trepidation. A fear of falling.

Your gun wielding arm suddenly feels too heavy and your legs threaten to give up on you. Your heart rate escalates as the hot embers of his gaze gloss over the stretch of your skin. 

The mole slips into the backseat of Baekhyun’s compact Kia Morning as you continue to take aimless shots at his vitals - eyes still intertwined with Baekhyun’s. 

What good was a mole to the NIS?, you wanted to ask. Especially one that looked like a sewer rat.

You were only doing them a favour.

Aiming the gun at Baekhyun, you fire, only to realize he isn’t fearful or panicky. On the contrary, there is a sense of purpose in his eyes as well as something you could only identify as a glimmer. A spark. 

Even from a twenty foot distance you can tell Byun Baekhyun is in awe of you.

This…thing…this electricity surges through your veins and you sprint towards your jeep - as fast as your good leg could carry you. 

Oops. You didn’t mean to run over her for the fourth time.

***

Reverse. Acceleration. A few well thought out turns and your jeep is hardly a hundred meters behind Baekhyun’s car. You continue to fire and he continues to dart, swerve, sidestep. A good driver.

Suddenly, his car comes to a screeching halt.

He steps out of his vehicle amidst shrill cries of protest from the mole in the backseat and you follow suit.

Weaponless, crouched, he inches towards the gun pointed at him. 

“I mean no harm”, despite his scared posture, his voice is confrontational. “Leave the man alone. He has a little girl.”

Oh, Baekhyun…

You smile at him. He smiles back.

A genuine smile. Like the one your father used to give you when he saw you relishing ice-cream as…a little girl.

In a flash, you aim the nozzle at your temple and Baekhyun cries out a loud, pained, “NO!”

Laughing, you lower the gun and fire at his feet. He ducks. 

You vanish.

.

.

.

It was exhilarating to use the alias ``Mrs. Byun ” for your next job especially since the man and his giant partner have been on your tail for three months now. 

But, maybe, you shouldn’t’ve stolen Baekhyun’s luggage as soon as he landed in Tokyo to investigate the mysterious death of a Chinese colonel. He and his team knew perfectly well whodunnit. But one can’t bring faceless demons to book now, can they?

Who knows how this easily distracted giant of a man is supposed to protect Baekhyun if it should ever come to it. He couldn’t even watch his luggage for a measly five minutes.

***

You watch Baekhyun and the giant from your apartment overlooking the crime scene. He looks frazzled and the giant slightly apologetic. ‘You’ll have your bag back soon, baby’, you whisper, sucking on a bubblegum flavoured lollipop.

Thirty minutes roll by and the investigation seems to be heading nowhere. Bored out of your wits, you slump into your bed and toy with the contents of Baekhyun’s bag - shirts, slacks, underwear, toiletries.

Dull, tedious, and soul-destroyingly unimaginative. 

Save for one green scarf. 

In a sea of monotones, the scarf stands out. Demanding attention. Fluttering your eyes shut, you slowly bury your face in it - your senses entirely enveloped in his heady scent. 

***

“Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that scarf from?”

Day two in Tokyo. You’ve been following Baekhyun (and, by extension, Chanyeol). Studying him. It was like adopting Chen’s personality. Apart from the occasional loud laughter, his demeanour, you learn, is self-effacing, gracious, and polite. He’s a picky eater who only eats to live and not the other way round. He’s also very observant and intuitive. But not enough to know that he’s being watched. 

Also, he’s thinking. Constantly. He’s thinking about you. 

“Excuse me?”

Chanyeol asks again - large, deep brown eyes focused on your neck trying to stop you from getting onto the same train as Baekhyun. 

Very subtle.

“It’s from my mother’s store. I could give you the address if you like”, smiling, you crane your neck to look into his disturbed eyes as you both pretend not to know each other amidst a swarm of dog-tired people on the platform at six in the evening.

You slip into the crowd but the oaf chooses to follow.

What does he think he’s doing following an assassin through a strange city! Unarmed.

Forty minutes elapse and he continues to chase you through the streets of Tokyo, keeping up with your brisk pace. With your easy charm, you breeze into the club called Camelot and wave Chanyeol goodbye as he’s stopped by the bouncer and sent to the back of the line. His eyes are dark with a murderous rage.

The club is loud, dark…stuffy - the air thick with over-the-counter happiness. Definitely not to your taste but you stay to give Chanyeol a head start. He’s pissed you off and he’ll pay for it later. Not today. 

You really didn’t want to upset a tired Baekhyun. At least not until you feel a beefy hand weigh down your shoulder.

“I didn’t want to do this”, you rise on your tippy toes and whisper into his ear before sticking a short blade into the side of his stomach. He’s heaving as you stare into his round, childlike, startled eyes while supporting his stumbling weight and stabbing him repeatedly until he finally collapses.

You leave him to bleed out on the dance floor and on your way out, you grab the arm of a medium-built man, your blood-dipped, glistening lips stretched into a lascivious smile.

“Let’s put you in a costume first”, you say to the unassuming moron, excitably thinking of Baekhyun’s dull shirts.

.

.

.

Grief draws people closer, your grandmother used to say, every time someone died of sickness in that impoverished little village of yours.

Baekhyun’s grieving the oaf who was slowing him down. He’s looking for company. So..he’s snooping. 

He’s in your apartment.

The “trusting old lady” - your next door neighbour, who actually works for the same organization as you handed him the key exactly as instructed. You’d been expecting him, this meeting was long overdue. But you wait in the cute little French cafe just around the corner - watching him scout out your apartment through your phone, while devouring a Charlotte Russe cake - dressed pretty in a flouncy pink dress.

He’s careful not to make a squeak. Walking on tippy toes, running his beautifully slender fingers along the drapes, the furniture, the walls as he goes. Your skin tingles all over. Oh, how you wish to be a piece of furniture in the moment. Only Baekhyun could make you want to be something muted and inanimate. Furniture, mattress, drapes.

He saunters slowly to your blackwood Georgian cupboard. The one you use for your wigs, costumes, weapons, and his own green scarf. He wears the scarf around his neck, ruffles the costumes but he’s gentle with the wigs. Stroking and caressing. 

From the drawer he picks out a .38 and shoves it in his waistband. Right behind his hip bone.

Oh, Baekhyun…

Pretty boys and their dangerous toys.

He finds himself in the kitchen. The revolver seems to have straightened his spine and suffused his step with a very welcome spring. Mi casa es su casa. 

In the fridge he finds exactly what he’s supposed to. No food. Only a dozen bottles of celebratory champagne of the best kind. What comes next from him is a scornful snicker which fills your mouth with a bitter taste. The Charlotte Russe doesn’t look very appetizing anymore. He draws a bottle out of the fridge, studies it and smashes it onto the floor. Then another, then another until all the bottles are reduced to shattered glass dripping in gold strewn across your kitchen floor.

Playtime is over, Baekhyun.

You make a run for your apartment.

***

He’s exhausted. 

Breathless, air tousled, shirt crumpled, eyes droopy, beads of sweat lined across his forehead and upper lip - standing clueless, smack-dab in the middle of the mess he’s made - clothes torn off their hangers, furniture overturned. You can’t recognize your upscale Seoul apartment anymore. Careful around the glass, you make your way towards his still frame, withdraw the weapon from his light, jaded grasp. 

You take his hand in yours and lead him to your bedroom - which is entirely ransacked just like the rest of your house. Save for the bed.

He lies down on his back and his first words are, “God, I’m tired.”

“Me too”, you say, as you lie facing him, “Are you wearing the cologne I gave you?”

You’d sent him a bottle of cologne along with the bag you had nicked in Tokyo, as a token of appreciation. It was handcrafted to smell like power.

He hums, turning to the side to face you, nestling into the depths of your irises.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asks, eyeing the revolver in your hand.

Your heart falls to pieces at the ache in his voice.

“No”, you say simply, tossing it to the side.

“Really?”

“I promise.”

Relief ripples across his soft, boyish features smoothing the lines of worry as it goes.

“You’re all I think about”, he says, studying your face. And you’re left wondering yet again, about his thoughts. His feelings.

“So you trash my apartment?” You sound as gentle as you can. But if you’re honest, you don’t even have to try that hard.

“I lost my job, my partner, my wife left me, and I even lost my sanity because of you.”

With his dulcet touch, he traces along the edge of your lips.

“Fair enough. I think about you too. I mean, I to you masturbate a lot.” You say as your thumb rubs his cheek lightly.

He lets out a loud, embarrassed giggle that makes him look a decade younger.

“Too much?” You ask, apprehensively.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

And with that you’re both inching closer to each other, like magnets.

Baekhyun’s soft gaze darkens and simultaneously you feel something sharp poking at your stomach.

“You can’t do it”, you wrap your hand around the blade, almost mocking him. He’s too nice for something this abominable.

“I can”, he whispers, his eyes still nestled in yours, as he plunges the blade deeper, tearing you apart. 

He places a chaste, soft kiss on your forehead.

Fear. Despair. Hope.

“Sorry, baby.” 

Continuation - My Lovable Curse

[rockclownsdococaine]

Chapter 1 - And I Ask Myself, How Did I Get Here?

It seems like forever ago, now, that we were just getting our start. We were nobodies from Flagler Beach, hungry for opportunity and we took anything we could get, gigwise. We actually almost had to call it quits, before we got the gig offer that changed it all- part of us began to feel there wasn't much of a place for a punk band in that spot we were in.

I can still remember my brother getting the call that changed everything- we were in the middle of our nightly practice and he broke off to answer his phone, looking sullen for the beginning of it but his look turning upon hearing the offer of a lifetime. Nez O'Malley, our guitarist, shot me a confused look that urged me to go see what was going on.

After a minute, Ace broke into a huge grin and went back to us- our bassist Screwball was almost bouncing off the walls with how curious over the call he was.

"What was it about?" He prodded, still bouncing in place as he got more eager to hear the news "come on, Ace, tell us!"

My little brother only smiled and shook his head at us, crossing his arms over his chest "calm down, Screwball, I'll get to it- i just feel like you three should be sitting when I tell it."

Screwball quickly drops into sitting cross-legged on the floor, Nez parks herself on an amp and I just shake my head, watching Ace expectantly "come on, Ace, spill it!"

Ace just smiles and leads into the news "well, I just got off the phone with the owners of the venue we played at yesterday,"

We all nod, watching him and his body language, wishing he'd spill the beans and get it over with- were we banned? Did they want us to pay for any damages the audience caused?

"They want us back!" He clapped his hands together, rings clicking as he did "not as the opening act, but as the headliners!"

I could feel my heart drop to the floor in shock, and when I looked at my bandmates I could tell they were going through the same emotions- Headliners? Us? From Bumfuck Nowhere, Florida?

Regardless of doubts, the news made Nez and Screwball jump up from their seats with loud, happy whoops and hollers while pulling me and Ace into a big group hug

I grin and hum happily, hugging the three of them tight as we let the great news sink in and celebrate, breaking off after a minute or two to ask about further details.

"The gig is in a week, same time and place as yesterday!" He smiles "so we can just finish up practice and be good for tomorrow, alright?"

Nez nods, gently nudging me and Screwball back to our places before picking up her guitar and putting it back on "one last run-through and I think we should go out and celebrate,"

Screwball, still hyper from the news, was giddily bouncing in place "there's a good bar Just down the way, we can go to celebrate there!"

"If I could drink," chimed Ace, an eyebrow raised playfully "I'm only seventeen, remember?"

"Bah, no fun" the blond playfully retorts, strumming a few notes on his bass "if you're so goody goody, why don't you pick a thing for us to do to celebrate tonight?"

Ace only rolls his eyes while smiling "we'll figure it out later, get back to practicing!"

The rest of that night went by in a flash, we practiced our hearts out until we couldn't anymore- then, for the next week until our gig, we did everything we could to prepare for the night that'd change the course of our careers forever.

~~~

Hi! Sam here hjfbfkd just wondering if anyone would like to be part of a taglist for this or any other thing i may post? PM me if you're interested :)