#so ivy had to do it for him. besides shes more into dark humor than he is and that joke def classifies as dark humor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

braveclementine · 5 months ago

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Chapter 8

Warnings: 18+ readers only, smut, pet names

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OC: Elizabeth Y/L/N (created so you don't get Y/N and Y/S/N consistently mixed up. I do not condone any copying of this.

YOU HADN'T HEARD FROM ELIZABETH. You wondered just how long she was going to put off answering her. You desperately wanted to text your parents, but you figured it would be better until you got some sort of response from your sister.

Meanwhile, you were getting to know the rest of your soulmates. Tony and Stephen weren't good at getting sleep. Stephen would stay up in the library for only God knew how many hours. Tony was the same, but in his lab.

Loki was somewhat distant, though when he was around you, he had your undivided attention and returned it in great measure. But he was mostly quiet, allowing his lovely brother Thor to do most of the talking.

Thor was boisterous, his voice loud but pleasant. He was a sweetheart and you were always thrilled whenever you hugged you- which was often. He was a snuggle bunny and the two of you were curled up all of the time.

Clint was hilarious and extremely kind. He had a pleasant relationship with Natasha, which allowed you to develop a nice relationship with the famous Black Widow. Apparently they had saved each others' lives. You thought it was sweet and liked their strong friendship.

Clint, you could tell, was a huge family man. This made him very similar to Steve, who also liked the idea of having a very large family, but had never thought he should adopt. Steve didn't like the idea of leaving an already once abandoned kid for his series of missions was just wrong. He'd prefer to have his own kids.

Steve, besides this family fact, was incredibly sweet. He was the perfect gentleman, always asking for permission and letting you take the lead for the most part. This contrasted greatly to Bucky's dominate behavior towards you.

Bucky wasn't anything like you'd thought he'd be. For an ex- assassin, he was humorous, light-hearted, and when paired with Clint and Sam, he was like an overgrown man child. His long brown hair curved his features handsomely, giving his jaw a squared shape to it. His metal arm was dark black with hints of gold.

Sam on the other hand was more reserved with you. When you hung with him, Steve, and Bucky, he was the quietest one, a far away look on his face like he was somewhere else.

After two more weeks had passed, the tattoos were slowly starting to colour. Thor's was the most coloured in, Loki's was last.

Despite these differences with the boys, the ups and downs of trying to get to know all of them at once, and the disappointment of the lack of response from Elizabeth, life was great.

You had just gotten in from hanging out with Ivy at the bar. You hadn't drunk much, only three or four bottles. You headed down to Tony's first to see what he was up to. You were one of the few people allowed in the lab and Kaylee said this was a great privilege.

Personally- perhaps because you didn't understand any of it- you didn't see what was that great about the lab. Nor did you see any reason that it was better than coming to bed with you and Stephen. But, you probably needed engineering blood to understand it.

"Hey sweetheart." Tony grinned as he watched you walk into the lab. Bruce wasn't there, making Tony the only person in there. He was working on some new fancy robot. "How was your evening?"

"It was great, thanks." You said with a grin, sitting yourself down on the edge of the table, crossing your legs at the ankle. "What are you working on?"

You got lost in all of the scientific details and words that Tony was talking about, nodding along like you had a clue what he was talking about. Tony droned on and on, gesturing to different parts of the robot. You looked at them, though you had no idea what they were supposed to do.

"I'll be honest," You said with a small smile. "I don't really know what's going on here. But you look happy when you're explaining it so keep going."

Tony chuckled, turning away from the robot. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you to him so that he could press his lips to yours. His other hand came up to push through your short hair to hold your head to him.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pressing yourself into him. God you loved this man.

Tony pulled back breathless. You carded your fingers through his hair, regaining breath yourself.

"Maybe. . ." Tony said, moving his lips down against your neck, nipping lightly at your skin, "We can go on upstairs, drag Stephen out of the library, and have an early night, what do you say?"

"I say that's an amazing idea." You said, feeling excitement bubble up under your skin. You hadn't actually been to bed with any of them yet- not in an intimate romantic way anyways.

Tony beamed, "C'mon then."

You let him lead you up to the twenty-sixth floor where you found Stephen pouring over another book.

"Steph?" Tony murmured, sliding his hands down the front of his chest while standing behind him. "You want to come to bed with us?"

Stephen closed his eyes, leaning back into Tony's embrace. He smiled and replied lightly, "What a bad boy for interrupting my work."

Tony chuckled, though he shifted where he stood. "C'mon."

Stephen closed the book and stood up, turning so that he could lean down and kiss Tony passionately. Then he put the book away in the library shelf, striding over to you, pulling you into a passionate kiss.

He nipped your bottom lip, sucking at it, leaving it swollen before he pulled back. Then, you were suddenly falling before you landed on a soft bed.

"Wha-" You looked around in a panic.

"Magic." Stephen said simply, his cloak floating away from you guys. He set his golden ring down on the side table.

You blink, realizing that he must have teleported you here. It was still weird to you, knowing that magic existed.

Tony chuckles, coming up behind you to lift your shirt up over your head, kissing down the base of your neck before he unhooks your bra next. He flings it to the side and Stephen moves forward now, his hands on your hips, his mouth on your lips.

He tastes like cinnamon surprisingly, not a taste that you would have thought would be on his lips. There's also a hint of peppermint, and you're starting to wonder if perhaps he'd made himself a cup of tea.

His stubble scrapes against your cheek as he tilts his head to press soft kisses to the base of your neck while Tony pulls your skirt down. You kicked off the shoes that you were wearing so that they fall with soft thunks to the floor.

Once you're bare, Stephen moves so that you're laying on your back, while he leans over you, his lips suckling your breasts. The hard perks stick up in Tony's line of sight and he joins Stephen in tugging and pinching your nipples between his teeth.

Stephen pulls back to undress himself and Tony follows suit, before the three of you are bare and on the bed together.

"C'mere sweetheart." Tony whispered, motioning for you to come over to him. You do so, straddling him as he pulls you down for another kiss.

Stephen moves behind you and you can feel his lips licking your pussy, his hands reaching up to hold your hips down.

"Stephen!" You whimper out as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Tony kisses you again and you card your fingers through his hair, the brown spiking up between your digits.

"Ready darling?" Stephen asks behind you, pressing kisses against your back.

"Yes." You breathe out. He flips you over onto your back, pulling you onto his cock.

You both groan, clutching each other desperately. Stephen's eyes are closed, looking like he's in pure bliss. You slide your hands up his rock hard chest to hold onto his firm shoulders. One hand snakes upwards into his hair, the peppery black threads parting like silk.

He thrusts up into you, as Tony massages your breasts with one hand, his other teasing your clit. He pinches and rubs and rolls your sensitive buttons, pulling noises of ecstasy from both you and Stephen.

"Stephen, I'm gonna-" You murmur, before he nips your bottom lip and whispers, "Let go for me darling."

You do let go, letting the release wash over you like a bout of electricity. When Stephen shoots up into you, you both still and then Tony is pulling you away, pressing you down flat into the bed before he thrusts into you with a tight groan.

You moan, the remnants of your last release slicking him greatly as he pounds into you. Tony grunts when Stephen pushes two fingers into his ass, twisting his knuckles gently as Tony moans again.

"Fuck." You whimper as Tony thrusts particularly hard into you. Everything feels amazing, more amazing than anything had ever felt before. You'd been with your fair share of men before them, before you'd found your soulmates, but nothing compared to their expertise.

"Tony please." You whispered desperately.

"There we go sweetheart." Tony murmured, both of you cumming at the same time. When you both slowed and pulled away, you all laid there for a moment in the bed.

Stephen was the first to move, coming back with washcloths, cleaning the two of you with care and love. He eventually tossed them, before climbing back into bed.

You rolled over, curling up against him while Tony spooned you from behind. "Love you Y/N." Tony muttered softly into your ear. "Love you Steph."

"Love you Tony. Love you Stephen." You whispered, feeling that pleasure creeping through your body when he said he loved you.

"Love you both too." Stephen muttered sleepily.

Both of them were out almost immediately after, mouths slack, snores light. You smiled as you traced light patterns into Stephen's chest. What an amazing life you had.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"YOU ALRIGHT SAM?" STEVE ASKED as thethree of them were getting ready for bed. Bucky was already half asleep, barely listening to a word they were saying. Steve was close to joining him, already in his blue and white striped boxers, pausing to climb under the covers.

Sam looked nowhere near ready for bed. He was on his phone in the corner of the room on the couch. He had been hoping to scroll through Y/N's Instagram page and find out what Elizabeth looked like. But Y/N hadn't posted any pictures with her sister. Never mentioned her, had her tagged in nothing. He couldn't even find any Elizabeth's under Y/N's Instagram.

"Hmm?" Sam asked, not having heard what Steve had asked the first time.

"Are you alright, you look lost in thought." Steve commented, standing away from the bed now.

"Yeah, I'm alright." Sam nodded, swiping off the phone and turning it off, getting ready for bed. He had noticed that neither Steve nor Buck had seemed as worried about meeting Elizabeth. They were more interested in getting to know Y/N. Not that he didn't want to get to know Y/N- he liked you very much. You were his soulmate after all. . . but so was Elizabeth and he wished he could have gotten to know both of them at the same time.

Sam got dressed slowly in his boxers. He could just go and visit Elizabeth on the farm. . . but that seemed presumptuous.

"Seriously, what's bothering you?" Steve asked sternly.

"Just wondered when we're going to meet Elizabeth." Sam commented with a shrug.

"Oh, was that all?" Steve asked with a furrowed brow. "Y/N will let us know when her sister is ready to meet us. You know that."

"Yeah." Sam said, heart sinking a little. He felt bad about the whole situation, almost like something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Yeah, I know."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

ELIZABETH WAS THRILLED. ONLY TWO days after the conversation with her parents- almost two weeks before you would have sex with Tony and Stephen- a beam of rainbow light came down from the sky.

Elizabeth had stood there, shocked for a moment. The sheep had scattered, the dogs chasing after them.

Standing there was an Asian man. His black hair was pulled back into a spiky man bun. He was at least 5' 10". He was wearing some sort of fancy black and silver armor, the barest of dark blue clothing could be seen underneath. He was equipped with a medieval like sword at the hip and was looking around the farm in interest.

Elizabeth blinked for a moment, looking down at her own clothes to see if perhaps she had been transported into a favorite book of hers. Nope, she was still wearing her blue skinny jeans, tucked into cowboy books. She was wearing a blue plaid open shirt with a white T-shirt underneath. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she'd done the bare minimum with her makeup. In one hand was an empty basket and in the other was chicken feed.

"Are you Elizabeth?" The man finally asked when he noticed her.

She swallowed, finding her voice, "Yes, who the heck are you?"

"I'm Hogun the Grim. Thor sent for me." He replied.

The words made little sense to Elizabeth. She knew who Thor was, of course, but didn't understand why he would have sent for this man, or why this man was here.

She watched his eyes drift down to her arm, the Cherry Blossoms surrounding the Japanese sword seemed to almost glow- though it wasn't actually.

"Oh." Elizabeth blinked. "Pardon, but how did you know. . .?"

"My friend Thor is soulmated to your sister I believe." Hogun said with the slightest of frowns. "Your sister said that I was your soulmate. I would think that one is it?" He pointed to the sword.

Elizabeth could think of no reason why it wouldn't be and when Hogun held out his hand, she put the basket and feed down, stepping forward to accept his hand.

The colours bleached from her skin and she felt a warmth sweep through her and she grew surprised. It wasn't anything like she had expected. . . she hadn't expected to feel happy. To feel accepted already.

She didn't dare get her hopes up about the others, but about Hogun perhaps there was hope. Perhaps she would have a chance to be happy with her soulmate.

"I'm afraid I didn't come with much." Hogun said, a slight blush to his cheeks. "And I realize that you have no word ahead of time. But perhaps you could assist me? I'm afraid I don't know much about Midgardian culture."

Elizabeth smiled gently. "Of course. Please, let me show you around."

She had spent the rest of the day showing him the farm first. He had watched her interact with the animals, watched how happily she completed the chores. His favorite was with the horses, an animal he knew something about and even offered his help with.

She accepted the help and the two of them headed back up to her house with gallons of milk and chicken eggs.

Once they had put the food items away, Elizabeth had entered the backdoor. Hogun had lingered in the doorway as Elizabeth had awkwardly gotten her parents attention, introducing them to Hogun.

Your guys' mother was thrilled, greeting him with excitement and joy. Elizabeth quickly explained who he was and where he was from. Your mother immediately offered to get him some normal clothes.

That gave your father time to interact with him. Hogun treated your father with a great deal of respect while Elizabeth lingered about nervously, watching the two of them interact for a moment before leaving to cook dinner.

By the time she had returned, Hogun was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, looking slightly awkward about his. His clothes had been put in the small guest bedroom, though he kept his sword on him. He and your father also seemed to be on good terms.

Dinner was a pleasant affair on all accounts and Hogun and Elizabeth had stayed up on the porch watching the fire flies flit around. They traded stories and anecdotes and Elizabeth found herself laughing for the first time in a long time. Hogun felt his tough, grim, hard façade slowly melting away into a softer one.

By the time the both of them went to bed, both were feeling wonderfully about their new acquaintance.

Hogun had waited a long time for his soulmate, longer than Thor, longer than Loki. Thor had found Sif at a young age and Hogun was older than Loki. Now that he had found Elizabeth, he seemed almost complete. He hoped that things worked out for the best between the two of them.

Elizabeth meanwhile, was rethinking everything she'd previously thought about soulmates. She found him exceedingly nice and familiar with animals. He seemed to enjoy the farm and had even inquired more about the farm and the way it was run.

However, Elizabeth argued as she rolled over onto her side to face the door, he wasn't Y/N's soulmate either. He was solely hers. How the others would treat her would be a different story, she assumed.

She decided to give it some more time before she gave you any clear indications about what she was going to do.

⬅️➡️

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years ago

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Hiss

[Part ii. of Bite] Jason’s been resurrected, only to find he’s been replaced as Robin. Luckily, an old enemy of the Batman has the attributes to help. Word Count: 6465

Warning[s]: guns, crime, language, crude humor, Mitski, non vegetarian reader, age gap, glorified taskmaster ally. Following part i the readers official gender is not disclosed.

“Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

☈ - ✮ ✭ ✮

Six months. That’s how long it took for Jason to die. Six. Whole. Months. In an abandoned warehouse, in some foreign country that he couldn’t even remember. He’d been fifteen, small for his age but fifteen nonetheless, when that clown had beat him. And what had Batman done? Nothing. He’d let him sit in that warehouse, in that foreign country, with that clown at age fifteen- for six months. And he had done nothing.

Not that it really matters now. It had, at one point, to Jason. He’s in denial that it still does. But to Batman? Oh, it never mattered at all. How long had it taken Bruce to replace his son? A week? A month? No, it had been six months. Barely. And the clown? He was safe and sound, very much alive and loose as he usually was. Batman had put him in Arkham, after a while, but of course it hadn’t lasted for very long. Jason’s death? That was permanent. At least until there was a new and improved and very much replaced Jason running with Batman, six months later. That was permanent too.

So one can imagine the confusion you felt when you opened the door to find a very much alive ex-Robin on your apartment doorstep.

201 Arkham Street, apartment 317 Gotham City, Gotham County, New Jersey

That’s the address given to him by the Riddler. Putting him in Arkham seemed to be one thing that the Batman had got done during Jason’s little time away. Clearly it had ended up well enough for at least one person. Jason hadn’t even needed to threaten the Riddler out of riddling. In less than ten minutes, Edward Nygma had revealed the Mockingbird’s address, who they like and don’t like, what their suit was made of, and finally their name. Batman had always assumed Riddler and Mockingbird were best friends, birds of a feather with all the times the they’d seemed to make some kind of appearance by the others side. Some friend Riddler was now.

Jason had snuck into the Batcave recently, and while going through files, decided to take a glimpse into Mockingbird’s just for the sake of curiosity. He wasn’t expecting much. When he was fifteen, it had been near empty. But sure enough, the file had been expanded upon relatively greatly in the past- what? Four years? That sounded right. But one thing that hadn’t changed was your seemingly long standing friendship with Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Still, so much for it.

Batman had seemingly made a note of allies of theirs, then crossed out multiple names. Poison Ivy, Bane, Deadshot- and yes- the Riddler, stayed. Scarecrow, Black Mask, and Catwoman were all shockingly crossed out. Jason hadn’t expected the last one. Below the allies were the list of crimes. That had changed too. They’d gotten more violent towards the end of the list, straying away from the Mockingbird that the ex-Robin had known. Mockingbird had picked a fight with Dick’s Nightwing enough times for Batman to make a note of too. Before Jason could get to the new pictures of Mockingbird, he quickly closed the file. Didn’t need to see anymore.

So based on what he had gathered, you should’ve looked different. He’d memorized your face when he was fifteen. Was expecting it to have changed compared to then. But when you open the door and Jason’s face to face with you, Mockingbird, it’s like the first time. Only your eyebrows have gotten slightly darker, and your eyes have rung with dark circles.

✮ ✭ ✮

The same can’t be said for Jason Todd, however, who you let into your apartment rather quickly.

You’d done your research on him, too, but only after you’d heard about his death. A death which was confirmed. After locking the door and beginning to turn around, he answers the question before you can ask.

“Superboy and Lazarus Pits.”

“Ah,” you respond, crossing your arms. The man stands tall in your living room, though it’s not forced. You’ve got no idea what a Lazarus Pit is, but it seems to have changed the Robin you knew before. He was scrawny before. He puffed his chest out before. He had something to prove before. Now his broad shoulders make him look bigger naturally. He could reach up and touch your ceiling with no effort. His face and jaw are masculine and strong, eyes bright green and blue and cyan like you remember. That’s how you know it’s Jason Todd.

“It’s because of the power struggle, isn’t it?” says Harley beside you as you both look over the side of the roof, her flat on her belly and you crouched on the ledge in watch.

“Hm?” you’d tossed back through your voice changer, not even looking away from the busy street below.

“Jay killed the Robin,” Harley chirps. “You know- Batman’s little boyfriend? In the shorts and the tights with the flips and the kicks? Oh, that kid went bing, bang, boom. Jay’s been real pumped about it.”

This had made you turn to Harley Quinn. You looked at her over your shoulder, still in position. Though you hadn’t thought about it at the time, it was a good thing she couldn’t see through your mask right about now.

“The kid?” you say at last.

“Yeah! Jason Todd! Ya’ know him?”

Harley doesn’t look at you, bubbly as ever in her own world. But you watch her for a moment. Then you turn back around to the direction of the street. “No.”

“Well I’m sayin I bet that’s why there’s so much crime goin’ on now. Old Batty’s got it...”

“I heard,” you tell Jason, before he can go into further detail. He nods once in understanding, in line with a breath, and then looks around the room. Your apartment is small, seemingly in decay, and looks like a shithole. Just like the rest of the building.

“Mockingbird, I presume,” he offers finally. “Y/N L/N was it?”

You nod once, holding your gaze at the ground in thought before taking a step toward your kitchen. It’s close by to the living room. So close, in fact, that your island counter practically touches the back of your couch. “Robin,” you greet in turn.

“My name’s Ja-”

“I know what your name is.”

Just then a sprinkle of dust falls from your ceiling, mixing with dirt and shit and pollen. “Nice place,” Jason condescends.

“I’m sorry,” you put your hands on your counter as you lean in to look at him. “Weren’t you under the ground not too long ago?”

“Weren’t you in jail not too long ago?”

“I never went to jail.”

“But your buddy Ed did didn’t he?”

Your eyebrows crease, and Jason notices you lean forward a fraction of an inch more. He got to you. “How do you know about Edward?”

Jason Todd gives a small smile. His right hand reaches up until it’s poking the side of his head a few times. “Bat knowledge.”

You frown tightly. “Don’t do that. I didn’t like that.”

“You like beating up Dick Grayson?”

You shift. “Yeah. I did.”

“And Catwoman? Huh?”

“Yeah,” you say a little louder. “I did. What wonder boy? You wanna see the scar to prove it?”

“Okay,” Jason huffs. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and then he speaks softer to control himself. “Okay. I’m not Boy Wonder anymore, or wonder boy. Don’t call me that.”

You look him up and down. His eyes, his jaw, his brows. The Robin you knew those years ago. He’d been beaten and blown up. He must’ve cried for help.

“Okay,” you say, equally as soft. “But just for the record, I haven’t been the Mockingbird for years. Can’t really call me that either.”

“Why not?” Jason Todd questions, turning around so his back faces you while he observes your apartment. You can see his muscles through his shirt.

Because you were just a kid. Because I liked you. Because you didn’t deserve it. Because Batman didn’t help. Because you were replaced. Because most of my friends laughed it off. Because I couldn’t go after Joker myself. Because I got angry.

“Just grew out of it,” you shrug instead, turning around. You open your dirty fridge and pull out a bottle of lemonade and two glasses. “What are you doing here, Jason?” you say as you pour the drink, your back now turned to him.

“I need your help.”

“Whatever with?”

“I’m thinking of getting a little...” Jason’s voice goes low into something like a masculine purr, “...revenge on Batman.”

“You came back from the dead,” you turn around with two glasses of lemonade, “to get revenge on the Batman? That’s your great plan?”

“No,” Jason says simply. He’s since turned around so he’s facing you. “Screwing with the Batman is just a piece of the fun. He’s nothing.”

Jason accepts the glass that you hand to him. You sit down on your couch in front of his figure. That simple motion is enough to bring out some more dust from your walls. “So what’s the revenge?” you take a sip of the sweet, gritty liquid. It coats your teeth strangely in seconds.

“New Robin. Ever heard of Tim Drake?”

You stop your sip, looking up at the big, broad Jason. You can already tell where this is going. “Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

His brows shoot up. “You hit me in the face with a pipe.”

“I didn’t hit you. You walked into my swing. But you wanna go after the kid, Jason? Really?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms so his forearms flex.

“Tim Drake?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes in thought. On one hand, you hadn’t been Mockingbird for years. You stopped when you were eighteen, and you’re twenty one now. Not that it’s helped you very much. You’re still struggling in a shithole, broke and unhappy and no longer able to afford school. And Tim Drake hasn’t really done anything wrong. But on the other hand, Batman is a dick, and you really stopped liking him after what happened to the former Robin. You’d wanted to go after him and the Joker for it, but you’re not far enough in the Gotham food chain for that. Trading swings with Selina was as close as you got.

“Alright.” You stand. You’re not even close to Jason’s height. “Lay out the deal. You got a suit?”

✮ ✭ ✮

And that’s how you and Jason Todd ended up on a roof that night. You, at the crisp age of twenty one, and he at what you suppose is his version of nineteen. Still working on wrapping your head around that one.

You’ve pulled out your Mockingbird suit from under the bed. It was a bit dusty, but not hard to slip into. Everything seems in place. It’s just old. Your voice scrambler is still working okay and all the eyes light up efficiently. Jason’s got a suit too.

“I don’t,” Jason answers, his face suspicious. His eyes are twinkling as he looks down at you. It’s so hard to believe he’s just a boy- or was, last you saw him.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I got you.”

You lead Jason to your room, into your closet, and into a space even farther back where an illuminated glass case the size of several yard sticks stands. It must cost more than your whole apartment. Inside of it is a metal suit like a military uniform, similar to Bruce’s Batsuit but with an Arkham emblem over the chest.

“Call it the Arkham Knight. You like it?”

“Where did you get this?” Jason steps forward, raking his eyes up and down the design. Bruce would hate it.

“I stole it from the Batcave.”

“The whole display case?” Jason snaps to you. Then his brows shoot up and he takes a step closer. “How do you know where the Batcave is?”

“How did you know where my apartment is? And yes, I took the whole case. It was just sitting there.”

Jason turns back around to the suit. It’s growing on him. He admires it. It’s perfect. The Arkham symbol will put the Batman into a state of despair. “Hard to believe you and Selina aren’t friends anymore.”

“We never were,” you mutter back. It’s really not his business that you ended so many partnerships because of his death.

“You’re sure this is the place?” you question. It sends Jason into a state of euphoria, hearing the distorted villainy of your voice again. It feels like the first time too, just like when he saw your face again. It feels how it did when he was fifteen and infatuated with the Mockingbird. It’s almost dizzying. It’s just strange to hear it knowing that now you’re on the same side.

“Yeah,” he answers through his helmet. His voice is distorted too. “This is the place.”

You’re overlooking a Gotham street at night, something you’ve both discovered vigilantes, heroes, and villains do a lot of. Smoke fills the air along with police sirens and building lights. You’re positioned in one of the outer districts though, away from most of the commotion.

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” you say, half to yourself.

“I can,” Jason says back. “When I ran with Batman. Last year. I was fifteen.” Jason's voice drops. “Or was I...”

You frown behind your own mask. Of course. Jason died four years ago, and he was fifteen when that happened. He came back- you’re not sure when- older and stronger and behind on the changes of the world. He must not know about social media, or the latest television crazes, or the new roads in Gotham. It makes you sad.

All Jason sees when he meets your eyes through his visor is several red slanted lines. You’re both unreadable through your helmets.

“There’s a good restaurant down on this corner,” you both turn back to the street, crouching in wait. “Maybe B-Man likes it.”

“He never eats,” says the ex-Robin. “Never sleeps. Never does anything.”

“You know he broke my buddy Scarecrow’s bones last Halloween?” you scoff. “Literally for not knowing where Black Mask is. Your old boss is weird as hell.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow you can’t see. “Thought you weren’t friends with Scarecrow anymore?”

“Anymore? B-Man keeping tabs on me?”

“He keeps tabs on everyone,” Jason shakes his head. “You’re just a file.”

“Hm,” he hears you say. Contemplate, more like. You speak again after a moment of silence. “Well Scarecrow and me are fine, thank you for asking.”

Jason scoffs. “He your boyfriend or something?”

“My boyfriend’s over in Metropolis.”

Oh.

“How’s your girl?” Your head snaps to Jason at once, hands twitching around. “Or guy.”

He tosses a look to you that you can’t see, but you can guess at. Somewhere between ‘what the hell’ and ‘why the hell’ and an eye roll with furrowed brows.

“Come on. Rose Wilson seems your type. Ooh, Artemis?” You suddenly nudge his arm with your elbow. “Batgirl? Is it Dick?”

Another look is thrown your way. This time it feels more angry. “Whatever, Robin,” you offer lightly.

It dawns on you that perhaps Jason has never had a partner before. That seems more likely, especially after thinking about his situation, and suddenly you feel bad. It’s too late to vocalize an apology now though.

“Fine,” you say at last. “Let’s just stop talking.”

“Let’s do.”

✮ ✭ ✮

It starts raining not long after that.

The drops bounce off your suits harmlessly. There’s still no sign of this Tim Drake and Batman.

“Hey,” you break the silence. “Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like a statue?”

“Must be a resurrection thing.”

“Yep.”

The rain falls harsher.

“So,” Jason begins. “I have to ask. How do you do the- the…” he spins his pointer fingers around rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing? What is that? No- what is that right there?”

“The thing that you do.”

“I’ve never done that in my life, Jason. What is that? Finger jiu jitsu?”

You hear Jason suck in a breath as he turns away. “You think you’re so funny.”

“You asked me for help. And between the two of us- who has died here? Not me. I’m hilarious.”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “So hilarious.”

“You seemed to think so. When…” your voice trails off. You almost wanted to mention that night in the warehouse to him. A memory of him looking up at you, his hands bound behind his back as he stares in wonder flashes in your mind. But it doesn’t linger for long. Movement in the street catches your eye. “Jason.”

Both your heads snap down to the place below. Sure enough, after a few seconds, a figure steps into view of the moonlight. A skinny kid with dark hair and a bright red and yellow costume. He looks younger than Dick or Jason.

“That’s him,” your partner says. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a long rod. It unfolds with a click that you recognize- the click of a gun.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Woah- what?”

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Jason tells you casually, fiddling around with the weapon. It’s coming into shape more and more as a sniper rifle.

“That is a child,” you whisper hiss. “He’s like ten!”

“I don’t think he’s ten,” Jason puts his eye over the scope. “This is revenge.”

“Please, do not shoot a child for replacing you in your job of tightie whities vigilante.”

Jason huffs through his mask and looks over at you. “What did you think this was, bird?”

“I thought we were just like, gonna kick him in the balls or something! This is exactly what I meant by ‘we are going to jail’! I told you we should’ve let god fix it!”

“He’ll be fine.”

You knock the rifle out of the Arkham Knights hands with a bang. It clambers across the roof top until it’s nearly over the edge, half on half off.

Jason and you go down at once, shoulder to shoulder in a tackle. Thunder booms overhead. Through his visor, Jason sees you raise a white, gauntleted fist back in a punch, aimed right for his face. Luckily, he manages to catch you by the torso and neck and throw you off.

When he pushes himself to his knee and foot in a kneel, he looks up to find an exact replica of himself. Not literally, of course, but looking at you is like looking into a mirror. Your hand is placed on the rooftop the same way his is. Your knees are bent at the exact same angle as his own. When Jason cocks his head to the side slowly, yours follows him at the same time. So this is what it means to fight the Mockingbird.

He decides to reach for the gun at the side of his leg. He manages to fire once- and miss- a bang going off that he’ll be lucky Drake doesn’t hear over the storm. You knock the gun out of his hands easily, dodging a punch to the stomach before countering with one of your own to his face. It hits the exact same way Jason’s do. He sees your knuckles coming closer to him and almost thinks they’re his own.

Next idea is toss you off the building. Key word: you. Not him.

Jason grips the back of your head through your hood, reaching around. He carries you with him while he stands, tensing his abs as he feels you hammer your elbow away at them. It’s the knee to his crotch that makes him let go and let out a strangled groan.

But before anything else can happen, you spring forward at him in a pounce. Your palms latch onto his shoulders. His feet disconnect from the surface of the roof and the both of you go backwards until neither one of you are on the building at all, over the side.

Jason gets tangled in the emergency stair well. His metal suit clangs against it as he falls and tumbles down, either causing or saving some head injuries. You hit your back on an old street light before landing in a trash bin.

This is it, you manage to think to yourself. Lying in a garbage bin in Gotham at night. And in the rain. This is rock bottom.

I am going to kill everyone on the block for this, thinks Jason.

✮ ✭ ✮

You do eventually get up and remove yourself from the garbage bin. Jason sits at the bottom of the stairs, watching you. You do not exchange words. He does, however, follow you down the street as you essentially stomp.

“Ma’am,” he offers quietly to a gawking older woman.

You enter a small restaurant. More of a diner, really. The door jingles as it opens, and Jason watches you walk to the side until you find a table by the window. You sit down with a huff, tapping one of your helmets red eyes. He shuffles into the space ahead of you, nearly skirting the table across the floor with the bulk of his own muscle and suit. He can feel your judgy eyes on him as he clambers into the seat like a large, run down father.

“Hi there,” a chirpy waitress bounds. She’s a large, redheaded woman in a bright yellow uniform and a hat with a spring connected to a plastic burger on top. It is ridiculous, funny, and you are sadly not in the mood. “My, aren’t you two some interesting looking people! We don’t get a lot of men of metal around here!”

You both look at her silently, masks on but hatred seeping through boredly.

“What can I get you tonight?”

“A gun,” you drawl tiredly, rubbing your palms over your mask.

“We’re not sellin’ those right now, my dear. Something else?”

“Two cheeseburgers would be fine,” Jason speaks up for you.

“Two burgers,” the waitress repeats with a smile, writing it down in her burger notepad. Her cheeks are rosy as she beams happily. “And should I be expecting Superman?”

“Die,” you snap to her, watching her hurry off to the kitchen. Then you put your head down in your folded arms on the table.

Jason glanced around. It’s empty except for the two of you and some dumpy guy in a trucker hat with wide eyes. “What’re you staring at?” Jason all but barks. Normally, he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible in public. Not very confident or secure, it seems. But now he’s tired. He just fell down about a million floors worth of metal stairs. It’s late and he lost two of his guns.

“What?” you raise your head, also looking at the trucker hat man. “You’ve never seen two people in superhero suits before?”

“Beat it,” Jason orders.

The man is quick to stand and speed walk away. Still you egg on, “get out of here, bozo!”

“What a fuckin’ prick,” Jason grumbles as he watches the man trip down the street through his view from the window, the door still ringing to signal it’s been opened.

“Yeah,” you agree tiredly.

Your nimble fingers reach up and back to push your white hood from your head. Then they click against the sides of your face and pull the helmet away, revealing your face. You inhale as if you couldn’t get enough air before. Jason watches you, still as a statue, his visor giving him the luxury of being able to monitor your breathing.

“Now what?” you gripe, rubbing your eyes. It can’t be comfortable with all the armor on your hands, but you don’t seem bothered. You must’ve gotten used to it by now.

The Arkham Knight ahead of you only cocks his head to the side slightly. Silent with his helmet. “I’ll help you punch Tim but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Why are you defending this kid?” you hear Jason breathe in return. For a split second, electricity runs through you at the sound of his distorted voice, the way his body looks in his suit of armor and how unreadable he is through the helmet. It shocks you all the the way down to your crotch.

“You know,” you begin, eyes widening and voice quieting with a sudden nervousness. “He’s just a kid. Younger than you were.”

Jason scoffs and turns his head away from you, now looking out the window. Gotham is dark and damp outside. “Bullshit,” he scoffs. Then after a few seconds and continues. “Tim Drake and I are the same age.” His head pulls back slightly, fingers giving a strange, sudden twitch. “Or were. We’re-”

You’ll never know what Tim Drake and Jason Todd were. Jason never finishes his sentence, and only his suit flashes with little codes and details to let you know he’s still alive in there. Besides that, he’s as still, lost in sudden thought. You frown and lean in a bit, tapping your elbow with your fingers while you shift uncomfortably. “You’re nineteen, Jason.”

His head twitches again. Now you know he’s heard you. “I’m two years older than you,” you reason. “You’re nineteen.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Why did you let me go?”

Your eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch. Another wave of electricity shocks down your body, but this time it’s because his voice sounded more like his own. You could hear it under the layers of metal and distortion. But option one is to respond to his question by pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about. That seems like it’s for the best.

“You were just a kid,” you tell him honestly. He silently presses you on. “And I just- I looked at you and I…” I really liked you, kid. Best night I had in years. Made me smile. God, you had to stop working with so many other Gotham city villains just for making jokes about the kid. “You were fifteen,” you say, looking away. “Just a kid.”

Jason watches you. Again, your head turns so you look out the window. He would’ve expected that to be the end of it, but you continue. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Jason’s about to pretend to not know what you’re talking about, because it seems like it’s for the best that way. But then he remembers you can’t see anything through his helmet. “What’re you talking about?” he gruffs.

“You saw my face in that warehouse,” you press. “If you had told Batman, I would’ve been to jail. Maybe Arkham. But that never happened. So why didn’t you tell him?”

I was obsessed with you, Jason’s mind screams. In love with you! It hisses, which makes Jason cringe. “Guess you were a kid too.” That’s right. You were seventeen back then. What is that? Last year of high school? You balanced a criminal career and the required education for a minor at the same time. Where were your parents during this?

Jason bites down on his lip hard. Parents. Should shut up about that, probably.

“I’m uh,” you bite your lip and then lick it. “I’m sorry for pushing you. On the roof.”

He shifts. “It’s nothing.”

You turn back to the window. Your arms uncross from atop the table and go to rest in your lap. This close and this still, Jason can make out all the details in your suit. It’s impressive. Kevlar and rubber and plastic, the Riddler had told him. Not the gloves. That’s metal and plastic.

“So,” Jason decides. “How do you that?” Your brows crease in confusion. He tries to do the finger motions he’d down before, which makes you cringe. “The mirroring. And the fighting and the…” he goes through the motions again. “It in your helmet?”

Your confusion sinks away. A new expression washes over your face as you lean in. One finger reaches up, poking your temple and you smile softly. “Bat knowledge.”

Just then, the waitress saves the day. “Two cheeseburgers for the scary suit people!” she beams, setting the plates down. For a second, her breasts are pressed into each of your faces. Jason first, who does not move and you can’t see under the helmet. You bite back a snicker but instead seep a childish look. Then you’re next, and you can feel Jason’s silent laugh under his Arkham Knight suit as your eyes go wide. “Enjoy, dears!”

“Boobs,” you shiver. “Just got boobs in my face.” And then Jason watches you carefully pick up the burger in your dangerous gloves, and take a bite.

Indeed, for the first time that night, the man in front of you reaches up and pulls off his own helmet with a click. You watch it be taken into his large, veiny hands and passed to the edge of the table, against the wall of the window. Then your eyes wander up to his face, which makes you chew slower.

A strong face. Sharp jaw, perfectly in line nose. Lips always pulled into a scowl. Bright eyes with tired circles and scars across his skin. There’s a streak of white in his dark hair you hadn’t noticed at all before, though now it’s practically blaring you in the face. Jason Todd is very handsome.

“What?” he says behind his burger, raising it to his lips but freezing before he can bite into it.

You shrug and focus again on your burger. You hear Jason bite into his own.

“I don’t have any money,” you tell him after a moment, swallowing down a bite.

“Me neither,” Jason answers. He nudges his head towards the window. “There’s an ATM across the street.” You nod in response.

A few bites in you speak again. The minutes have been filled with the noises of chewing and swallowing and yummy meat and cheese. “You ever heard of Mitski?”

Jason swallows his bite, which are bigger than yours. “What?”

“Mitski,” you repeat. “The singer?” Jason shakes his head. “You seem like you’d like her. My boyfriend hates her.”

Jason’s brows twitch.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he questions, taking another bite.

You roll your eyes. “Too expensive. He’s-”

“But he lives there.”

“He just didn’t offer,” you shrug. “I don’t have the money anyway. It’s fine.”

Jason cocks a brow. Your own boyfriend didn’t offer to get you out of this shithole?

You roll your eyes. “We haven’t talked in a long time okay? He’s busy. I’m busy.”

Both of Jason’s brows raise now, almost playfully. “Busy with what?”

You’d be offended if you weren’t busy trying to answer. What were you busy with? After you graduated, money went dry with university. It became less frequent after retiring from the Mockingbird mantle. Most of your jobs were minimum wage and short lived. You’re a bartender now, but not somewhere that’ll keep you going probably. Most days you sit around the apartment or run errands, sometimes hosting Ivy. Last time she’d been over, she’d given you a plant that had quickly died and spoke about Harley quite a bit. And Riddler obviously doesn’t come over anymore. Scarecrow had once but he’s off doing god only knows now.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “What are you busy with?”

“Controlling crime in Gotham,” Jason takes a bite.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well.”

“You know you didn’t have to ask me to do this,” you say. “You could’ve just asked someone else. There’s a lot of people in Gotham okay with child killing.”

“I wanted you,” Jason explains. He’s quick to speak again to keep you from thinking about his words. “You were the first person I thought of.”

You’re nearing the end of your burger. “How did you find me?”

Jason shrugs mid-chew. He’s almost done as well. “Riddler.”

“Gave me away that easy?”

“Yep.”

You chew your last bite. It was a good and hearty burger, the cheese melting perfectly against the patty and your tongue.

“You want anything else?” Jason asks.

You watch the street outside, eyes squinting on the ATM. “Jason,” you mutter. “Jason.”

✮ ✭ ✮

Three men snicker as they load up dark blue duffel bags. They’re slimey and smelly, like an old sewer. Money falls from the machine like a waterfall.

Their success doesn’t last long.

One of them comes in contact with the Mockingbird’s elbow and slams his head into a brick building. The other two are just inexplicably on the ground, incapacitated while the Arkham Knight stands overhead.

“Fuck,” you breathe through your helmet. “I missed this.”

Jason’s just picked up the duffel bag when the sudden sound of sirens blare through the air. It’s close. Too close.

“Well that’s no good,” you mutter. You turn to Jason, taking a sharp step forward. “Give it to me.”

His brows furrow under the mask.

“I’ll pay the waitress,” you say. “You run.”

Jason reaches behind his belt and shifts the weight of the bag into one hand. A gun appears- a small handgun. You duck down as he raises it at you, holding your head down as the BANG! rings through the air.

You stand back to your feet, bracing yourself at the sudden sight. The Arkham Knight charges you, but only to pick you up like you’re nothing and jump through the glass window he previously shot at. The adrenaline makes things hazy, but you can see the blue and red lights now. It doesn’t matter. The two of you fly across what turns out to be a pawn shop, burst through the back door and back room until you hit the cold outside air of Gotham again. Multiple doors slam shut behind you. You’re both out of breath and panting, and it’s raining again. This time in an alleyway.

But the cops won’t follow you out here.

It’s quiet besides the panting from you two. Jason has more endurance, you’re sure, but you can hear his breathing inside his helmet. He lets the duffel bag slip out of his grasp as you double over. “I did miss that,” you offer. “Running from the police.” The Arkham Knight just continues his breathing.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

✮ ✭ ✮

Two days after the incident, you enter your apartment lazily. Your keys are tossed onto the island counter before you wander through your mail. One of your letters is from Ed in Arkham, warning you about “some big guy asking about you”. A bit late for that now. You haven’t heard from Jason since that night.

It isn’t until you go to sit on your couch that you notice a large, nearly bursting open envelope. Your fingers stretch to reach it, examining it. No return address, but written in pen in sloppy letters is the word “Bird”. Luckily, it doesn’t feel like a bomb. It feels more soft but firm.

You open the envelope. Your breathing hitches, breath slowing when you see what’s inside. Then a smirk comes over your face.

Just then, dust falls from your shitty apartment ceiling.

✮ ✭ ✮

A week after the failed Tim Drake incident, a young man decides to pay a visit to your building. He is tall and strong, with raven hair laced with a white streak at the front. He frowns at everything, ducking his head to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He cares not for being perceived by other people. He’s well aware of how he looks.

The man’s knuckles tap against apartment 317. He shifts, looking back and forth. The man is quite attractive in is casual red hoodie and jeans, but he wants to be out of the open as soon as he can. After a moment, there is no response from inside.

He scrunches his brows and knocks again. When he takes a step closer, he can hear something from the inside. Music. A piano and drums and maybe an organ?

Jason twists the door knob with ease and steps ahead and inside. The apartment is completely and totally empty. The music becomes louder and more clear. It’s a female singer he doesn’t recognize.

Only the bones of the kitchen remain. Counters, cabinets, a sink, and an old fridge. There’s mold in the corner of the space. But in the middle of the floor where the couch and living room used to be is a cluster of things. Things meant for Jason Todd.

The man eyes the pile for a few seconds. Then he sets towards it. The first thing he recognizes is a CD player with the volume turned all the way up. He still doesn’t know the song.

Besides the player is a suit he’s quite familiar with. It’s clunky, but folded as neatly as it can be given that it’s made of metal. On the top is the helmet that gives it away. The Arkham Knight suit. It sits on a dark duffel bag in front of a small white piece of paper with the promise of ink inside. Jason decides to open that first.

You’re coming back… and it’s the end of the world…

Haha! I knew you’d show up!

Jason nearly rolls his eyes at the first sentence.

Thanks for the money. I know it was you. Thanks for the fun night too. Sorry about hitting your balls. They felt really big if that makes you feel better.

It didn’t.

I was thinking of Metropolis, but what do you know, me and the boy toy decided it might be better to hold off on it. I got a bit of dirt on the kid by the way. You’ll find it on the back of this paper. Oh and I hope you like the Mitski soundtrack. I bet Drake’s the kind too. I’m going to keep the Mockingbird suit if you don’t mind. I guess our night of fun kinda reignited an old flame. Don’t even think about coming after me.

Son of a bitch, Jason internally screams.

I have a gift for you though. You get the Arkham Knight. You look good in it. And a little something extra in the bag by the way.

Love, Mockingbird.

I just need a quiet place… where I can scream, how I love you…

Indeed, inside the duffel bag Jason Todd finds some cash and red fabric with an R emblem over the chest. He doesn’t need to pull the rest out to understand what it is. He decides not to question how you got his old Robin suit or when, but lets himself smile a bit, his chest expanding with his breath. It’s a real smile too.

You’ve given Jason everything he needs to go after Tim Drake himself.

✮ ✭ ✮

I hope I’ve ruined everyone’s day. You think I would let the reader and Jason be happy together? You absolute baffoon. Maybe I’ll make a part three for gits and shiggles though. I’m not sure about this one. Definitely more based around their interactions than the drama unlike the first one. It was fun though. I hit the paragraph limit. I think I did a good job with the chemistry. I do apologize for giving the reader a real set in stone age though. I don’t like to to that because I think it takes away the point of having a ‘reader’. Also if you’re vegetarian please just eat a cheeseburger it’s so good y’all are weird. Oh and fun fact I just got a Red Hood tattoo on Saturday! Look at me go!

Tagging everyone who asked for a part ii: @yunho-leeknow @fyowyn-writes @martianmilfhunter @beardedfandiplomatprofessor

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years ago

Text

October 31st (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.3K Warning: Language Premise: Ethan Ramsey doesn’t do costumes... except maybe for her.

A/N: A pointless Halloween fic

A/N2: For Day 28 of @choicesoctoberchallenge2020. The prompt is “Costume”.

1. Intern Year

Ethan resisted a groan as an atrocious, remixed version of The Monster Mash blared through the speakers, eliciting a cheer from the drunken crowd. Characteristically, he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he wondered why he decided to venture out on the worst night of the year. Perhaps he needed a drink that badly after another full day of dealing with interns.

“Time for a refill, Dr. Ramsey,” a voice said over the music.

Ethan hated the way his pulse quickened at the sound.

Doing his best to appear collected, he shot what he hoped was an impassive glance at the figure now standing beside him at the bar, the floral notes of her perfume already caressing his every sense. One single glance at her, however, was enough to shoot all efforts of appearing aloof straight to hell.

She leaned casually against the bar, clad in a sensuous, forest green number that molded to every curve of her body and ensnared every bit of his attention. Dark green leaves embellished every surface of the sinfully short dress, tapering off into delicate, curly vines along her exposed shoulders and arms. Her glossy, dark hair was hidden away beneath a cascade of long, auburn waves that made her eyes appear greener still.

“Wig,” she explained with a small laugh when Ethan continued to stare.

At last, he pried his eyes away, feeling his neck flare with heat. Unsure of what else to say, he feigned indifference as he asked, “And what are you supposed to be, Rookie?”

Aside from fucking irresistible, his idiotic, addled brain added on impulse.

He could see Lilac's jaw go slack in a way that was almost comical but somehow managed to be entirely too adorable.

“You're kidding, right? I'm Poison Ivy.”

Ethan had known that. He had been, after all, a comic-book obsessed teenager once. If someone had told him back then that he would one day witness the sexiest version of the character imaginable, his head would have caved in on itself. Adult Ethan, it seemed, was no better because his eyes fell on her once again, unable to resist her magnetic pull.

Lilac, however, was too busy looking at the dancefloor. She nodded toward her group of friends, dancing, laughing, and contributing to half of the noise in the bar.

“We were all supposed to be Batman villains but Bryce and Landry got lazy. They put on a Thing One and Thing Two shirt and called it a day.”

Ethan followed her gaze to where the young surgeon had peeled off the aforementioned shirt, relishing in the attention that decision was earning him from a gaggle of girls nearby. The other one Lilac had mentioned stood awkwardly off to the side, too pale and and gangly to ever be Lahela's counterpart.

“More like tweedle dee and tweedle dum,” he muttered.

Lilac met his eyes at once and to his delight, she laughed, the sound sending his stomach into a dive. It was already maddening enough that the sound was entirely too attractive, but Ethan felt a swelling sense of satisfaction at being the one to inspire it.

When she sobered up, her green eyes remained on his, humor melting into a pensive expression. She continued to watch him with the conviction of someone discovering a new secret. He would have given anything to know what she was thinking at that very moment.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

He had been distracted by her full lips and by how fitting the damn costume was. Much like every weak-willed man in his comic books, Ethan would have risked absolutely everything to kiss her.

“No costume?”

“God no,” he spat, inspiring another little laugh.

“Never say never,” she told him in a sing-song voice.

“I can confidently say never.”

______________

2. A year later.

They paused outside the door to Bryce's apartment, the muffled sound of music and laughter making its way to the hall. Ethan briefly wondered if his neighbors would complain enough to derail the whole affair. It would mean he could go back to the peace and quiet of his home.

As if reading his mind, Lilac turned to face him, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. God, he loved it when she looked at him that way.

“You're not getting out of this,” she reminded him, her fingers moving to play with the orange Ascot tie she had forced him to wear.

“We're well into November. There was no need to dress up.”

As usual, Lilac rolled her eyes lovingly.

“It's hardly dressing up when all we did was put you in a white sweater you already owned, babe,” she explained for the hundredth time. Ethan tried to scowl at the pet name, but he was beginning to enjoy it. Instead, he relaxed into her touch, trying his best not to follow the lazy path her fingers made on his chest. “You wouldn't even wear a wig, so it doesn't count. As for the party being this late, it was the only night we all had off. And we'll be damned before we let a whole year pass us by without dressing up.”

She finalized that sentence with a searing kiss to his neck. His hands banded around her waist reflexively, pulling her soft body flush against his. In their time together, he had avidly learned the many ways to drive her just as crazy.

“You and I can still dress up,” he murmured darkly against her ear.

Lilac shivered, to his immense delight.

“Are you suggesting role play, Dr. Ramsey,” she returned in a poor attempt to mock him.

The formal mode of address, uttered in a low, breathy voice against his ear, made his blood buzz for her. More maddening still was the short, purple dress she wore along with the auburn wig that made a reappearance after a year.

“Got a thing for redheads?” she asked, correctly guessing the contents of his thoughts yet again.

Ethan smiled crookedly down at her. “I got a thing for you.”

The words rang with sincerity and an overwhelming sense of relief at finally being able to say them out loud, without any fear of consequences.

Lilac, for her part, looked as though she wanted to shove him against the wall and kiss him fiercely, but the erupting cheers from inside the apartment interrupted their exchange from advancing further.

“Mystery Gang in the house!” Bryce, dressed as a pirate, hollered as soon as they walked through the door. Everyone else cheered and hooted, the sounds no doubt fueled by the contents of the many red solo cups around the room.

“You guys look adorable!” Sienna commended over the music, greeting each of them with a friendly hug. “Fred and Daphne makes so much sense for you two.”

“Because we solve mysteries for a living?” Ethan asked, voice deadpan.

“Nah, because those two were a thing long before any of the others found out,” Elijah said as he joined them.

Lilac laughed out loud, the sound teetering on the edges of relief. She had been nervous, just like Ethan had been, that her friends would be awkward around them now that they knew of their relationship.

By the way they easily joked with him and included him in conversation throughout the night, their concerns had been for nothing. They even helped Lilac pressure him into dancing a modern pop song he had heard many times on the radio. Not that he needed much convincing when he would gladly do anything just to see her radiant smile directed his way.

By midnight, the party had dwindled down to drinks and board games. There was a raucous consensus to play Clue, which caused Bryce to roll his eyes.

“Of course the diagnosticians want to play the nerdiest game.”

Ethan rolled up his sleeves in preparation, which earned him a coy and borderline lustful look from Lilac. “You're just bitter that we're playing something other than beer pong, scalpel jockey.”

Elijah let out a surprised yet impressed laugh, wasting no time to high five Ethan. Even Bryce couldn't help but grin.

“Trash talk all you want, old man. I'm more than just a pretty face.”

When it came to Clue, however, Bryce had no chance against Ethan, who analyzed every player with sharp precision and correctly guessed the murderer, the room, and the weapon. Several games later, Ethan easily proved victorious while Bryce only laughed graciously, raising his palms up in defeat.

When even the board games ebbed into quiet conversation at the end of the night, Lilac sat on his lap, circling her arms around his neck. They sat like that for minutes, enjoying the nuances of being that annoyingly cute couple at a party.

“Thank you for dressing up for me,” she said as she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Even that sent his heart into a tumultuous rhythm.

“Only for you,” he murmured. “And as a one time deal only.”

______________

3. Many years later.

Ethan plastered the fur-lined hat on his head, a perfect complement to the fur-lined everything else he was currently wearing. Luckily, fall time in Boston was cold enough that the ensemble would prove to be practical as they walked the streets. He stepped into the hallway, not bothering to check his reflection. There was no doubt he looked utterly ridiculous.

But he didn't care.

He would do anything for her and for the unbridled joy in the eyes he loved so much.

Lilac was already waiting when he entered the living room, her smile impossibly wide as she glanced him over. It was the exact reaction he expected and he couldn't help but grin too.

“Is this how it's supposed to look?”

“Yes!” she all but shrieked in delight. The magenta cape of her costume fluttered behind her as she rushed to him, her body crashing against him in an overjoyed hug. “I love you so much for doing this.”

The words still sent a thrill through Ethan, as strong as the first time he heard them. Heart thundering wildly at his chest, he leaned down to kiss her, just because he could.

When they pulled apart, she watched him through half-closed eyes, her teeth catching her lush bottom lip. All Ethan wanted to do was carry her to their bed and tear off the costumes they had spent so much time perfecting. Inwardly, he marveled at how everything had changed over the years, but there were some things that remained the same.

Instead, he captured one of her plaits between his fingers. “These people we're dressed up as,” he started, gently trailing the ridges of her braid. Lilac watched him, captivated by his every word. “Do they end up together?”

She allowed a laugh. “We've watched nothing but that movie for a week straight.”

Ethan shrugged, allowing a sheepish grin. “I tune it out thirty minutes in every time.”

More laughter and Ethan decided then that he could hear the sound forever and not get enough.

“Don't let Dolores hear you say that,” she warned with one final kiss. She moved to break apart from their embrace but he stopped her.

His wife looked at him expectantly and Ethan frowned, suddenly doubtful.

“Do you think she'll like it?”

Lilac's curious expression melted into a fond smile. “She's going to love it,” she assured him, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.

Not surprisingly, Lilac had been right because moments later, a delighted shriek of laughter announced the arrival of their toddler daughter. Her godmother trailed close behind, crouching over in an attempt to fix the blue tulle that trailed along the floor as the child ran towards her father. It was futile and Sienna sighed in defeat, shooting Lilac an amused look.

“It's pointless,” Sienna laughed. “There's no stopping little Lolly when she sees her father.”

Proving that point, his daughter flung herself into Ethan's arms and cried, “Dada!”

“Hello, princess,” Ethan laughed as she pressed her version of a kiss on his cheek.

“I'm Elsa,” Dolores corrected sagely.

“Yes, babe,” Lilac added with mock seriousness. “You are in the presence of Queen Elsa of Arendelle. Have some respect.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Ethan said to his daughter with such formality that the child laughed. Sienna watched the exchange with a watery smile, failing to repress a squeal.

A loud roar coming from the threshold informed them that their son had joined them. Sienna laughed as Jonah ran around the room, the antlers of his costume bobbing wildly as he moved. At last, he stopped right before Lilac, who picked him up in her arms.

“I didn't know reindeers roared,” she laughed, swaying her son in her arms.

Jonah roared again to demonstrate that reindeers could indeed roar formidably, at least when impersonated by a five year old. “I'm a Halloween reindeer,” he explained. “He roars to be spooky, but just for today.”

The adults laughed. “You're a good big brother, Jonah,” Lilac informed him with a kiss, closely followed by a tickle.

“Lolly wanted to be Elsa so bad so I wanted to help,” their son said through a giggle, as though it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

It was for Ethan.

As Sienna ushered them together for a picture, Ethan looked at his family, everyone smiling radiantly and far more beautifully than the moon itself. Little Dolores clung to him, laughing and looking happier than he had ever seen her.

His wife caught his eye and shot him a knowing but proud smile. Ethan knew she was remembering the cynical, jaded version of himself who had confidently proclaimed he would never do this.

Ethan had never been happier to be proven wrong.

______________

A/N: I HC they name their daughter after Dolores and nickname her Lola/ Lolly

Once upon a time I used to write for another pairing who canonically dies on Halloween. You have no idea how happy I am to write for a pairing who’s alive and well lol.

Thank you so much for reading! I love these time hop fics so much. I wrote another one for Ethan x MC a long time ago that I will publish on my birthday in November :)

Finally, Chapter 10 of the Pictagram is coming soon. It might be two parts... Yikes. Thanks for waiting so patiently for it! Life has been crazy over here

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tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo , @trappedinfanfiction, @aestheticartsx, @aworldoffandoms, @paulfwesley, @myusualnerdyself, @rookie-ramsey, @ohchoices, @colossalpainintheass, @enmchoices, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker, @choicesfanaf, @openheartthot, @octobereighth, @nazarihoe, @utterlyinevitable, @kites-in-our-skies, @maurine07, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @doilooklikeiknow, @snesdudes, @kingliam2019, @perriewinklenerdie, @cinnamonspongecake, @choicesstan1, @queencarb, @ethxnrxmsey, @missmiimiie, @jens-diamondchoices, @adamsdumortain, @apphia12, @kalogh, @lucy-268, @binny1985, @queenbirbs, @honeyandsunfl0wers, @newcolonies, @lilyvalentine, @rigatonireid, @interobanginyourmom, @parkerattano, @custaroonie, @nikki-2406, @lilypills, @chasingrobbie, @nooruleman, @lonely-mxxnlight, @ruinedbypixels, @shadynaturehilariouscookie, @tsrookie, @mvalentine, @professorkingslay, @drakewalkerfantasy, @casey-v, @helloblueeyedcat, @mysticaurathings, @blossomanarchy, @thegreentwin, @togetherwearerapture��, @rookieoh, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie, @natashajaniphil, @mysticalgalaxysstuff, @hatescapsicum, @choices-lurker, @kiara-36, @junehiratas, @danijimenezv, @macy-ray85, @adrex04, @canigetanawwjunk, @sanchita012, @overwhelminglyaquarius , @scorpiochick8, @skylarklyon, @starrystarrytrouble, @mercury84choices, @drariellevalentine, @ethanrcmsey, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost, @kaavyaethanramsey , @udishaman, @a-crepusculo, @quacksonlover

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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lady-o-ren · 4 years ago

Text

THE HUNGER OF MY HEART

//PROLOGUE// //PART ONE// PART TWO

PART THREE

For easier reading here’s the link for ao3 (X)

Jamie stepped into the Lallybroch stables and whistled melodically through his teeth. A wide-browed grey horse poked his head out from the corner stall, hitching his ears forward as he blew excitedly through his nostrils.

"Cobhar, ciamar a tha thu?" Said Jamie fondly, firmly patting the long dappled neck of the horse and scratching behind his ears. "Di' ye miss me, my wee laddie?"

Nothing was wee about Cobhar. He was a good-tempered, but spirited 14-hand gelding that had been the first foal that Jamie's father let him care for when he was a lad, still mourning his mother and needing distraction.

Cobhar's big head came down and mouthed affectionately at Jamie's curls then cheeks in greeting, as he always had done, then descended down to his knuckles, eager for the sweet treat he could smell hiding in his palm.

"Och, ye miss being spoilt is all then? Didn'a think of me once while I was gone, di' ye?"

Cobhar huffed impatiently and nudged his head against Jamie's chest, nibbling at the buttons, while swishing his dirt-blonde tail side to side.

"A'right, laddie," Jamie chuckled, patting him again. "Here ye go. No need to knock me over." The stallion's soft velvet lips plucked the whole apple from out his opened palm and devoured it in one loud and juicy crunch.

"Fattening auld Cobhar a'ready, Jamie?"

Jamie grinned ear to ear as he looked aside to see his best friend, and now brother-in-law, Ian, amble up beside him. He was tall and whipcord lean and strong, with an honest, good-natured face about him that had captured his sister, Jenny's heart when they were naught but bairns.

"Ye're one to talk, Ian. My sister didn'a get big as a house on her own, di' she?"

Face a rich blush, Ian laughed and bashfully scratched his nose, crooked from when Jamie broke it years before, having found him and Jenny in the most compromising of ways.

"Still a wee shite, Fraser. And still redder than a roosters arse," said Ian, as he playfully smacked the back of Jamie's head.

As had everyone else in the family since he arrived back home. His uncle's, aunties and brutally by his beloved godfather, Murtagh, for being away from Lallybroch for so long. But the real blackening had come from Jenny, a feat for a pregnant woman who had once been no bigger than his thumb. Thank Christ, he had a skull made of solid stone (though as predicted she had embraced soon after and kissed him more than what was decent for a sister to).

Rubbing the multitude of throbbing black and blue bumps on his head (but after having given Ian a hard punch to his shoulder), Jamie spotted what looked to be an envelope under his brother-in-law's arm.

"Plan on feeling the bills to the white sow, Ian?"

Ian looked at him quizzically before making an "O" with his mouth and pulled the envelope out.

"It came yesterday, before you di'," said Ian, handing it over to Jamie, who curiously flipped it over.

It was a letter actually. He grinned, almost laughing, as it was addressed to James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser and had been tied thoughtfully with twine and a sprig of greenery embedded (accidentally?) in its bow that he brushed a blunt forefinger to.

It was from Claire.

Jamie glanced up to see Ian smirking at him and felt his ears blush hot.

"Ye're damn lucky I saw that before yer sister di'. She'd be holding it up to the light and steaming the seams open."

"She'd do no such thing," Jamie retorted, with a glint of humor in his eyes. "Yer wife would tear it open wi' her teeth and wave it in my face."

"That she would," Ian agreed with a chest shaking chuckle. "But our lass is a bloodhound and will find out sooner than not about the puir lass that ye've set yer heart upon."

The last was said almost in question. A hope that maybe Jamie had found a way to balm his wearied heart, knowing that his travels were not just a simple bout of wanderlust and the outlandish reason why. He had the look of a man now awakened, as if he'd been reborn. Something Ian himself had experienced the day Janet Fraser gave him his first kiss at the tender age of six and had never recovered from.

Nor had his nose.

Jamie met Ian's hazel eyed gaze.

"Her name's Claire," he beamed, not bothering to hide the emotion in his voice that rivaled the reverence of a prayer to the creator above. "I met her in London a week ago. Spent every second I could wi' her."

And leaving the woman of his dreams had been like having his heart cleaved in two.

"Then you'll have to write to me," Claire had said, beneath her gates woven green with ivy, having clasped her fingers to his, while her other hand held his arm as if to draw him back to her marvelous world.

"Letters, ye mean?" He gulped, having felt himself sway to her power.

She nodded. "I prefer it. I can't stand the ringing and pinging of a telephone. Will you, Jamie?" Her voice had sounded unsure as if it were indeed possible he could ever refuse her.

"Who do I address it to?" He had smiled, while grazing a tentative thumb to the back of her palm. "The funny house no one can see at the end of nowhere street?"

"You're a smart one." She pulled her hand away to tap his nose but had let her caress linger innocently, cluelessly, down his ginger stubbled cheek as he shivered with desire, wanting to kiss the base of her thumb, count her freckles with his mouth. "Address it to this empty lot and your letter will find me. Just don't be forever."

Jamie had pressed his hand over hers, not knowing if he could ever let her go, feeling his breath stitch tight.

"Then until I see ye again, Sassenach."

She glowed at the name he'd given her the day they'd met. Had told him before it suited her better than even her given one.

Jamie hadn't agreed with that at all and wanted to tell her what Claire was in the Ghàidhlig.

One day he would.

Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart.

Tha gaol agam ort

But apparently a day had been far too long for her.

"I think she's the one," Jamie continued on, in almost startling disbelief as he grinned like the lovesick fool he was. "The one that's been calling for me all these years."

"Christ, man! She's real?!" Ian gripped his shoulder, matching his excitement. "Should we be expecting yer Claire for hogmanay with a wee one of yer own?"

Before Jamie could stutter a heart racing answer to that query, the two were interrupted by Jenny hollering for them.

“D’ye two want yer dinner, or shall I feed it to the dogs!?”

Said dogs, Luke and Elphin, Mars and auld Bran, howled in answer while Jamie groaned at his sister's impeccable timing.

Ian slapped his back though and gave his dearest friend and bràthair an encouraging smile and waggle of his dark brows. "Read the damn letter, man. I'll take care of yer sister. Just remember when yer wean's born to name him after me, aye?"

After watching Ian depart with a wink, Jamie threw a long leg over Cobhar's stall door (shushing the nosey beast with a promise of sugar cubes) and settled himself low in the hay.

After pocketing the bit of green to his breast pocket with a delicate hand, he carefully untied the twine and opened Claire's letter. The sweet fragrance of elderflowers and chamomile kissed the page where a simple request was written that had Jamie hopping over the stall door and running towards Lallybroch, with his pack of dogs yapping at his heels.

My Dear Jamie,

At the end of the week I'll be in Edinburgh.

Join me?

"Are ye ever going to tell me what's in this thing, Sassenach?"

Up and down the winding streets of Edinburgh, past the many sloping buildings and cafes and bitty book shops stacked beside one another, Jamie had been carrying a heavy and ornate wooden chest for Claire as she walked ahead of him, looking for the shop to deliver it to.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and her young apprentice, Elias, beside him, who'd taken quite a shine to the older Scotsman. He too had been tasked with carrying a package. It was strapped to his back, a long leather cylinder that could've held anything from mundane documents to a treasure map. Jamie wasn't sure at all.

"It's not for me to say. Besides it would only worry your dreams."

"That doesna make me feel any better," Jamie murmured, staring warily at what he held in his arms which amused Claire greatly enough to bite her posey lush lips from laughing.

"Then pretend it's a cake box."

Elias snorted, catching Jamie's attention.

"Ye ken what's in this thing don't ye, mo charaid?"

"Aye - I mean yes. But -" Elias flicked his round eyes to his mistress's straight back then cupped his hand to his round cheek. "I'll tell you later. It's downright awful and I nearly lost my -"

"You know I can hear you both? I'm not that old."

"And how old is that?" Jamie asked half teasing, half with genuine curiosity, while Elias pinked, snorting loudly once more.

Claire stopped in her tracks and spun on her heels, cutting a look at the younger lad who quickly cowered behind the much taller man.

"I'm old enough to remember Queen Victoria but not the Bonnie Prince. Is that enough for you?" She replied flatly, crossing her arms.

Jamie went a bit bug-eyed, mentally counting the decades since the little Queen's reign. Then his wide mouth twitched.

"And ye say ye're no' a witch?"

Claire rolled her eyes and continued walking but a smile had peeked on her lips that encouraged Jamie to tease her more.

"Ye ken," he began, walking beside her now and shifting the weight of the chest as he did so. "There are auld highland tales that say curls wild as yers are the mark of a Ban-druidh, and that the crows favor them to make their nests."

She tugged at her dark locks and watched as they bounced back on release with utter disdain written on her face.

"They're more of a tumbleweed curse if you ask me," she frowned, making Jamie quickly regret his words.

"I didna mean it that way, Sassenach. Truly. Yer curls are lovely. They're like the ripples in a burn when the rain and leaves fall upon it. Luminous as the sky rich in twilight. And yer eyes, Christ, they're. . ."

Jamie's voice trailed off when he realized they'd stopped walking and had the wide-eyed attention of both Elias and Claire.

As well as everyone else on the street alongside them.

How loudly had he been blabbering?

But then a smile of pure delight broke across Claire's face, reflecting brightly in her eyes, as she tucked an errant curl behind her ear, only for another far more impetuous to take its place.

"How has no one snatched up a charmer like you, Jamie?"

One had. A very oblivious one.

Jamie sheepishly shrugged and found unparalleled interest in the engravings of the wooden box he carried as his face blazed the very color of his beating heart. He looked very much like a schoolboy.

Unnoticed by them though was dear Elias, whose sea-grey eyes darted between them both, grinning sweet as pie.

Walking down another street, Claire finally announced they had arrived, and the men, sore footed and muscle strained, sighed in relief.

The shop exterior was hard wood and painted coal black while the door was a dark and flaking green. And written in gold on the long framed window beside the door, Jamie read to himself

THE WITHERED BONE

Potions // Trinkets // Antiques

The Finest Biscuits This Side of the Black Realm

"Biscuits?" Jamie murmured, knotting his brow. "What kind of shop is this? Like yers, Sassenach?"

"Not necessarily," she said, hand hesitant on the brass doorknob. "For one it's in plain sight. But if you want to call anyone a witch the three who own this place would fit the bill. I think they even have a cauldron."

"They do. I saw it with - uh, nevermind," Elias choked at the last, blushing beet red.

Claire arched her brow. "Now Elias -"

"I know, ma'am," he drawled, fiddling with the strap over his chest. "Stay away from Ms. Annalise and keep to your side."

"And Jamie -"

He looked at her smiling wryly. "Ms. Annalise?"

"Shut up," she said, playfully swatting his arm. "You stay at the front of the shop. There's nothing there that can bite your nose off."

Claire then ushered them both through the door.

Inside, it was a cluttered jumble of anything and everything. An elaborate display of lost treasures from Africa to France and most prominently the Jacobite resistance in all its doomed glory. There was an array of vintage costume jewelry, stacked stop tables against the walls and racks of overflowing clothing a group of young girls were pawing through, where one in particular, all flaxen hair and big doe eyes, was swaying to the melancholy chords of a record that crackled softly in the background.

What makes you think love will end?

When you know that my whole life depends

On you

It was a tune Jamie remembered his parents dancing to. His mother had been wrapped in his father's arms as he nuzzled her cheek, softly mouthing the words against her skin. The young girl hummed it too as she gazed dreamily at a dress in her hands.

Overhead hung a simple iron chandelier that seemed to have been ripped straight from a castle's dungeon, dripping hot candle wax to a metal bowl placed on the hardwood floors. One burning drop fell down Jamie's neck as he walked beneath them, that had him cursing underbreath as he scrunched his shoulders and knocked his knee into a table, rattling the knickknacks.

"Ye break it ye buy it, laddie," came a voice from the front of the shop. "I'll take cash and the blood of yer first born."

"Oh, Geilie," said Claire and crossed over to the counter, leaning over the glass display of dirks and sgian dhu (with a cookie jar atop) to kiss a rather wicked to the bone looking redhead's cheek. "You are terrible."

"It wasn'a as if I lied," Geilie snickered, turning her attention first to young Elias who flinched under her unnerving gaze then to Jamie, blatantly raking over his physique before Claire stepped into her view.

"Who's the clumsy stag ye've brought wi' ye, Claire?"

"A friend who I very much like as he is. No twitching your nose or feeding him your biscuits." She then mumbled to Jamie at her shoulder. "Hansel and Gretel, remember?"

"Ye're never any fun," she pouted, then pointed her chin. "Have ye a name, stag?"

"Jamie," he replied simply, not at all trusting the unsettling woman before him with more than that.

"Weel then, Jamie, ye can leave that in the corner there and you," she looked at Elias with a devilish grin as she propped her chin on her hand and drummed her fingers to her cheek. "Louise will be waiting downstairs fer ye, Annalise too. But ye kent that aye?"

While the young lad experienced a sudden shortness of breath, Jamie set the delivery down and rather dumbly asked, "What's downstairs?"

Geilie's eyes shimmered like the feral beast whose blood she probably bathed in, chilling Jamie down to his bones.

"Why? Are ye needin' an ill-wish like the wee lasses over there." She gestured over to the girls taking their leave. "Mebbe something far more entertaining and lethal like a summoning? Those require a blood sacrifice, ken. Nothing so tender as yer sweet lass here wi' her trade of bits and bobs.

She wasn't kidding.

Jamie glanced at the doorway that led downstairs, carved with cabbalistic symbols. A faint whiff of bitter herbs wafted through a pigeon blood red curtain that shadowed it, mingling with a coppery tang he could taste on his tongue, tainting the air. It churned his wame with sick.

"Or are ye wantin' - Oh!" She quickly shot a strange and startled look over to Claire.

"Leave him be, Geilie," Claire chided, unaware of the questions in her sometimes friend's eyes as she threw all her attention on Jamie.

"We'll only be a minute," she assured him with a hand running down his arm, sending a shock of steadying warmth through him that he knew came from someplace bewitching within her. "And don't worry about Geilie, she won't touch a hair on your head when she knows I can shrivel hers like a prune."

Jamie smiled at his own Ban-druidh. Must've whispered it too, to deserve the pinch she gave him before leaving with Elias downstairs to the witch's grisly lair.

"I ken what yer after, mo bhalaich," came Geilie's voice, softly speaking to him as if he were a friend. "I can see it festering in ye like hemlock, yer love fer the Sassenach."

Jamie nervously glanced over to the doorway. "I dinna ken what yer on about, woman."

"Dinna bother hidin' it, no' like she can see it anyhow. She hasn't the heart fer it, ye see. Hers was taken by her old master, the wee frog, who lived in that house of hers before she di'. She hasn'a a clue where it is, doesn'a even ken it's missin', and wi'out it she canna love ye back."

"Why - Why should I believe you?" Jamie asked haltingly, for his throat was being strangled by his heart, ripped from beneath his ribs.

"Why would I lie, ye puir wee fool? Save yerself, getaway, or that love ye carry will swallow ye whole, heart and soul and breath."

Only when she touched the tender spot on his chest did Jamie realize he was bent over the counter a hair's breadth away from the witch, close enough to see the harsh and earnest truth pooling in her eyes.

Then she pushed him away.

"All done," said Claire, coming through the curtain, and cast her gaze between the two in front of her.

"What have you two been doing?" She waved a finger at them both.

"Oh, a little talking is all. Nothing more," grinned Geilie, face a mask of perfect innocence.

Claire hummed, believing otherwise and tried to make light of whatever she saw troubling Jamie's face. "You should know whatever Geilie told you, it's probably only half as bad or twice as worst,"

"Och, I'm sure of it, Sassenach. Shall we go?" Jamie said hurriedly, not meeting her eye. Trying to forget what the witch had said.

She slowly nodded, her face lined with concern, but tucked her slender arm through his and gave Geilie a half-hearted goodbye. Immediately, Jamie felt the blood in his veins flow to his heart now beating in its proper place and air return to his lungs.

But somewhere deep inside himself, Jamie could feel the beginnings of a rotting ache bloom and take root. He was already too far gone.

"You didn't eat the biscuits did you."

He managed a weak chuckle and swallowed. "No lass." But then he swiveled his head. "Where's the wee lad?"

In five seconds flat, Claire had Elias by his arm like a child, his face a burning fever red and eyes bowed to the ground with Ms. Annalise leaning at the doorway, a beguiling smile on her face.

No time is wasted that makes two people friends

THANK YOU to everyone who reads and comments on this fic. You have no idea how much I appreciate it!!

!!MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Now Author Notes

*First off sorry for all the messy mistakes and eye gouging writing

*Thanks to @soinspiredbyyou/ @mo-nighean-rouge for help with the line tweaking "Perhaps strung together with the phrase stirring in his heart." Although hers was actually better "Perhaps preceded by a phrase stirring in his heart" but preceded sounded too smart and too good for my dummy words.

*The descriptions of Cobhar are from the book cause I don't know anything about horses.

*The song is Never My Love

*I may come back and fiddle with this chapter but I really wanted to get this done before Christmas.

*Next chapter will be the last

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

58 notes · View notes

radioduo · 3 years ago

Text

in which we hear a folk tale || god au

word count: 1,418

notes: an oc story/au! the main two characters belong to @kit-kat-the-rat (hopefully she’s alright with being tagged-) this is somewhat poorly written so excuse errors in here because they’re definitely there lmao

Noah isn’t where he should be. He should be at the palace in the clouds with the other gods having fun and enjoying the night. He should be up there helping Darcy rule. He shouldn’t be standing at some mortal boy’s doorstep waiting to have dinner with him.

But he is. Noah takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. There is an awkward moment or two where he’s afraid he’s at the wrong house, but his fear is assuaged when he hears footsteps from inside the house and the door swings open.

“Noah!” Declan exclaims, a grin spreading onto his face. “What are you doing here?” He steps out into the crisp autumn air and shuts the door gently. “I wasn’t expecting company tonight,” he says. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to chase away the slight chills that ran down his arms.

Noah smiles sheepishly. “Yes, sorry about that. I probably should have told you I was showing up,” he apologizes. “But I’m here now. That counts for something, right?”

Declan laughs. It's a charming and pleasant sound that fills the night air. “I guess so. Come on in, I don’t want you to freeze out here,” he says. The wooden door swings open once more. Noah, the king of the gods, is being led inside by a mortal.

It’s warmer inside than it is outside and the tantalizing smell of food wafts around the room. Noah looks around fondly. Humans were much simpler compared to deities. Where the gods would have light from the sun as decoration, handpicked by the goddess of summer herself, humans had only a small lantern and a few candles to keep them warm. Instead of massive thrones seated around an even larger table, Declan only had a few wooden chairs placed nicely around a small circular tabletop. Noah could appreciate the simplicity of Declan’s life, especially compared to some of the decór placed around the palace.

Declan must notice Noah looking around in surprise because he says, “You like what you see in here?” His tone is light and teasing. “I know this is certainly a step-up from that large mansion you must live in,”

Noah freezes. Surely he didn’t know-

Declan nudges him with his shoulder and says, “Come on, I’m kidding!” he turns to something on the stove. “Lighten up, will you? It’s supposed to be a special night tonight,” he says, fiddling with a spoon. His dark eyes shine brightly in the candlelit kitchen.

Noah frowns. “What night is it?” He asks hesitantly.

Declan doesn’t respond right away. He scoops their dinner onto plates and brings them to the table. “I thought you would be better at keeping up with things,” he raises an eyebrow at the disguised god. “You always seem to know what’s going on,”

Noah pauses. He may be the god of trends and prophecy, but if it’s some mortal holiday, he’s forgotten all about it. “Of course I know what’s going on,” he lied, “I just wanted to make sure… you... knew?”

Declan rolls his eyes in an unmistakably fond way. “Oh, I see,” he says, humoring Noah. “Well, for your information, it’s the first day of autumn,” he takes a seat at the table and gestures for Noah to sit beside him. “Let’s eat first, then I’ll tell you more,”

Noah nods with a smile on his face. “Yes, let's.”

---

The two of them step into the yard behind Declan’s house. White camellias and dark crimson roses grow close to the sides of the house while aloe plants and purple hyacinths sit in ceramic pots in the windows. “You really like your flowers, huh?” Noah asks, brushing a hand over the bushes.

Declan shrugs indifferently. “They’re distractions, I guess. I’m grateful to have them.” There is a heaviness to the other boy’s voice that Noah hasn’t heard before.

Noah struggles with his thoughts, wondering if he should pursue the question or leave it be. Ultimately, he lets the topic go. Declan would tell him if he wanted. “Do you know what they mean?” He switches topics a little, hoping not to bog down the mood too much. “I have a friend who goes on and on about their meanings, but I never really understand what she means,” he says, thinking about all the times Roxanne has tried to teach him about the flower language.

Declan’s smile returns and Noah breathes a silent sigh of relief. “Really?” Declan asks, teasing Noah. “You’re not an expert in all things gardening?”

Noah laughs. “Far from it. You seem confident though, so tell me Mr. Plant Expert, what do these mean?” He points to the camellias.

Declan shakes his head in amusement. “Oh no, I couldn’t understand these things if I tried,” he admits. He waves Noah farther into the backyard and the two sit on the grass together. “So about those folk tales?” Declan begins. His dark eyes reflect the moonlight as he stares into the inky black expanse of space. His smile is as bright as the stars when he speaks. “Which one do you want to hear? One of the seasons, perhaps?”

Noah thinks for a moment. He scoots closer to Declan on the grass and puts an arm around him. “How about the seasons?”

Declan leans into the gesture and begins to talk. “Well, surely you know how there are gods of winter, spring, summer, and autumn,” he says, looking up at Noah. When the dark-haired boy nods, Declan proceeds. “Many don’t know this, but the gods have names beyond the seasons. Festus, Roxanne, Ivy, and Hazel are winter, spring, summer, and autumn respectively,” he explains. “They’re responsible for changing the seasons as the year goes on,”

Noah hums in response. He knows this - he’s friends with all of them. However, Declan doesn’t know that, so Noah responds innocently. “How do they do it?” He asks. “Seems like a big job,”

Declan has a look of amusement on his face and he sighs contentedly. “Roxanne begins springtime. She sweeps her cloak over the barren lands and the snow melts under its warmth. Plants begin to grow in her wake, and life returns to the earth. When her time is over, Ivy steps in. She brings sun and light to everything Roxanne has begun and she continues the cycle. Ivy coats everything in green with her touch and allows the world to flourish,”

Noah nods. He knows these tales aren’t true, but he also knows they mean a great deal to Declan. The brown-eyed boy loved talking about anything and everything to anybody who would listen. “What about Hazel and Festus?” The god asks curiously.

Declan beams up at the night sky. “Hazel’s tale is my favorite. Some say she comes to our world and paints the leaves orange, red, and yellow with her paintbrush,” he looks up at Noah. “How amazing is that?”

Noah looks back at the dark-skinned boy. He smiles back at him with the radiant smile of a god. “Truly amazing,” he replies. “What about winter?”

“Festus steps down to our world and kisses the Earth, coating it in delicate white frost,” Declan says as though it were the most obvious fact in the world. “He brings snow and ice with him wherever he goes. He is the start and the end of the year,” Declan puts his head on Noah’s shoulder. “Feels fitting for him to have a name that means happy.” He looks up to the sky as though hoping to get a glimpse of the gods. He didn’t know he was already in the presence of one. “I have so many other stories I could tell you. Life and Death’s careful balance, the king and queen of the gods, and-”

“How about that one? The king and queen, I mean,” Noah interrupts. He notices Declan giving him a strange look about his interruption and quickly corrects himself. “I never hear much about them in stories. If someone is going to tell me, who better than you?"

Declan blushes and swats Noah’s shoulder lightheartedly. "If you say so. The king and queen of the gods…”

Noah latches on to every word, eager to hear the other boy’s calming voice. It was odd to hear about himself in the form of a story, but he didn’t mind if it was Declan telling the tale. Noah breathes in the crisp autumn air contentedly.

He could stay like this forever. He had the time, after all.

#how do i tag this uh #eden writes!#yep good enough

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bang-to-the-tan · 5 years ago

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Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 5

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischievous Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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Cleaning the pond with Jin isn’t exactly what you’d call easy or fun, but it’s good, honest work. You wade through the edges of the pond collecting trash, sleeves pushed up on your arms, shoes perched precariously to try and avoid actually stepping in the murky water. You make a mental note to see if there’s anywhere to buy a pair of rubber boots better suited for this kind of job, but for now, you’ll just do your best. You’re helping him pull the weeds trying to claim the underbelly of the bridge, scrubbing at the moss growing there, and even cutting back some of the willow tree’s long tresses with a pair of unwieldy hedge trimmers.

Once your arms start to ache, and you’ve begun to get tired, you suggest stopping for the moment and he agrees readily. A sunny patch of warm grass to the side of the bridge is where you end up taking your rest, sitting comfortably beside each other to survey the work you’ve done so far. It’s looking better—one day and two people haven’t returned the pond to its former glory just yet, but it’s starting to make a difference. As the sunlight heats your skin, the breeze cool while it caresses the water from your sleeves, you’re struck once again by the peace that seems to steep into the very breath of this town. The trees rock gently, murmuring hushed stories into the green-scented breeze, the light and shadows underneath their leaves chasing each other across the grass and glinting off the water. Altogether not an unpleasant way to spend your afternoon.

Jin’s company has been pleasurable the entire time as well—you don’t even realize how much of yourself you’ve been talking about until you have to take a break for something to eat and with your mouth full of sandwich, it’s suddenly quiet.

“Sorry I’ve been talking so much about myself,” you add, swallowing and throwing him a sheepish look. His grin only grows wider.

“Trust me, I’ve enjoyed hearing you talk as much as you seemed to enjoy sharing,” he returns. The sun ahead, hot with the passing of the hours, cradles his hair in a soft halo and lends a gleam to his eyes. As he sits there, bathing in it, even covered in moss stains and dirty water from the ankles down, dark water staining the edges of his rolled sleeves, he looks like a painting. Delicate brush strokes shaping the curve of his face, the slant of his eyes, the petal-softness of his lips. So much in this town is beautiful beyond comprehension, and if anyone was living proof of that fact, it was Jin. He’d give even the possibly-magic swan a run for his money.

“While we’re taking a break…” you say suddenly, remembering the rabbit with a start. “Jin, would you mind looking at something for me?”

“Certainly.”

You fish out your phone, wiping one hand absentmindedly on your pants, flicking with your thumb through to your photos. Your other hand holds the rest of your sandwich aloft, pausing in your consumption in favor of concentrating.

“Okay, so, I...I’ve been running into some of your local wildlife. And I’ve had a couple people tell me that they’re these spirits, right?”

“Keprys,” he puts in, clarifying.

“Yeah, that’s them. Um...I was just wondering...you’ve lived here a while, you said?”

He watches your eyes, blinking once, waiting patiently for your point. “Yes, I have.”

“Would you recognize one? If you saw it?”

“Yes.”

You nod once and reach out to hold the photo of the rabbit towards him, scrutinizing his face anxiously for any sign that he’ll make fun of you for believing in children’s stories.

“Okay, so what about this one?”

Hopefully, he won’t think you’re crazy. Or at least, he won’t be mean about it. Surely, he can’t throw you out of his company over something as silly as local folklore. Not when you’ve just spent an entire afternoon helping him clean his pond. But instead, he immediately bursts into bright, sparkling laughter.

“That’s Jungkook.” he says. “I’m surprised you managed to catch a photograph of him. He’s very quick on his feet and incredibly shy.” He takes your phone from you gingerly, inspecting the picture with a cautious touch. Instead of pinching or tapping the screen, he only tilts it side to side in his hand as if to appraise it better from different angles. You wonder if he sees the legs, but if he does, he makes no mention of it. You decide you won’t bring it up.

“Jungkook.” you repeat. “Is he...I mean, is he one of them?”

Jin’s smile reappears, and he cocks his head. “Is Jungkook a kepry, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” He cranes to offer your phone back, pressing it in your palm with a touch that you swear lingers for a half second longer than necessary before it retracts. “Jungkook is a kepry.”

“The librarian said that keprys would be attracted to this totem I got for helping another one,” you add, hesitant. “And I feel like he—Jungkook?—I feel like he’s been following me ever since. It’s kind of like—” Jin’s head whips around in shock, eyes wide.

“Librarian?” He echoes, cutting you off. “You saw Namjoon?”

Your nose scrunches with curiosity. “Is that his name? Purple haired guy? Likes to be really vague? Hangs out in the ivy-covered library?”

“That’s him. That’s Namjoon.” Something curls in Jin’s eyes, furrows his brows momentarily. His voice goes soft, and he shifts, plucking at his trouser leg with an absent air. “How...How is he?”

You stare at him, intrigued by the change in atmosphere. “He’s...fine, I guess?”

“I don’t see much of him. That’s all.” He explains hurriedly, though you can tell he’s sitting on legitimate concern, biting back more questions.

You can understand that. Working too hard, not getting out enough with your friends. That used to be you, before coming here. You can’t imagine being cooped up all the time in a place like this. Your smile is wry, but comforting, you hope. “He doesn’t get out much, huh?”

“No. He doesn’t.”

You pause. “What about that festival that’s coming up?”

“Spirit Lights?” he seems taken faintly aback. “What about it?”

“Can’t you see him then? The lady at the convenience store made it sound like a holiday. Doesn’t he get the day off or something?”

“Or something.” Jin snorts, staring at some indeterminate space near the pond. He blinks, hard. “We always see each other during Spirit Lights. It’s just...It only comes every so often. You know? I worry.”

“I get that.”

“What else...did Namjoon say to you?”

“There’s a book about keprys that apparently could be really useful for dealing with them, but he won’t give it to me.”

“It can be a very dangerous book.” His tone has become serious, and his gaze into space hardens, dark brows creasing. “He wouldn’t lend it to just anyone.”

“He said I need something of value for it. He wouldn’t take my money.”

“Very few people in this town barter for money.”

“What would you give him?”

Jin turns to look at you again, a sideways grin on his lips, his eyes curving with amusement. “Me?”

“Yeah, what would you barter for a ‘very dangerous book’?”

He sits there for a moment, his expression frozen in a mixture of disbelief and humor, before it breaks with a bark of a laugh, his head dropping.

“‘Something of value’,” he repeats. “Well, it would have to be something close to my heart. Something of my past, maybe. A fragment of who I am, who I was, who I could have been.”

“That’s really specific.”

“I’ve been here a while. I know a lot about how these deals work. It would have to be the one thing I have that means that much to me.”

You muse over his words, finishing your sandwich thoughtfully. Suddenly, an idea occurs to you with a flash of inspiration. “Maybe there’s some old keepsake at the house that fits that description? In the shed, maybe?”

He shrugs, pouting, but his eyes glint. “It’s worth a look.”

You stretch your legs out with a luxurious, assenting sigh, eyeing the fluffy clouds drifting ahead. You balk when you realize that the sky is already threatening to cool, the sun beginning to hide her face in the treetops.

“Oh, man, it’s later than I thought it was. I should really be getting home.”

“Should you?...” Jin echoes. You can feel the hesitance in his frown, though he smothers it quickly and stands up gracefully, offering you a hand. When you take it, you feel a thrill race through your skin, dancing up your spine, setting your body aglow as it travels. This time, he definitely lingers, long fingers curled around your palm.

“Thank you.” He says after a beat. “For your help. I’ll be over tomorrow to help with your...shed, was it?”

“It was.” You reply. “I’m at the house on the hill. The one in front of the forest, with the iron fence.”

His face lights up in recognition, his eyes suddenly searching yours with something like shock. “The house on the hill.”

“...yes?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” He hesitates. “I...I knew of your grandmother. We only met once, but I heard about her from the others. I didn’t realize it was...it was her who...that you lost. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure him with a soft smile. He lets go of your hand and you fight against the vague disappointment taking place of his warmth. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Jin watches you peculiarly. “...you’re taking care of Taehyung, then?” he adds after an awkward beat.

“The dog?” you blink, surprised. “Yeah. I mean, sometimes. I don’t know, he just started following me around. He really, really didn’t like the swan we saw up here this morning, and he almost ate the gardener.”

He nods. “He...sometimes gets frustrated. But if he’s protecting you, then it makes sense.”

You laugh at that. “Protecting me. Yeah, from swans and gardeners. And rabbits. Jungkook.”

“He really does have your best interest in mind. Please don’t be too hard on him.”

The breeze kicks up just then, sending his hair waving gently across his face, bent in a serious frown. You stand transfixed, utterly bewitched, by his eyes. The bright sunlight glances off the brown depths, lit like lanterns against a mild summer’s night. Weariness lives there. An old soul, tired and heavy, but sincere. Your breath catches in your throat, but you manage to nod, feeling quite suddenly as though you’ve been entrusted some kind of weighty responsibility. He smiles, and again your heart twists in your throat, just as when you met.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow? Right?”

“Right.”

Like one wandering inside of a dream, you make your way down the path towards home, mind swimming against the pull of a tide that seems to lead back to the pond, back to Jin. Please don’t be too hard on him. What a weird thing to say about a dog. But it’s not like you’re gonna leave him alone to go wild and bite everything you come across. He’s not even really your dog! Everyone you’ve met seems to have decided that he’s your problem now. Even you are having a hard time keeping the inherent strangeness of his affection in mind.

You just hope Jungkook is okay...you aren’t convinced that he means you any harm. Despite what the librarian—Namjoon, apparently—seems to think about keprys, you can’t imagine such a sweet bunny machinating anything beyond harmless. He probably just wanted to see the cat’s totem up close or something.

You reach the mouth of the walkway, just by the sign, and pull up short when you realize there’s a young man perched atop the sign, sitting comfortably, a mischievous if shy grin pulling at his plush lips as he watches you emerge from the trees.

“Hi,” you greet, taken by vague surprise to see him but remembering your manners in the nick of time.

He shifts, tugging absently at the fluffy blue jacket hood he has pulled over his pink hair, his grin growing wider, pushing his eyes into crescents.

“Hi,” he echoes, the end of his voice pitching almost into a giggle. “Hanging out with Jin?”

Your first knee-jerk reaction is to be distrustful of him, to hear a stranger so immediately know your business, but after a moment of bristling it occurs to you that everyone in this small town has to know each other. He must be a local, then, familiar with Jin. You relax into something more congenial. “Yeah. I’m helping him with the pond. Cleaning it and stuff.”

He hums in mild understanding, nodding, casting his glance to the side. His leg bounces atop the sign a couple times. Though his face is sweet, his voice high, and the pastels of his outfit speak to an almost childlike gentleness, there’s a sharp gleam in his eyes when he looks back to you, smirking.

“Not getting lost in the woods?” he says, playful.

“Lost? Well...maybe once.” you admit with a small laugh. “But it’s alright. I got out in the end.”

“All by yourself?” His face freezes, smile fading slightly at the corners. He searches your eyes as he stares.

“No, I , uh…” you chuckle, awkward. “I followed this cute little bird out. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear that’s what happened.”

His friendly manner returns in full force before you even realize it was dissipating, his grin turning radiant, clutching adorably at the sides of his hood with a saccharine giggle. He’s blushing, his cheeks pushed up and together by his small hands.

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” he replies in a reassuring tone through chuckles.

“No?”

He shakes his head, sending bubblegum-colored strands dancing with the movement.

“I guess there’s a lot of odd stuff that happens in this town.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

You hum in agreement and crane around him, peering at the road, and seeing no cars, you decide to throw him a passing wave and friendly smile. “Well, I should get going. It was nice to meet you…?”

“Nice to see you again,” he interrupts cheerfully. “Ah, you probably should be getting home before dark. Wouldn’t want the spirits to get you.”

You think of Jungkook and snort as you turn, beginning to cross the street. “Thanks, but I think I’m alright.”

“And be careful around Jin.”

His tone has dropped. You swivel on your heel when you reach the other side of the road, throwing him a peculiar look. His smile hasn’t disappeared completely, instead quarantined to the edges of his lips, turning wry. It’s almost calculating, the way he watches you.

“...Why?...”

His eyes widen innocently, brows lifting into his hair. “You can’t just bargain with everyone you meet. It’s dangerous. Who knows what you’ll agree to?”

A scoff leaves your mouth, and you shake your head, turning away to hide the flash of indignation that courses through you for a half-second. You’re sure he’s only trying to be helpful, but it’s really none of his business. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He laughs again. The sound is like a brook in summer—light, bubbly. “Don’t misunderstand; you’re already in debt. I just don’t want him to get in the way.”

You look to him in confusion and disbelief, but are met with only an old sign and an empty crossroads. Swiftly, you spin, casting your scrutinizing gaze about the trees, the road, but there’s no evidence that the soft-looking man ever even existed.

Talking to yourself? You don’t think you could have imagined up an entire person like that. No, he must have just taken that split second and run away. What a weirdo. Never mind the animals, it’s the locals that sometimes behave the most oddly. Must be something in the water. If you stay here long enough, are you going to start disappearing when people turn their backs?

Why not, you think to yourself. If only to get your own back a little, maybe.

By the time you start climbing the hill to the house, it’s just beginning to really settle into evening, the air cooling and the sun casting warm rays everywhere, sharpened to individual shards of light through the trees. You can see the house, the iron gate, the beginnings of the garden within, and a small shape, pacing frantically up and down by the gate. Taehyung notices you long before his form registers properly in your mind, and before you can even really react, he’s torn down the stone-marked path towards you, small legs flying out under him in his haste to reach you, gravity threatening to pull him head over heels. He’s yapping as he barrels over, skidding from the sheer force of his sprint, his sweet voice pulled taut into what you can only describe as breathless worry and desperation. You murmur soothingly, rolling your eyes as you stoop to pet him, but he’s jittery on his tiny paws, incapable of sitting still, whining and huffing, hoarse as he blinks up at you and attempts to press as much of himself against you as physically possible.

“Now, really,” you chastise under your breath, shifting the bags on your shoulder to bend closer, trying to thread your fingers through his soft fur in a reassuring kind of way. “Now, honestly. Taehyung. You don’t get to act like this when you’re the one who left me, remember?”

He makes an impossibly distraught noise, turning balefully into a long howl, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound. He sounds like his heart is breaking, throwing his head back and crying of all the injustice in the world. To hear him, you’d think he was dying.

“Okay, pup, okay,” you interrupt his lament, stroking his face, around his ears. “I hear you. It’s alright. I’m okay, I promise.”

You straighten, walking towards the gate, and he immediately makes a beeline for your ankles, keeping in pace with your strides as though leaving your side would physically wound him. When you reach for the iron, he starts making this huffing, sobbing noise that even as ridiculous as it is, tugs at your heartstrings. You hesitate, curling your palm around the gate. He was here this morning. You doubt he went anywhere last night. Besides, you let the cat stay the night—where would be the fairness in disallowing your new companion, especially when he seems so incredibly upset at the thought of leaving you behind again?

You think again of Jin’s words.

A small dog so famous that everyone who meets you immediately knows his name has to be an upstanding member of the community, you continue to reason with yourself. He’s well-groomed, shiny-eyed, and obviously clean. If his owners don’t mind him wandering the town all the time, then surely they won’t miss him one night?

You interrupt his pitiful snuffling in a quiet tone. “What do you think, Taehyung? Just one night?”

He immediately goes silent. When you look to him, his ears have perked up, head cocking to the side. As you watch, his ears flick, back, then front again. A shuddering sigh escapes his small snout as he bores holes in your eyes with his round, slightly-crossed ones.

“Just the one.” you reiterate. “As a thank you. For trying to protect me.”

His fluffy tail wags, once. Twice. Hesitant, he leans back on his haunches to place a delicate paw just below your knee. His tail starts up again, beginning in earnest now.

“You wanna spend the night with me? Hmm?”

His ears go flat and he whines, low.

“Alright. Come on.” You unlatch the gate, pushing it open and stepping inside. When you turn to glance at Taehyung, he hasn’t moved, stock-still where you left his side. You blink at him, curious. “You can come in,” you say, and he immediately skips over to you, tail breaking the sound barrier with how it furiously wags, a bounce in his step, but such deep, quiet adoration in his eyes, you wonder again why this dog is following you around so much. You close the gate between the both of you, leading Taehyung into the house.

He is adamant on staying by you, though occasionally he sniffs at the air, the floor, snuffling like he’s hunting some scent. At one point, he noses violently at the radiator where the cat had slept, tail pausing in its waving as his mind diverts all energy to thinking.

“Was there a kitty cat there, Taehyung?” you ask him in a high pitch as you set the bags on the kitchen table, craning to peer at him from beyond the door frame. He sneezes, huffing a small, unimpressed bark at the radiator, before looking back up at you.

When you take a shower, he lays patiently in front of the bathroom door. You almost knock him over with it when you step out with a towel wrapped about your body, but he’s just as happy to see you as ever, casting a glance up at you and wagging his tail. You hesitate, peering back at him. Do you change with him in the room?...Your lips quirk.

Finally, you decide to leave him outside the bedroom door while you put your pajamas on. It’s just too weird. He isn’t really your dog, and besides, with all this talk about keprys and spirits...best not to take any chances anyways. When you open the door, he’s sitting patiently in the hall, tail thumping against the floor to greet you again as if for the first time. While you mill about the kitchen, putting together a quick evening meal, he follows you, though he’s so much more relaxed inside the house and so much quieter.

You slip him a dog treat from your bag as an afterthought. He sniffs at it, but doesn’t eat it, electing instead to prop himself against your chair when you sit down with a leftover sandwich from the store. Jin’s sandwich. You realize with a bit of shock that he never ate it, or did you even offer? Embarrassment flushes your face, but if he’d been hungry he could have just as easily said so. You’ll be sure to be a better host tomorrow, while he helps you with the shed.

“Are you gonna bite Jin when he comes over tomorrow?” You ask Taehyung absentmindedly, throwing him a glance underneath the table. He sniffs in reply. “You can’t. You have to leave him alone. He’s a nice guy.”

He doesn’t seem too convinced, but lays his head on his paws with a quiet snuffle. He perks up when you get up to wash the dishes, moving to sit by you on the placemat. It’s dark now, the yellowed lights in the house lending an almost dreamlike quality to the spaces, chasing the shadows into the corners of the room, and when you crane your head out the window, you can see the twinkling of so many stars in the velvety sky. You briefly consider spending some time stargazing, but eventually decide against it. You need to be up nice and early again, if only to make sure you don’t make Jin wait. How embarrassing would that be?

Taehyung trails you silently to the bedroom, and for a half second you consider turning him out, making him sleep by the radiator, but there’s something so familiar, so comforting, to watch him standing by the bed expectantly, waving his tail when you look down at him.

“Come on, up you go,” you say, and before you’ve even finished speaking, he’s hopped upwards, alighting on the covers with a grace you didn’t expect. He waits as you turn the light off and sink into the bed yourself before he begins tapping cautiously over in your direction. You can feel the change in pressure on the sheets as he walks, feeling for the bed underneath like he’s actively avoiding stepping on you. For a moment, you’re afraid he might start licking your face once he gets close, but he only bumps against your nose with his small snout, before turning and situating himself at your chest, snuggling into you. He’s so hot against you, so soft and warm, you can’t help but curve one hand into his fur, cuddling up with him as he sighs, bone-deep. The gentle smell of honey and warm sunshine emanates from him, light and sweet. For a second, you’re afraid you might not get to sleep—when was the last time you slept with a stranger’s dog in your bed, after all?—but he immediately slacks into deep, contented breaths and the sensation is so calming you’re drifting before you can even worry too much about it. Again, the spark of familiarity occurs to you and you curl closer to him, stroking at his fur lazily.

“Night, Taetae,” you hum, unaware that you’re even saying it until it’s left your lips as a mumble. Just before you fall into the void of sleep, you imagine he whines quietly in the dark.

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#stray cat strut #bts fanfic #bts faerie au #bts fluff #bts x reader #first post from new computer! woooooooooo~~

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enigmainvestigations · 4 years ago

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Character list

This is going to be a brief breakdown of Ed’s relationships with the other characters in Gotham mostly from his Riddler days. This is from his perspective, theirs are mostly still open (besides the ones that I explain here). Also, these relations can change over time which many of them will. Please note- This list is for those who are curious, and for writers who might need some inspiration in the case a character comes up in their writing and they get stuck. You don’t have to reference this, these are just my current ideas on these character relations.

Heroes:

Batman- HATE. I’ve gone over this already in his bio, but I’ll use this to explain some things from Batman’s perspective. At first Batman saw Ed as someone unable to control their compulsive behavior, and thought Eddie just needed some intervention. However, as the years went by and he began to be the focus of Ed’s schemes he started to see him as a cunning, intelligent, and very dangerous criminal. Especially when it became clear to him that Ed had no regard for others, and Ed’s plans regularly put other’s lives and well being at risk. He knows that Ed’s intelligence and his ability to process and retain knowledge is extremely high, and he worries that Ed’s intellect might surpass his at some point. Ed’s motives were always rather simplistic even if his methods weren’t, but Batman saw his potential and believed if Ed truly applied himself he could become much too dangerous. Because of this he handled Eddie very specifically. He would normally take on the Riddler on his own in hopes of controlling their interactions, and keep himself as the main focus of Ed’s ire. Nightwing- Greatly dislikes. From his time as Robin being a bratty teen with a smart mouth, Ed sees him as an annoyance despite only having brief encounters with him through the years. Oracle- Ed has no idea Oracle is the previous Batgirl, but he REALLY dislikes her. Since Batman doesn’t really control Batgirl he’s had more interactions with her than the Robins. He’s been on the receiving end of too many of her beastmode attacks to have anything but negative feelings toward her. Jason Todd- **I haven’t decided if this is post, pre, or if the Red Hood arc is going to play out like the canon* Robin (Tim)- Ed doesn’t like any of the Robins, but he does have a very slight respect for Tim. He’s had much more interactions with him than the previous two, and he knows that he’s smart and capable. He certainly keeps his guard up around him, and chooses his words wisely so not to divulge too information. Batgirl (Steph)- Dislikes, but doesn’t take her too seriously.

Batgirl (Cass)- Dislikes. Only in his brief interactions with her, he really doesn’t like her. The reasons should be obvious.

Alfred Pennyworth- None

Jim Gordon- This one is a bit complicated. When Ed worked for the GCPD he had very few interactions with Jim, but the two were cordial. When Ed became The Riddler Jim felt betrayed since he used a lot of information he’d complied while working at the department. Over the years though Jim began to see Ed as someone who couldn’t control himself and was suffering with mental issues. He took the stance of treating Ed the way he treated him, but tries not to get him too riled up. He figured out that if he treated Ed with respect then Ed tended to behave and not get too excitable. On the other hand, Eddie actually likes interacting with Jim. He finds him quite entertaining, and likes watching Jim try to hold his tongue in his presence.

Renee Montoya- Complicated as well. When Ed worked for the GCPD Renee found him to be very odd, and he gave her the creeps though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. When Ed became The Riddler she also felt betrayed, but she was much more confrontational with her anger toward him than Jim. Through time she also began to see Eddie the same way as Gordon, but she finds it hard to control her distaste toward him. The fact that he can escape handcuffs, and any cell they put him in makes her very nervous around him whenever he’s in custody. Eddie tends to find her outbursts rather funny, and usually would try to get on her nerves whenever he was bored when around her. Renee was rarely the main focus of his attention, but when she was he would be quite rude to her in hopes of getting her riled up. Harvey Bullock- Also complicated. Same situation as the other two, but Harvey actually liked Ed a bit when he worked at the department. He found his snide comments to be very humorous, as long as they were directed toward someone else. He also felt betrayed, but Harvey personally suffered more from Ed’s betrayal. Since then he has a deep disdain toward Ed, and feels zero sympathy or understanding for him. He’s very open about his anger with Eddie, and would often berate him whenever he was in custody. Eddie however loves interacting with Bullock. He finds Harvey’s anger very entertaining, and typically focuses on baiting him into an outburst. He’s used these situations multiple times as a distraction to escape custody.

Villains:

Bane- They haven’t had much interaction, but anyone who breaks the Bat Ed is going to like at least a little bit. Black Mask- Good. Ignoring Roman’s trigger happy temper, Ed tends to find him easy to work with since Roman’s motives are relatively simple. Clayface- Good. He’s hired Basil on a few occasions and found him pretty easy to work with. Catwoman- Dislikes, despite the two not having any real confrontations. The two are respectful to each other, but Selina thinks outside the box too much for Ed’s liking. She’s also better at certain skills than he is, which really messes with his ego since he doesn’t trust her. Long and short of it is- Selina makes Ed feel inadequate so he avoids her, but he’s not stupid so he doesn’t piss her off. Harley Quinn- As The Riddler Ed found Harley to be an annoyance, and couldn’t understand why Joker wouldn’t just kill her. He viewed her as unintelligent, and a waste of time. He generally treated her like he would a child, which sometimes worked and other times Harley found patronizing. *By the time Ed quits his criminal career however, him and Harley have an odd relationship. They’ve survived some very close calls, and even though he still finds her annoying he seems to accept her presence around him even though he tends to ignore most of what she says. Their chumminess is odd, and quite suspicious to everyone else in the city. Hush-**I haven’t decided if this is post Hush, pre Hush, or if Hush plays out like the canon or not**

The Joker- Ed is one of the few people who can be around Joker repeatedly without getting killed. He made the mistake of teaming up with Joker once, and quickly learned his lesson never to do it again. After that he figured out how to deal with Joker, and kept him at arms length. He has The Joker mostly figured out, and doesn’t find interactions with him to be as unpredictable as others do. He also likes that whenever Joker comes to him needing something silly for one of his plans, he can charge him ridiculously high prices and Joker will pay without a second thought. His reputation of dealing with Joker is a bit of an ego boost for him, thinking he’s learned how to manipulate him. The reality is though, Joker doesn’t kill him simply because he finds Ed’s sensitive ego and his self destructive behavior hilarious. Killer Croc- Eddie thinks they’re alright, but they’re really not.

Mad Hatter- They’re alright. Ed can’t be around Jervis for too long because his fantastical ramblings get on his nerves, but he tends to play along with Jervis’ delusions enough that Jervis thinks he understands. Because of this Ed finds him easy to influence. He has little interest in Jervis, but his mind control tech is something Ed’s always been trying to get his hands on. Unfortunately for him, currently Jervis is unwilling to fully share it.

Mr. Freeze- Its really 50/50 with these two. Even though Ed sees Victor as an easy way to make some money, or someone to have do some dirty work for him if need be, he also finds Victor’s anger to be exhausting to deal with. He knows Victor doesn’t like him and only really uses him for his own objectives, but Victor also makes their interactions quiet rocky. Ed will work with him if the opportunity arises, but he’ll keep their business brief. The Penguin- Good. The two of them have very similar skills at persuasion, manipulation, and deception. They practically do a constant dance of give and take with each other, to the point that now they both see the other as a valuable resource. Since they both dabble in similar assets the two have found its easier to work together than to be competition, which has really made them both more successful in the long run. From Ed’s perspective this is a battle of intelligence, but he has recognized that Os is aware of it and surprisingly isn’t put off by it like others are. He respects Os’s boundaries, and finds business with him to be smooth sailing. Os has a good level of respect for Ed. Not only because of his intelligence, and reliability, but also that Ed is smart enough to never fully trust Os. He’s used to being underestimated by people, and Ed’s unwillingness to divulge too much is a level of cunning he admires. *Os is not happy about Ed’s “career” change. He doesn’t believe Ed has turned over a new leaf, but his sudden switch makes him very uneasy. He has people watching Eddie very closely. Poison Ivy- Not at all good. Ed made the mistake of underestimating Ivy early on, giving her the opportunity to see him as the manipulative jerk he really was. She hasn’t trusted him since, and he usually has to avoid her in order to not get crushed by her plants. Ra’s al Ghul- None. **I currently really want to keep the Gotham criminals in the dark about the League** Scarecrow- Dislike. Considering that Crane is an actual intellectual and a genius, Ed does not like interacting with him. He isn’t outwardly hostile toward Crane, but he definitely avoids him whenever he can. Crane’s intelligence really messes with Ed’s ego. Mix that with Crane’s creepy nature, and his constant psychological analyzing, he usually makes Ed feel like an inferior child. He’s also a bit scared of him and that fear toxin. Two-Face- Also 50/50 with them (I didn’t do that on purpose). Having to interact with two people in one body with two separate motivations can be quite stressful for Ed, but at the same time he enjoys the game. Harvey isn’t as easy for him to manipulate as he can with others, and he’s had a few close calls with Harvey where he pushed things too far. This seems to have fueled his interest in the game more, rather than deter him.

#text post #Eddie post #Edward Nigma #character post #character list

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crestomanci · 3 years ago

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Synopsis

“The Lost Princess” follows the story of Nick Sullivan, a girl that finds out, on her sixteenth birthday, that she is the daughter of a queen and is summoned to ascend to the throne as the princess of Combellmont island. She initiates, then, a difficult and dangerous journey that could put not only her life at risk as everyone’s she loves.

Chapter 1

What do I know about my mom? What a tough question. Besides all the biological processes I’ve learned in school, like genetics and stuff, I only know some physical characteristics: she was tall, the prettiest lady my father has ever known, and she smelled like mint. And that’s all I know because whenever I talked about her, my father always was already drunk and I needed to help him out and take him from his armchair to his bed.

I’ve never tried to pressure him in order to get information, though, since he always looked so ashamed of himself the next morning and I didn’t want to make him feel sad… Or make me sad. After all, the feelings I’ve grown towards my mom were migrating between sadness and anger. How could someone leave their child with some guy she’d only met once and then never tries to keep in touch? Okay, I was lucky enough that my dad was a cool guy and took me in, but this doesn’t make her less guilty at all.

I wonder if she ever wanted to know where her daughter could be for these past 15 years. If she has ever asked herself if I was okay, if I went to school, if my dad treated me nicely… Nothing? Then, after a while, I started to believe that she never loved me. That I was a mistake she made during a U2 concert after tons of beer and that I didn’t matter to her.

I got up from my bed and decided not to think about her. The less I knew, the less it would hurt, and today I was supposed to be happy, right? Because it was my sixteenth birthday. “Happy Birthday, Nick”, I said to myself. My dad was surely still asleep and I would only see him at night.

“Oh, crap!” twenty minutes late meant that I was late to school and this would be my third time this month. I ran as fast as I could and was able to catch the bus. Luckly, the driver was George and he always stopped for me, even when I was running late.

“Andy again, Nick?” he asked.

I nodded, not wanting to talk about it. Third delay of the month… This would make me stay in school after class and then I would be late for work at Tiffany&Thommy, which would not please Miss Picket. Will “I’m so so sorry, but today is my birthday and everything is nuts” work as an excuse? No. Everyone in town knew me and my dad, so it was known that whenever I was late it was because of him.

George offered me a little red box with a white bow wrapping it around and a tiny card. “Hey, you didn’t think I'd forget, did you?”

“George, you shouldn’t have! Thanks” I thanked and my cheeks turned red while I was getting the present, in a mist of hurry and happiness (after all, I was already late and he had taken his time to hand in the present despite knowing everyone was waiting to carry on the trip!).

“That’s nothing, Nick. Tomorrow, tell me if you liked it. Have a great day and a happy birthday!”

I thanked again while I started to look for a seat. The real bus to Abeley High School was deactivated because no one used it. Most of the students didn’t need to use public transportation since they had their own cars or chauffeurs, and so every single day I had to take the only bus that drove all the way to my school, when, in reality, it dropped me off two blocks away. After spending a whole life in Abeley, I was already used to it, but I wished - as if I was about to blow my birthday cake candles - this year I’d get a car. Or that at least my dad would accept that I should start to study at the school he now works at.

I got up when we were getting closer to the stop and hurried up while going down the stairs, and ran to school.

Yeah, I was definitely late. And obviously I had to face Mr. William, after going to the principal’s office. I smiled bluntly, and then tried to sneak into his class.

“Oh, Nicolle! I can’t believe someone hasn’t given you a clock yet. I mean, we have been starting the classes at the same time since 1864, and yet…”

I heard my entire class smothering a laughter as I gave Mr. William the piece of paper that allowed me to take his class, which was prior given to me by the principal, and, then, I went to my desk.

Today’s history class was about smaller islands and countries all over the world. Internally, I kept telling myself that there was no use to learning all of that, once we lived in a small city closer to New York, so that subject should have been self-explanatory to us and, even though Abeley should be a school for rich people, the greatest part of us, including me, would never travel abroad. Like ever. Let alone stepping on a small island somewhere that was probably built to make money from tourists. Whatever. Mr. William had already had his moment of glory today and I didn’t need a lecture anyways, so I decided to loosen my hair and put on my earphones again, as I kept pretending that I was paying attention.

Everyone’s goal in Abeley was to get into an Ivy League and, for the unlucky ones like me, the ultimate goal was to get a scholarship or a way out of this town. It felt weird not knowing what to do or what I’d like to become, but when people ask me about what I would like to be when I grow up, I used to lie and say I’d like to become a lawyer. Knowing my dad’s behavior, it would make total sense and that was enough to get me out of that subject during conversations, after being told that I should “hang in there” in order to become what I used to say.

The truth was that it would be enough if I turned eighteen and convinced my father that we should leave this town or state. To build a new life in which we weren’t pity case or a subject to gossip spreaders.

Tiffany&Thommy was a library and bookstore two blocks away from my school. It used to be owned by two brothers who have lived here since the city was founded, and I was a part-timer there. After Mr. Thommy Picket’s death, his sister needed help and I offered myself, as I needed money because my dad’s salary as a Spanish teacher was not something we could brag about.

I apologized for being late to Miss Picket and she (with her always pleasing humor) told me to find my computer and sit down before her nephew could find the cash register and steal everything they’ve made so far, like he did last month,

“Good evening, Nick. Are you early again?” I hear Rupert saying with his annoying British accent. He was sitting on my chair, staring at me with his weird brown eyes and dark hair.

“Yes, Rupert. And thank you for keeping my seat warm. Now you can go.” The best solution with him was to use irony and sarcasm. After all, wanting or not, he was the future owner of that store and his aunt wasn’t looking that good anyway.

“I don’t know why my aunt keeps you here. Or why did she hire you in the first place.”

“Your aunt knows me since I was born, we live in the same neighborhood and she trusts me.” I was as rough as possible and then started to browse through the record book on the decrepit computer.

He kept there, looking at what I was doing, as he was laying on the counter. I waited until he left for five minutes, but I was never known for my patience.

“So? Do you want a book or something?” I asked, trying to smile.

“Not really.” he replied and kept staring at me. Then, he nodded and left.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down, while I watched him leave.

On my way home, I decided to open the present given by George when I was already on the bus. It was a little pendant shaped like a heart. Those in which you can put a picture on both sides. I loved it. I’m going to choose a picture of me and my dad, I thought as I got off the bus.

The weather was terrible as always and the fog made me put on my hood. When I was close to my building, I saw a man wearing a suit leaving and getting in a luxury black car that was parked on the other side of the street. I had no idea someone in town had something to do with the White House, I thought, trying not to laugh as I passed by the lobby.

The elevator was, once again, being fixed and it would take at least forty-eight hours return, so I went up the stairs hearing some of my neighbors complaining about the elevator like that would fix it faster.

After finding my keys, I saw my dad sitting on his armchair that, this time, was facing the door. He looked more tired and sadder than usual and was holding a letter.

“Dad?” I called, leaving my backpack in the hall and getting closer to him.

“Oh, Nick, you’re here” he answered and I could see that his eyes looked swollen and red. He has cried. I sighed and looked at the table, but I didn’t see any beer bottles there.

“What happened?”

“I need to talk to you. And I ordered pizza, so you don’t need to cook today. Change your clothes and take a bath, I know you must be tired.”

“That’s okay, dad. I’m fine” I claimed, feeling a little bit afraid.

He didn’t say anything else, just stood up and went to his room. I kept staring at him while he closed the door.

Ordering pizza on my birthday was almost a habit, but the conversation part… I started to bite my upper lip and picked up my backpack on the floor, but refused to take a bath. I felt nervous and anxious and waited to hear if his bedroom door would open so that I could leave mine.

When I left, he was in the living room. He had opened and served himself with a pizza slice and soda. He looked a little better as he smiled, so I sat down.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.” It was all he said, giving me a sad smile. We started to eat after that.

After I finished, I felt like something bad was about to happen and I realized he was looking at me, God knows for how long, and that the letter he was previously holding was still there, in his hand. I stopped and looked at him, wanting to know for how long he would stare without saying anything.

A couple minutes had passed, but it felt like an eternity to me. Then, he finally started:

“Nick, did I talk about your mom yesterday?”

I took a deep breath and felt a little bit relieved to realize that it wasn’t something that important after all. I was used to that kind of conversation, even though it made me sad, since he usually stood up for her in the end.

“Yes, dad, but just the usual, you know, blond, tall, smelled like mint” I remembered while I was taking my dish and got up.

“Nicolle, sit down, please” he stared at me with his blue eyes and it looked like it was an order.

I had no idea what was going on, but if it was serious enough for my dad to boss me around…

“Okay.” I agreed, sitting down again.

He looked like he was trying to control himself so that he could continue his speech.

“Nick, you know your mom handed you in when you were only six months, right?” he asked and I nodded, leaning on the couch. “Child, what I have to say is serious and I need you to handle it until the very end.”

He paused. The pizza I ate started to move around in my stomach, bothering me.

“Your mom didn’t leave you here because she wanted to, but because she needed to keep you away from the place she lived in. She had to leave you here, with me, so that I could take care of you and make you a good person. When I met her, we spent the whole week together. She told me about her world and I realized it wasn’t easy. Our story wasn’t just a concert and a single night, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. Actually, I’m sorry about everything I have to tell you today… You can’t imagine how much it hurts to tell everything like this. But the point is: she loved you, as much as I do love you. And last week, I discovered that unfortunately your mom has passed away.” He told me with every strength he had, even though he let some tears roll down his cheeks, which he cleaned fast. Then, he took a box from the table, one I haven’t seen before, opened it and showed me everything that was inside.

“I thought that it wasn't a good idea to tell you, dear. You always seemed hurt about your mom, but, then, today I received a message and now I have no other choice but to tell you the truth. The man that came here earlier wanted to wait for you, but I begged him to let me speak with you first. I needed to tell you the whole story. You’ve probably already studied about Europe and must know that there are a lot of small countries there. Your mom lived in one of those countries. Actually, your mom ruled one of them. When I met her, she had just received a convocation to claim the throne of Combellmont and, like any 18-year-old girl, she wanted… An adventure before her real life began. Like in the romances she used to read.

“We met when I went to live in New York. She came on a trip, running away from her hotel, and we met in the middle of Central Park. It was love at first sight and we had the best week in the world. Nine days, to be exact, but she always needed to go back and sleep at the hotel, so I left her on the street corner so that the guard that escorted her would be aware of me. Until the last day, when her sister saw and denounced us. She was grounded after that and I got beaten up by her guards. And well, I thought I’d never see her again, so needless to say it was a surprise when she came back, fifteen months later, knocking on my old Brooklyn apartment with you in her arms. She asked me to take care of you, keeping you safe and sound, away from her world. She asked me to give you a normal life until the day she would come back and explain everything. That she would do it once you turned 18… I wished she had time to do that…

“Ever since, I could only watch you grow and kept collecting everything that I saw about her. Her marriage with an ambassador that was twice her age, her coronation as queen, the birth to her first child for the media, the death of her husband and, most recently, her own death, not long after giving birth to her second child. Oh, Nick, I would have loved to tell you all of this at the right time, but it so happens that you need to know it now. This afternoon, your mom’s kingdom counselor came in and brought this letter to you. You see: with her death, it would be pleasing if her oldest royal child ascended to the throne, but she’s only a kid! And as you are, in fact, the oldest of them all… They demand you there for some kind of training. And, being crystal clear: you are obligated to do this, or they will appeal to judicial measures to make you do it anyway. They can even take you by force, Nick.” After hearing all of that, I ran to the bathroom. My head was spinning, my face was wet with sweat and tears, and I wanted to throw up every slice of pizza I ate. My dad didn’t even dare to chase me, he just let me go.

I was overwhelmed, to say the least. My head was exploding with the wave of information I’ve received and I’ve never been so shocked in my entire life. I don’t know how long I’ve stayed there, hiding, puking, crying. I was hugging my knees against my chest, just hearing my heartbeats. How come my life turned upside down in less than one hour? My mom, a queen. Country, children, baby, my dad, kingdom… Those words were spinning in my head and making me dizzy. How come my father hid everything from me? How come my mom found it better that way? And, mainly, what was I supposed to do now? I had no clue how someone could actually obligate me to do something, after all, besides taking care of my father and the house, I’ve never had to lead, or been a leader.

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/romance/748079?utm_source=shared_web

https://www.wattpad.com/story/274223573-the-lost-princess

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev’ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can’t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #playchoices #choices fanfiction #cal lowell #garrus #krom #ivy #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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waterchestnut123 · 5 years ago

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Ch 5 | To Catch A Turtle Dove

Fandom: One Piece Setting: Victorian AU Genre: Action, Adventure, Humor, Friendship, Romance. Pairings: Law/Nami Rating: M - Mature (for language, drinking and alcohol, death and some moderate gore, other adult themes)

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Chapter 5: Grandeur

The carriage trundled smoothly through the thin layer of snow coating the road, lights from the distant castle twinkling in the falling darkness. She was rather quickly nearing the castle, her carriage one of many in a long line of others far finer than her own. With trembling fingers she surreptitiously smoothed the fabric of her pale blue gown as she stared out the window. It was almost show time, and for the first time in years she felt the grip of pre-performance anxiety.

She stared down at the small lump in her lap that was her gloved hands resting beneath her ankle-length fur-trimmed cloak. Her brow furrowed as she focused on her breathing. In—out; in—out. She could do this. She had prepared tirelessly for weeks: memorizing the castle’s first floor layout late into the night with Robin at their small kitchen table; practicing the finer points of the waltz with Sanji on the cleared tavern floor.

Closing her eyes, she reviewed her character and back story once more in her mind, reciting lines like a mantra.

She was Bellemére Devrie—niece to Dorland Devrie, a prominent merchant in the capitol. She was visiting from Goa for the winter—for she had never seen a Flevance winter before and was eager for the experience—when the Lord’s invitation arrived unexpectedly by messenger. Her Uncle and Aunt fell ill just before the ball, but not wishing to deprive her the exceedingly rare opportunity to see Castle Trafalgar in the snow, encouraged her to attend despite their absence. She was a sweet and demure young woman of 20—a tad naive, but eager to see new things and engage in new experiences.

Opening her eyes, she smoothed out her features and allowed herself to slip into character.

She could do this.

All too soon the carriage was pulling up to the gate house, the muffled sound of scuffling feet on snow dusted earth prompting her to turn her attention to the window. A young man with half-moon glasses and messy orange hair sticking out awkwardly from beneath a bowler hat stood beside the carriage door in a crisp wool coat, eying her expectantly.

“Invitation?” he queried automatically, steam puffing from his lips.

Wordlessly she extended her silk gloved hand through the close of her cloak, offering him the envelope through the window. He took it and lifted the invitation from its confines before raising his gaze to eye the interior of the carriage.

“And the rest of your party?”

She smiled softly, willing her heart to slow.

“Fallen ill, I’m afraid,” she said sadly. The man nodded, returning her envelope through the window.

“Welcome to Castle Trafalgar, Miss Devrie. Please enjoy the festivities.”

She nodded as the driver’s reins snapped loudly in the cold, opting to leave the curtain open as the carriage continued on up to the circular drive. That was the first hurdle successfully crossed.

Castle Trafalgar was large and imposing against the fresh dusting of snow which surrounded it. Made of dark stone, four circular turrets marked each corner of the structure, rising four stories above the ground. A line of servants stood at the foot of a short flight of stairs leading up to the castle—a large set of of tall, intricately carved and polished wooden double doors serving as its entrance.

As her carriage pulled up to the front of the castle, she steeled her nerves. Time to put on the performance of a lifetime. She took a breath, slowly releasing it as a servant approached the side of the carriage, pulling the door open with a click and standing rigidly beside it to allow her debarkation.

Putting on an expression of wide-eyed excitement, she hugged her cloak around her shoulders, grabbing her fan and purse from her lap and lifting herself from the cushioned seat, nimbly stepping down from the coach with the aid of a proffered hand from the servant. Her feet hit the cold stone with a muffled click.

She had to suppress her instinct to thank the man—there could be no thank-you’s tonight, at least not to people like him; not if she were to pass as a high class lady. Instead she kept her eyes forward, daintily lifting her skirts as she followed the flow of people into the brightly lit castle where the music of a string orchestra drifted through the open doors.

Ascending the wide stone stairway, she could feel warmth radiating from the interior as she neared the doorway, music and laughter growing louder upon her approach. Stepping over the threshold, she couldn’t help the way her eyes widened in genuine amazement as she took in the magnificent sight of the foyer.

Meticulously crafted wood-paneled walls rose two stories high, a sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling like a work of art. A large, semi-circular staircase rose in grand fashion before her at the opposite end of the large room, burgundy rug running up its length and polished wooden bannister gleaming in the light. A short staircase descended beneath it, leading to a modestly sized parlor with a roaring fireplace at its far end.

Dozens of finely dressed men and women in coats and cloaks and hats milled about the foyer, quite a bit more finely dressed than she. While her bodice was quite lovely—elaborately beaded with small, clear crystal beads in swirling patterns atop pale blue silk, her skirt was plain—pleated and simple with relatively little adornment. She wore simple white silk gloves which came to rest just above her elbows, and had opted to keep her hair simple as well: styling it in a partial updo—hair braided into a bun at the back of her head, with a small selection of tight ringlets falling from it to her shoulders.

Many of the other women present were drowning in flower motifs and lace and bows, with flowers and diamond-studded pins adorning their hair. It was clear that this would be the social outing of the year if not the decade, and most women, it seemed, had dressed accordingly. But the relative modesty of her ensemble suited her purposes just fine. She wanted to fit in with the crowd—which she did, but also to remain as unremarkable—and unremarked upon—as possible.

Before she could fully gather her bearings, still oggling the polished marble floor and magnificent staircase, she was being approached by a finely dressed servant who offered her a polite bow.

“May I take your cloak or purse, madam?”

Nami blinked, shaking off the glittering trance and forcing her attention to the man. Turning, she offered him a soft smile.

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

With cold fingers she pulled back her hood, careful not to disturb her hair which she had spent many tedious hours styling, and untied the large bow at her chest allowing the man to gently pull the cloak from her shoulders. He then slung it neatly over his arm.

“And your name, Miss?”

“Bellemére—Bellemére Devrie.”

“Very good, Miss Devrie. Your items will be available from the coat check when you are ready for them, simply provide your name to one of the staff and they shall be fetched for you. Please enjoy the party.”

He gestured briefly to the far left side of the room—towards a set of open double-doors, inside of which lay row after row of racks filled with coats, hats, purses, and cloaks. A string of attendants stood before it, and Nami watched as the man turned for the room with purposeful strides.

The man failed to indicate where she should go, but her rigorous study of the layout and the steady flow of guests down the center stairway was clear enough suggestion; so she followed, allowing herself to hide within the crowd as she descended into a sparsely furnished parlor, then turned left and up a short flight of stairs into the ballroom foyer, beneath another set of intricate semi-circular stairs, and through yet another set of large double doors into the ballroom.

Her feet traded rich burgundy rugs for smooth parquet and once more she found her feet slowing to a stop, eyes growing large at the sight which greeted her. She knew the Trafalgars were wealthy—all the Lords of every Province were wealthy; but her thefts in the well-to-do districts of the capitol had not prepared her for such lavish grandiosity.

The ceiling rose two stories high, an intricate mural painted upon an inlaid ceiling. Large marble pillars supported a narrow second floor balcony which edged the ballroom, elegant wrought-iron railing topped by a polished wooden bannister. Ten foot tall floor-to-ceiling windows faced the front of the castle on the left side of the ballroom, draped in fine sheer curtains with large arrangements of poinsettias and ivy sitting upon small circular end tables between them. The parquet was smoothly lacquered, its geometric pattern intricate and grand. Delicate crystal chandeliers as large as her bedroom in Robin’s apartment hung at intervals from the ceiling, the flames of tall taper candles flickering against the crystal causing it to sparkle and glitter like diamond.

In the corner to her left, upon a raised wooden dais sat a small string orchestra, elegant music echoing through the massive room as a handful of enthusiastic couples waltzed through the center of the dance floor. A selection of velvet benches and chairs were arrayed in the opposite corner to the musicians on her right, and tables draped in neatly starched white table cloths with elegant poinsettia centerpieces were surrounded by carved high-back wooden chairs, situated in clusters at the far end of the room where two doors opened out onto a balcony.

So this was the kind of wealth power possessed.

She was pulled from her trance by a gentle bump to her shoulder, a young man with a lady on his arm pausing in his stride to turn to her.

“My sincerest apologies, Miss! Did I hurt you?” he inquired with utmost concern, the young lady stopping and turning to her with a gentle smile.

“Ah—no, I’m quite alright,” she recovered quickly, gently shaking her head as she turned to the man and offered a smile. The girl, it seemed, had taken note of Nami’s wide-eyed wondering gaze as she looked to her with a knowing smile and elegant nod of the head.

“It is quite grand, isn’t it? I have always wondered what Castle Trafalgar looked like—and now we have our chance to see!”

“Quite,” Nami agreed, the sentiment genuine.

“I’m Jacqueline, by the way—Jacqueline Daine; and this is my brother Phillip,” she introduced.

The young man reached for her hand, gently lifting it to his face and allowing his lips to linger on her knuckles longer than she knew to be strictly appropriate.

“Charmed to make your acquaintance,” Philip offered with a suave smile. Nami smiled demurely, anxiously waiting for him to release her.

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance as well,” she offered, carefully avoiding giving her name. The less anyone knew about her—false backstory or no, the better. If either of them were bothered by her lack of return they did not show it.

As Phillip released her hand, Jacqueline leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially.

“I am absolutely dying to meet Lord Trafalgar—so few people have ever seen him outside the castle; certainly not since all that fuss 8 years ago with the succession. Rumor has it he is quite handsome!” she shared enthusiastically, “Though… if that is true, I cannot fathom why he is still unmarried.”

“Is he?” Nami inquired with feigned surprise, eyes glancing about subtly, seeking an excuse to depart their company.

“Oh, yes—it’s grown into quite the scandal of late. He turns thirty this spring; can you imagine—thirty and unmarried! How does he expect to carry on his line?”

Though Phillip had seemed for all the world utterly disinterested in his sister’s gossip, this comment pulled him into the conversation.

“Well I, for one, would be quite alright with Lord Trafalgar remaining unmarried and allowing the custodianship of Flevance to transfer to another noble family—ours, for instance,” he added with a touch of humor and a wink in her direction. Jacqueline gently swatted him.

“Hush, Phillip! Don’t let anyone hear you saying such things!” she chastised, spreading the blades of her fan and airing herself lightly as a flush rose to her cheeks.

“Besides,” she commented smoothly, “There is still Lady Lami. It’s always possible he may choose to name her his successor, and we all know how many suitors have thrown themselves at her feet. A husband and children are certainly in her future.”

The ballroom had filled up during her impromptu conversation with Jacqueline and Phillip, and a convenient lull had suddenly appeared in the conversation. While she found the rumors surrounding the Trafalgars of potential aid to her plans tonight, she was not eager to make friends and had other more important things to attend to.

“It was a delight to meet and speak with you both, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself,” she said suddenly, offering them both a demure smile and a curtsy.

Jacqueline looked a bit put out but recovered quickly, Phillip taking her hand once more, bowing.

“It was a delight to meet you. When you are ready for your first dance, I would be quite honored to be your partner,” he commented smoothly, and Nami forced a light laugh from her lips to appear appropriately charmed. Jacqueline simply giggled.

She turned and made her way slowly back the way she had come, through the double doors of the ballroom—but instead of proceeding straight into the parlor she turned and made her way up the stairs to the second floor balcony.

Though occupancy of the ballroom had already grown quite a bit, guests were still arriving and butlers had only just started to move about the floor balancing trays laden with champagne flutes. She had, by her estimate, about a half hour before all the guests had comfortably settled in the ballroom, and another hour before the crowd had grown properly inebriated. That gave her an hour or two to complete phase one of her plan.

Every thief knew never to pickpocket or burgle an alert or wary target; and alert and wary was what these people would be until the ball was in full swing. And once the champagne began to flow and guests were on their second and third drinks, their guard would become significantly lowered; that was when she would begin pocketing goods. But before she could do that, she needed to case her targets first: to familiarize herself with the guests, the stationing of butlers and servants—assess who was flaunting their wealth the most and would make the best marks, and remain as invisible as possible while doing so.

And the relatively empty balcony would serve as an excellent vantage from which to begin.

Slowly, quietly, she walked the circumference of the ballroom, eyes trained on the milling crowd as the room filled to capacity with ladies in voluminous gowns and men in sleek black suits. She could tell even from this distance that almost any gentleman would make an excellent mark. So distracted were they already by the low necklines and alluring lift of the ladies’ bodices, it would be criminally easy to swipe every valuable on their person after a drink or two.

Her eyes darted to the tables at the far end of the room, several of which had a purse or two left behind as women were lead out onto the dance floor. She smiled. The abandoned purses were also on her list.

Satisfied with her initial assessment, as her circuit of the balcony came to an end she descended the steps once more and made for the ballroom floor. Time to analyze her marks up close.

She made her way slowly, methodically, through the finely dressed crowd, eyes darting over each woman’s jewelry, listening carefully to snippets of conversation as she went in the hope it would hint at the various guests’ level of attentiveness.

In a way, it did; for coming from the lips of every lady she passed was constant, endless gossip. It seemed Jacqueline wasn’t the only woman curious about and eager to meet the mysterious Lord Trafalgar.

There was no end of speculation as to the nature of his solitude here at the castle. Some thought him simply inanely private, while others suspected him of illicit activities. There was speculation as to why he was still unmarried when all the rumors suggested he was dashingly handsome. Some claimed he was cruel, others claimed he was uninterested in women—which strangely seemed to excite the ladies further, and yet still others believed he simply did not intend to father children—instead passing succession on to his sister. By the time she made one full loop around the floor she was dizzy with speculation. But she had learned one thing: none of these women would see any of her thefts coming.

Feet beginning to ache in her formal boots, she decided on a brief break, moving towards the long wall and taking a comfortable seat atop a plush velvet bench, spreading her fan to air herself gently as she pretended to watch the dancers, instead tuning her ear to the conversation flowing around. One particular group of young ladies walking by were in the middle of an animated conversation when they stopped near her, huddled together a short distance away and perfectly within earshot.

“I know father would never approve, what with his reputation, but… I intend to win his heart, tonight,” one young woman stated with boastful certainty. The girls around her giggled.

“Oh, how exciting! My cousin, the future Lady of the Province!”

“Have you met him yet?” another asked enthusiastically. The boastful girl frowned.

“No—I haven’t seen him or Lady Lami about,” she said sadly. The other girls looked put-out as well.

“Do you know what he looks like? No one I know has ever met him before.”

“No—I was simply looking for a man wearing a sash in the Lord’s colors.”

Another girl, one who had been quiet throughout much of this exchange, finally spoke up, voice soft. “Do you think… do you think there is any truth to the rumors? About why he is unmarried?”

The boastful girl scoffed. “Of course not! The Lord remains unmarried because he chooses, and no other reason.”

“But… what about the duel? Father says he cut—”

“Uncle wants the custodianship, so of course he believes the rumors,” the boastful girl interrupted with certainty. “But we all know that will never happen—he is fourth in line and simply bitter about the fact.”

The soft-spoken girl sighed quietly, sounding thoroughly defeated. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.

“Of course I’m right,” the boastful girl said gleefully. “I will be the future lady of the province, after all…”

Nami sighed quietly. Gossip, gossip, and more gossip! She had heard quite enough rumors by now—they were starting to repeat themselves. Ignoring her tired feet, she rose from her seat, making to continue on with her scouting from the other side of the room. However as the music from the last set wound to a close, another song did not follow; and by the time she was halfway across the floor she heard a tinkling sound coming from the balcony, and the sudden hush of voices throughout the room. Glancing around she noticed everyone looking up and followed their gazes. As she caught sight of what had everyone’s attention she came to a sudden standstill.

Two people stood at the rounded extrusion from the second floor balcony at the mouth of the staircase: a lovely young woman with light brown hair dressed in an elegant lavender gown who looked to be around Nami’s age; and a tall, handsome man with smoothly combed raven hair and neat sideburns who looked to be about, well, twenty nine. But it was not their striking features nor sharp golden eyes which caught her attention first—no; it was the gold sashes with black trim, and the snowflake shaped pin attached to their shoulders and the snow leopard pendant hanging from their hips.

It was the Lord and Lady Trafalgar—in the flesh.

The Lady offered the crowd a dazzling smile, gently tapping a knife against her champagne flute once more. The lord, however, looked utterly impassive, hands clasped behind his suit jacket. As the crowd began to hush and turn their attention to him, however, his posture suddenly shifted. The cold formality melted away, and in its place was a stern yet friendly authority, speaking in a deep, soothing voice over the crowd.

“Thank you all for making your way through the snow to visit our humble home,” he began with just a hint of a smile. “I hope you are enjoying yourselves. I won’t take up too much of your time. As this gala was my sister’s doing, I shall allow her to formally welcome you to tonight’s festivities.”

He took a small step back then, allowing attention to fall upon the charming, fairer-haired young woman. She lowered her champaign flute, smile wide and glittering like the diamonds which encircled her neck.

“Thank you, Law,” she said fondly before turning to the crowd, “And thank you all for coming! I know we Trafalgars tend to keep to ourselves—and yes, we are aware of the rumors,” she teased with humor, offering the crowd a subtle wink which elicited amused laughter from the guests, “But I assure you that our privacy is merely a matter of circumstance and distance—especially in the winter months when we get snowed in here at the castle.”

With all eyes on the charming Lady of the house, few seemed to notice as Nami did the way in which the Lord’s eyes scanned the crowd with a searching, scrutinizing gaze. Her brow furrowed as she watched him. It was as though he was… looking for something, or suspicious of the crowd as a whole. Odd, though she supposed there was quite a bit of mystery surrounding him if the gossip she had overheard tonight was any indication.

No sooner had her thoughts begun to circle him than his eyes stilled in their sweep, cutting over the crowd to fall directly upon her. For a moment their gazes locked—sharp, piercing golden eyes boring into her own. She felt panic rise within her, her cheeks heating under his scrutiny. Flipping open her fan she quickly rose it to her face, fanning herself as casually as possible while quickly shifting her eyes back to the Lady and hoping the fan would cover at least some of her features. She could feel the burn of his gaze still upon her, but she forced her eyes to remain focused on the Lady. With any luck, he would assume her to be simply another of his admirers, caught starry-eyed gazing.

After several tense moments, she felt the Lord’s eyes leave her, and she let out a relieved breath. Lady Lami was still speaking, and by the time Nami could shift her faculties back to the smiling woman she was finishing her speech.

“It has been far too long since we have had the opportunity to gather and celebrate in the company of Flevance’s most esteemed families; and so in the spirit of maintaining the ties between our houses which have long made this Province great, I decided we were quite overdue a winter gala. So please, enjoy yourselves! Eat, drink, dance, and be merry!”

With a wave of her hand in the direction of the orchestra the music started up again, and polite clapping began to spread throughout the crowd. The Lady offered one more dazzling smile, the Lord returning to her side and offering a charming yet subtly devilish smirk. Beside her, Nami heard several young women swoon.

Never before had she wanted to roll her eyes so badly.

As the Lord and Lady turned for the stairs behind them, young women and young men unsubtly rushed towards the entrance of the ballroom, where the pair would shortly be making their entrance. Nami, however, turned in the opposite direction, heading for the outdoor balcony at the far end of the room. She was loath to stand out in the cold, but the Lord’s eyes on her had unnerved her. Though it was unlikely he knew she was not supposed to be in attendance—especially from such a distance, it nonetheless struck her as wise to spend some time outside of his view until he became so overwhelmed by the mob of enamored young women he forgot her entirely.

As she approached the two sets of double doors, a servant standing in between them reached for a stack of folded knit blankets, offering one to her.

“Would you care for a blanket, madam?”

Nami felt relief flood through her as she accepted the proffered garment and slung it diagonally over her shoulders, wrapping it tightly about her and crossing her arms against her torso. Then, she stepped out into the cold night air, missing the brief but thoughtful glance thrown her way by the Lord from across the room.

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count-yeti · 4 years ago

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$1,250 for a house… what a steal. After I got out of prison, I never thought I’d get any kind of fortune in life again. Getting imprisoned for 3 years for a crime you didn’t commit can make a guy lose his hope in life, but now I felt like my miserable life was starting to look up again. After riding the buses for 4 days, I reached a small town called Millersboro, in the middle of no where in Connecticut.

The town oozed that New England small town feeling, with the town’s square looking straight out of a picture book. It made me like I should be going out to see to hunt whales. Instead, I was hunting for a place to live. I spent half the afternoon walking from the library to the small plot of land just at the edge of the town where the house I was planning on buying was. The house was surrounded by a small thicket of woods, probably only 4 or 5 acres in size.

The house looked just like the pictures showed it: the shutters had all fallen off, the windows were all broken, half of the front door was missing, and the roof sagged over the small porch in front. There was ivy covering much of the sides of the house, and there was a small garden on the east side that had long since become overgrown with weeds and grass.

The listing on the website had said no one had lived in the house since the mid 90s, when the last owners sold it to the bank without any warning and was never seen again. It looked like it had been much, much longer since anyone had lived in the small house.

While I was looking around, a car came rolling down the rough gravel path towards the house. Out of the car got a small, thin man in an ill-fitting, but expensive, looking suit and a magnificent mane of blond hair. He wore stylish sunglasses on his face, and had a very well trimmed beard.

“Ha, I own the boys at the office some money,” the man said with a kind laugh.

“Are you the realtor?” I asked him.

“Am indeed. Mitchell Opel’s the name, what’s yours?” he replied, looking me up and down from behind his dark glasses.

“Josiah Weston, though most people call me Joss,” I answered.

“Right then, Joss! You’re looking to buy this house then, eh? I gotta warn you, the rumours say it’s haunted,” he said in a fake, overly serious voice.

“A house is a house, and unfortunately this is all I can afford,” I sighed.

“Ah, rough times?” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Well then, I wish you luck with your new home, if you’re taking it.”

“I’ll take it,” I answered.

“Excellent! I’ll get the paperwork from my glovebox,” he said in an excited voice.

He brought the paperwork and slapped it on the hood of his car. Though he spoke in a very exaggerated and over the top way, he seemed to be a thorough and serious guy when it came to his work, and it took longer than I expected to get done with the paperwork. In the end, I was left with a run down house and roughly $500 dollars to my name.

“Ah, here’s my card, Joss. Call me if you need anything. And welcome to our town! We’re pleased to have you,” Mitchell said with a big smile as he shook my hand.

“Actually, there is something…” I said.

“Oh, what’s that?” he cocked his head.

“Do you know anyone who might let me borrow their truck so I can drive around looking for garage sales to get some cheap furniture?” I asked.

“Why, I have a truck I’ve been meaning to fix up for years. My wife’s been bugging me to get rid of it. If you’re buying this place, then I imagine you don’t have much to spend, so I’d be willing to let you have it for uh… $25,” he answered with a smile.

“I’ll take it, too. What’s wrong with it?” I said.

“You ask that after you agree to buy it?” he said, a good humored grin on his face as he shook his head. “Anyway, the engine needs some work, and I think that’s about it, really. Might need some other fixes, but it shouldn’t cost you too much to fix it up. I’ll pay for a tow truck to bring it out here for you.”

“That would be awesome, thanks,” I said with a grateful sigh.

“Until then, I don’t mind driving you around to look for some things,” he told me.

“No, I couldn’t impose on you like that, you’re working,” I declined.

“Oh, it’s no big deal! You’re the first person we’ve had in 3 days. Besides, it’s break time,” he pressed further.

“I guess I’ll take you up on that ride,” I accepted.

“Great! Get in! Oh, and here’s the keys to the house, not that they do much good since, well, you saw the front door,” he laughed.

I got in the passenger seat and took the keys he offered me. His car was neatly detailed, and though it was an older model, looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line. He drove me around for about 30 minutes before we reached the house of one of his friends, who he knew was having a garage sale. I looked around and bought a small dining room table and some metal folding chairs, as well as two lamps and a desk fan. All the items I’d bought totaled $75, a total steal. They fit very snugly in Mitchell’s car, but after putting down the seats in back there was some room to spare.

With those things in the car, we returned to my new home, and Mitchell helped me set things up. There was a wood burning stove in the kitchen, which meant that I would be able to cook at the very least, but other than that there were no appliances in the kitchen. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were all one contiguous area, with a two small doors leading to the only bathroom in the house, and one to the only bedroom. The bedroom contained a mattress that looked like a 6th grader’s science project, and Mitchell helped me drag it out of the house. The bathroom had a busted toilet, a similarly busted sink, and a large tub.

“The outside of the house looks just like the pictures, but the inside is kind of worse,” I coughed after wiping a bunch of dust off of the counter.

“Yeah, it does. It looks really dirty, but it doesn’t look dangerous, at least,” Mitchell said optimistically.

“That’s true, that’s true,” I responded.

“Well, I think I best get going. See you later, Joss,” Mitchell said with a smile and a wave as he exited through the front doorway.

After Mitchell had left, I had very little to do. I found an old broom in a small closet in the bathroom, and used it to sweep up the leaves and other things that lay all about the house. It took quite a bit of work to do, and by the time I was done, the sun had nearly set. With darkness falling, I realised that while I had bought a table and some chairs, I had nothing to sleep on. I sighed, put the broom away, and laid down on the ground. I was nearing sleep when I heard a car come crunching up the gravel path, and figured it was Mitchell. I got up and saw his car, and wondered why he’d come to see me.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said when he saw me on the porch.

“Actually, I was about to get to sleep,” I replied, rubbing my eyes.

“I see. Well, I’m glad I got you before you actually did. I went looking through some of my old stuff I don’t use anymore, and found a nice sleeping bag. I realised you had nowhere to sleep, and while I didn’t have a mattress for you, a sleeping bag is better than sleeping on the floor!” he laughed, taking a rolled up sleeping bag out of the back seat of his car.

“Thank you once again, you’ve been a big help,” I said gratefully as I took the sleeping bag from him through his open car window.

“No problem! Oh, the tow truck will be coming by tomorrow to drop off the truck,” he said as he stuck his head out the window as he was backing up.

I rolled out the sleeping bag on the floor in the bedroom, and crawled inside and fell asleep almost immediately. That night, I had a crazy dream: a woman whose face was obscured by blackness was banging her fists against a mirror. In the mirror, I also saw my own reflection. I could tell that her mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear any of the words she was saying. The dream faded, and I was in another dream. The same woman was sitting at the head of a small dining table in a house that looked suspiciously similar to my own. The rest of the room was devoid of anything, except a mirror sitting face down on the table before the woman. From somewhere I couldn’t see, a man dressed all in black, whose face was similarly obscured by blackness, walked up to the woman, who began screaming a silent scream. The dream faded once more, and I saw the same woman again. She was standing stalk still in the middle of a dark room, and she seemed to be looking right at me. She said something, but though I could hear her, the words sounded like a jumble, and I couldn’t understand her. She held up a mirror, and I woke up.

#my writing #lj/

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angstymarshmallow · 5 years ago

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alone in the woods (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: more Cal fanfiction! I can’t seem to stop myself. He’s quickly becoming one of my favourites. There are some vague references to what’s currently going on in Nightbound and a bit of building my MC’s personality. Plus a dash of angst. If you read it - thank you! If you leave a comment, bless you! ].

[summary: a jog to get away from it all is Wren’s (MC) only desire for perspective. Bumping into Cal, she wonders if he’s the only perspective to get her through what can’t be scrubbed clean].

[words counted: 3218]

She emerged out of the dark, barely past midnight. The moon was still at its highest as she peered from the window in the kitchen. The rest of Nik’s place seemed almost as still as the air around her as she checked the time. It was strange. It clung to her, clung to the kitchen and the couch she’d spent the better half of nearly every night and the front door as she carefully tipped-toed towards the welcome home mat.

Usually, Wren had no trouble finding silence after a long day comforting. But tonight, staying inside of Nik’s quaint apartment had done more harm than good. She felt out of sorts, as though there was an unshakeable urge to escape and if she didn’t, she wouldn’t manage to live to see another day. She felt it underneath her skin, a scratch that had started as a little less of a general desire until turning into something she could only describe as an overwhelming temptation to leave.

There were too many reasons for her to go anyway, too many moving pieces in her life that she did not understand.

Her shirt clung to her as she bent to grab her boots. Tugging them across her painted-toes one at a time, she managed one last glance and then quietly closed the door behind her. Her feet begun moving, faster and faster – propelling her forward until her adrenaline rush coaxed into an all-out run.

She wouldn’t be gone long. More than craving fresh air, she desired perspective. She longed for purpose. It was more than looking for a moment, she was searching for time to process…well everything, away from Nik. Away from everyone.

She wished she could blame the people around her. It would have been the easier option, even if she couldn’t convince herself. Their lives were completely responsible for the upheaval battle and clusterfuck she was currently in. In some small part, she believed it – but her choices were her own and no one else.

Besides, this wasn’t new for her – these circumstances were, but not the rest of it. Her life had always been a series of mishaps – messes that left behind stains she could never completely scrub away. And by the time she managed to scrub clean a particular predicament, there were at least a dozen more waiting on her doorstep.

One giant revolving door of fucking problems.

She would have laughed if she was feeling quite humorous, but as it were – her self-depravation spoke volumes for how melancholic she currently felt and didn’t allow for much wiggle room. As rare as it was, she felt way out of her league – dealing with forces that anyone else would have ran away screaming from. This time she was sinking too fast, there was barely any time before her feet had reached the bottom.

Besides, a little self-depravation couldn’t hurt. Wasn’t she allowed some? After everything she had been through, a pity party was certainly in tall order. It was too bad she was missing any liquor – anything to drink and forget. Still, maybe there was some kind of reprieve in being different from everyone else.

However, it wasn’t the only terrifying thought. She wished it was, but the current state of her life, any sane person would have walked away to ignore the impossible disposition Cal’s pack now presented and the bloodwraith that still persisted as a consistent threat to her existence.

Wren wanted to scream. She wanted to scream loud enough for all of New Orleans to hear her. Instead, she settled for biting her lower lip hard. She gnawed on it enough to draw blood as her feet picked up their pacing and followed the long-winding path towards the edge of the woods.

She was careful to keep alert; often skimming and looking for any flicker of movement from the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t stray too far away, Cal’s not-so-friendly pack was still out there, and she was certain they would have no trouble picking up her scent.

In the midst of her late-night jog, Wren was starting to realize being out past midnight alone in the woods probably wasn’t one of her brightest ideas. Still, it wasn’t too late for her to be completely worried. Most street lights still had their usual gentle hum and every spotlight she stepped into gave her confidence.

Wren trusted her gut and her gut had rarely led her astray. Somehow, she always managed to land on her feet – notwithstanding jogging right now near the tree line.

Her breaths had grown short as she turned a corner, catching the telltale signs of the woods. Her heaving filled the otherwise quiet night-air as her lungs ached by the continous effort to keep going. When she could no longer take the burning in her chest, Wren bent down for a moment and placed both hands on her knees as she fought to catch her breath.

Despite how warm it had been minutes ago, cocooned inside of Nik’s modest home, the almost chilly air had given her some unexpected relief. It felt good to feel something else, it felt good to get away.

Goosebumps erupted across her flesh. Wren had to rub her arms as she finally stood upright and tipped her head back, peering at the night sky.

It was sort of foolish she supposed, looking up at them for as long as she did. But the stars had always given her some sort of misguided solace; as if staring up at them and wishing enough would make all her problems disappear.

It never did. Her revolving door of messes always swung back to her. Still it was a habit; one of the very few still left behind after running from so many group homes as she did. Now that she was on her own, the habit had been hard to kick.

She slipper her hands in the sides of her jeans pocket.

“Wren?”

She turned, blinking in surprise at the sound of a familiar voice until she spotted him. “Cal?” She blinked again, barely suppressing her own excitement at suddenly seeing him. She settled for waving at him instead. “What are you doing here?” Even as she blurted out the words, she knew the answer was obvious as her eyes took in the length of him at his approach.

Spots of sweat clutched to his chest and his broad shoulders, wet underneath he dark material of his shirt as he shrugged sheepishly. His hair was met with loose strands matted across his forehead as he wiped his brow.

He must have been out for a run.

“I needed to get out of my own head for a while.” Cal confessed, running his fingers through his hair. “Besides, what are you doing out here? It’s late.” His eyes flashed in concern as he closed the distance between them in a few long and quick strides.

The shivers Wren had been trying to ignore had promptly vanished, as his presence grew nearer. For a moment, it was all she could do but to relish how warm he was – standing as close as he did in front of her. When she found the will to divert her attention elsewhere, she glanced away. “You don’t need to tell me how dumb it is being out of my own.”

“I never said that.” He protested lightly.

She gave him a droll stare. “You didn’t have to. It is stupid being out here alone, especially considering how fucked up my life has been lately. But I’m not helpless. I can handle it.”

“There’s a bloodwraith after you, not to mention my pack is still hurting from Kristoff’s death –”

“I know.” Her response was harsh and curter than she intended it to be. It stung. The knowledge of him pointing it out. Did he think she forgot? But his intentions weren’t malicious, still the urge to snap at him had been nearly palpable.

It’s not him you’re really mad at. Some part of Wren knew it ran far deeper than his misguided and unintentional proclamation. Deep down, she was beginning to think this mess was going to be the only one to stick. The only mess she couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard she could try.

It wasn’t going to leave; it had already torn the hinges off her door.

Wren stuffed her hands roughly back inside her pockets, frustration still ebbing away from her chest. “You don’t need to remind me Cal. It’s painfully obvious how….how…vulnerable I am.”

Vulnerable. She hated the word. She had spent so many years fighting to be everything except vulnerable. But the world had fallen from her lips bitterly, “especially compared to the rest of you.” Nik, Katherine, Cal, Donny, Garrus, Ivy and Krom - they belonged to the supernatural world and she didn’t. She was an interloper – a sentiment she was far too familiar with over the years.

“Hey, you aren’t allowed to sell yourself short like that.” His voice was defensive – on her behalf.

She glanced up at him, heart stuttering at the sudden fierce determination in his eyes.

“You’re a badass in your own right, Wren.” She felt his fingers drift to touch her arm and almost instantly she leaned into him. “I won’t let you forget it.”

Wren drew a shaky laugh, “I think you’re giving me way too much credit.” She paused to fiddle with the waistband of her jeans. “It’s not like you’ve been around much lately to see me in action anyway.” It had started off as a joke but lost its merit as her tone fell.

Cal’s expression grew with chagrin. He took a few paces back almost the same time she did, suddenly looking a little out of place at talking. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t know if you wanted to see me.” He admitted, “I mean the last time I did – you wanted space.”

She remembered leaving in a hurry in the aftermath of the fight with his pack. She recalled the ghost of his touch when she wrenched her arm away and flinched at the memory. “Would you believe me if I said I was out here for the same reasons you were?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Wren was relieved ass the flash of hurt in his eyes vanished. “All things considered; you’ve been through a lot.”

“So have you,” She chided. And you didn’t use that as an excuse. She swallowed thickly, as he glanced away. “You lost your alpha. We haven’t really had the chance to talk about it.”

“It’s not something I can really put into words.” He began, eyes shifting back to meet hers’. “But I feel it. How agonizing it is. We’re all still feeling it.”

“Your entire pack?”

“Yeah, but it’s…more than that. It’s more than just a bond.” Her intuition recognized his uncertainty for finding the right words to explain. “It’s like a piece of myself died with him.”

“I’m sorry.” And she meant it. Despite how much of an ass she thought Kristoff had been in the very short hours she’d known him – no one deserved death. That thing had ripped into him like he was nothing. She shuddered.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, breaking her thoughts of melancholy.

“Are you afraid?” She wanted to know so much more, but she didn’t think he’d be willing to share, at least not yet. They were still learning things about each other.

“I don’t know what’s next for me and Doony – that’s the part that worries me.” He sighed in frustration. “The part that makes me think I should beg forgiveness.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.” Wren protested.

“I stood against my own pack, for you.” His eyes bore into hers’ with so much sincerity that it stopped her from intervening a second time. “In the moment it felt right. I wasn’t thinking about Donny – I was thinking about protecting you, it was like instinct took over.” He seemed to be marveled by his own words.

Hell, she was. No one had ever done something remotely like that– except for Nik, but he was paid to look after her and Cal had done so of his own fruition. From where she was standing, Wren owed him a hell of a lot more than just a simple thank you. She didn’t think any amount of gratitude would make a difference and yet she tried anyhow.

“I don’t think I can thank you enough for what you did.”

Perfectly white teeth reflected against the street lamp they stood under as Cal managed some semblance of a smile. “You’re alive, that’s all the thanks I need.”

Shit, he was going to melt her heart.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cal shifted on his feet and changed the subject. “But that’s partly why I’m out here. I need to figure out my next move. No matter what, it’s on me to keep Donny safe and I can’t let anything happen to him.”

“Your actions are going to consequences.” Wren suspected as much and felt a twinge of guilt at the thought. If his pack still wanted him around, she imagined there would be repercussions for what he did and despite how grateful she was that he stepped in – she didn’t like the idea of anything happening to him. Especially on her behalf.

Cal nodded. Somehow, he managed to look any less perturbed than before, but there was no hiding his expressive eyes. They held a cloud of uneasiness and fear even as he tried to play it off with a shrug, “but I wouldn’t change what I did. I help people I care about.”

Biting back a smile, Wren glanced away. “Did running help at least?” She asked, not-so-smoothly changing the subject.

“It helped clear my head. It felt good to run; it always does.” He replied, rolling his broad shoulders back. “But I’m glad I caught your scent and ended it short. It would have been a pity not to run into you.”

Her gaze flitted back to his, the corner of her lips turning up at the abrupt change in his expression.

“Especially since you were staring at the stars, almost like a kodak moment.” He teased.

“Shit, you saw that?” She knew the answer before she asked; his eyes crinkling around the corners as he laughed. Her cheeks mottled red. “You were supposed to find it enchanting and dignified.” She added, sniffing.

He bit his lower lip, a tooth jutting out as he regarded her with a lazy grin. “Did anyone ever tell you how good you look in this moonlight? Especially underneath here.” He gestured towards the street light they had been standing under.

“You may be the first, but I’m not opposed to embarrassing myself again if it means the compliments keep coming.”

They stepped towards each other the same time, her fingers lazily sliding across the underside of his robust arm as she returned his grin.

“Then allow me to indulge,” his voice had grown all sorts of husky and her stomach did a tiny flip. There was an edge to it, but she could barely hear it above the sudden pounding of her heart. “Your eyes do this this thing – they smile when you’re in your element. They kind of make everything else dull in comparison. There’s just an aura to them –” His eyes lingered, smoldering in satisfaction as she smiled, “– that just draws me in.”

With the same hand, her fingers drifted along the length of his muscles; tracing its smooth shape until she feels his pulse jump and his body betraying him with a slight shudder. “And are they doing that right now?”

“No. Right now, they’re practically radiant with something else.”

Wren hadn’t known who first erased the rest of space between them.

Perhaps time had simply slowed into a withering crawl, allowing them time to do something more than staring with as much longing as they did to one another, raising the temperature several degrees higher between them. The inches were countable; seven, five, four, two – until they finally collided.

All of a sudden, she could feel how soft his hair was as her fingers tangled inside its still wet and dark sheen, while his own fingers hand curved around her waist, yanking her impossibly closer.

She relished threading through its softness. It was a stark difference to how passionately he was kissing her; how deeply he allowed his kisses to run as though if he ever stopped kissing her, she would suddenly disappear. It was definitely the impression Wren had as his tongue slid between parted lips.

When her knees threatened to buckle, she felt the sudden shift of weight before her legs had been fastened around his and her knees had been the last thing on her mind as he growled low inside his throat.

She kissed him back with equal vigor, with equal want. Her desire for more ran far deeper than just wanting to kiss him – she wanted to sink herself into him, until nothing else separated them – until nothing else mattered.

And the very notion had caused her to freeze her in her tracks. Her hands remained still and she jerked back in alarm – catching a flash of concern from Cal��s eyes the moment their eyes connected.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was raw, as though he’d spent another out here chasing the dark.

“Nothing,” Wren responded quickly. But it hadn’t been nothing, it had felt a whole lot more like something. Something that she wasn’t ready to think about – knowing so little about him.

But would it be so bad, being something more?

The thought persisted, despite her best attempts of ignoring it. Forcing a smile, she cleared her throat.

“Sorry,” With caution, Cal helped to unfold her legs around him until they were at a more comfortable position and Wren slid down.

The moment she felt the ground again, some of her distress had fizzled with it. Digging the heel of her boots into asphalt beneath them helped, as did stepping back to create more proximity. “It’s getting late, I should probably head back, at least before Nik wonders where I am.” She snorted, “knowing him – I’m sure that’ll include some kind of lecture.”

Something passed in his eyes.

For a moment, she thought those earthly hues of his were going to protest except they settled for resignation instead as he nodded in agreement. “Maybe we can convince him to go easy on you if I walk you back.” He held up his hands in surrender when she raised her brows. “Not that you aren’t capable of walking home alone, I would feel much better seeing you safe and sound myself.”

“Such a gentlemen.” Wren teased, bumping her shoulder playfully into his.

“Always,” Cal responded without missing a beat.

“You sure you want to? Your home is pretty much in the opposite direction.”

Reaching between them, he found her fingers and entwined theirs together. “But for you, I’m willing to go the extra distance.” His eyes lingered for a moment before drifting away.

Unsure if they were still on the same subject, Wren managed a subtle squeeze to his fingers in response as they walked in companion silence, the stars above them marking lighting their path back to civilization.

#cal lowell #cal x mc fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #nightbound #cal x mc fanfic #cal x wren #cal lowell x wren howell #playchoices #choices the stories you play #wren has commitment issues y'all #mostly because she doesn't trust almost anyone #long post #she has so much untapped backstory that i've finally been able to dive into #an angstymarshmallow writes

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iamnotadamnedmonkey · 6 years ago

Text

A guide to the Detroit Wastes.

The year is, most likely, unimportant. I can tell you that it has been 300 years since the merging of magic and science resulted in a golden age of mankind, unparrelled progress and expansion. This advancement resulted in people going heavy duty into genetic modification, both of the world around them, resulting in fantastical beasts abounding, and their own bodies, creating new races of men, some with very little connections to the originals.

I can also tell you that you were in stasis for centuries before that, how many exactly, I’m not sure.

It has been 200 years since mankind delved where it should not have. There are some things man is not meant to know. The Foundation, a clandestine organization charged with keeping the world safe from otherworldly menaces, had been containing disturbing creatures, places, items and events for centuries previous to the golden age. 200 years ago, something went wrong. It is unknown if this was done on purpose, or even what happened, but the skies boiled, the very air shattered, as things from other worlds broke into ours, and laid waste to it. This is commonly referred to as the Breach. The governments of the world retaliated, with nuclear weapons.

It didn’t work.

It was at this point that the Contained rose up and rebelled, escaping to become the Thousand Demons of the Waste. Many people were saved by quick retreat into Vault-Tech brand fallout shelters. Communication systems were shattered by the vast release of magical energies. Those humans left outside have struggled to continue their lives, but it’s hard going.

Major Features of the Detroit Wastes

Vault 72- Your home, for better or worse. When I worked here, it was not just a containment site, but a research site, dedicated to extending peoples lives. One of those projects was Experiment 3172, which I believe you and intimately familiar with. It was designed to induce a stasis field, effectively securing people from the ravages of time, by keeping them from living through it. I have disengaged this field, although, with the destruction of the main computer, it would have been hard to activate again anyways. I have taken the liberty of locking down your suite, and making it inaccessible from the outside. Save points should keep you, heh, safe. I will warn you, the generator beneath your new home is only good for another thousand years, it wasn’t meant to be used to actually power the apartment for long periods of time.

Vault 5- Devoted to the research of genetics, and the breeding of stable races. There has been no contact with Vault 5 since the Breach. The Sea of Fire is DANGEROUS. Creatures that have become relatively stable in the rest of the waste mutate horribly there. Vault 5 is also the only place where any possible documentation from before the Breach exists.

Vault 99- Heavy weapons research. Last known message from them indicated that they were locking themselves in the vault, and the world could handle itself.

Vault 1- Research dealing with other planes of existence, and time travel. My home vault. I advise against visiting, there have been some… issues. Temporal portals, spots of slow and fast time… It’s not nice.

Vault 13- Devoted to medical research. Opened itself to public use roughly 100 years ago, now serves as the center of the town known as Vaultillion, and has been turned into a temple to Teej.

Freedom City- Built on the remains of the city you know as Detroit, ex-slaves from The Pit have made this a home for any who wish to be free. The entire city acts as a Temple to David.

Mutant Town- A full town of Super Mutants. Not fun. Contains a temple to Jaeger.

Ghoul Town- Go ahead. Guess. Major temple to Luminous.

Necropolis- For all the feral ghouls who don’t fit in with Ghoul Town.

The Zoo Zoo Zoo- No one has been inside for 200 years. Well. That’s not true. Plenty of people have entered. No one has left. A temple to Velyn has been established in the old parking structure.

Weirdville- A collection of settlers and normalish people, trying to survive the apocalypse. Contains a major temple to Old Aggie.

Creatures and Others of the Waste

Super Mutants: Over large humanoid creatures. Said to have stemmed from illegal genetic alterations pre-Breach, the majority of Super Mutants have a greenish tone to their skin. They are largely dumber than their smaller humanoid cousins, but make up for it with tremendous strength. Super Mutants that exhibit intelligence swiftly rise to leadership positions, and learn magical tricks from their patron god, Jaeger. Some rare Super Mutants are known to follow Drac, and these are friendly towards humans and the like.

Ghouls: Deceased spirits haunting their own bodies. Ghouls are souls that have refused to die, and continue living by animating dead flesh. Ghouls come in two main varieties. Feral Ghouls have lost their memories, or simply their will, and are mindless monsters, seeking only to consume flesh. Non-Feral Ghouls appear as wrecked, decomposing bodies, but can still talk and interact as humans. You can generally tell the difference from a distance because Non-Ferals will still be trying to wear good clothing, not the rags and tatters ferals do. When a Non-Feral ghoul is killed, their soul finds the nearest non-souled body to jump into. Some Ghouls have learned how to gain power in doing this, making them effectively immortal. It is believed that Feral Ghouls cannot inhabit a body by themselves, requiring outside help to do so.

Mirelurks: Giant, shelled, lobster like humanoids, that first rose out of the Great Lakes a hundred years ago. While they seem to have some kind of internal command structure, they do not like talking with humans. Rumor has it they are a result of something leaking from the rifts the Breach caused.

Deathclaws: Originally bred as security forces, during the years post-Breach, Deathclaws have thrived in the magical fallout. Growing bigger, and more intelligent, these reptilian monsters would be the rulers of the waste… if they didn’t hate each other. Appearing in a multitude of colors, and capable of expelling a variety of dangerous energy from their mouths, the older they get, the bigger they become, the biggest one recorded being well over 200 feet tall. They are all hoarders, each of them deciding in adult hood what they will horde, everything from gold, to weapons, to some reports of Deathclaws hoarding people. They are very intelligent, to the point that the eldest of them seem capable of casting spells.

Raiders: Other humans and humanoids, who seek to get the most out of the Waste, by taking it from other people. A unique breed, they practice a form of magic that allows them to jury rig weaponry. Mostly they follow All Tok or Drak, with some few venerating Jaeger.

Brotherhood of Steel: A legion of Knight warriors, devoted to Strelnik, who seek to save and restore the technology and magic of the past. They also host a more scholarly branch knows as Scribes, who venerate Luminous.

Casers Legion: Slavers and bully boys, devoted to their leader Caesar. They seek to put the world under their thumb, and have succeeded in a good chunk of it in the southern states. They follow Lament, and think he has blessed their cause.

Gods of the Waste

Shakka Brigit, The Many Bodied One

Domain: Madness, Fire

Symbols: A silver pendant with a red ruby in the middle

Weapon: Mace

About: Shakka Brigit is not a god anyone often admits to worshipping. Anyone who wears his amulet is, in effect, a part of the god, and while they can largely work on their own, at any time, he can focus his will through them to manifest within them. It is said that to even touch his symbol is to become a part of the greater whole. When pictured, Shakka is shown with red hair, and a white robe. It is said he was tricked into the amulet by Yoric and All Toc, over a debate about who should marry Aggie. Shakka is most often shown in opposition to Jaeger, eternal foes. He is also said to be brother to Teej.

The Broken God, Machine Lord

Domain: Artifice, Darkness, Void, Anything to do with Machines or Robots.

Symbols: The broken gear, creeping ivy.

About: The Broken God is often blamed for the Breach, stories tell of it trying to enter our reality being what broke everything so wide. It is most often pictured as a mass of broken machinery, with steam escaping. There are many secret worshippers of the Broken God, hoping to appease it, and find the pieces it needs to be put back together. Many Synths, Gearforged, and sapient machines follows the Broken God, in hopes of being made human, or at least souled. All of the other gods strive against the Broken God, it has no ties to any of them.

Jaeger/ Jaeger Mann, The Hunter

Domain: Evil, Destruction, Murder

Symbols: A horned boars skull/head, a gear wrapped in red vines, a blue x.

About: The worst of the gods, he himself has claimed to be the one who caused the Breach. He is a god of everything wrong in the world. No one knowingly admits to following him, as it is the equivalent of publicly admitting to cannibalism, or worse. He is said to move beside the world, instead of in it, watching for the point to push just the right pressure to cause a second Breach, that will allow him to shatter the world. While The Shining One combats Jaeger wherever he may dwell, it is Shakka Brigit that seems to draws Jaegers true ire.

Old Aggie, Granny of the Waste

Domain: Luck, Protection, Children, and the Lost

Symbols: Traditional fertility goddess imagery, the rotund woman. Apples. Dildos, although no one knows why.

Weapon: Whip

About: Old Aggie is generally depicted in stories and drawings as an eldery woman with a ribald sense of humor. While she cares most for children, entertainers, fools, and the just plain unlucky can often times feel her gaze upon them. She is generally followed by women and kids, mainly because she sees nothing wrong with pranking her male followers. Aggie is known to be tolerant of Yoric, trading jokes with him, and watches over Teej. Shrines to Old Aggie can be found anywhere someone needs a bit of luck, and thus often turn up in the oddest places.

Poor Yoric, the Man of Infinite Jest

Domain: Charm, Travel

Symbols: A white trilby, snakes, and rolled bedding, oft seen atop travelers packs.

Weapon: Walking cane

About: Yoric is the travelers god, a happy go lucky fellow who always seems delighted to hear peoples stories. Anyone who dons all three of his symbols is seen as a Hermit of Yoric, and, as long as they offer no violence, is to be given safe passage in all lands. In the tales, he is often inserted as a foil to Jaeger and Shakka, distracting those two from their fighting in order to steal away humans they meant to kill, or otherwise leading them from their goals. Yoric is followed largely by traders, and anyone else who makes a living traveling the vast Waste. Even Deathclaws are wary of attacking a pilgrim of Yoric. While not the most worshipped, Shrines to Yoric are likely the most populous in the Waste.

Strelnik, Commandant of the Eternal Armies

Domain: War, Law

Symbols: A shield, baton and helmet, a sword in an anvil, chickens.

Weapon: Sword

About: Strelnik is a strident, angry god. He believes in the rule of law, a place for everything, and everything in its place. He is almost always shown as shorter than the other gods, but wider. It is given to him to watch over the endless wars that plague the land, and he is very happy with it all. He is often linked romantically with Old Aggie, but despises Drak and Lament, for focusing on the wrong parts of battle. He is followed mostly by fighters, soldiers, and officers of the law. Shrines to Strelnik are rare, being set up on battlefields, or at any local law buildings. These shrines are often used for administering oaths, or proving the truth of statements.

All Tok, the Trickster

Domain: Trickery, Rune

Symbols: Ukelele, straw hat, hawiian shirt, third eye, cream pies.

Weapon: Crossbow

About: All Tok is the laughing god of the waste, always ready with a quick joke and an open palm. His sense of humor is more upper class than Yorics, being more of the type of joke that makes you think, or the prank that makes you realize you dun fucked up, than something just for the joke of it. All Tok is ALWAYS three steps ahead, and will gladly lead you off a cliff, while he snags the hidden rope to swing to safety. He’s the cool uncle of the gods, or maybe the goofy uncle, he hasn’t quite decided. While he has a history of trading pranks with Yoric, usually getting the better end of the deal, he is deadly rivals with Drac, neither of them respecting the other. He is devoted to the cause of ridding Shakka Brigit from this world. He is often followed by people who should know better, and delights in opening his followers minds, sometimes painfully wide. He is often shown with his symbols, the hat pulled over his face. It is said that none may know the true face of All Tok, as he is constantly changing it. Many people follow All Toc, all for their own reasons. There are no shrines to All Tok, as any that have tried to be built end up being destroyed, ‘accidentally.’

Drak, the Dragon King

Domain: Glory, Air, Weather, Wealth, Deathclaws

Symbols: A dragon clutching its own tail, cameras, four diagonal slashes as if from a deathclaw, butterflies.

Weapon: Long Bow

About: Drak is a humorless, dour god, who desires to always be the most respected, and powerful. He is the self-styled King of the gods, and while the others may not respect him, they do not debate it. Those who disparage him title him ‘King of the Butterflies.’ He is often portrayed as watching important events unfold, camera in hand. All Deathclaws bow their head to him, and, sometimes, to his servants. He has a running rivalry with All Tok, and is romantically connected to the Shining One, as his co-leader. People who follow Drak are known to be glory seekers, people who are out to make themselves look good, and rich. He is often pictured as a dark haired man on a throne, accompanied by both a pet deathclaw, and a horde of butterflies.

The Shining One, Beacon in the Darkness

Domain: Good, Water, Mirelurks

Symbols: A golden Halo, cephalopods

Weapon: Trident

About: She is the light in the night, the one true way. The Shining One is only ever portrayed as a mass of light. Although the patron of all things good, she is a distant deity, rarely appearing to her multitude of followers. She is the second most revered deity, with shrines to her popping up anywhere that there is water. The mirelurks claim her as their creator, but whether this means they are good is up for debate. She is a distant wife to Drak, and generally keeps out of the usual sniping of the others gods. Many people confuse her and Luminous, but the gods seem not to mind.

Lament, the Raging Bull

Domain: Strength, Nobility.

Symbols: Bulls horns, the hand with two middle fingers touching thumb and two outer fingers extended, weights.

Weapon: Battle axe

About: Lament is seen as the bruiser of the Gods. When a god needs a mortal leaned on, or monsters removed from a holy site, they may send Lament to clear things up. It was Lament who stopped the dreaded plague of Peanut from wiping out all human life, and it was he who wrestled Great Lizard to a stalemate, trapping the beast far underground, in a vat of acid. He is often pictured as a man with bulls horns. He is followed mostly by warriors who seek personal advancement. His shrines are few. He is romantically involved with Serra Pho, and rivals with Drac and Strelnik.

Serra Pho, the Returning Green

Domain: Plants, Earth, Sun

Symbols: A newly sprouting tree, the sun

Weapon: Quarterstaff

About: Serra Pho is depicted as a two faced goddess, to show that nature can be bother a blessing and a curse. She is invoked as Serra in her antagonistic aspect, and as Pho in her beneficial form. She is said to be the wife of Lament, and it is he that keep her eternally pregnant, with new species of plant life to unleash upon the world. She is rarely followed directly, except by farmers and forest dwellers. Shrines to Serra Pho can be found in many woodland glades, and sometime in the oddest places where life has found a way.

Teej, God of the Gaps

Domains: Healing, Death

Symbols: A red cross

Weapon: Mace

About: Teej is supposedly one of the thousand demons of the waste, ascended to god hood by the will of the other gods. He is a healer and … well, that’s about it. Teej is known as the God of the Gaps, because he shows no interest in the modern world. When his mind touches his worshippers, it is always with the feeling that they have drawn his attention to them, but he doesn’t really seem to be paying attention. He is most often depicted as a red haired youth, in a blue gown. His followers are everywhere, seeking to bring health and aid to the suffering… or to ease them into death, if that is the more charitable option. His shrines are mostly small and personal, in the homes of those who need him. It is claimed that he is the child of Velyn, and brother to Shaka Brigit, Luminous and Queen Madb.

Luminous, the Three In One

Domains: Knowledge, Magic, The Future

Symbols: Triangle, computers, crystal balls

Weapon: Magic

About: Portrayed as a trio of feminine shapes beneath a single voluminous cloak, one head old, one middle aged, one teen, Luminous is the fortune teller of the gods. They see all, They knows all, and they rarely says anything about it. There are few shrines to Luminous, mostly in far out of the way places, that require a great trek to get to. They rarely communicate with anyone outside of the shrines, but has been known to manifest briefly to get pretentious people on the right track. Any female in purple robes is assumed to be at least influenced by them, if not an aspect of them.

Velyn, Mother of Monsters

Domains: Chaos, Animals, Mutation, Change

Symbols: A ball of tentacles, dna spiral, playing cards.

Weapons: Warhammer, but any weapon you’ve made improvements to will work.

About: Velyn is the goddess of change. She is constantly shifting, growing, making herself better. Many claim that the many mutations of the waste have sprung from her womb, as several of the gods and Demons have. Very few worship her, but those who do purposefully expose themselves to radiation and fluxing magical energies, hoping to become closer to her. She is often seen as an antagonist to the other gods, creating beasts and things that require their intervention. There is one shrine to Velyn, no one else would dare. She is served by four Demons known as Jacks.

David, the Loving

Domains: Community, Liberation, Repose

Symbol: Sunglasses, a stick with a red tip, peace symbol

Weapon: Clubs

About: David is the most human seeming of the gods. He is a god of peace and love, and the most revered of the new pantheon. David walks amongst his flock, a black man who appears to be blind, and gives his blessing frequently. It is rare to find a human settlement that does not have a shrine to David. He tends to ignore the rest of the pantheon, having no time for their endless bickering, when he can do something to help the world.

Kohg, The Godfather

Domains: Knowledge, Technology

Symbol: A pristine unbroken gear, an open book

Weapon: automatic crossbow

About: It is said that Kohg made the Gods of the Waste so that humankind would have someone else to bother while he went about the important business of learning. He was the first god, and raised the others up, and then… walked away. He is still worshipped, but it is often unknown if worship of him is in any way effective. He often chooses his worshippers from the smartest of researchers, wizards, and the like, and demands that they follow him and help him learn how to fix things. His primary servant is the demi-god of Time, Joey.

Demons of the Waste

(A small sampling of the 1000 Demons)

Peanut: An invisible demon, capable of living only in statues. While it is in this world, it animates inanimate, humanoid shaped objects. When observed, it cannot move, but when it is not watched, it can move at phenomenal speed., seeking to grab any nearby humans, and break their necks. Several times, influence of other Demons has cause it to be able to animate more than one body at a time, resulting in plagues of statues upon the land, which usually requires the direct intervention of Lament to stop.

Tonin: Called the Daughter of Darkness, Tonin is a female Demon capable of clouding mens minds, and forcing them to her will. She seeks the death of all that lives, claiming that only that will bring her mother back to life. She is most often foiled by Serra Pho.

The Jacks: Three male and one female Demon, bound to the service of Velyn, who created them. They each seek to breed with humankind, creating offspring that appear human until they reach puberty, when they begin to show the traits of their sires, and run off to join them. Joh is a goatlike humanoid, a seducer of virgins, and defiler of maidens. Jos is a human with squid features, who procreates through forcing his attentions on the unknowing. Joc is most likely some form of werewolf, who spreads his seed amongst those who will accept him. Jod, or Jackie, is a female with spider features, who breeds by inserting her eggs in criminals and defilers. Their packs of children roam the wastes, doing the Jacks bidding, and whatever Velyn demands of them.

Queen Madb: Queen, not of the demons, but of an otherworldly race of fae, she is an unnaturally tall, horribly thin, gray skinned female. She is often seen garbed in a raiment of sparkling light, wielding a spear made of cold iron. Her and her people are found in the dark places, where men fear to tread.

The Piper: The human who holds a pipe carved from the bone of a Demon, there have been many Pipers over the years, but always there will be another. The mystic pipe allows him to control animals and children, and the Piper uses this to his advantage.

The Great Lizard: The dreaded king of the Demons, a vast reptilian figure, capable of coming back from any wound dealt it, it is only the combined might of the gods that can wrestle it back into the acid pit that constrains it, when it breaks free.

The Doctor: If you see a man wearing a beak shaped mask, run.

There are a multitude of other Demons in the waste. I ask if you do run into any others, you document them. I should note that not all Demons are mobile, some are items, or too big to move. But, you should be able to know them when you find them.

With much love,

J. Tamlin, Level 5

(An IC guide my players found in their home. Feel free to make suggestions! Yoric has already granted them Fast Travel to certain places they’ve been before... Yay pip boys!) (Also also, feel free to comment! I like to know what people think) (Last also: Yes, it’s Bright family focused, duh.)

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haphazardlyparked · 5 years ago

Text

sleep deeply

part five of into fairy, with Meg and the temple.

(previous - part four) ----

The Towers were on the far side of the country from Cal’s holdings on the western river, and the dragon, eager to have its turn at ruling rather than overthrowing for a change, obligingly flew them to Sanin. Sanin was nestled between two tributaries of the eastern river, and after the day-long flight, they would only need a find a boat to take them a week downriver, to the town closest to the Towers.

It was an easy trip, and Meg filled all their spare moments of it with research, listening to any long stories of the Peddler, fairy, and Arina Firedancer that Cal and the other passengers could tell her.

“Do you think they know what we’re trying to do?” Meg asked one night on the boat. It was hot enough that they had opted to lay outside on sleeping rolls on the broad, flat deck, and Meg enjoyed the movement of the warm breeze.

Cal’s voice had a smile in it. “Of course,” he said. “If the oracles are talking, it’s only a matter of time before everyone begins looking for the Peddler.”

“Do they know this road will lead them into fairy?”

She felt Cal shrug in his roll beside her. “Most merely look for an excuse to travel far from home, and return a new person.”

“Guess we can’t blame them for that,” said Meg, and Cal laughed.

“I did run from my responsibilities after rumors of a disappearing lake and a maiden trapped there.”

“We don’t need to remember that,” Meg decided, making a face into the darkness. Cal seemed to agree with her, because they laid there comfortably in silence, listening to the water as it trickled up against the hull and feeling the current tug the boat gently against the weight of its anchor.

“Also,” Meg acknowledged, breaking their contemplation of the thin clouds that turned silver with the moon’s light. “If they didn’t know what we were doing from the oracle rumors, they probably could’ve guessed at it from the direction we’re headed, and all the stories I’ve been asking everyone to tell me.”

“Yes, that as well.” Meg interpreted Cal’s politeness to mean mostly that, actually, and she shuffled sideways in her bedroll so she could elbow him in the ribs.

The town closest to the foot of the Towers was called Auphont, and it was a surprisingly large town, with a bricked center and everything.

“Of course,” Cal said to Meg’s surprise. “It’s a main point of trade with Aden-across-the-Towers.”

Meg hadn’t actually thought of the mountains as having another side. She had imagined the whole place as a gloomy and overcast hinterland, but it was high summer and actually quite pleasant. She was further shocked when she figured out that Aden-across-the-Towers was still a part of the same kingdom; it wasn’t even a strangely self-sufficient hidden mountain city-state or anything.

“You’ve been listening to too many long stories,” Cal suggested.

They were not the first ones to reach Auphont. In fact, when the riverboat docked at the town, Meg and Cal were joined by another trio from the very same boat. They had been far more discreet however; they bought passage to a destination beyond Auphont, but just happened to prefer to leave earlier due to one of their number’s boatsickness. Boatsickness or no, no small number of towns had passed by while their friend was ill all over the place, before they finally chose to stop at Auphont, with its easy road to the Towers pass.

“Hullo,” Meg greeted, as the trio joined them on their walk from the dock to the center of the town. Auphont was situated on the bend of a river, which partially encircled it, and aside from a few stretches of grazing land and some farms and tree groves, the only thing close to the town were the trio of tall mountains looming in the not-so-distance. The Towers. “You lot had some really gruesome tales of the Peddler and the Towers. Are you really going to try this?”

The travelers looked at her in disbelief.

“Lady, but you know the stories too,” said one of them—Kantor, who had had some of the more entertaining long stories, almost as good as Cal’s.

“Yes, but we don’t actually expect to find anything. Right, Cal?”

“What Lady Meg means to say,” Cal said patiently, “is that she’s humoring my love of adventure. Though it is true neither of us are looking for any of the bounties. We’re curiosity seekers more than anything else, and my lady is very curious.”

Meg didn’t notice the tension that had been building until it began to dissipate with Cal’s words.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh yes, I’m uh… You know, asking after everyone’s... motives, so I can write heroic songs.” Kantor’s amused look told Meg it wasn’t great as far as recoveries went, but it was still a nicer thing to say than so are you idiots looking for a mystical death?, which her first question pretty much amounted to.

“Be sure to get our names right,” another of the three said, and he had a point. Meg had struggled with their names throughout their short journey together. They were Kantor, Isoldel, and Naskem, Meg knew, but she kept getting the two who were shit at storytelling mixed up.

“Of course,” Meg assured either Isoldel or Naskem, breezy as the wind on the riverboat. “We’ll sing of Master Storyteller, Master Sick-a-lot, and Master Smiley.”

“Lady Meg,” Cal chided, but the smiling one was still smiling, and Kantor even laughed, so that was that.

The bricked town center was where the trade markets were held from after the spring melts to before the caravans left for the winter. There were also a few inns by the center, a blacksmith busy with the caravans’ repairs, and even seamstresses’ stores and a cobbler.

“What the hell do they need a cobbler for?” Meg asked the first morning they set out to explore the place. They were alone again; the three travelers had elected to stay in a different of the town’s inns from Meg and Cal, and Cal thought they had the look of folk who planned to rise early and depart before anyone could get a good read on their plans.

“For shoes,” Cal replied. Though he hadn’t intended there to be sarcasm in his voice, Meg heard it and grinned down at her own boots. They were a pair made of supple, comfortable leather, and while Cal had seemingly just procured them for her when her sneakers had finally bit the dust, in hindsight Meg now wondered how long in advance he’d had them ready for her. His town undoubtedly had someone whose sole job it was to provide those sorts of things for the castle’s inhabitants alone.

“Right,” Meg agreed. “But how many shoes can one little town need?”

“Usually the caravans keep me busy,” said a musical voice from behind them. “But lately the adventurers have been giving me plenty of business.”

Cal and Meg both turned quickly, Cal a little more steadily than her. The speaker was a tall, thin man, with curly auburn hair that was starting to grey. He had a strong nose and deep-set eyes that were a pale grey, and he smiled at them politely.

“Oh,” Meg said. “Sorry.”

The shoemaker’s smile remained placid, but he offered them a shallow bow. “I am used to it.” Meg thought that had to be a polite lie. “I am the cobbler of the town, and you both have the look of adventurers about you. How about a new pair of sturdy soles to carry you through your wanderings?”

“They would be too long in the wearing in,” Cal demurred, before Meg could put her foot in it again. “And we have reliable shoes already.”

Looking down at their feet, the cobbler nodded. “So you do,” he acknowledged. “But do you really want to wear them out in the Towers? They say that those who seek to lose themselves deliberately will wander even rougher terrain than the caravans’ pass.”

Meg looked down at her shoes, and smiled a the man. “Maybe we’ll come find you for a mend or a new pair when we finally give up and come back.”

“Yes, maybe,” agreed the cobbler, pleasantly noncommittal. Nodding at them again with the good-natured air of a vendor who knows the interest is lost, he disappeared into the morning’s small crowd of traders.

Cal watched him go, and then turned and silently offered his arm to Meg. She laughed, accepted it, and they set off together to explore and learn what they could of the Towers from the town.

Meg was sprawled across a simple wooden bench, one arm dangling over its side so her hand rested in a tuft of grass. Light shone through the simple wooden arches, wound through with ivy, and when it fell across Meg’s torso it was easy to see the gentle rising and falling of her chest. She slept deeply.

The Three-Quarters Prince sat cross-legged on the dais. His arms were crossed as well, and he stared at Meg intently, neither blinking nor breathing.

----

<3 @thewinedarksea. i see u and i love u.

#writing #cal & meg #into fairy #all right 2019

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red-wardens · 6 years ago

Text

Quid Pro Quo - Modern AU

Kieran x Darrian Tabris

ft. my Kyung-jae “Kieran” Tabris and @dickeybbqpit‘s Darrian

AU: Highschool -> College

Words: 1435 (oops longer than intended ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

---------

“Shianni’s sick today. She didn’t come to school,”

Kieran Tabris looks up from his phone, frowning but hiding the worry on his face with practiced ease. High School senior Darrian Tabris has been on his radar since freshman year when Kieran first befriended his cousin. But with the redhead’s Honors classes and Kieran’s extracurriculars, the two had nothing in common. Except Shianni.

“She didn’t text me,” Kieran grumbles, looking out into the emptying parking lot. The last school bell had rung half an hour ago and if she really wasn’t coming...he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for anymore.

Darrian shrugs because he knows that’s on him. Despite her indignant protests he’d taken Shianni’s phone that morning, responding to her middle finger with a grin and the explanation that she wouldn’t get the rest she needed if she had it. She’d yelled hoarsely at him and he’d laughed, knowing he was right.

“Bye,” Kieran steps off the curb and towards the street wondering if he has enough pocket change for bus fare. Probably not. Darrian catches up easily, falling into step beside him.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offers casually, but his demeanor and stride declare it like something that’s already been decided.

“Why,” dark eyes narrow with conditioned suspicion.

“Because if Shianni usually does it that means it’s on the way,” Darrian answers, walking not close enough to touch but just enough that, without his notice, he herds his belligerent classmate towards his silver Jetta. He unlocks it before raising a brow, his eyes taunting because he’s seen Kieran glancing at the time on his phone, has speculated he has somewhere to be .

“Unless you’d rather walk,”

Kieran scowls but opens the passenger door and gets in. He needed to make sure his Umma was awake to take her medication.

“Where to?” Darrian asks, pulling out of the parking lot. A pause, then:

“Trailer park. On Seventh,” Kieran answers before turning his head, searching Darrian’s face and waiting for the judgement that never comes. Darrian just nods before switching on his Bluetooth speaker and putting his playlist on shuffle. There’s only music for a few blocks.

“Where you headed to next year?” Kieran asks after the silence gets under his skin. He taps restlessly on the window button but the heater is running and he does not open it. Darrian replies robotically with his college options. He’s obviously been asked this before.

“Ivy Leagues. What a hotshot,” is the inquirer's contemptuous, suddenly disinterested, response. Unperturbed, Darrian returns the question. The answer is the local community college along with another hostile, expectant look. Darrian doesn’t go along with that script; makes no condescending comments or snide remarks, and again receives a confused look. But they don’t speak again.

“Thanks.” Curt, but not ungrateful, Kieran steps out on the dirt road and closes the car door. Darrian speeds off without another glance.

----------

The next day Shianni is better but her AP English essay is still incomplete. She skips school again. At lunch, Darrian looks over across the courtyard where the Korean clique stands chatting and eating. He makes eye-contact with the bored-looking boy wearing the dance team cap. The russet-haired boy raises his hand slightly and spins his car keys on a finger, an unremarkable gesture to the friends surrounding him, but Kieran gets the message. He inclines his head slightly before returning his attention to his companions.

“Waiting at my car? People are going to talk,” Darrian jests dryly after school, once again pulling out of the parking lot with Kieran riding shotgun.

“Yeah well, maybe don’t ask me out from across the fucking courtyard then.” comes the sour response. The passenger lowers his window; the rain has stopped and he likes the smell of it on pavement.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Darrian laughs shortly and without humor. But he lowers his window as well and doesn’t reach for his Bluetooth. The silence doesn’t last long this time.

“Sophomore year PE,” Kieran states matter-of-factly. He gets no reaction but continues anyways. He’s thought about it enough overnight to be sure. “Some nerd with his gym locker next to mine forgets how to fucking breathe during the mile run. I ran to grab his inhaler thing from the locker room,”

“You broke my locker,” Darrian adds, not noticing the slight smile tugging at his lips as he keeps his eyes on the road. “And they gave you detention for it. Assholes,”

“Assholes,” Kieran agrees, nodding though he had forgotten that detail. He was in detention so often he’d stopped remembering the reasons. He could forge his mom’s signature well enough to keep her in the dark about his school problems.

“That’s why you offered to take me home yesterday,” Kieran says when they pull up in front of the trailer park again. Darrian keeps his eyes on the road still, fingers tapping lightly on the wheel. He shrugs.

“I don’t like owing people,” he replies simply while locking eye contact. The dark-haired boy scoffs as he exits the car.

“That was yesterday,” he begins, dark eyes examining his classmate carefully before continuing. His face was annoyingly pretty for a Harvard-bound prick. For an authoritative asshole who could chug surprising and impressive amounts of alcohol at house parties. “What about today?”

Darrian cocks his head and grins as he puts his car in drive.

“Today, was a favor. Guess now you owe me,” he drives off before Kieran can respond. The next day Shianni returns. Neither of the boys bring up the car rides. Neither of them speak again.

---------

Three and a half years later Darrian tosses the medicine ball at his cousin. She catches it once more before setting it down and makes a comment on how it’s too hot outside for this. Darrian reminds her there’s only a couple weeks left of summer and that she’d been the one to ask him for help getting back in shape.

“I do have other things to do with my vacation, Shianni…” he trails off, noticing a familiar face across the gym. In the punching bag room a young man with his long hair tied back is going hard with his kicks and punches. Darrian systematically files through his brain, looking to match the face with a name.

“I know that look,” Shianni smirks and waves her hand in front of his eyes. He glares because she’s broken his concentration. His frown deepens when she stands on her toes to get a look at who he’s looking at. She stares before turning her head to him incredulously. “Please don’t tell me you’re checking out Kieran,”

“Kieran,” he repeats, his memory finally jogging. He’d all but deleted faces and names of everyone inconsequential in high school upon graduation day. For some reason though he recalls car rides and the smell of rain on pavement. “That’s the delinquent from our high school,”

“He’s not so bad now,” Shianni can’t help but be a little defensive. “He still copies my homework a lot but he hasn’t gotten into a fight all year,”

Darrian processes the fact that Shianni is still friends with the Asian guy now taking selfies. He decides to forget about him. That evening during dinner though, after realizing he’s been unsuccessful, he asks Shianni if she knows where Kieran works. She does.

The next day he’s at the cafe, hand is in his pocket, fingers running over the ridges of his Jetta’s keys. A girl greets and seats him but it’s Kieran who comes to take his order. He looks startled at first, then confused, then intrigued. Darrian marvels at the expressiveness of his eyes, his mouth, how quickly they change and the way they settle on what Darrian can only interpret as “cautious but glad,”. After eating, Darrian sips his coffee and does his work on his laptop. He mentally tallies the number of times the dark-haired waiter passes by his table. Too many times to be just business.

A couple hours later, Kieran clocks out, nods his head at him before he leaves. Darrian asks the waitress who took over for the check and is only half surprised when she tells him it’s been paid for.

After a few days of going to the gym at various times, Darrian arrives one Monday before sunrise. He immediately notices the lone occupant in the punching bag room. When he enters, Kieran wipes the sweat from his brow and turns to face him.

“You covered my check,” with Darrian’s tone it’s almost an accusation. But it’s softened by the small smile that he can’t fight away. Kieran’s brow creases but then he grins.

“I owed you,”

#modern au #highschool au #college au #kieran x darrian #kieran tabris #my tabris #Darrian tabris #mutual's tabris #dickeybbqpit #I wrote this in chemistry class because...them two have chemistry #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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