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rainydaydreamsideblog · 7 months ago

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(The Maze Runner) Imagine: He Protects You

It can be dangerous, especially for the only girl in the Glade.

Warnings: Guys being creeps in the Glade (nothing graphic), bullying, the Maze, danger.

. . .Thomas. . .

It’s a beautiful evening in the Glade. You’re walking straight along the treeline on your way to run a final errand for Alby at the end of the day. The sun is no longer visible, as it already descended far enough to be blocked by the walls.

Suddenly, you get the creeps. It was hard to explain, but you feel goosebumps bloom along your skin, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re not alone. The lovely glow of the bonfire is in your field of vision, but it’s so far away. It’s where most of the guys are gathered. You can hear their distant whoops and hollers, reminding you that help is far away too.

A twig snaps, and your suspicions are confirmed. There’s a figure following several feet behind you, lurking in the shadows cast from the trees above.

So, you veer off your original path to draw closer to the homestead where there would hopefully be someone who hadn’t made it to the bonfire yet. Whoever it was must have caught on to what you were doing because they instantly pick up their pace. You begin to hurry, increasing your speed so that they can’t catch you before you make it to what you hope will be a haven of safety.

Your heart is pounding, and your chest heaving with panicked breaths as you finally make it to the homestead.

“Hello?” you call frantically.

Suddenly, Thomas appears. He sees your nervous state immediately, his hand taking yours. But then his eyes lock onto something behind you, and he moves right past you to intercept your pursuer, effectively blocking them from you.

“What’s going on?” he demands. Your follower is frozen to the spot, stuttering, failing miserably to offer up some sort of explanation. Thomas steps forward, towering over the guy. It’s plain to see that he is furious. His forearms flex and his jaw is clenched. You can hear his angry breaths as he speaks again. “That’s what I thought. Now, get out of here.”

As soon as the guy is gone, Thomas turns around to face you. His close presence eases your fearful state when he steps into your space, filling your nose with his scent. “You okay?” he asks gently.

You manage a nod.

“We’re going to tell Alby right away. This isn’t going to happen to you again. Come here…” He carefully pulls you into his arms for an embrace, as if you’ll break apart if he’s too sudden. You bury your face in his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. His heartbeat is close to your ears, like a lullaby.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

. . . Newt . . .

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The teasing, the taunts… The inability of certain individuals to just leave you alone. Ever since you’d rejected him, Allan had made it his life’s mission to make your existence in the Glade all the more difficult.

Most recently, he had purposely bumped into you at lunchtime so that your meal was spilled all over your clothes and onto the ground. Resources were limited in the Glade. It was understood that wastefulness wouldn’t be tolerated. You couldn’t afford to lose food or have clothing ruined. Fortunately, your clothes would be fine after a wash, but the discarded food was a different story.

You dab at your tank top with a washcloth and pause to look at your reflection in the mirror. It was all too easy to recall how quickly you’d reached your limit after Allan’s ridiculous ploy. Your face is still wet from crying, eyes puffy, and lips parted as you took deep breaths.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk, you thought. Or in my case, spilled lunch.

After composing yourself, you decide it’s time to go back out there and face the music. You toss the damp rag aside and march determinedly out of the empty washroom. To your surprise, you smack right into another individual coming in. You instantly recognize the blonde hair and grumbles of complaint as he reels from the collision.

“Oi, shank, watch where you’re going-” Newt quickly realizes it’s you and clamps his mouth shut, extending his hands to each of your shoulders to steady you gently. He takes in the sight of your tear-stained face with his eyes showing clear concern. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, just… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Newt looks far from convinced, and you lower your gaze. He’s about to inquire further, but a familiar voice sounds from outside the washroom.

“Hey, _______!” Allan calls tauntingly, making you freeze up. “How’s it going in there?”

Newt’s eyes instantly flash, and his face scrunches up anger. You can hardly believe it when Allan continues.

“Sorry about my clumsiness earlier. Maybe I can make it up to you. Come on out before I go in there!”

Newt can’t contain himself anymore. He turns on his heel and heads out of the washroom, and you follow behind just to see the look on Allan’s face when he realizes he’s been caught.

It is so worth it. Allan’s stupid grin falls hard into a look of horror as the Second-in-Command approaches him furiously. He doesn’t lay a hand on him, but he looks like he’s awfully close when he jabs a pointer finger in his direction.

“If I ever catch you bothering her, or even breathing in her general direction again, you’ll be a permanent Slopper for the rest of your time here in the Glade. Do you understand, shank?”

Allan nods quickly, and doesn’t even wait to be dismissed. He just hurries away, leaving you and Newt both standing there watching him flee.

“Coward,” he mumbles. Then, Newt turns to you, resting a hand on your arm in a comforting gesture. “I mean it, you know. He’ll never bother you again.”

. . . Minho . . .

It’s hard not to panic when you glance up and can no longer see the sun above you. It’s the end of the day, and you’re nearly out of time. The lightning pain that shoots through your ankle suddenly just becomes too much. You lean against one of the ivy-covered walls and exhale.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” you say aloud, and the words weigh heavily on you. You mentally scold yourself. You can’t afford to think that way. A Runner knows better. With a wince, you continue limping on your way. It’s not that the exit from the Maze isn’t close. If memory serves you right (which it did), it wasn’t too far at all… but at your pace, it would take a lot of effort and some good luck to get you back in time.

Just when you are about to give up again, you hear footsteps rapidly approaching. Your first thought is that perhaps your cowardly companion had a change of heart, but the footsteps didn’t match.

“Hello?” you call.

“_________!” Minho’s voice responds, and your heart swells with hope. You aren’t out of the woods just yet, but your chances were much better with help. Minho nearly slides to a stop in front of you, instantly taking your arm and putting it around his broad shoulders to help you up. There is no time to stop and compare notes, so you update him as he begins helping you back along the path.

“I sprained my ankle.” You hold onto Minho like he’s your lifeline as you push through the pain to keep up with his pace. He’s right to go so fast. Time is running out.

“Where’s Derek?” he asks with a grunt.

“He…he left me,” you gasp in pain. “I think he was worried he wouldn’t make it out in time if he helped me.”

Minho goes quiet for a moment, and you can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves. His eyes are focused straight ahead at the path, and he huffs. Finally, he bites out a sarcastic comment. “I think it’s safe to say that he’s getting demoted from being a Runner.”

You keep talking, trying to distract the both of you from the familiar groan of the Maze walls shifting. “Why did you come out here?”

“Because it was getting late in the day, and no one had seen you,” he pants. “Usually, you check in with me right away. I knew something had to be wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

You continue limping with all your might toward the gate, feeling your heart jump, as the walls on either side begin their agonizingly slow crawl to a close. There’s a small group standing on the other side, ushering you both out anxiously. It was mostly Keepers, a select few who had been informed of the problem by Minho.

The two of you fell onto the green grass, gasping for breath, while the others surrounded you. Alby knelt down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. You just let yourself breathe, tears welling up in your eyes from relief.

“So it’s true?” Gally questioned, brows raised. “Derek left her in there.” “Yes,” Minho replied, sitting up. “And he will face the consequences.” He looked over at you, finally catching his breath. “You’re safe now.”

. . . Gally . . .

James had been haunting your steps for far too long. He was always there, always hanging around, and sometimes showing up at the most alarming of instances. What could be done about it? It wasn’t as if he’d taken severe enough action to warrant disciplinary measures, you thought. He was only ever seen staring at you, smirking, and just being an all-around jerk at times.

This time, he’d snatched your tools away from your working station while your back was turned. After uncovering a particularly tough old root, you turned around to get a spade to chop it up, only to see that your things were gone.

A few laughs caught your attention, and you glanced over to see James and one of his shadows standing there, staring at you from several feet away. You couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed like they had something to do with your missing tools.

So, now you’re debating with yourself on the best course of action. Do you ignore him and try to rustle up some extra tools from Newt or Zart? Or do you bother to give this shank the attention he’s so desperately seeking to get your stuff back?

You don’t really like the latter option. Frankly, James gives you the creeps. The last thing you want is to play his little game… But every minute that you spend deliberating is wasted time that could be put towards helping the Glade.

As much as you despise indulging him, you find yourself marching right over to his work area. Both James and his minion are laughing in amusement, shoving each other at the sight of you approaching.

“Do you know where my tools went?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I might,” James replies cryptically. “And I might be willing to strike up a bargain for that information.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “What could you possibly want?”

“Ohh, I don’t know…Perhaps a kiss will do.”

You make a face as the disgust hits you. “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a ‘no’ for me.” You wave off the concept, turning around. You decided that your best bet is to find some spare tools. This just wasn’t worth all the trouble. Just as you start to leave, James comes running around to block you.

“Hey now, I didn’t say you could go.”

“Yeah, you might want to think about his offer,” James’ lackey said from behind you. The two of them close in, and you clench your fists in preparation to fight. If you make enough commotion, you’re sure that someone will notice and come to your aid.

You give him one last chance. “Let me pass.”

“Come on, just one kiss. Unless you want more than one after that-” to your relief, James is cut off by a new voice interjecting.

“What’s going on here?” The three of you turn to see Gally standing there, sweating from whatever project he was working on,with dirt and wood shavings on his clothes. His expression looks expectant as he waits for an explanation, though his tall and bulky form makes him appear positively dangerous as he stares the two guys down with his hands resting on his hips.

“I, uh.. We…” They break off in stutters and fumbled words.

“I’m fairly certain they have my tools,” you say, and Gally’s famous arched brows raise at the two guys in disbelief.

“Is that so?” As Gally walks forward, he plants his palms harshly on James’ shoulder, shoving him clear out of the way. James stumbles unceremoniously, almost falling straight into the grass. Gally walks over to the bench and pauses. He picks up a bundle of leather and tosses it to you, the tools rattling inside. “Are those yours?”

You recognize it immediately. “Yes, these are the ones.”

“You shanks had better never even speak to her again. Understand?” He stares at each of them pointedly with all the authority of a Keeper, and they both nod. With that, Gally walks up to you and ushers you away with a warm, gentle hand on your back protectively.

“Your timing was impeccable,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

“They won’t bother you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already have,” you chuckle.

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lovebillyhargrove · 9 months ago

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Continuation of this

Tommy

***

Alright, you know, Hawkins is a small dead water town, but it has its bright sides. It's pretty. The fields and the woods, especially in autumn. Have you been at the quarry? Not the Grand Canyon, yeah okay. Anyways, the view's breathtaking.

And sure, Hawkins is boring and stale and there's nothing to do, blah blah blah. Don't worry, you can always find a way to spend time here, and sometimes the fun is through the roof.

Hawkins High school parties? The best stuff. When hosted by the right people.

King Steve throws the most amazing pool parties in summer. The moment his parents are out the door, the place gets thrashed, in the abso-fucking-lutely most reckless teenage way possible.

Tina Brooks usually hosts a couple of soirées a year, been doing it since last year of middle school. The girl's meticulous about preparations - even prints out frigging flyers, for fuck's sake. Tina and Carol are best friends. Tommy doesn't need a flyer to know when a party's on and poppin'.

There's always a keg, and a huge bowl of blood red punch spiked to the point of tasting like pure fuel. Roy Dunston ends up drinking half the bowl, but then pukes it all out, beware.

Everyone sets sail on the Beer River, and if you look around closely enough, you might find stronger spirits hiding in cupboards.

The music booms. The crowd yells.

And, like, Harrington and he? They've always partied so hard. Always woke up next afternoon with amnesia wiping out half the previous night.

Hargrove, the new guy? He's a beast at it. Tommy's not normal about watching him chug down that keg. He's not normal about those tanned abs covered in beer and lust. He might follow Billy around like a faithful bulldog on a leash, that's cause they are bros now. It's not about the abs.

It's totally about them, and also the spit and the messy stupid mullet you fucking want to run your fingers through, and they way Hargrove puffs on that cigarette ..

But shhh Tommy's in control, no-one ever needs to know. Also, shut up dude. What are you even implying, is Hagan a fag?

Shut up. Watch your mouth. Or else.

It's just that lately he keeps getting this nagging feeling like there's a secret floating around, he himself isn't worthy of being let in on. He sometimes intercepts the way these two - the king and the beast - look at each other among the mish-mash of the dancing crowd. One time he knocked on a bathroom door, and whoever was inside, didn't open up for the whole of five minutes - Hagan almost peed his pants for fuck's sake - and when the door was finally flung open, there was Harrington, storming out, pissed as fuck, all red in the face, and Hargrove, angry as a bull, and Tommy was too drunk to demand an explanation. Or once or twice, he definitely saw these two sneaking off to the garden to smoke weed - Hagan is sure it's weed cause Hargrove has this dope Californian stuff - and it's like .. fine.

Just why didn't they call him to join?

Part 4 of Tommy I miss you

#harringrove #harringrove and tommy #billy x steve #tommy tommy tommy I miss you

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jackdaw-kraai · 1 year ago

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Hey, Jack? Do you have any advice for dealing with those who do nothing but demand updates for your fics? I'm pretty sure most writers have to deal with this crap, it's just… I have one reasonably popular fic that's been on hiatus for over a year, and it feels like almost every comment I receive is just another demand for an update. I'm starting to regret ever posting that damnable fic in the first place. I don't want to delete it, that would be cruel to the other readers, but I'm already stressed as hell, I already felt guilty for the long hiatus, and these constant demands just kept grinding me down to the point I can't stand to even look at this fic, much less continue writing it. So… any advice?

Oh I have different tactics for different platforms, so I'll give you some tips for all the ones I use and how they synergize. First of, on Ao3, I generally put something in the notes like "writing takes a long time and real life doesn't always cooperate, so be patient. I'm the one actually working on this, so you can deal waiting for me to pour my labor and passion and time into this. Cool? Cool. If you can't be cool, I'll block/mute/freeze you." Then, I put places in the notes where they can find me outside of Ao3 like my tumblr and discord and explain what they can find there, usually this will help redirect. Then, once in a while, I'll answer a comment if I'm feeling like it like "life is still busy, working on this is still fun but very labor intensive in order to make it, ect". If they get pushy, I block them.

On tumblr, if people get pushy about it in the asks, I block them. No question about it, I block them. Once in a while I'll publish one of them with either a compassionate, curt, or snarky explanation depending on my mood, but I don't give all of them the time of day because oh my gods, who has the time once you ask box hits the triple digits?? I also keep a pinned post on my blog with links where you can find my stuff, so people can easily locate it instead of pestering me about it.

On discord I'm most active, so there's a lot of info to find there, but also, there's a lot of friends there who can help intercept anyone asking questions like that and inform them "writing takes time, cool your heels." Having a good moderating structure also helps with this, as well as spoiler channels where you can rant about your progress to people who are willing to be spoilered, or point at to people who aren't down for spoilers but still want info like "them's the rules for the info, if you don't like it, tough tits." I also flat out have a rule amongst the server rules list (mostly stuff like "don't be a bigoted cunt," "don't air your dirty laundry in #general," "if I catch you being a creep to minors, I WILL call the cops on your ass") that says "don't harass the author" and enforce it by having the server closed to anyone who doesn't tick the little box at the top saying "I have read the rules and agree to them." You very quickly get a self-selecting audience that way that knows you won't take their shit.

Key to all of this is to assert yourself and be willing to step on toes to make people back off and give back your personal space. You can't be shy about setting your boundaries, and you don't have to be polite to people crossing them. Even the kindest celebrities often have bodyguards for this reason, and while we may not be celebrities, we can be our own bodyguards enforcing our boundaries. Try giving people a space they can go for information, but information that's given on your terms, not theirs. Pinned posts and A/Ns and the like are excellent for this. And finally, just block people. Literally just block people, even if they're fans. If people make you uncomfortable, remove them from your space, you can literally just do that. You don't owe them access to be able to harass you, and if they can't be polite about this, you can deny them access to you, period.

Fans are a lot of fun, and I love interacting with them! I met some of my best friends as fans first, and they're lovely folks! But you gotta stick to your boundaries in order to keep it fun for everyone, and make sure you state them loud and clear. And if people pretend to not have heard them, you can remind them this isn't a court of law, and even if it was, ignorance of the law is not defense of breaking it. Evict them from the premise without further notice if they won't comply.

#the guides verse #guides verse #writing

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acourtofthought · 2 years ago

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I've often compared Chaol & Celaena’s relationship to that of E/riel but I'd forgotten about about all the Dorian / Celaena moments. The similarities between them and E/riel are striking and I'd say that Dorian / Celaena developed a more intimate relationship than E/riel has so far.

In fact, he was so attractive that she had difficulty not thinking about how attractive he was,

She sort of wanted to kiss him.

She’d been kissed before, of course. By Sam, and often enough that she was no stranger to it. But it’d been over a year since she’d lost the assassin she’d grown up with. And even though the thought of kissing anyone else had once made her sick, when she saw Dorian …

We have physical attraction and a desire to kiss him. The first person she's been interested in since Sam.

“What is Dorian doing with her?” She shrugged. “Sparring?” “And why are they sparring?” “Because he volunteered to teach her how to fight?”

After hours of enjoying himself at the feast, Dorian entered Celaena’s rooms, not sure what, exactly, he was doing in the chambers of an assassin at two in the morning.

When they talked, as sharp as her words usually were, he felt at ease, as if he could say anything. And she must have felt the same, after she’d told him about Sam, whoever he’d been. So here he was, in the middle of the night. She flirted with him, but was it real?

We're shown that Dorian initiated spending time with Celaena, offering to help her.

“What are you doing here?” Chaol hissed softly. “What are you doing here?” Dorian countered, trying to keep his voice quiet. It was the better question, too. If Chaol spent so much time warning him about the dangers of associating with Celaena, what was he doing here in the middle of the night?

“By the Wyrd, Dorian! She’s an assassin. Please, please tell me you haven’t been here before.” Dorian couldn’t help his smirk. “I don’t even want an explanation. Just get out, you reckless idiot.

Dorian, for some reason, didn’t sleep well that night.

We have Dorian going against what he should be doing to be near her and not sleeping well.

“I intercepted Chaol, and he informed me of your ‘condition.’ You’d think a man in his position wouldn’t be so squeamish, especially after examining all of those corpses.” Celaena opened an eye and frowned as Dorian sat on her bed. “I’m in a state of absolute agony and I can’t be bothered.” “It can’t be that bad,” he said, fishing a deck of cards from his jacket. “Want to play?”

This is only a single example of the time they spent together as there are many more but he sat by her side while she was struggling with cramps and kept her company. And Dorian and Celaena actually had quite a bit in common compared to E/riel.

Dorian didn’t realize he’d been transfixed by her until she straightened and demanded, “What are you staring at?” “You’re beautiful,” Dorian said before he could think.

And he couldn’t deny that he was aching to learn what Celaena’s lips felt like, what her bare skin smelled like, how she’d react to the touch of his fingers along her body.

Physical desire on Dorian's part.

“She’s yours,” Dorian said, “if you want her.” “What shall I do with her if I’m sent back to Endovier?” “I’ll worry about that.” Celaena stroked her folded velvet-soft ears, then ventured low enough to scratch her chin. The pup’s tail wagged in earnest. Yes, there was life in her.

He gave her a priceless gift.

“I—er, I didn’t expect you to.” He blushed madly and glanced at the clock. “I have to go. I’ll see you at the ceremony—or perhaps tonight after the ball? I’ll try to get away as early as I can. Though I bet that without you there, Nehemia will probably do the same—so it won’t look so bad if I leave early, too.” She’d never seen him babble like this.

She was able to make him blush.

He shook the hair out of his face. “I’m not interested in court ladies,” he said thickly, and kissed her. His mouth was warm, and his lips were smooth, and Celaena lost all sense of time and place as she slowly kissed him back. He pulled away for a moment, looked into her eyes as they opened, and kissed her again. It was different this time—deeper, full of need. Her arms were heavy and light all at once, and the room twirled round and round. She couldn’t stop. She liked this—liked being kissed by him, liked the smell and the taste and the feel of him. His arm slipped around her waist and he held her tightly to him as his lips moved against hers. She put a hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging into the muscle that lay beneath.

After hours of kissing and talking and more kissing on her bed, Dorian had left only minutes before. She’d been tempted to ask him to stay—

They were physical together.

Celaena strode to the balcony and flung open the doors, embracing the chill air. Her hand rose to her lips and she stared up at the stars, feeling her heart grow, and grow, and grow. Dorian walked slowly back to his rooms, his heart racing. He could still feel her lips on his, smell the scent of her hair, and see the gold in her eyes flickering in the candlelight. Consequences be damned. He’d find a way to make it work; he’d find a way to be with her. He had to.

Dorian is willing to risk being with Celaena despite who he is and despite who she is.

She shifted her gaze to him. “I can’t be with you if I’m the King’s Champion.” “Of course you can. We’ll still have to keep it a secret, but—” “I have enough secrets. I don’t need another one.”

Though she wanted him, though she cared for him, she knew a lasting relationship wouldn’t end well.

“I’m the King’s Champion. Surely you realize how inappropriate it would be for me to have a relationship with a prince.”

Dorian and Celaena shared a strong physical attraction to one another. He was the first male she felt drawn to after the loss of her love. They spent time with one another, they had genuine feelings for one another, they shared similar interests, he gave her an amazing gift, he was kept up at night over thoughts of her, and he was willing to do whatever he needed to do in order to be with her. He and Celaena shared more meaningful conversations and more in general than we've ever seen E/riel share and the Az POV Chapter shows how incredibly awkward Elain and Az still are around one another.

But in the end, SJM shows us that "secret" relationships can't work. The right relationship should not be one that's hidden (which she demonstrates again with Chaol, a character who Celaena hid a large part of who she was from, also like Az with Elain) or one where someone has to sacrifice something.

When SJM says "something is wrong", she means it. She doesn't do the, "this is so wrong but I'm going to be with you anyway" trope.

How can readers not notice the parallels between Celaena’s relationships with both Dorian and Chaol and how, while Celaena wanted them both at different times and how they both wanted her, they still weren't meant to be? For as sweet and beautiful as those relationships could have been and were, they still weren't Aelins endgame?

It's absolutely insane to look at the above and refuse to accept that there is an extremely real chance E/riel will suffer the same fate as Dorian / Celaena.

And for the argument that Celaena didn't know her Mate at that time, she still chose Dorian over Chaol at first (Chaol who she actually ended up entering into a relationship with and thought she'd have a future with). And, it is understandable why Elain try resist her Mating Bond at first, just as Nesta chose to resist what she felt for Cassian.

SJM doesn't write instant love. She writes stories about characters trying to avoid their destinies, then finally making the choice to accept them. She writes stories of growth where the character finally becomes who they were meant to be and that includes eventually choosing the right person for them by the end of it.

#anti e/riel #antie/riel #antielriel #elain archeron #azriel acotar #pro elucien #elucien

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 2 years ago

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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 126- The Reaping

Summary: Catherine holds a trump card. Narcisse has a choice to make. Haldir finds something deplorable. Josie demands answers and they're not what she expects. Josie fights for her life. She seeks Narcisse and he tends to her. Thranduil awakens with a whole new view, mentally and literally. The Elvenking does something extremely stupid in his altered persona.

*Warnings* angst, blackmail, language, violence, blood and gore, graphic death, sadism, SMUT, alcohol use

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

After you disappeared in the halls after leaving Narcisse's room, Catherine snuck into his chambers like a sly fox to see if there was any evidence of truth to what you had implied about sharing a bath with the warlock lord. To her dismay, the bath was full of water with the floor wet before it, along with a damp towel that laid over the edge. She picked it up and brought it to her nose, taking in a giant whiff. In disgust and shock from smelling the scent of cherries and peppermint, which were of you and Narcisse, she threw it to the ground and stomped on it.

In a fit of rage, she went to leave to find Stephane until her eyes caught sight of something on the floor underneath his desk. Her morbid curiosity made her decide to pick up what looked to be a folded letter with a broken seal. As she opened it, skimming her devious eyes over the words to the very end, she wadded it shut against her chest as she gasped.

"The King of Mirkwood is alive...." she muttered.

As Narcisse was on his way back to his chambers about an hour later, he was intercepted by Catherine who appeared as if she were a cat who had just caught a mouse.

"Stephane...enjoy your bath with the presumed dearly departed King's widow?"

Not yet catching onto the presumed part she spoke, he leaned against the wall, realizing she must have seen you and you must have given Catherine reason to believe he and you shared the bath, which thrilled him that you would do so.

"If you must know, the Queen and I did share a bath." he happily lied with a smug smile to stick it to her as he played along with your charade.

"Well well Stephane, it seems to me that the only rat in this castle is you."

Narcisse rolled his eyes and exhaled a deep sigh of frustration.

"That's interesting, coming from the one who tried to bribe Jo with money to leave and epically failed, getting your ass handed to you in the process.

"Oh no Stephane, the only one that will get their ass handed to them is you, for you see, I know your dirty little secret after going into your chambers."

Stephane furrowed his brows in bewilderment as he listened to her ramble on as if she had some kind of upper hand on him.

"And low and behold, what do I find laying carelessly on the floor, but an opened letter addressed to Josephine from a very much alive Elvenking, and I had to wonder why you would have such a thing in your room?"

"You went in my room??!" he snapped as he quickly placed his hand in his now empty pocket.

"It must have fallen out..." he mumbled in worry, but knew if you had found it before you left, it certainly wouldn't have laid there for Catherine to find....and you would have hunted him down, demanding explanations.

"What was that my love?"

Narcisse became beyond angry.

"I do not know what game you are playing, but it ends here."

"Oh no Narcisse, it is only just beginning. After all, you're the one who loves games are you not? And now you have a worthy opponent like you told Josephine you never had, just before you stole a kiss from her."

"I have had enough of you for I have been far too lenient in your jealousies of her when she had never done anything to you! I will give you one hour to gather your things and remove yourself from my castle, never to return!" he snarled through his teeth.

Catherine gleefully chuckled.

"Oh Stephane Narcisse, if you banish me from here, then you will leave me no choice to give the letter to Josephine, which by the way, I have very well hidden so that you cannot get your sneaky little hands on it."

'She would never believe you! I will deny it all. She will believe you found it and kept it form her, not me."

"Maybe so, but the fact still remains that if I show her this, you will lose her, for she will run far away trying to find her captured King!"

Narcisse fumed as he cornered Catherine against the wall.

"When I told you that you have forgotten who you are dealing with, I meant every word. No one blackmails me and lives. What's to stop me from snapping your scrawny neck where we stand? Then your hidden letter will never reach the hands of Thranduil's queen."

"Oh but it will, in due time. You see, I made sure it can easily be found by her if she looks in the right place because I knew you would threaten my life.. so either way, the clock is ticking for you, unless you rid of her like I previously ordered and return to me where you belong. Then and only then, will I make the letter disappear. The choice is yours. Lord help you if the King ever returns and finds out you withheld such vital information from her. You never should have crossed me Stephane. You and she will pay, and be knocked from your high pedestals. I guess killing your horse was too subtle of a warning. Tell me...how have you been feeling lately? Do you believe in witches?"

Catherine smugly exited with a grin, waiting for the next bomb to drop that she set into motion since she left Narcisse's chamber.

Stephane realized now why your spell book was missing that you informed him of. He had been cursed and now knew either choice he made would cost him dearly, for Catherine was right, he would lose you with all scenarios, in which he played out in his haunted mind. He came to the conclusion that the best alternative ending would be to make you leave, but he couldn't bring himself to force you to do it, so he figured he would have to make you want to leave all on your own. He returned to his chambers with an idea, took out a piece of paper and a pencil, then sat down and began to draw with his creative art skills.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird..." you sang to Leean as you rocked her to sleep.

A harsh knock sounded upon the door. In frustration, you quickly laid her in her crib and rushed to the door, springing it open to find a pursed lipped Haldir.

"Oh...I thought you were still mad at me. What have I done now to earn this theatrical display?' you quipped.

Haldir huffed at your remark and walked in, heading straight onto the balcony so he would not disturb Leean and also Lola as she curiously watched the two of you. You followed him in confusion and shut the door behind you. He then spun around and handed you something.

"This!" Haldir reeled.

Shocked at his anger, you took the paper he held as your eyes flowed down to the contents upon it. A drawing of you, naked.

Your mouth popped open but no words came out as your eyes bulged at the beautiful yet treacherous sight.

"Jo, what the hell is going on with you? I know you are in mourning, but your actions are becoming destructive and reckless."

Your eyes rolled up to him and finally you were able to speak.

"Where...how...where did you get this?' you whispered in utter disbelief, ignoring his scolding of you for the moment.

"In the dining hall for all to see...in which they did as it laid sprawled out on the dessert table on top of a cherry pie...and do not get me started on the vulgar comment I heard from one man in which I almost smashed his face in it."

The marchwarden's nose flared as he fumed fiery breath through it.

"I..I don't understand...who...who could have done this.."

"Well why don't you ask him." the raging elf snarked as he tilted the drawing you still held and roughly poked his finger on the bottom, to where you finally saw a tiny disclaimer of a signature. Stephane.

"Why would he be drawing you in such a.....way. Did you sleep with him?"

You slapped the drawing down against your leg.

"I don't think that's any of your business!"

"You do not seem to think anything is my business anymore. You will no tell me what happened with Legolas. In fact, you do not talk to me at all. You said you and I would spend time together soon and that has not happened. Is it because of me? because I knew the truth about Tauriel and Thranduil and did not tell you?"

"I do NOT want to talk about that for I still cannot believe it..and...and no Haldir, I am not mad at you over that. I understand why you didn't tell me...at least since he died anyways. I should be mad about the fact you knew right after it happened just as Legolas did."

"If I would have done that, and believe me, I wanted to, you would have been more angry, accusing me of trying to come between you and the King, like you did at your vow renewals for telling you the truth about him and Kate. You banished me from Mirkwood for that Jo! So needless to say, I minded my own business like you have just made very clear that yours is not mine. Is that why Legolas left? because you are holding it against him for not telling you?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Haldir...have you gone deaf lately??"

He sighed loudly in disbelief as his eyes lowered and then spoke softly.

"You and I...we used to be so close...and now, I do not even know you. It is like you do not even care about me at all anymore."

Haldir's eyes glistened with oncoming tears as he turned and left.

You stood shocked for a moment and then ran into the room to stop him, but the bedroom door had just closed. Now you've pushed Haldir away too, you thought as you began to cry.

"Miss josie, are you alright?" Lola asked as she came over to you.

You hid the drawing behind your back and offered her a forced smile.

"I"ll be fine. Please stay with Leean. There's something I need to take care of."

You barged right into Narcisse's room and marched right up to him as he stood smiling, knowing exactly why you were there.

"You drew me naked. I don't know which is more humiliating. The fact that you did something like this or that a multitude of people saw it, including Haldir." you reeled as you held the drawing out to him.

"From my understanding, it's not like he has not seen you in this way before.... I must say though, the likeness is impressive." Narcisse grinned as he looked it over.

""Oh stop admiring your own work." you snapped and ripped it out of his hands. "Are you going to act as if you did not just see me in the bath or that I would somehow forget it ever happened...which now I wish it had not."

"Jo...surely you've bathed in front of others besides myself."

"Ugh!" you griped in disgust.

"Well, am I the only one that knows you have a scar just here?" he smugly asked as he pointed to his upper chest by his shoulder. Your mind briefly flashed back to when you inflicted the knife upon yourself when you were being forced to kill Thranduil under Garrett's mind control before the vampire had changed his evil ways.

"Oh please. Your signature is on it Stephane...in fine print but I can see the swank little S, which now in my eyes stands for snake."

"Very well then. I made the sketch."

"Why???"

"For my private edification, but then I made a hefty gamble with one of my fellow warlocks because he claims that his paramour is the most beautiful woman in my castle. I very much disagreed so I offered your photo for all the warlocks to vote on." he explained as if it were no big deal.

"Sadly, although your beauty is sublime...I lost the bet." he continued in an insouciant manner as he stuffed his face.

You weren't sure if it was what he said or the way he said it that slightly stung you.

"You do realize that Haldir now thinks I slept with you. All we did was talk and you know it."

"Mmm, well you were naked at the time..and you did offer to sleep with me...but I do see your point."

You glared at him.

"You were so different just hours ago, sweet and seemed to actually have a heart. You say you care for me and now..."

"I say a great many things. The mistake was yours in trusting me." he coldly said.

"Why are you doing this? You're not the kind of person to hurt someone just for money."

"Do you remember when you told me you did not like me, and I told you that you don't know me? That's because you don't. I have done things that you have not a clue about that you would be repulsed by. I am merely the arrogant asshole I warned you that I was."

"You also told me that you are not a soulless animal and I believe that. You have shown me that there is another side of you!"

'Which gave you the assurance you needed to take a bath in front of me, revealing all the sides there are to you."

Narcisse was pouring salt into the wounds he created and you didn't understand why he was trying to hurt you like this. All you knew is that it did hurt, and even that part you didn't understand.

He then stood up and came over to you.

"You think that because we shared a few nice moments, that you saw some good in me that no one had ever seen before?"

"I truly thought I did. Whatever your plan was here today, you succeeded... I can see quite clearly the man before me now."

Narcisse stared at you as he gulped in regret. You stared back at him, your eyes swelling up with tears....and then you quietly left. Normally you would have slapped him into next week, but you knew this wasn't him because you saw it in his pained eyes just now that he miserably failed to conceal....whatever was going on, he wasn't going to break so you gave up.

Narcisse sat in his chamber for hours knocking back the whiskey, ashamed of what he had to do to you. The look in your eyes after all that he said to you, had demolished his heart and he could only imagine what it did to yours. He knew he was reaping what he sowed for keeping the truth about Thranduil from you and debated on just telling you, but the black magic upon him would not let him be the man you had once seen....then, in came Catherine to gloat.

"I hear you are quite the artist."

"Yep, and Josie will never speak to me again."

"Such good news. I am sorry my love but your loyalty needed to be tested." she said in a joyful tone as she went over to Stephane and placed her hands on his arms as if he would readily welcome her back.

He laid his hands on top of hers and smiled.

"Catherine."

"Yes my love."

"Go fuck yourself."

Narcisse gulped down his drink and then walked out with his heart bleeding love.

Dec 1 (3 days later)

You made Lola take Leean for a walk indoors around the castle so you could be alone for awhile and cry your eyes out. All you had left now was Garrett...at least that was how you felt. He had been here everyday to visit with you and make sure you were alright. You contemplated on leaving and to hell with that damn book. What did it even matter to you anyways? But where would you go now? Lorien was probably not an option now since you and Haldir had barely said two words to each other since the drawing incident. You were surprised he hadn't left you too by now. There was also no sign of your father and you didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. You told yourself that you never asked to be a part of this fucked up fairytale but in all reality, you knew you had when you called out for an imaginary King every night to save you, but this is wasn't what you signed up for. This wasn't the world you dreamt of. If you could go back to the day you escaped Peter and change it all, would you? You would lose everything, but Thranduil would still be alive and would never know you. Would you even remember him?

You forced these ridiculous thoughts out of your head and went to splash cold water on your face and wash up at the sink, since you still refused to get in your bath. As you were finishing up, you heard the bedroom door close.

"Lola? Why are you back so soo...."

Your words halted as you saw the most terrifying sight in the mirror of someone opening your bathroom door. Asher.

"It's not real, it's not real Josie." you whispered as you smushed your eyes shut.

"Oh it's very real bitch."

Your eyes sprung open wide as you spun around shaking profusely. Your hand desperately searched the basin behind you for something, anything to fight him off.

Asher then came towards you slowly with intent to kill as you could see it in his rage filled darkened eyes and the fact he was carrying a sword. He was dirty, beaten, soaked in sweat and clearly in physical agony considering what Stephane had done to him. How had he gotten free and how did he know where to find you?

"Don't come any closer or I'll..."

"You'll what? Scream? Go ahead since that's all you can do, powerless witch. You'll be dead before anyone gets to you."

"Please, I have a little girl!! She needs me." you pleaded, trapped between him and the door.

"And now she will not have a mother."

"I did not do this to you! You're not thinking clearly in your condition. Narcisse, he will kill you for this!"

"Oh I am thinking more clearly than I ever have. I wish he would have killed me already! This is all because of you, so yes, you did do this to me!" he spoke through his teeth as he gritted them.

As your hand fumbled behind you, you found your hairbrush that was made of metal and it was quite large and heavy. Instinctively, you hurled it at him as hard as you could, striking him right in the forehead. He bellowed in pain and doubled over, giving you just enough time to run past him. You almost made it to the chamber door when he grabbed your hair from behind, yanking you against him and smashing his hand over your mouth as he lifted his sword up to your throat.

"Thranduil...give me the power." you muttered as you concentrated on your King's warrior skills.

Asher laughed into your ear. "Your dead King can't save you no more than anyone else can, but don't worry. You'll be reunited with him real soon. I won't lie. It's gonna hurt first, really bad."

Your fist clenched tight as you pounded him right in his sore empty crotch. As he wailed in pain, you then hammered down on his arm, knocking the sword to the ground. You quickly picked it up and plunged it right through his gut. You shrieked as he fell against you, spilling his blood clear down your dress as he slid to the ground. You stood there, emotionless as you watched him die.

Everything went blurry after that, for you had never killed anyone before, well except for Malsin when you stabbed him from behind with a dagger, but you later found out he didn't die from that, but from Haldir beheading him after.

The sword slipped from your hand and clanked onto the floor. You found yourself then unsteadily walking out the door and scuffing your feet down the halls in a daze. There wasn't a soul in sight and if there had been, you wouldn't have even noticed them in the state you were in.

You ended up at Stephane's chamber, not knowing how or why. As you stood frozen, staring at the door, you tried to call his name but you couldn't speak. Your legs began to tremble as if they could give out at any moment....and they did.

Narcisse was at his desk looking over some documents when he heard a thud against his door. Cautiously, he opened it to find you hunched over on the ground covered in blood.

"Jo!! My god!" he belted out and fell down to his knees beside you. "What has happened?? Jo, baby look at me! Is this your blood??"

All you could do was whimper. Your eyes couldn't even find his face.

He gripped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him as he gave your head a shake.

"Jo, is this your blood?!!!"

The jolt snapped you somewhat back to reality as you stuttered.

"N...n..no..."

His eyes widened as he gulped and held his breath, then released it to speak.

"Alright..who's is it Jo? Talk to me sweetheart."

Your eyes finally met his and when they did, tears plummeted from them.

"A..As..Asher's...I...I...k...k.kill...killed him."

"What??? How...how did he...Jesus, Jo, where is he now?"

"M..my...room."

"My god, where is Leean?!"

You tried to answer but you then fell onto his chest and passed out.

"Jo, baby?! Jo..."

Narcisse sighed heavily as he cradled your head against him and kissed it, then quickly scooped you up into his arms and carried you inside his chambers, laying you down upon his bed. He then stroked your cheek and left, locking the door behind him.

He was worried sick about Leean, praying she was not present during this to see her mother in such a way and most importantly that she was unharmed and safe as he truly did care for the little girl.

Upon reaching your chamber, the door was wide open and there laid a deceased Asher just as you had said. He couldn't believe it. Rage began to rush through him as he wondered how he escaped or even knew where to find you, but he had a pretty good idea.

He summoned a few of his warlock guard and ordered them to dispose of the body, rug and weapon as he went to search for Lola and Leeanduil, in which he found the two safe and sound in the dining hall.

'Lola...have you seen the marchwarden? I need to speak with him."

"I did, awhile earlier. He went into the city but that is all I know."

"Very well. Take the child back to your personal chambers and remain there until further notice....and keep your door secured. Do not open it unless it is myself or her mother."

"Is everything alright? Where is Josie?"

"Lola...do as your told. There is plenty of Mirkwood's magical water here to fulfill the child's nutritional needs if she becomes hungry."

"Yes, my lord."

Narcisse bent down and gave Leean a smile and little tickle, then rushed off back to you.

"My King, take me away from this awful place!"

Your words echoed loudly through Thranduil's dream as he trekked through the dark forest trying to locate the beautiful voice, but the further he went, the more it faded.

He gasped awake not realizing he called out your name. Reality then washed over him as he took in his new surroundings, completely forgetting his dream and you.

Thranduil laid upon a king size feather soft bed inside a lofty elegant chamber, softly lit by candlelight. The walls and ceiling were carved out of various shapes of stone, in which he then realized he was inside of a mountain.

As he went to stand up, his head became full and achy. Slowly he moved to a large vanity and peered at himself in the mirror. He moved in closer as his eyes appeared a darker hue, but the longer he stared into his own eyes, the moonstone glow returned and he suddenly felt revived, no longer in any pain.

Upon walking around the room, he became enthralled with a large copious wardrobe stuffed full of elven garments, some he recognized as his own. Beside it in a pile on a high back chair fit for a king were his armor but no swords. He had no memory of what happened to him but he did recall that he was wearing his moonstone ring and now he wasn't. The last memory he was able to coax out for the moment was being at Lestat's which made his skin crawl to know that he was ever in the domicile of a vampire and he remembered why he was there too. For you, which now infuriated him that he had ever allowed himself to be involved with a human, and a pure blood witch at that. He convinced himself that you had spellbound him, for it was the only thing that made sense for him to have ever had relations with you. If there was one thing he knew about witches, it was their wicked manipulations in seduction. Any memories after that time were all a fog except for when he awoke after first arriving here. Jareth had told him he had been injured in the massive blaze and that he rescued him. He chalked it up to being a head injury since he could recall the previous pain and figured that to also be why he could not remember much after that.

Thranduil's eyes located the wash room and inside was a colossal spring with steam dispensing from it, inviting him in and so he did, feeling the desperate need to relax and forget all the horrible memories for awhile. Also, to his delight and cravings, was a wine table next to the fog covered pool. He quickly undressed, poured himself a substantial amount of the invigorating red vintage and climbed into the hot spring, indulging in both for at least an hour.

Thranduil laid his head back against the mountain wall and closed his eyes, sighing deeply in ecstasy and soon dozed off as the warm liquid relaxed all of his muscles.

"Thranduil....Thranduil where are you my King...please, take me away from this awful place, I beg of you." your weak sobbing voice pulsed through his mind.

Once again, The Elvenking found himself traveling through the dark forest, this time with Tauriel at his back. There, just around a tree, you lied semi conscious with blood trickling from your forehead. Thranduil knelt beside you, completely lost in your beauty and more so in the pull he felt when he laid his cool hand on your head, healing you. He then picked you up into his arms and began taking you away from that awful place as you had pleaded for him to do.

"My lord, she is human. Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

"Do not question my authority. She is injured and needs my help, and I am going to offer it."

"Yes my lord."

Thranduil jerked awake, almost hyperventilating. He knew exactly what he dreamt of. The night he first found you outside of Mirkwood's northern borders in the dark forest where Malsin had been tracking you.

"Get out of my head witch!" he barked out loud and climbed out of the water in a pissed off tizzy.

He became even more unhinged when he noticed his cock at full attention and glared at it as if it would shrivel up in fear of him, but it did not, so he ignored the throbbing ache and downed another glass of the wicked wine.

"I could help you with that problem...again...if you would like." a voice sounded from the bath's entrance way.

He slowly turned to face the familiar voice to see Raven ogling his cock that he did not bother to try and conceal, but instead, stood there with it pointing at her as he grinned. His stance purposely bragged of his beauty and his eyes turned dark gray once again as he neared her.

"Is that so...dhampir? I do not recall ever having the pleasure of you, but, maybe you could.... refresh my memory."

Raven's eyes widened as she swallowed heavily in shock. He was supposed to hate her, even more now that he had been conditioned.

"Why do you look so frightened my child? It's just a cock...or...have you never had one such as this?"

Raven forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Speak, girl!"

She jumped and squeaked. "I...I...have not...well, not fully...do you not...remember...my lips upon....you?"

Thranduil tilted his head with furrowed brows and advanced closer to her.

"Should I?"

"W...well yes? I..I mean...you hate vampires and...I..I am part of that and...you...hate me also."

"I do hate vampires...and witches as well which you are also...and I do recall my hatred of you...but..I do not have to like you to fuck you, do I?"

Her knees began to wiggle like jelly as her core screamed at her.

"N..no..I suppose not but...Jareth...he..."

"What about him? I do not fear him. He may have offered me assistance but I owe him nothing. If only your lips were upon me, then it would seem, I owe you something. Would you like to collect?"

Thranduil now stood in front of her, the head of his cock teasing her stomach.

"Th...Thranduil... I..."

"That's King Thranduil to you young one." he raved with a succulent smirk.

"D..don't you even care as to why you do not remember?"

He placed his hand on the wall above her head and leaned down, staring at her.

"I do not." he simply stated as he twirled her hair in his fingers.

"But...but...no...no no no...you're just fucking with me aren't you? You have before. I do not trust you...and Jareth will kill me, which is probably what you're hoping for."

"If I wanted you dead, you would be dead, right here, right now."

She wanted to believe him and still desperately desired him.

"Jareth is not here but he could be back at any moment. I really shouldn't have even come."

"Then why did you?"

"I..I don't know why I came!" she snapped and tried to leave.

Thranduil pushed her back in place before him.

"I know exactly why you came and I want you to come again."

He spun her around to face the wall, making her loudly gasp, then bent down and whispered into her ear.

"I will not take what is not offered to me, so I will leave the choice up to you."

His fingers strolled down her side and rested on her inner thigh, causing her breathing to rapidly increase.

"I can smell the desire seeping from you" he reveled as his thumb grazed her clit.

She released a yelp at his touch. "Yes...King Thranduil. I offer myself to you."

He growled into her neck and ripped her pants down, spreading her legs, then found her soaked entrance and shoved into her.

Thranduil intensely grunted at the extreme pleasure while Raven screeched in pain as his thickness tore her.

"It will only hurt for a moment. Focus not on the pain but on the pleasure that is to come."

The more he pushed, the more her wetness covered him until he was fully sheathed.

"There. Now move with me."

She did as he ordered, rocking her hips as he grinded into her slowly and deeply, panting into her ear at each thrust.

He placed a hand onto her stomach and his fingers into her folds. She squealed and began bucking her hips, feeling all the pleasure he assured her would come. Thranduil pumps raced against her outward thrusts sending Raven into an erratic climax in which she bit down on her hand to keep from screaming. Thranduil quickly followed as he flattened her against the wall, his cock raging in release with no attempt to withdraw or silence his rapture. His hips twitched as the last of his essence spurted into her.

"You can go now." he coldly snapped and went to the wine table.

Raven had been used and she knew it, but didn't care. She was still in shock but in a very good way for she never dreamed she would have all of the Elvenking without tricking him. Of course, he was being tricked though, just not by her and God help her if he ever was freed from the black magic upon him for he would surely kill her when he realized what she allowed him to do.

Thranduil gulped down a full glass of wine, frustrated that he didn't feel better, but worse...and he didn't know why. He did know that what he had just done was only to hurt you. What he didn't know was that he was programmed to make you suffer.

"You will never know what hit you." he smugly said as he knocked back another glass. Your face then flashed in his mind, instantly angering him.

"Go away!" he shouted and hurled the chalice against the wall as pain ripped through his head.

He stumbled his way back to his resting area as his vision blurred. Everything then went black as he lost consciousness and face planted onto the bed.

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enruiinas · 1 month ago

Text

‎‏‏‎ She was avoiding him.

‎‏‏‎ At first, Law thought he might be imagining it: that the fleeting glances and hasty ducking of sunset curls around the corner each time he entered a room that morning had been simply several cases of poor timing on his part - or perhaps a product of the navigator’s coquettish antics for the day. It was hardly unusual for her to find amusement in teasing and riling him up all day, after all, sneaking subtle insinutations and brief but notable passing touches into her daily routine, just waiting to see how far she could push until the allied captain rounded a corner to drag her into the nearest uninhabited doorway.

‎‏‏‎ Maybe he truly did keep just missing her; or perhaps she was up to something. But when an early lunch rolled around (thanks to her captain’s persistent grumbling), marking several waking hours of not running into each other, Law began to grow suspicious.

‎‏‏‎ The Sunny was big, but it wasn’t that big.

‎‏‏‎ His suspicions solidified further when he’d entered the dining hall to find Nami not in her usual seat she favored beside him, but settled in further down and across the table from him, too deeply immersed in whatever she discussed with the dark-haired archaeologist for Law to inquire. After lunch, she’d hurried off in the name of working on her latest sea chart - and informed the crew she was not to be disturbed except in cases of extreme emergency (and no, Luffy, Brook breaking his violin out for the daily performance of Bink no Sake was not an emergency, for the thousandth time.)

‎‏‏‎ Not that that would have stopped him had it not been for him being conveniently intercepted by said bored captain en his route to check in on her. And “what do you mean you don’t want to play hide and seek with us, Tora-o? Nami said you wanted to play with us!”

‎‏‏‎ It was fortunate for everyones’ sakes - Law’s, as well as the rubber pirate and his equally persistant sidekick of the ship’s small doctor, that (in typical Straw Hat fashion), an emergency occurred shortly thereafter. After Nami had maneuvered them safely out of a miniature natural disaster that defied all logic (and delivered a round of irritated smacks to the back of her floundering crewmates’ heads), and her bedroom door had slammed in such a way behind her as she wandered off for a mid-afternoon break in her quarters that even Law did not deign to bother her, dinner had been upon them.

‎‏‏‎ And Nami was seated beside Nico-ya and the sniper for the second time.

‎‏‏‎ And pointedly not looking at him.

‎‏‏‎ Honestly - she had no one to blame but herself for the situation she found herself in. Avoiding her frantic attempts at kicking him and the molten cold prickle of Nami’s glare between his shoulder blades, Law pressed on without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Not until they’d reached the far end of the deck did Law put her down again, brows drawn together and lips drawn into a line even as he dodged her latest attempt to lash out at him. Had she really expected he wouldn’t notice her avoiding him? They never made it this far into a day without an interaction of some sort - even when she was mad at him.

‎‏‏‎ But if Law had some something to earn her ire this time, he genuinely couldn’t place it. They’d been fine before she slipped out of the shower last night - hadn’t they?

‎‏‏‎ Meeting the narrow wine-red eyes glaring daggers at him, Law shoved his newly-freed hand into his jacket pocket. Paying no mind to the demands for an explanation, he regarded her with his usual stony sullenness. ❝Is there a particular reason you don’t seem to want to be near me today? If I did something to piss you off, you’re gonna have to remind me. ❞

❰❰ LIFT ❱❱ sender carries receiver over their shoulder from @enruiinasan extremely self-indulgent meme || accepting!

To be utterly manhandled in such a way is completely insulting. Nami had gasped and let out a panicked yell at being lifted so easily from her seat by a familiar arm. She had all but flopped over Law's shoulder, his fluffy coat tickling against her bare torso as he carries her from the dining hall.

Nami had been so affronted, enraged by the unneeded way of moving her from one place to the next, refusing to make such a journey easy. She knows that he is stronger, and would get them to where he wanted to go in a few seconds practically, but it doesn't stop her from swinging her balled fists against his back and attempting to smack the heel of her shoe against his nose.

❝ Torao, what the hell are you doing?! ❞ she shrieks, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she tries to turn her head enough to look at his face. She is glaring, albeit not at him, and his silence only flares her temper all the more as he stalks across the Sunny's deck. She isn't entirely sure why he had to decide to behave in such a way, what had made him react.

❝ Let me down this instant, you complete brute! ❞

#wishmcker #wishmcker | nami #✦ — 𝐢𝐜. | threads.#✦ — 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞. | canon.#(uh oh law. what’d you do? or not do?)

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doctormacchiato · 2 years ago

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Drawn to the Surface - Part 2

Inspired by @six-feet-sleep's art of tattooed Silco that you can see here. Don’t try to tell me that man isn’t completely tatted up under those fancy shirts and vests.

Continued thanks to @of-the-argonath. I continue to love you more than life.

AO3

Summary: When Silco shows up, years after you last saw him, you have no idea what to think. You’ve heard too many stories. Ones that incriminate. Ones that condemn. Of course, he’s not very forthright with any sort of answers. Not in so many words, at least. But then you realize he doesn’t need to. Not when he’s pretty much asking you to document the entire story upon his skin.

Young(ish!) Silco x Tattoo Artist!Reader SFW Word court: 5600 Prev. Part, Next Part

For the next few days, after you’ve counted the tips from the day’s clients and carefully lock the shop behind you, you make the now-familiar trek to the old cannery, sketchbook in tow. Today’s a relatively early end to your workday. The hazy sun still lingers above the horizon and much of the light fails to filter down to the Lanes.

Just as well. There are only so many tattoos of gears and guns one can ink before it starts to feel a little bit old. You admit to yourself that the snake, at least, had been rather interesting. Too bad the runt hadn’t tipped worth a damn.

Without Silco leading you, forcing you into the shadows, it’s a much easier walk through the city streets. It’s just enough time for you to ponder the inanity of the situation you’ve found yourself in as you flash back to the night your entire world crumbled down at your feet.

You remember fuming as you had marched over to The Last Drop, ready to chew out the man for missing his appointment. He had always sent someone to let you know that he was okay, that he was sorry, that it couldn’t be helped. He had never wanted you to worry.

But now he’d left you without so much as a message to let you know where he’d gone. It had never crossed your mind that maybe he was hurt, or even worse. They knew you well enough here. Certainly someone would have come to tell you if something had happened.

Nearing the bar, Vander intercepted you. You demanded to know where Silco was, the son of a bitch. The large man had simply shaken his head and led you to a corner booth. He’d ordered you a drink, a strong one, and told you to cool off a little.

You didn’t want a drink. You wanted answers.

Tell me where Silco is.

The explanation caught on Vander’s lips and he’d swallowed hard.

He ordered a drink for himself this time.

Then you’d realized.

Vander was stalling.

You spied the bandage wrapped around Vander’s arm. The off-white was tinged crimson at the edges where blood had seeped through. Suddenly you’re cursing your assumptions. Suspecting the worse, all the anger in your heart faded as the organ fell into the pit of your stomach.

Vander followed your gaze and wrapped his opposite hand around the wound. He glanced away. You were caught off guard by the expression that flashed over the large man’s face.

It was guilt.

You’d desperately begged Vander to tell you what happened, where Silco was. Why they hadn’t told you earlier. Is he hurt?

Finally, Vander had told you Silco’s gone. His tone wasn’t open to further inquiry. You need to forget about him. Live your life. Move on. Why do you care so much anyways?

You heard Benzo over at the bar, muttering, just loud enough that you know that you were supposed to catch it.

Fucking bastard got what he deserved.

Vander shot a glare back to his partner, eyes blown wide.

You remember the disbelief that flooded over you, as you pieced together a story that they refused to tell you outright. You don’t know if what you assumed was true, but you were far beyond asking questions.

Someone asked you to leave. You were making a scene.

Vander offered to walk you home.

You declined in not so pleasant terms.

That was the last time you’d ever set foot in The Last Drop. Of course, many of your clients are all too willing to update you on the enigmatic Sons and Daughters of Zaun.

You find, however, that down a Founder, the idea of Revolution isn’t quite so sweet. You try to keep track of who is killed, at least. Who you knew. You know that Vander has taken control of the Lanes, Benzo filling in the role of his right hand man.

You’ve reached the old cannery sooner than you expect and have to pause for moment for your heart rate to slow and the anger to subside. It does, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the bitter taste that lingers in your mouth.

Because now Silco’s back and you still feel like you’re drowning.

Silco, more often than not, isn’t at the cannery. He’s popped in several times, acknowledging you out of what you assume is courtesy. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he often makes a swift departure as soon as you descend the stairs. You try not to be offended, despite your history with the man. You need to let it go. He’s not here to rekindle anything. Time and circumstance have changed you both. Irreparably.

This is purely a business arrangement that you’ve settled on.

Completely professional.

At least the Doctor knows to expect you now and you find that his constant presence isn’t as totally unnerving as you would have expected.

That is, however, until your fourth evening there, after you’ve muttered your goodbye to Silco when you pass him on the stairs, and you finally hear the scientist speak.

“I would try not be so offended, girl,” the Doctor drawls unexpectedly.

You’ve only just neared the end of the staircase when the voice startles you, softer and smoother than you would have predicted. He’s hunched over his desk, safety goggles dangling around his neck. He offers you a placating smile that you guess is rather unpracticed.

“Uh, hello.” You politely offer him one back, clutching your bag closer to your chest. You eye your destination, the table at the opposite side of the room. You’ve dragged it directly in front of the large window, and suddenly you’re wishing you could simply teleport there and disappear.

“You know, you are the first person he has brought down here. I believe he is simply quite unused to the company.”

Was your irritation really that obvious? Even if Silco had gotten so used to being alone, you don’t deserve to be treated like you barely exist. It’s not something you wish to discuss with the scientist, however.

“I uh... I don’t believe we’ve made a formal acquaintance,” you say nervously, trying to change the subject.

The doctor rounds the desk, and you force yourself not to shy away. Silco didn’t need to tell you much about his peculiar scientist to let you know that you would be wise to be wary. The scientist must have noticed your unease, however, as he pauses besides one of glowing vessels, eyeing it, but comes none the closer.

“You may continue to call me Doctor.”

“Then you can continue to call me girl.” Your retort is out before you are able to filter it. Eyes widening, you curse your quick tongue, backing up a step.

Silco wouldn’t keep the scientist around if he was dangerous, right?

Luckily, the Doctor chuckles softly, eyeing you again, as he bows his head in defeat. You could almost sigh in relief.

“I can see why he likes you.”

His statement surprises you.

“I wouldn’t know,” you mutter. There’s a long pause between you.

“It’s singed.”

Your brows furrow, as you look back to him. You’re not following.

“Doctor Singed.”

At his clarification, you consider it as you momentarily forget your growing resentment towards your mutual acquaintance.

It was an unusual name, though oddly fitting. Somehow knowing it makes the scientist not quite as intimidating as you originally thought. You edge closer to him. It’s his turn to balk slightly.

“Well, nice to finally meet you, Doc.” You hold out your hand, offering your name in turn.

He hesitates a moment before grasping your hand lightly and giving it a small shake.

“Good to finally meet you,” he replies, his lips twitching upwards again in that unpracticed smile. You smile back as he releases your palm. He replaces his goggles as he returns to his papers and potions.

Maybe next time you’ll ask him what it’s all about.

It’s the next day and you’re several hours into sketching when you sigh in frustration. You’re certain of the subject matter. Sea monsters. Tentacled creatures. Waves. Water. Maybe you’ll throw some scales in there to fill in the negative space. That would be fitting.

The particular style of choice, however, eludes you. Traditional. Watercolor. Realism. Geometric?

Nothing feels quite right. Did he even want color? You hadn’t seen him again yesterday since he had pretty much ignored you on the stairs, and so hadn’t the opportunity to ask him. He wasn’t partial to it before and you hadn’t gotten that far during your little interview from that first night.

”All of it?” You question once more. You shake your head in disbelief when he nods his confirmation. “Even...” You cast your glance downwards.

He follows your eyes, followed by him then rolling his own.

“I didn’t mean—“

“You said all of it. What else am I supposed to assume?” You can’t help the smirk that is now plastered across your face. This was the Silco you remember.

“I am now seriously reconsidering my choices in bringing you into all of this.”

“Too late.”

“That one.”

“Fuck, Silco!” You jump at his voice right beside your ear, flinging your graphite to Janna knows where. You hope it won’t be the second casualty of the week. “Warn me a little next time, will ya?”

You hadn’t heard him come down the stairs, which in hindsight shouldn’t have surprised you. The man moved like a ghost. You look at the piece that he’s pointed out. It’s a style that you had attempted on a whim, having seen something similar on one of your foreign clients.

“That?” You reply, incredulous.

“Hmm.” He hums the affirmative.

“That’s just a rough sketch, not really much more than a warmup.” There’s another another sketch beside it, much more realistic in nature.

“What do you think about this one?”

Glancing up at him, Silco’s good eye is to your left, much to your relief. It’s narrowed slightly as he considers your work. A piece of hair has loosened and is curtaining it slightly. You’re torn between the urge to tuck it behind his ear and the need to smack him across the face.

“No, I prefer the other one.”

You tilt your head slightly at your sketches, considering the style. It could work. Rather fitting, actually, especially if he wanted to cover as much skin as possible.

“Noted.”

When he leaves your side to stalk across the room, you let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Except, it catches in your lungs once more as the man leans over slowly at the waist, snatching your graphite from the floor.

So much for professionalism.

“You really do have a habit of losing these, don’t you?”

As soon as the ache had formed in your chest, it abandons you, irritation taking its place. Abandoning your chair, you stride up to him, hand on your hips.

“Maybe if you didn’t disappear every time I come over, only to scare the shit out of me when you decide to show up again.”

You reach out to take the utensil from between his curled fingers. Just as you are about to snatch it, however, he raises his hand high above his head, just out of reach.

You scowl up at him, quickly deciding your won’t belittle yourself so far as to jump to steal it back. You’re caught off guard by his soft expression.

“Are you saying that I’m quite... disarming?”

Smack him. You want to smack him.

Instead, you roll your eyes dramatically, a scathing retort already poised on your tongue that will wipe that smirk off his sorry face. It fades from your lips, however, when you hear a derisive snort from across the room, where Singed is tending to his projects.

Silco casts an annoyed glare in the scientist’s direction, who simply shrugs and returns to his work. It’s now your turn to wear the smirk, at least until you notice Silco’s increasingly murderous expression. You’d seen that expression before. Years ago. Back when it was uniform in color.

“Anyways,” you start. Now that he’s distracted, Silco has lowered the hand that is currently grasping your graphite. You triumphantly pluck it from between his spidery digits.

“I really should be heading home. It’s later than I usually stay.”

Your action forces Silco to tear his eyes from the scientist, the murderous intent tempering as he focuses on you instead. He glances out the large window, where the light has ceased streaming in, even weakly, from the surface.

“I’ll take you home.”

For all of your grumbling and annoyance that Silco’s been avoiding you, you weren’t prepared for that. You’re heartbeat quickens at the thought.

You shake your head, “Uh, there’s no need.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Really,” you say quickly, returning to the table and tossing your sketchbook and the aforementioned lead into your bag. “I’ve managed by myself for long enough in the Undercity. Besides, it’s such a long walk and I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“It wasn’t an offer.”

You sigh. “Silco, once was great, but I’m still sore from swinging over rooftops the last time. I’ll be fine. Plus, have you seen some of my clients? I know how to manage a brute.”

His right eye narrows. You swear you see his upper lip twitch.

“This is not a point that I will argue with you.” He’s crossing his arms now. You guess it’s to intimidate you into giving in. Curiously, it’s not working.

You scoff. “Afraid some villain of the night’s gonna snatch me up?”

“Yes.”

You suddenly find you don’t have the heart to argue any further.

“Fine,” you concede, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “But we’re walking. Go put on a hood or something if you’re so afraid of being recognized.”

The thought crosses your mind that maybe you shouldn’t be so comfortable with this, the fact that you’re basically dealing with a fugitive, even if you are unaware of the extent of his crimes.

To your surprise, Silco listens, returning several moments later with an old, tattered overcoat in his arms that appears several sizes too large for his lithe frame.

“What old degenerate did you steal that from?”

Silco stares you down with a hooded eye, choosing not to grace you with a response to your quip, pulling the coat over his shoulders. You don’t think you imagine the small wince as he’s threading his arms through the sleeves. You’ll have to ask him about it later.

“Let’s go.” He turns to the staircase, pulling out a pocket-watch to check the time.

“It’s not my fault you look like a little kid who’s just raided his grandather’s coat closet.” You mutter as you pass him on your flight up the stairs, taking two at a time.

He snorts, following behind you.

When you reach the open air, you wouldn’t admit it to him, but you are glad for the company. Sure, you could handle yourself if you needed to. Silco and Vander had made sure of that years ago when there was so much talk of revolution. That didn’t mean you ever sought out a fight.

You wonder at how easily you’ve slipped back into your familiar report with the man. You know he’s not the same man that had abandoned you two years ago. No one hangs out in a creepy abandoned warehouse with an underground lair without being involved in some shady shit.

But something changes when you realize that you’re going to spend Janna knows how many hours jabbing a needle repeatedly into someone’s skin, privy to parts of them that hardly ever see the light of day.

You glance over to your right at your companion. He’s situated himself closer to the street. Walking slowly, his hands are shoved into the pockets of his coat as his head is cast downwards. You can’t see much of his face. You can catch a glimpse of his long, narrow nose and his burning eye every few steps, as his hood moves back just right.

You wonder if it hurts.

“You’re staring.”

“Yes.”

“Stop.”

“Does it hurt?”

Silco doesn’t answer you for several long moments, but his pace slows. When he turns to you, you both pause. You arch a brow up at him expectantly, holding your breath, wondering if he’s going to finally open to you, even if just on this one small thing.

“Come on,” he says and then you’re moving again. You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from crying out in frustration.

The rest of the walk is done in silence. Silco falls into step a few paces behind you this time, with only the sound of your footsteps to break up the night. Leave the neighborhoods and nearing the Lanes, distant sounds of city life become apparent.

Your studio is a new acquisition for you, located just at the perimeter of the Lanes. It’s close enough to be easily accessible to your clientele, but far enough removed that your windows are safe from being shattered by the street’s riff-raff. After the third time it happened at your old shop, it had been time to look for a new locale.

Luckily, you’ve built enough of a reputation that your clients know where to seek you out.

The small apartment above the shop is also yours. It isn’t anything fancy, but the rent is cheap and the commute is short.

Nearing the building, you reach for your keys. As you’re searching for the correct one, Silco’s voice catches you off guard.

“Ever since that first night, I knew you would be successful. You had too much talent to go unnoticed.”

You are suddenly brought back to the time when you had to choose between the food on your plate or the ink in your gun. You aren’t proud of the nights you’d spent at dingy bars, barely above begging the old drunkards there to take you up on your offer of a quick flash piece in exchange for a few measly tokens. What you’re asking for is hardly enough to pay for the ink.

Nobody had volunteered and you’d been just about ready to pack up when someone not so old and not so drunk strolled up to you.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna do it, Sil.”

“Come on, don’t you want to put the poor girl out of her misery.” You’re nursing your own drink, one you really can’t afford, and about to pack up when you see the pair ambling towards you.

A rather slim man with dark, shaggy, loose hair falls into the opposite side of your booth. He’s maybe six or seven years your senior, but it’s always hard to tell with the harsh conditions of the underground. His features are sharp, striking even, but his cheeks are too sallow and his chin too weak to call the man conventionally handsome. Still, you stare at him wide-eyed as you pull your half-filled cocktail to your chest to prevent it from spilling.

You eye his companion, incredibly tall with shoulders that you suspect have moved mountains, and who is now leaning against the back of the booth. He’s the one you could call handsome, if not for the unattractive expression of annoyance. He’s laid his head in his hands in sighing disbelief.

“Never knew you were much one for charity, Silco,” he grumbles.

Silco, as your now potential client had been called, is looking over your sketches so intently that, if he gets any closer, will literally be pressing his long nose into the parchment. You’re certain that it’s less to discern the quality of your art and more to make the images stop spinning.

Okay, so he’s drunker than you originally suspected.

“That one.” He points to a tiny sketch of an octopus. Not one you would have pegged him for but who were you to judge?

“Isn’t it usually me that’s supposed to make poor decisions when drunk?”

“Lay off it, Vander. We’re celebrating. Now, make yourself useful and go pay off the tab.” He inclines his head towards you. “Her’s too.”

As Vander stomps off to the til, Silco reaches into his coin purse for several coins, strewing them across the wooden table. It’s much more than you’d been advertising your work for, especially for what he’s chosen.

He leans against the table with a half-cocked smile.

“So, tell me your name, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, the little octopus on your big toe is certainly my crowning achievement,” you say, snorting at Silco’s uncharacteristic sentimentality.

You jostle the key in the padlock several times before you give up, pulling the key out and slamming the metal door with your fists in frustration.

“Stupid,” you mutter. One would think that your landlord could actually give you a key that wasn’t bent and didn’t give you so much trouble every time you tried to enter your apartment. You’d meant to contact a locksmith, but you’d been decidedly distracted lately.

“I don’t know,” Silco replies behind you, looking down to his left shoe, lifting it up slightly. “I think I have excellent taste, even when slightly inebriated.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the little upturn of your lips. You’re beginning to forget that you’re supposed to be angry with him.

“You were drunk that night?!” You exclaim with faked incredulity.

Silco smirks back at you. He reaches up to pull the hood back, smoothing his hair back in the same movement. “At least it’s on theme.”

“So, why was Vander so pissed that night, anyways?” You ask without thinking.

When Silco doesn’t answer you right away, you recognize your mistake. His nostrils are flaring, his lips pressed thin, and you don’t like the glaze that’s settled over his mismatched eyes. You make a mental note never to mention Vander again.

“Forget it,” you backtrack. “I... I apologize for asking.” There’s an awkward pause between you. You stare at your keys again, flipping them through your fingers. Maybe you had accidentally picked the wrong one.

“He was losing a bet,” Silco growls faintly, barely breaking the silence. He’s staring at his feet.

You nod, leaving it at that.

“Uh... here,” you hold the key out to Silco, which seems to break him out of whatever mind space he’s trapped himself in. He takes the key without question.

“See if you have any better luck than I do,” you say, trying to impart all the sincerity you can into your tone.

Silco examines the key for a moment as if he’s trying to figure out what to do with it. Then, with a deep breath, he walks over to the gate, sliding the key into the lock as easily as you had. Turning it, he faces the same struggle and his face falls, the one brow furrowing.

You turn around to give him some space as he goes through the same motions you had, jostling the key before he too gives up in frustration.

“This is absurd,” he mutters behind you.

“You’re telling me.” You start to turn around again. “Here, let me have another go at it.”

You don’t have the chance, however, as you are cut off by the burst of gunshot.

“Fuck!” You exclaim as you duck, palms flying up to your ears, heart thumping in your chest as echoes of the shot reverberate through the streets. You scan the streets, trying to discern where the shooter is coming from. You can’t bring yourself to turn around. You’re not prepared for what you might see.

You don’t see anything. The streets are empty. You—

“You doing alright there?”

Silco’s cool voice draws you out of your panic. He’s standing there, unharmed and unruffled, twirling a smoking pistol around his index finger. The metal door leading up to your staircase is swinging freely, clanging against the wall behind it. The now broken padlock has fallen to the ground.

“I... I thought...” You shake your head, groaning as you press your palm hard enough against your eyeball that you see stars. “Ugh, I can’t believe you.”

Silco simply shrugs, slipping the firearm back into the pocket of his jacket as he turns to climb up your stairs. Your eyes widen.

“Wait, where’re you going?” You shout after him. He doesn’t slow and is now halfway up the staircase.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no you don’t.” You’re sprinting past him up the stairs, cutting him off. You barely refrain from pressing your fists against his chest to stop him.

“I told you I would take you home,” he says evenly, taking another step up so that he’s meeting you eye to eye.

You let out a single disbelieving scoff, taking another step upwards yourself. “Well, I think you’ve quite succeeded at that. Thank you very much, but I think I can manage myself from here.”

“I just shot out your lock. It’s unsafe.”

“Believe it or not, I actually have another one on my front door. And a deadbolt.”

“Too risky.”

You finally realize what he’s implying.

“You... You’re not staying the night.“

“Believe it or not, there are worst monsters than me out here.”

Shocked, you don’t stop him as he pushes past and climbs the rest of the stairs. He still has your keyring, which is now dangling from his long fingers.

Then he’s in your apartment, on your bench, removing his boots, and you’re at a loss for words.

You edge into your own apartment, closing the door silently behind you, sliding the deadbolt over.

“Do you not have a couch?”

You glance at your messy apartment, suddenly hot with embarrassment. Dirty dishes are accumulated in the sink of the tiny kitchenette. Your clothes have piled up in baskets where you’ve neglected to fold them and stow them away. Sketchbooks and art supplies litter every surface.

And no, you don’t have a couch.

“Threw the old one away when I moved here. Thought it was a lost cause when it started squeaking. I, uh, haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet. Not like there’s much room anyway. I wasn’t expecting any guests.”

“That’s fine.” He’s removing his oversized jacket now, pulling the pistol out to instead slide it into the waistband of his pants. “If I remember correctly, your mattress is comfortable enough.”

You didn’t know it was possible for the heat that has risen up your neck to blaze even hotter.

“No,” There’s no question in your tone, as you pull off your own coat.

“Not like that.” Silco’s tone is so earnest you that almost believe him. He’s shrugging out of his vest now, left only in his partially-buttoned dress shirt.

“You grew up in the Undercity,” he continues. “Like the rest of us, I’m sure you didn’t spend a single night alone in your own bed before the age of fourteen.”

You know what he is saying is true. That does not mean that you want to share your bed now.

“You know it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see why not.”

You have to laugh at that. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been gone for over two years, and then, when you decide you want to waltz back into my life, you give me the cold shoulder every time I even attempt to ask for an explanation.”

To his credit, Silco looks properly scolded.

“I had wanted to give you some space,” he finally says.

Space? He thought you needed space? You bring your fingers up to rub against your temples, rubbing away the headache that’s starting to built there.

“So what made today so different?”

He doesn’t give you an answer, but you don’t miss the grimace that passes over his face.

“Silco,” you sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“I was taking you home.”

You’re about to roll your eyes, to continue this little backwards dance of which you’ve found yourself a not-so-willing partner, when all of sudden, you’ve found that you’ve quite simply had enough. You deserve more than his half-answers, this mystery, this constant hot and cold. You deserve more than him pretending like he hasn’t been gone a day, like he hadn’t abandoned you.

“No, what are you doing here,” To your credit, you’re able to keep your tone at least somewhat even. “I know, I know. The tattoos. I get that part. But... but why, why now? After all this time? If it was just about the tattoos, I’m sure you could find someone, anyone besides me to do them. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

Suddenly you find yourself stacking your sketchbooks, with the need to do something with your hands so they don’t end up wrapped around your company’s throat.

“And don’t say it’s for privacy. Because who’s to say I won’t just waltz into The Last Drop and let everyone know where you are. I was friends with Vander too, you know? I’m sure he’d love to know what you’ve been up to.”

You pick up one of your pieces of graphite. The edge needs sharpening, so you pull out your pocketknife and begin whittling aggressively at it.

“And let’s not forget how you’re just gone every time I get to the lab. When you do show up, I don’t get anything besides a hello, before you’re off again. Even that I feel like I have to beg for. Do you know how that makes me feel, how much that fucking hurts?”

You pray that the dam holding back the tears you feel pricking at your eyes remains steadfast. You can feel it cracking.

“And then, you are talking to me, demanding to walk me home. Oh, but you’re not just walking me home, you’re shooting my fucking lock out and breaking into my damn apartment like you belong there, taking your boots off in my foyer like you’d never missed a fucking day. And finally, finally, you’re doing everything short of demanding I let you sleep in my bed, like it means nothing. Can’t you see how fucked up that is?”

You voice cracks at your last sentence and the floodgates open.

Whittled too thin, graphite snaps between your fingers. You toss the knife and the broken pieces to the ground, bringing your sooty fingers to your mouth in a poor attempt to stifle the sobs.

Silco’s walked across the studio during your little tirade, over to the high-top table and chair you use to eat your meals. You wait for a response. Anything, but he refuses to even look at you. It’s like you’ve been yelling at an emotionally constipated brick wall.

He stands there a moment too long.

You clench your jaw, slamming your eyes shut against the grief. He doesn’t deserve your fucking tears. You’re just about to tell him off again, to get out of your home, lock be damned, that he can shove his commission up where the sun doesn’t shine.

What you don’t expect, is the feeling of the two strong limbs encompassing your torso. They squeeze with just the right amount of pressure and you can’t help the sob that escapes your lips. You both stand there for a long moment, long enough for your cries to finally subside.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear. “Don’t cry.”

“You’re an ass,” you manage to say between sniffles.

“I know.”

But you can’t help yourself as you bury your face further against his chest and wrap your arms tighter around his slim waist. You know he won’t break.

“Easier on the ribs there, if you don’t mind.”

“You can take it.” So you hadn’t imagined the wince.

You don’t know when Silco’s managed to lead you to the bedroom or when you’ve lost your own shoes. But then, you’re laying against your threadbare quilt and the only thought in your head is that you feel cold once he’s left you.

You’re still in your street clothes, but you find you don’t care enough to change. You pull yourself under the covers. The bedding needs to be stripped soon anyways.

“I’ll see myself out,” you hear from the doorway.

“Don’t you dare,” you say before you can think better of it. Maybe you should have. Thought better of it.

“Like you said,” you mumble into your pillow. “Monsters.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just... stay on your side. And on top of the quilt. There’s another blanket in the closet.”

There’s a long moment before you feel a dip in the mattress by your feet as Silco sits against the edge of the bed. You can feel the warmth spreading through the quilt.

“Would you believe me if I said the real reason I wanted to stay is that the doctor snores.”

“Go to bed, Silco.”

You notice the shift in weight as Silco gets up. Sleep weighs heavily against your eyelids, exhausted from your outburst. You try to stay awake, if only to make sure he’s comfortable, if he can find the blanket. If he actually stays.

You don't know how minutes pass before you feel the mattress dip once more, this time to your back. You hear his voice just before your exhaustion finally overwhelms you. It’s whispered soft enough that you’re sure that he hadn't meant for you to hear it.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

#Drawn to the Surface #Chapter 2 #Silco x Reader #tattooartist!Reader #fic #fanfic #arcane #debated posting this now with the current ganderdinger apocalypse #oh well #que sera sera

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ameliora-j · 3 years ago

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before i fell // dm x reader

words: 2.8k

warnings: angst, talk of a breakup, mention of loss of virginity, mention of not eating, mention of not sleeping, pansy is kinda ooc and so is draco, the slytherins are assholes

a/n: i used a lot of olivia rodrigo lyrics bc i listened to SOUR while writing lol. lmk if i should add other warnings and happy reading babies!

you would be cliche and say that you fell in love the way that you fall asleep. slowly and then all at once. but you couldn’t because you didn’t. it wasn’t a john green novel and you weren’t hazel grace lancaster. falling in love wasn’t simple, and that description of it truly… didn’t describe anything. falling in love was more complicated than that. there were more layers to it than that. falling in love was rather… quick and unexpected. unexpected like snow in the middle of march. or rain when there’s not a cloud in sight. quick like waiting months for an event and finally when the time comes, it feels like you blinked and then it was over.

falling in love with draco malfoy was all of these things and more. falling in love with draco malfoy brought upon more layers than that. falling in love with draco malfoy brought pain. not just any kind of pain, no… horrible, heart wrenching, gut twisting pain. pain that began by bubbling itself in your chest right at the center of your heart, then slowly but surely worked it’s way outwards. encapsulating your entire body and making every inch of your body ache. pain like when you get attached to a character and the author kills them off. pain like when you finish your favorite book and you realize that you’re not truly in that universe and none of that actually happened. pain like when you’re two hours, fifteen minutes, and twelve seconds into avengers: infinity war and peter parker says “mr. stark, i don’t feel so good.” pain that you’ve never felt. pain that can’t be described. pain that you felt for days. pain.

you thought it was strange when the platinum blonde slytherin sought you out. he came to you one day while you sat silently at the black lake. you were alone, but only because you liked to be. you had friends of course, many actually, but you chose to be alone. the black lake was your place of solace. then along came draco. he sat beside you, a good distance away, but his presence was known. you looked to him for an explanation but he offered none. just smiled at you and turned to his notes, so you did the same. the second time he came, he sat closer, but still in silence. the third time is when he struck up conversation.

“yln, yeah?” he questioned.

“yn, actually. but yes, yn yln. and you’re draco malfoy?” you asked.

“i am,” he smirked at your knowledge of his name and then you returned to your studying. after that, the two of you talked every time he came and sat with you. short discussions about the weather or the potions assignment. you don’t know when, but soon they became longer. discussions of your day and your family. your interests and how you got your name. how you loved the rain and the stars and how you loved hogwarts, but you often missed home. draco knew you inside and out and you knew him—and before long, you called the tall, skinny blonde your boyfriend.

you walked the halls of hogwarts together, hand in hand. draco walked haughtily with a hard scowl and you with a bright smile. while you walked cheerfully and waved to your friends and to first years while draco glared at anyone who dared look at the two of you. he took you to parties in the slytherin common room and you wore his jersey proudly at quidditch games, even when he played against your house. he bought you lavish gifts at all of your trips to hogsmeade and he showered you in kisses, praise, and affection. you were whole heartedly smitten with the sole heir to the malfoy fortune.

it was one fateful day in the common room when your heart absolutely exploded. that was the day you knew that you fell in love with draco malfoy. you had been a thing for about two, going on three, months. you were sitting in the slytherin common room, reading in silence when he asked. you were pressed against his chest and he pressed a soft kiss to your head. “‘ve been meaning to ask you something,” he murmured gently. this caused you to close the book and turn your full attention to him. “want you to wear this,” he said, holding out a ring. “it’s the malfoy family crest.”

your stomach and your heart exploded into billions of butterflies and you launched yourself forward, straight into his chest. millions of emotions overcame you as you squeezed his neck as tight as possible. you nodded into his neck as a few stray tears fell. he kissed your head repeatedly as he slid the ring onto your finger before pressing his lips to your’s gently. you giggled excitedly as you stared down at the ring on your finger. “do you like it?” he asked you.

“i love it, dray. i love you. thank you s’much,” you confessed for the first time as you cuddled back into his chest. you don’t know what it was that made the blonde boy seek you out, but you’re glad he did. if only you knew the true nature of his intentions. but alas, you were oblivious.

it was the beginning of the school year, on the train to hogwarts. in the compartment of what was labeled as “the slytherin squad.” there sat theo nott, pansy parkinson, blaise zabini, and—your now boyfriend—draco malfoy.

they were all sitting around, taking the piss out of draco for all of his past failed relationships when it was brought up. “i’ll bet malfoy couldn’t get a girl to fall in love with him if he paid her,” theo spoke.

“i’ll take that bet,” draco countered.

“alright. but we get to pick the girl,” blaise decided.

“what?” pansy asked as theo began to look around the compartment. it was a few minutes before he found the victim. it was then that your fate was sealed. there, sitting in the back corner, head tucked deep into a copy of the fault in our stars, was you. you. awkward and quiet. you with seemingly no friends. poor little unsuspecting you.

“that one,” nott smirked evilly.

“what the weirdo?!” draco exclaimed incredulously. “no way!”

“so then you forfeit?” blaise asked, causing draco to release a frustrated exhale.

“alright i’ll do it,” he rolled his eyes.

“then we give you five months. make yn yln fall in love with you in five months and we’ll do your homework for the rest of the year,” theo posed.

“and if i don’t?” draco asked.

“and when you don’t… thennn,” blaise taunted as he searched for a deal that was fair.

“then we get two hundred galleons each and you have to apologize to potter for making his life hell,” theo smirked. draco scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless.

“and what are my conditions?” he raised an eyebrow.

“she has to say it first. you can do anything you want or need to get her to say it, but you cannot say ‘i love you’ first,” blaise spoke.

“this doesn’t seem fair to yn,” pansy piped in.

“shut your mouth parkinson. no one asked your opinion,” theo growled with a roll of his eyes. but it was too late. there was absolutely nothing the girl could do to get the three to change their minds. she just had to sit idly by and watch draco malfoy break your heart as she said nothing. she wished that she could stop it, but their minds were made up. and the three of them were very stubborn.

it was a few days after draco gave you his ring when your bubble came crashing down. you were walking to meet draco at your spot at the black lake when blaise and theo intercepted you. you knew who they were, of course you did. they were your boyfriend’s best friends, however why they were currently speaking to you, you had no idea.

they told you it would be quick. that they just wanted to show you something in the slytherin common room and left little room for argument, so you had no choice but to follow them there. they sat you on the couch and began to discuss your relationship with draco. you were very confused and had no idea why you were here. “so… draco hasn’t told you?” blaise mocked a gasp of shock.

“no?” you raised a soft eyebrow as you stared on. this made theo smirk evilly as he pulled up a projector and pointed his wand at it. a picture appeared, it looked like a memory. “what’s this?” you asked before the boys urged you to ‘shh.’ you sunk further into the couch as you idly watched on.

you truly weren’t paying attention untill you heard the voice of your boyfriend. the words he spoke stung. you were soft. emotional. the way he spoke about you absolutely crushed you. it would crush anyone, but it shattered you especially. “she’s so fucking weird!” “i’ll take that bet.”

‘s all you were. all you ever were. just a stupid belt. another notch in his belt. it was that moment that draco had barged into the common room. but by then, it was already too late. the tears had already sprung to your eyes and you were preparing for a torrential downpour as you heard his voice. “i’m out!” he announced breathlessly. he froze in his run as his eyes fell on you and what was playing on the projector currently. “bunny…” he whispered softly as his hand touched your shoulder, but you quickly jerked away as if his hand had burned you on contact.

“don’t call me that. don’t touch me,” you demanded as the tears began to fall. “that’s all i was? a bet?” an involuntary whimper sounded from the depths of your throat. “i feel so stupid.” you shook your head.

“no, bunny please listen to me,” you didn’t allow the boy to finish as you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself.

“don’t call me that!” you demanded. “in fact don’t call me at all. don’t… don’t talk to me draco. ever again. i can’t believe i fell for your stupid joke. i feel so… i feel like an idiot,” you spoke. you shook your head, hastily wiping at your eyes untill you saw stars. it was then that you decided to walk away.

“YN STOP!” draco yelled. “LISTEN to me,” he demanded.

“NO!” you shouted as you turned to face him finally. “godric draco, i wish you would’ve thought this through before i went and fell in love with you,” you sniffled as you wiped your snot on your sweater sleeve.

“yn please just let me explain. please listen to me, please,” he begged.

“i feel like you betrayed me,” you shook your head. “i told you everything. you were my everything. draco i loved you. i actually loved you. i thought you loved me too but i guess you’re just a really good actor,” you sniffled once more. “i hate you draco. i really fucking hate you. i don’t want to hear your bullshit explanation because i know that you’ll never feel sorry for the way i’m hurting right now.”

“it was a bet!” draco shouted as you walked away, hand on the door knob. you scoffed as you muttered a sarcastic, ‘no shit.’ “that’s how it started yes, but then i got to know you. i figured out who you were. i learned that your favorite color is yfc and that you prefer night over day because you love the stars and that your favorite star is scorpius and you would name your son after that star one day. i learned that you love to read and you love when it storms but you're afraid of the thunder. you only dance when you’re drunk and you giggle when you’re nervous and i love that giggle. with everything in me i do. your favorite book is yfb and you choose to be alone but you let everyone be your friend. you’re gorgeous. inside and out and while it may have started as a bet, somewhere along the lines i fell in love with you so yn please. please don’t leave,” he whispered the last part as his voice came out broken.

you took a deep breath in before you began to speak. “you couldn’t have cared less about someone who loved you more. i’d say you broke my heart but you broke much more than that,” you shook your head as you furiously wiped at your eyes again. “i gave you my all draco. you were my first everything. i gave you my virginity for merlin’s sake. all to find out that i was just some stupid bet,” you scoffed.

“yn please believe me when i say that you’re so much more than that,” he begged again. “i came to tell them that they won. that i wanted out because i fell in love with you too!”

“it doesn’t matter if you don’t see me as a bet any longer. the fact is that you did. i’m worth so so much more than that.” your breaths were ragged as you spoke. “i really wish that you had thought this through before i went and fell in love with you.” you repeated with a small sniffle. “don’t you think i loved you too much to be used and discarded? don’t you think i loved you too much to think i deserve nothing?” you were openly sobbing at this point.

“yn please believe me when i tell you how sorry i am…” he spoke softly.

“don’t tell me you’re sorry. feel sorry for yourself. because someday i’ll be everything to somebody else,” with this you turned away from him. you hastily opened the door and practically ran out of the common room and away from him.

at that moment you decided to forget about it. draco, and the bet, and love, and everything. like in the vampire diaries, you decided to turn your emotions off. you laid in your dorm crying for hours before you made that decision, however. your dorm mates checked on you often, but you never offered more than merely a half hearted shrug, letting them know that you were still alive, but barely breathing. you skipped classes and meals. you were a mere shell of yourself. it was about two weeks before you could face draco again. and even then you couldn’t truly. you went into the great hall and found “the slytherin squad” sans draco.

pansy looked at you sympathetically while theo and blaise basked in the glow of their new victory. you pulled the ring off carelessly as you stopped in front of them, hair disheveled and uniform askew. you had dark bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep you’d gotten in the past fourteen days and your eyes were rimmed red with the weight of your emotions. “c’you just give this back to malfoy,” you murmured half-heartedly as you dropped the ring on the table in front of the three. just speaking his name brought you pain.

your shoulders were sunken in defeat and you were but a shell of your usual cheerful self. you don’t even know when the last time you saw daylight or had fresh air was. “wait yln,” pansy called hesitantly. you turned to face her, still staring down at your mary janes as you pulled and twisted your fingers untill you heard your knuckles pop. “you… you really love him, don’t you?”

you just shrugged your right shoulder as you used the heel of your palm to wipe the snot from your rapidly reddening nose. “i was just some stupid bet,” you replied as tears begin to spill rapidly over your waterline.

“if it’s any consolation… it was those two bozos’ idea,” pansy told you as she pointed to blaise and theo.

“doesn’t matter,” you murmured. “he’s still a traitor,” you answered as you walked away, forgetting all about the slytherin prince and his stupid friends. forgetting all about how he hit you with a train of his “love.” forgetting all about how for three months he was your everything. forgetting all about how he wrote to his mum about you and you wrote to your parents about him. forgetting all about draco malfoy. the platinum blonde boy with stormy grey eyes who had a long story buried beneath his haughty exterior. the boy who you called your first. your first kiss. your first time. your first love. forgetting all about the boy that made you fall in love just to tell you it was all a bet.

attempting to revert back to how you were before you fell.

add yourself to my taglist :)

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#harry potter x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry potter angst #draco malfoy angst #angst #hogwarts #x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n

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starlessea · 3 years ago

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Cross My Heart (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Prompt: Based on this artwork by @darylthedumbasssupreme

Summary: Daryl begrudingly allows you to tie his hair up to help him cope with the Georgia heat.

Words: 1012

Warnings: Language.

"It's too damn hot." Daryl grumbled, pulling his shirt collar away from his skin.

His other hand was tight on the steering wheel, and you noticed the way his knuckles had turned white over it. He seemed to be losing all patience, and you had only watched as he got more and more flustered throughout the day.

You kicked your legs up, resting your feet over the dash as you fiddled with the old, temperamental radio. He'd turned the music off on three separate occasions now, but you never passed on an opportunity to rile up Daryl Dixon even more.

"Aww, is my Georgia redneck struggling with a little sunshine?" You teased, cranking the windows down and the volume up.

Daryl exhaled loudly, but didn't reply. It was like he didn't even have the energy to argue with you. Though, you had to admit that the sight amused you. Never before had you seen the man so uncomfortable.

In his defence, it was definitely a scorcher. The midday sun hung high in the sky, and it was so bright that it left you squinting when you looked at the road. You were just glad that Daryl was driving, and not you.

"Want me to get you a slurpie?" You went on, trying to pry a response out of him.

He didn't bite, but you watched as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"What flavour," you prompted, "blue or red?"

This time he caved, shooting you a glare that you caught in the mirror.

"Those ain't no damn flavours." He grumbled, rolling down his window some more. "They're colours."

You shrugged, turning away from him to press your cheek against the cool glass.

"Whatever." You muttered, and listened to the music play.

Neither of you spoke for the next couple of minutes, but you continued to catch the way the man fumbled awkwardly in his seat. He kept wiping his palms over his jeans when they got too slippery on the wheel. He'd even discarded his leather vest a while ago - but it hadn't seemed to make much of a difference. Daryl was just miserable, and you couldn't take his silent brooding any longer.

"Pull over." You instructed, sitting up in your seat.

The man scowled at you in the mirror, probably wondering why you wanted to add even more time onto the hellish journey.

"What?" He grumbled, before you shot him a look back.

"Just do as you're told for once, will you?" You snapped, and the man pulled over.

The car came to a stop, but he let the engine continue to run - in fear of it dying again and leaving you stranded on the open road in this heat. It had happened once before, and he hadn't let you live it down since. 'Always keep the car running' he'd say, and that day you finally understood why.

Daryl dropped his hands from the steering wheel and looked over at you impatiently, as though demanding an explanation for having made him pull over. You ignored his expression, much too used to it by now.

"Turn around." You told him, gesturing with your finger.

The man narrowed his eyes at your words, seeming far too exasperated with you to even form a reply. You didn't want to waste anymore time stuck in this metal suntrap, so you raised your hand to show him what you meant. You had an elastic hair-tie on your wrist, and you snapped it over your skin to bring his attention to it.

He shook his head immediately, mumbling something under his breath that you couldn't quite make out.

"Woman, ya ain't putting that shit anywhere near my hair." He spoke up, and you sighed - throwing your hands up in frustration.

"Fine, then sweat to death." You snapped, rolling your eyes at the man. "Don't say I didn't try to help."

Daryl was silent for a few seconds, but he made no move to start driving again. The two of you remained parked for what felt like minutes, baking in the Georgia heat, before he finally replied.

"You tell no one." He said lowly, after contemplating the decision some more.

You grinned, snapping the hair-tie between your fingers.

"Cross my heart." You answered, drawing a line over your chest to prove it.

Daryl grunted and finally shuffled around in his seat, so that his back was to you. You got on your knees and hovered over the gearbox so that you could reach him, before gathering his hair into one of your hands and threading it through the elastic with the other. You were gentle, but he still flinched a little. You didn't say anything about it, though, and neither did he.

The rest of the drive was mostly silent, save for the faint sounds of tinny, radio music. You'd compromised at some point, and turned it down to accommodate the man's headache. The drive was silent, but that didn't stop you from regularly stealing small glances at him, and smiling smugly at the sight.

He had an attractive face, and that fact was much more obvious with his hair tied back to show it off. Your eyes trailed along his jawline, and down to his neck, before the man finally caught you and cleared his throat. He glanced at you in the corner of his eye, and you smiled sheepishly back at him.

"You look adorable." You admitted, and watched as Daryl quickly shook his head.

"Take it out." He told you, reaching for the elastic himself.

You snorted, intercepting his hand and gently placing it back onto the steering wheel. He didn't fight you that time, and kept his eyes on the road.

"Calm down, I was joking." You reassured him, chuckling at his expression.

You pulled back, once again putting your feet up and staring out of the passenger window. Except, now it was because you felt too shy to meet his gaze.

"You look hot." You confessed. "And I don't mean your temperature this time."

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years ago

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Just watched A California Christmas on netflix and I could totally see Kara as a struggling dairy farmer fighting to keep her family's land, with Lena as the big city stooge sent to make Kara sign a bill of sale.

In the movie the big city guy is pretty much a layabout until he goes to the farm, which I have a hard time believing for any universe Lena is in, so in the supercorp version I think Lena would be cutthroat and ruthless and exceptionally accomplished, but I think she'd have lost her passion for it a long time ago. She's just going through the motions, and her mother Lillian has long noticed it.

So Lillian sends Lena out to do her dirty work-- charm the cute farm girl and talk her into selling her land over, and be back before Christmas, with the promise of a promotion at the end of it.

Except by the time Lena gets to the farm she's already spilled coffee on herself and has had to raid the clothes donation box in the back of the SUV for something more casual. The result being that she's mistaken for a new ranch hand and is roped into helping deliver a baby calf the moment she steps on the farm.

Realizing she's found her way in, Lena continues to pose as said ranch hand, Winn-- "short for... Winnifred, but my friends call me Winnie," Lena revises quickly-- while her friend and driver/assistant Jack tracks down the real Winn and pay him off for both his discretion and his expertise as Lena struggles through the daily tasks of a ranch hand.

It's rough, Lena soon realizes, and difficult work. But... she enjoys it? And the cute farm girl Kara makes it all well worth it. Slowly, Lena learns her way around the farm, and bonds with Kara, her sister Alex, and her young cousin Clark. Little by little, as the weeks creep closer to Christmas, Lena and Kara find themselves falling in love.

But Kara's friend and wishful suitor Mike has his suspicions and makes it his mission to find out the truth. When Jack learns that Lillian is heading out to the farm for a visit and an explanation why Lena doesn't have the signed contract, he and Winn scour the area for Lena and Kara, and are overheard by Mike. Mike puts the pieces together, finally understanding that "Winnie" isn't the person she says she is. He sends the proof to Kara.

Lena intercepts Lillian near the farmhouse the next morning, determined not to let her take Kara's farm. But Lillian is obstinate, and Kara is furious, so Lena is exiled while Lillian makes her pitch. It's a generous offer, given how much debt Kara is in, and Kara doesn't know what else to do. In a last ditch effort to keep her pride and her farm, Kara insists on taking 24 hours to review the contract and make her decision.

She throws Lena off her property after Lillian leaves, unwilling to hear out her desperate explanations. Lena returns to Jack and Winn (who have spent the intervening time bonding over video games and wine), despondent and heartbroken and wracked with guilt. Winn finds a bottle of wine that is still in Lena's truck-- wine that Kara's family occasionally made back when the farm was doing well.

Turns out, the wine is amazing, and when they take it to a wine connoisseur, discovers that there's an intense demand for more. So Lena returns to Kara's farm, both to apologize and to tell her of the new plan to save the farm. They work all night to return the neglected vines back to their former glory, and the wine guy comes the next morning to see the vineyard and taste the supply Kara has on hand. He's very impressed, and is interested in leasing the vines and buying the stock on hand. The sum he offers is considerable, enough to get the farm out of debt for good.

Kara is able to decline Lillian's offer, and later Lena calls her mother to explain why she did what she did. But Lillian cuts Lena's apology short. As much as she... dislikes having a deal fall through, she's actually proud of Lena. She hasn't seen this kind of passion from Lena in years, and that Lena made a decision she thought was right and stuck to it is commendable. Lillian tells Lena the promotion is still hers, if she wants it.

Oddly, though, Lena doesn't need it.

To celebrate the farm's new success as a vineyard, Kara and her family host a party. Alex and Clark help Lena secretly spruce up and decorate the old dairy barn for the event, surprising Kara the day of.

When Kara learns that Lena has helped with the preparations, the last of her anger at having been deceived recedes, leaving only affection in its place. Lena reintroduces herself, and explains how even though she had hated the work she did for Kara, she also loved every minute of it... loved her life on the farm in a way she's never loved her life before. She'd been happy. With Kara.

Kara informs her that the ranch hand position has been filled, but... she could be persuaded to work something out. Her grin is puckish, and Lena beams as she leans in for a Christmas kiss....

#supercorp #california christmas au #rancher kara #big city lena #also ranch hand lena #who absolutely rocks the ranch hand look

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skyriderwednesday · 3 years ago

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Untitled Penguin Fic - Chapter Two

“Whek?” Vetinari asked. “No. No, I’m not alright,” Drumknott replied. “You’re a penguin and I’m sick of pretending you’re not.”

Chapter One - Chapter Three & Epilogue

(G Rated, 3567 words)

Drumknott darted from the office, keen to intercept Vimes as best he could. As it happened, he had almost been too late. Vimes appeared mere moments after he had shut the door behind him. “Ah, Commander!” He said, trying to act natural, “I... uh…” Vimes narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious. For one thing, Drumknott was never usually blocking the office door. “Yes?” Any excuses or explanations Rufus had expected to formulate deserted him. “I should just…” he said, pressing his back against the door. “What?” Drumknott stuttered. “Well, uh... before you go in…” Vimes’s mouth formed a grim line and his eyes darkened. “What’s happened now?” he asked harshly. Drumknott took a breath to steady himself. There was no sending him away, there would never be. Vimes would always demand explanation, if not to just see Vetinari for himself. “This morning, his lordship and I attended a demonstration at the university,” he said, “which did not go as expected.” “Right…” Vimes said slowly. “As a result--” “Whek!” Vetinari called loudly. “...what was that?” “Uh... yes, that…” “Was that a penguin?” “That…” Drumknott said, trying to gauge Vimes’s reaction as he spoke, “is his lordship…” The Commander appeared to have lost the ability to close his mouth. “You're kidding me,” he said. “No, sir…” “No, I'm serious,” Vimes said, “pull the other one.” “I am not pulling your leg, sir.” “Vetinari’s actually a penguin?” “Yes, Commander.” Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose. A long stream of thought compressed itself into several twitches of expression and a suppressed sigh. “Fine,” he said. “Fine, alright... I believe you... I expect the wizards are working on it?” “They are, sir.” “Good. So what do you want me to do?” “Just... don’t mention it?” Vimes paused, “...is that what the wizards said? Don’t tell him he’s a penguin?” “Yes, sir.” “Right... okay, I can do that.” He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to banish the headache this next conversation would inevitably cause -- if it had not been caused already. “I will accompany you, sir,” Drumknott said, fumbling with the door handle behind him. “Fine,” Vimes said. “What’ve I said about you calling me ‘sir’?”

“Commander Vimes is here, sir,” Drumknott said, tilting his head around the door as he opened it. Vetinari was looking at his unfinished paperwork. There was almost something very normal about it, except that he was a penguin. “Whek,” he said. Rufus saw them both in, making sure the door was firmly closed. Vetinari looked up and shuffled himself on the chair “Whek,” he said to Vimes. Drumknott glanced at him. He could see Vimes taking in the sight of the black and white bird on the other side of the desk, though his face didn’t obviously change. He tucked his helmet under his arm. “Morning sir,” Vimes said as he usually would. Vetinari looked at Vimes’s usual place in front of the desk. He moved to it. Drumknott made for his place beside Vetinari’s chair. “Whek?” “Nothing much, sir. Not worth noting at least,” Vimes replied idly. He cleared his throat, “What about you, sir? Something at the university was it?” Vetinari hissed like an angry goose, and Rufus barely managed to conceal his terror. Vimes, for his part, didn’t flinch. “I see,” he said. “Whek,” Vetinari said. Vimes settled into staring at the wall. “Sir,” he replied. Vetinari inspected him briefly, then looked at Drumknott. “Yes, my lord?” “Whek,” Vetinari angled his beak towards the door. So he wanted him to leave. All right. “Yes, my lord,” Rufus said, and left the office. He stayed at the door for a while, listening. He could hear a monologue of penguin noises, punctuated by Vimes’s mumbled ‘sir’. Obviously, he wasn’t presently needed… He went to his desk and sat down. After a moment of uncertainty, he began to organise things.

It was around ten minutes later. He had entirely recategorised his paperwork and organised his paperclips by various metrics twice. Drumknott heard a whek and some variation there upon, and the Commander’s usual statements upon leaving. The office door opened. Vimes shut it behind him. He was looking at his wrist and rubbing it. “Sir?” Drumknott asked. “Argh,” Vimes said, releasing a reaction he had been suppressing. He walked over to Rufus’s desk and presented an angry mark on the heel of his hand. “The bugger bit me!” he said with remarkable restraint. Drumknott winced, and then because he had to know asked: “Do you happen to know why, sir?” “No,” Vimes said, rubbing his hand again. “I only went to put the bleeding report on his desk like I always would.” Hmm. It could pose a serious problem if Vetinari planned to continue biting people unprovoked. Rufus straightened his ‘out’ pile. “I apologise, sir... I’m sure his lordship didn’t mean it.” “No, I’m sure he did,” Vimes examined his wrist more closely. “Probably been saving it up all the times I’ve pissed him off over the years…” Drumknott wasn’t totally sure what his reaction to that remark was supposed to be. Part of him wanted to be offended on his lordship’s behalf, to insist that he would not hold such a grudge, especially not against the Commander -- but there was an almost imperceptible note in Vimes’s tone that didn’t quite seem serious. “Do you… think so, sir,” he said, trying to keep his expression neutral. Vimes’s shoulders shook and he laughed. “Nah, I’d bite me too given half the chance,” he shook his head and gave Rufus a lopsided smile. “The man’s a bird, what’s else he supposed to do? It’s not like he has hands, and gods know that report’s not actually touched the desk in all the times I’ve given it to him.” That was true. In every instance Rufus had been there to witness, Vetinari had always taken the written report from Vimes’s hand rather than having it placed on his desk. The tension fell out of his shoulders. “Then you don’t blame him, sir?” “No, ‘course I don’t. The dragons’ve nipped me countless times trying to get things off me, it just hurt more than I would’ve expected,” Vimes let him see his hand again, the redness was already starting to fade but there would certainly be a nasty bruise. “You know for a creature without teeth…” “You aren’t the first, sir,” Drumknott said, hoping to further impress that the bite probably wasn’t personal. “No?” Vimes raised an eyebrow, “Who’d that honour go to?” “Ah…” Rufus adjusted his glasses, “the Archchancellor, I believe, sir.” Vimes sniggered, “Yeah, I’d bite him too honestly.” He rubbed his wrist one last time and straightened his helmet. “Alright, I must be off,” he said. “Let me know if he gets difficult, but I’m sure you can handle a penguin.” “Commander,” Drumknott called as he started to go. Vimes turned, “Yes?” “You won’t… tell anyone about this, will you?” Vimes looked as if Drumknott had asked if he would ever kill a man. “Of course I won’t, not even Sybil,” he said. “Cross my heart.” Rufus nodded, his heart rate slowing in relief. “Thank you sir.” “It’s alright,” Vimes said, giving a lazy salute. “See you later.” Drumknott watched Vimes leave until he went out of sight down the stairs. Once he was sure he had gone, Rufus stood up from his desk, straightened one last pencil, and went back into the office.

The points on the page were starting to morph from meaningless numbers into useful information. Ponder had been analysing them for more than an hour now, sifting through the junk, writing, re-writing, fitting them into graphs of various shapes. Asking HEX for the raw data and feeding it back was the only method he had found so far effective in getting the information he needed in an amount of time that was anyway reasonable. It was organising the data that was the hardest part though, and he had to do that himself. He was getting somewhere though, and this batch was starting to make sense. It was looking good, it looked as if he was finally getting to the points he wanted. He had more or less worked his way back to the moment of the-- The bell attached to the speaking tube rang, jolting Ponder about a foot in the air and scattering the points back into obscurity. He sighed, found his glasses, waited a few seconds for his heart to stop slamming against his ribcage, and picked up the tube. “High Energy Magic department,” he said in resignation, “Ponder speaking.” He braced himself. “--that you, Stibbons?” he put the tube back to his ear in time to hear. Ponder rolled his eyes, “Yes, Archchancellor…” Funnily enough, connecting to my speaking tube does usually result in speaking to me… “How’s your... what did you call it, man?” “Thaumic path analysis, sir.” “Ah, that’s the badger. How’s that coming along?” “Um... well I’m trying to carry it out sir, but er…” “Spit it out, Mr Stibbons…” “Well, I-I’m trying to carry out the analysis, Archchancellor, but…” Ponder cringed, “...but squirrels have gotten into the system again and--” “Squirrels?” Ridcully said. “Yes, sir, squirrels... um…” “That's a term you've come up with for something, is it?” “N-no, Archchancellor, the... uh... you know, the medium sized rodents with big fluffy tails…” “Actual squirrels? ” “Yes... Archchancellor... actual, real life squirrels... we’re trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible, but they nest in the baffles and the process is quite delicate…” “Mr Stibbons, the patrician is a penguin and you’re mucking around being delicate with squirrels?” “It’s... not mucking around, sir, I am trying to do the analysis... but the rats are intelligent enough as it is, we don’t need squirrels able to do advanced mathematics…” “Let them learn complicated arithmetic,” Ridcully said dismissively, “we’ll replace the bursar.” “Sir, it’s either hyper intelligence or it’s squirrels the size of me, and frankly neither is preferable.” Ridcully grumbled indistinctly. “If you insist, Mr Stibbons. I’ll speak to you in an hour, and you’d better have come up with something in that time.” Ponder put his forehead on the edge of the table and sighed. “Yes, sir… I’ll talk to you in an hour.” The bell rang again as Ridcully hung up his end of the tube. Ponder groaned. There had to be something he could do to complete the analysis without having to work around the squirrels, especially when he needed results in an hour.

Disaster had not yet occurred. It seemed that the truth of Vetinari’s present state remained safely contained to the palace. A small set of steps, originally purchased for (and rejected by) Wuffles, had been found in a cupboard and set up in front of Vetinari’s chair, so he no longer had to be lifted in and out of it. That greatly reduced the risk of biting. The presence of the menagerie was enough to explain the supplying of new dietary requirements, and the guesses as to just what the palace needed that much herring to feed appeared to be settling upon… pelican? That was the end of most of the positives however, and Drumknott had quite lost his appetite after assisting with a few mealtimes. Penguins, he was finding, also did not sleep for long stints of time (in this case defined as more than twenty minutes), and presently Vetinari’s usual sleeping habits were being made to look perfectly regular. Night time had seemingly been redefined as whek time, or yell to be lifted out of the bath time. As such he was reaching the end of his usually extraordinarily long tether, and that was without taking into account a penguin's complete inability to hold any kind of writing implement. Or without Vetinari shouting at him whenever this made a mess he was then forced to clean up. A flipper knocked over the inkwell. Thank goodness it was almost empty. Drumknott righted it for the seventh time that morning. “Sir, you can’t sign the paperwork,” he said tiredly, “you’ve been turned into a penguin.” These words having left his mouth and circled back around to his ears, the absurdity of the situation dealt irreparable damage to the last defences of Drumknott's psyche. There was a difference, he was forced to admit, between accepting the concept of ‘Lord Vetinari has been turned into a penguin’ and accepting the reality of ‘Lord Vetinari has been turned into a penguin’. He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. When eventually he looked up again, he was met by his lordship’s ice-blue stare, unmistakable even coming from the black and white form of an emperor penguin. “Whek?” Vetinari asked. “No. No, I’m not alright,” he replied. “You’re a penguin and I’m sick of pretending you’re not.” “...whek?” “The spell turned you into a penguin,” Drumknott said. “You’ve been a penguin for two days. The wizards said that you shouldn’t be told you’re a penguin, because it might cause you to forget that you’re actually a human, but I’m not sure I believe in that.” Vetinari appeared to be considering this. “Whek…” he said thoughtfully, examining one of his flippers. “They’re quite sure they can turn you back, sir…” “Whek,” Vetinari said. Either Rufus had gone completely mad in the last forty-eight hours, or Ponder was right -- he was getting the hang of understanding what each individual ‘whek’ meant. This one had entered his brain as I should hope they are, Mr Drumknott. “Whek,” Vetinari said. “I believe the Librarian prefers to remain an orangutan, sir,” Drumknott replied, then proceeded to stare at the far wall. “Whek.” “Yes, communicating in this manner makes me feel like I’m losing my mind, sir.” “Whek.” After a few moments of silence, Vetinari appeared to remember something. His manner changed to that of a penguin remembering something. He turned gravely towards Drumknott. “...whek…” he said slowly. Rufus felt his heart drop out through the bottom of the Disc. “...the Genuan ambassador,” he said in horror. “Whek…” Vetinari said far away. A million reactionary responses welled to the surface, and he had to pick one of them lest he explode. Rufus swore, pacing halfway across the office. “Whek!” Language! Drumknott turned around. “Sorry, my lord, but… But you can’t have dinner with the Genuan ambassador, you’re a penguin!” Vetinari hopped down from his chair.

Had someone entered the room in the proceeding ten minutes, they would have been met by the sight of clerk and penguin pacing back and forth, trying to solve the impending problem of the Genuan ambassador. Without context, they may even have laughed. “Sir, meeting the ambassador as a penguin will cause him to think someone is playing a joke on him,” Drumknott said. “Whek,” Vetinari agreed. A length and a half of contemplative waddling passed. Rufus sat down on one of the sofas next to Wuffles, his knees shaking anxiously. “Whek?” suggested Vetinari. He considered this, chewing the side of his lip. “Whek,” Vetinari chided. Rufus stopped. “We can’t cancel either, Genua is such a distance away it wouldn’t be fair.” Vetinari did not reply, but gave him a look that said he knew exactly where Genua was regardless of being a penguin, thank you very much Mr Drumknott. “Whek,” he said. “I suppose that is a possibility, sir, but the ambassador is really expecting to see you and I can’t help fear that your absence would be taken as a slight.” “Whek?” Vetinari said, continuing his point with another penguin noise far harder to transcribe. “I-- no, I don’t mean that, sir, only that…” he sighed. “Sir, I don’t have contingencies for this sort of situation.” “Whek?” “Not those that involve you turning into a penguin, sir. In most of them you can still sign paperwork.” “Whek,” Vetinari said with dark sarcasm. Penguins cannot sigh, but the next noise he made was something of an approximation. It sounded like an asthmatic dog toy and bewildered Wuffles. Then again, a lot of things did. Rufus watched him waddle back and forth for several lengths. “Whek,” he said eventually. “No, I don't expect they're working with any particular expediency, sir.” Vetinari made an odd clicking noise, which left Drumknott wondering exactly what portion of his noises were natural to his form and which of them were being influenced by the mind inside of it. “Pardon, sir?” Rufus had read somewhere that bird’s eyes could not move within their sockets like those of a human. Even so, the way that Vetinari angled his beak towards the ceiling suggested that he was rolling his. “Whek,” he said. “Oh, yes. Sorry, I hadn’t heard you sir.” Vetinari gave him a look. I am a penguin, it said. Stop pretending you understand every word I am attempting to say. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. Wuffles grumbled at him. “We should inform the wizards of the time constraints involved, shouldn’t we sir?” Vetinari made an affirmative noise and flapped his wings. Wuffles lifted his head, watching him. No, Drumknott wanted to say. It’s not play time, it’s light a fire under the wizards time, but Wuffles bounded off the sofa, yapping excitedly. He ran in a circle, various impulses confusing his brain, then bounded under the desk. Backwards, knocking Vetinari's steps out of the way, Wuffles came out with a smelly old rag-covered ball in his mouth. He skidded to a halt in front of Vetinari and dropped the ball, sitting obediently with his tail wagging. Vetinari looked at the ball, then back at Wuffles. “Wuff!” There was an uncertain penguin in front of an excited small dog. Wuffles stood up and bounced, nudging the ball with his nose. “Wuff!” With some effort, Vetinari bent his head down and took one of the raggedy tails of the ball in his beak. With more effort, he reared back and tossed it as far as he could: a few feet. Penguins are not designed for throwing things. Wuffles’s tail stopped wagging. He looked at him nonplussed, and went to retrieve the ball. He dropped it in front of him again. Look, his face said, the last time we played with the ball in the long hall downstairs, you threw it so hard it broke a cabinet. When we play with the ball in the gardens it goes so far that you have to help me find it. You can do better than this three feet nonsense, try again. “Whek…” Vetinari said apologetically. Then he appeared to have an idea. Waddling slowly and precisely, and with Wuffles following to ensure no funny business, he pushed the ball over to Drumknott. “Whek!” Very

distinctly, two animals watched as Rufus picked up the damp, smelly ball. He tried to hide his distaste as he drew his arm back, and they watched intent. Wuffles’s tail began to wag. Human dignity made way for animal instinct. Rufus threw the ball. It bounced halfway along the carpet. Dog and penguin tore off after it. He watched the pursuit with bewildered interest, Wuffles bounding, Vetinari’s flat feet making a strange noise against the carpet. Wuffles pounced on the ball, tousling, chewing, and growling at it, before picking it up in his mouth and trotting back proudly. Vetinari turned around as Wuffles passed him with the ball, running behind him with a happy whek! Wuffles dropped the ball at Drumknott’s feet and sat, looking up at him expectantly with his tongue lolling from his mouth and his tail wagging feverishly. He stood up from the sofa. “No, I’m afraid I can’t throw the ball again.” Wuffles’s ears drooped. His tail slowly stopped wagging and he withdrew his tongue back into his mouth. “I’m sorry, I have to write a note to the wizards informing them of the urgency of our situation,” Drumknott said. Wuffles lay down and sighed, resting his chin on the ball and looking up with mournful eyes. Vetinari waddled forward, making a disapproving noise. “Sir, you know as well as I do that you cannot be a penguin at tomorrow’s dinner.” Vetinari stared, the slightly daft visage of a penguin seen from head-on hardening until it bordered on terrifying. “Sir, I-- I really must…” “Whek!”

In all, Rufus threw the ball seven more times before Wuffles grew tired of the game and tottered off to his basket under the desk. It was not until after that he managed to get out to his desk and write a note to the wizards, which was given in the utmost confidence to a discreet clerk who slipped, ahem , unseen through the university’s back gate and left it neatly on the top of many disorganised write-outs, graphs, and scrapped spreadsheets in the short time it had taken Ponder to step out to make coffee. ‘For the attention of Mr P. Stibbons:’ it read in Drumknott’s textbook perfect handwriting, ‘Please be advised that Lord Vetinari is scheduled to meet with the Genuan ambassador at 6 o’clock tomorrow evening (Sunday) and his being a penguin at this time is not’ -- there was an obvious indecision over word choice, settling upon -- ‘ideal. It would be appreciated if your investigations into the returning of his lordship to his usual state could be accelerated to meet this deadline. Sincere thanks, R. Drumknott’. Well. That certainly lit a fire beneath his arse didn’t it. At least they’d managed to get rid of the squirrels…

#discworld #discworld fic #penguin vetinari fic #havelock vetinari #rufus drumknott #sam vimes #ponder stibbons #mustrum ridcully #we are back to the point where i started writing it and past that!#hurrah!#list of people penguin vetinari has bitten now includes: vimes.

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

Note

hc of jake and amy hand holding before dating (i’m convinced they did a few times before they ever dated) and also in the beginning of their relationship + getting teased by the squad 🥰

(this has definitely turned out far more emotional than you’d probably thought, anon, but I don’t make the rules when it comes to fic inspiration)

Amy Santiago is sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of her friends has said, and she feels a warm hand slip into hers under the table. Jake Peralta is laughing next to her, too, but then he’s also smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them.

-*-

He’s lying in a hospital bed, and Amy thinks she’s never seen something more unsettling than a quiet Jake Peralta. The only sound in the room is the beeping of some monitors he’s hooked up to, and the only movement is his chest rising slow and steady. Something it didn’t do about two hours ago, when she was kneeling over him in some alley and screaming while the medics finally arrived and brought him back. It was a fairly ‘minor’ injury in the end, one bullet wound that the doctor’s had to close up, but it had hit some sort of vein that was important and that lost a lot of blood and that stopped his heart for the few moments she remembers stretching like hours in her mind. She doesn’t remember much else, especially not the medic’s or doctor’s explanations. They’d taken her along in the ambulance, because she was his partner, and she was allowed to sit in the hospital room he was recovering in now, because she was his emergency contact, too. She could’ve been nothing after today. Because the bullet from that gun wasn’t aimed at Jake before he pushed her to the side.

Amy looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, pinching each other to remind her she’s awake, she’s here, and so is Jake. Not awake, but here. Still here. They’re squeaky clean, her hands, because she’s spent a good fifteen minutes in the hospital public toilets scrubbing them free of his blood after he was rushed into surgery and she was left behind, alone in the waiting room, her sensible grey pantsuit coloured red all over her arms. She had a list of things to do in her head - contact Captain McGintley to follow the chain of command, and Terry so something would actually get done. Figure out how and who can transport Peralta home and take care of him, if he gets to go home. (He will. He has to. She will take him.) Call Rosa to find out if they booked the perp properly, and that they add assault with a deadly weapon to his rep sheet (not murder, although that’s what he did, that’s what happened). But she couldn’t do any of that, because she was still shaking, her heart was still racing, and all she could see was his blood on her hands, warm and sticky and dark and drying into a rotten brown shade already. So she washed them clean, and then scrubbed some more, and some more, until she felt as red and raw as the wound in his chest had looked in the ambulance when they got his shirt off. (The jacket of her suit is rotting away in the toilet trashcan now, and she’s shivering ever so slightly in only her short-sleeved blouse, but it is clean and there is not a hint of Jake’s injury anywhere anymore, except in his gaunt cheekbones and the pale colour of his face, and the silence of the room.) His hand twitches while she’s staring at her own, and if it’s instinct or reflex of whatever that makes her reach out and grab it immediately, she doesn’t care. His hand is warm under hers, and it twitches again and then wraps its fingers around her and holds her, steady and calm. He blinks awake, a little disoriented, but then he focuses on her and - smiles.

“You’re okay.” He says, and that’s what breaks her in the end.

She doesn’t outright sob or anything, but she does let her head drop so her hair is hiding her face, hiding the tears he doesn’t need to see first thing after waking up from literal death. She feels his hand pull on her to make her look at him, though, and she can’t deny him, even if her tear-streaked face is probably not a good view.

“Hey, no- don’t-” He rasps, his voice still coming back, “I’m okay too.”

She laughs through her tears, a short little snort, but it helps calm her down - and him too, it seems, because he smiles again.

“You’re far more than just okay, Peralta.” She smiles back, and feels his hand tighten around hers, three little, but distinct squeezes.

-*-

She shouldn’t feel this nervous. She’s a cop, a detective. A good one. She’s done this before, and it’s never been nice, but it’s always something she’s gotten through.

But she fears tomorrow’s court date more than anything else in her life right now, which is why she’s trying to drown the thought of it at Shaw’s. The hangover will probably not be helpful with her witness statement that could possibly make or break this ruling, but her panic demands more alcohol. However, the next beer she orders at the bar is intercepted by a larger, more calloused hand than hers.

“Alright, Santiago, that last one was your sixth, and I really don’t need to deal with Seven Drink Amy tonight.” Jake says as he settles down next to her, hands the beer over to Rosa, who leaves them alone at the bar before Amy can whine and complain.

“I need that drink, Jake. It’s my only friend right now.”

“We both know that’s just Six Drink Sadmy speaking.” He pats her arm as she spreads out over the slightly sticky bartop and whines some more.

“You’re worried about tomorrow.” He continues, reading her thoughts like he sometimes does, which is such an annoying thing he can do. His hand is still on her arm. “You don’t have to be.”

“That girl’s entire life is at stake. And the gang boss is going to kill me and her if he gets off-”

“He’s not going to get off. Not if you tell them exactly what you told the lawyers taking your written statement.”

“Says you.”

“Says Sofia.” There’s a weight to those words that hits her stomach, and it’s only partially the fact that a damn defense attorney is on her side. The other part of why those words from the woman Jake started dating just recently hurt her, she doesn’t want to think about. “Look, I’m gonna drive you home, you’re gonna take a hot shower to detox, then you’re gonna get your perfect 8 hours of sleep, show up at court tomorrow in your best, darkest pant suit, and rock this like you rock everything else.” His hand has wandered down her arm to her hand, now, flips it over to hold it, and it’s pure coincidence that their fingers spread and interlock, surely. “Okay?” He asks one more time, and she sighs.

“Teddy can pick me up-”

“Teddy’s at that conference, remember.”

Oh, right. Something that had been lost to memory between drink three and four, the fact that her boyfriend had booked himself into a seminar the week the court date was announced. It’s a really good one, he’d said, if she wasn’t already busy he would’ve asked her to join, too. Already busy. Regular Amy doesn’t get punchy a lot, and maybe it’s her closeness to Seven Drink Amy right now that makes her want to knock him out for that, but she felt that way when she helped him pack his luggage two days ago too, and she was stonecold sober then.

“Okay.” She nods and tries to get off of the barstool, wobbles quite heavily. “Take me home, Peralta.”

He snorts a laugh and obviously swallows down some sort of joke as he pulls her into a standing position, their hands still locked together. She thinks she imagines it at first, but even after she’s sobered up the next day, she remembers those three short, tight, almost painful squeezes before he let go and steered her to his car.

She doesn’t have much time to think about it, or about how she basically held hands with her best friend while both of their partners were out of town, either. Or how he helped her into her apartment and waited until she was showered and had downed some water and aspirin before tucking her into bed. She can’t think about any of that, because she has to get ready for court.

And when she sits down in the witness’ chair, the gang boss on the bench before her staring her down with murder in his eyes, she notices a set of dress blues in the otherwise thin crowd of people who were allowed in to watch the trial. Three rows down, Jake gives her a silent thumbs up when their eyes meet, and she feels the phantom of his hand again, squeezing hers three times before she begins to speak.

-*-

They’re gonna die. She’s certain. They’re gonna die in here, in this cramped little closet, wedged between some industrial shelving and a broken down sink.

Jake had pulled her in and locked the door behind him, squished her against the wall and himself against the door, and killed the radio on her shoulder as well as his own. The last thing they’d heard crackling through it was “four officers down”. Someone had fallen behind her when she ran for safety, and for a second she thought it had been Jake. That he was standing here now, almost pressed against her in the tight space she would usually panic in, that she could feel his erratic breath on her ear, his racing heart under her hands, was pretty much the only comfort she had left.

She wonders how long it’ll last.

The mission had been an absolute bust. They had expected a gang. They had not expected a well-armed mafia. And now officers were wounded, or dead, and they couldn’t use their radio to find out anything, for fear of being discovered. She can hear gunshots and shouts from further away, and it’s only her paranoia that make them sound as if they're getting closer, but Jake is listening just as intently. Amy thinks of Rosa and Charles, who were on the other side of the building. She thinks of Terry, who’s probably trying to reach any of them by radio from his station in the surveillance van. She thinks of Holt, and can’t see where he might be right now, still next to Terry or commanding whatever backup might be coming in or-

She feels Jake’s hand wrap around hers, still pressed against his chest, and realises that she’s been hyperventilating. If she gets any louder, she’ll give away their position. His forehead against hers is cold, colder than he usually is, clammy with sweat, but the simple pressure of it helps her focus. She can hear him breathe deep, slow, exaggerated, and understands that he’s doing it for her. He probably thinks she’s having a panic attack because of her claustrophobia, or maybe all things at the moment combined. He’s not that far off. She breathes with him, feels the air from their exhales swirl between the few spaces were they don’t connect. There aren’t many. If she looks up, she could kiss him. She’s not quite that sure that she’s going to die in here anymore, but she would definitely hate herself if she did and never found out what that felt like, or if her last kiss on Earth was really from Teddy the night before they broke up. But when she moves her head, she meets his eyes instead, pupils blown wide in the darkness around them. He looks scared and terrified, and his heart under their combined hands is still racing, and the last thing he needs is for Amy to confuse him before they go out in a hail of bullets, action-movie-style, which he’d probably love if it wasn’t so real right now. She wants to say something, anything to calm him down, but she can’t speak, and not just because there are footsteps approaching outside their door.

She feels his hand tighten around hers, three times, faster than before. And then he pulls her into a close hug when the door behind his back opens to reveal blinding light, and she realises he’s shielding her, has been ever since he pushed her first into this storage space. He only lets go when they both hear Terry’s voice, and the Captain’s, the first telling them they are safe, the second immediately trying to update them on the situation with the SWAT team. He holds her hand a second longer than the rest of her, and the three squeezes that follow are far softer and slower than the ones before.

-*-

Amy Santiago and Jake Peralta are sitting in a booth at Shaw’s, laughing at something one of their friends has said, and she feels his hand slip into hers under the table. For only a split second, she’s tempted to pull her hand away. It’s still so new and shaky and unsure, their whole thing, yet at the same time it isn’t. It’s been growing for so long, between them and around them, it feels like it’s always been there. But the rest of the squad is still pulling excited faces whenever they get a little closer, Charles still squeals at every mention of their ‘evenings together’, and Rosa has rolled her eyes so hard she almost strained a muscle the first time she heard Amy refer to Jake as ‘babe’ in front of her. It’s all a little bit embarrassing, and sometimes she wishes they’d stuck to just one of their rules, of not telling anyone until they figure it out. But then she wonders, what was there left to figure out? She was with Jake, and she wanted to be with Jake, and deep down, she could see none of that change at any point in time. Forever, possibly.

Charles is still talking, riding the wave of getting their laugh, but then Jake’s smiling at her only, and his hand wrapped around hers squeezes three times. It hits her like a brick to the face, those three little squeezes. She finally understands them. She remembers them from before, from tense moments and situations of fear, from where he’s been there for her at the worst parts. Holding on tight and feeling the three little bursts of pressure, only wondering a long time later if he did it on purpose, or if it was some sort of reflex.

She feels it again now, and she can finally hear it.

I. Squeeze. Love. Squeeze. You. Squeeze.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #my writing #ficlet

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 2 years ago

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Thranduil and Josie Part 69- Little Red Riding Hood

Summary: Josie and Haldir's unexpected reunion in Dorwinion immediately turns to angst when she does not see her King as she demands answers. The marchwarden's explanation only worsens the Queen's fears when she realizes why her King has carried out such a plan. Narcisse offers comfort which instantly sets Haldir's senses off. Josie gives Stephane a hard time as she finds him arrogant and annoying but that does not dissuade the Lord of trying to assist her. The perilous journey commences. Over the river and through the woods, to Lestat's house they go. Haldir and Josie are in harmony once again until she informs him of Selene. The Prince defends his Queen and he and Haldir butt heads. Aragorn to the rescue. Haldir's anger at Josie is short lived and all is well in Jodir land again.. Temperatures plummet and Josie is in peril. Josie remembers prior words. Magic happens and it literally blows Haldir away. Allies arrive leaving Haldir leery and livid. To his shocking dismay, Josie is quite happy to see one of them. An altercation is imminent until it triggers a much bigger problem. Haldir and company are left reeling as Josie is swooped away.

After thwarting off on your horse in your exasperated and distraught state, no thanks to Legolas and Narcisse, you brought the black stallion to a halt on the bay line and stared off into the south of the incessant Rhun. Every way of travel was being ripped apart by the two adept and seasoned men of high stature and they were right no matter which way you cut it. Each possible option held grave dangers. Stephane and Legolas clearly regarded each other with disfavor which was yet a riddle to solve, but they shared one common goal. Keeping you safe. The only one's safety you feared for was Thranduil's.....and even Garrett's. If Thranduil's hatred of the vampire wasn't already of great depth, it had hit the bowels of hell when you healed him and aided his escape. And now you've done the same for Selene whom Thranduil had ordered to rot and both of these vampires were headed to Chateau de Lioncourt where Thranduil was also going. What could possibly go wrong?

As a crisp zephyr blew through your hair, it carried the repetition of horns from behind you in the far west corner of the castle. You quickly turned with an awestruck feeling. That sound. You knew it. The glorious horns of Lorien. The dreamcatcher you held in your hand became warm. You opened your hand and the moonstone was shimmering of starlight. Gasping, your head jerked back to the sound of the horns. "Haldir??" you whispered intensely, then promptly mounted your horse and sped off.

As you approached the gates, there they were. A multitude of Lothlorien guard, Legolas, Haldir and even Aragorn as Narcisse stood nearby like a hawk supervising this unexpected arrival. But there was no Thranduil in sight.....

Haldir was in the midst of greeting his godson with their elven form of a hug when he saw you. His elated smile morphed into that of a regretful one and his eyes filled with sorrow as he remembered your last words of never wanting to see his face again. Every ounce of you wanted to run into his arms but you just sat on the horse peering down at him as you also remembered his betrayal. Your heart bled all over again. Were you going to react this way when you saw your King? As his betrayal was far worse. When you finally came back to reality, you panicked and jumped down. "Where is Thranduil?? You're supposed to be with him!" you proclaimed in a fearful tone as your eyes darted around every inch of the crowd.

"And you are not supposed to be here Jo?? Legolas, Thranduil ordered you to stay with her in Mirkwood so why are you both here?" Haldir countered your question with his own.

The Prince went to offer his defense but you intercepted with yours. "We became aware of your plans and there was no way in hell I was going to sit there and twiddle my thumbs while you and Thranduil went vampire chasing. Now answer my question please! Where is my husband??"

The marchwarden knew he better start explaining. "When the King and I arrived here earlier, we joined with my brothers whom Thranduil facilitated prior to our departure. Originally we were to bring my guard with us but he decided against it as he felt it would insinuate battle. He once again altered the plan of action and called upon our company but he had no intentions of waiting on their arrival so he expedited the mission with Rumil and Orophin and ordered me to meet and assist the guard upon entry here, then further lead them to the destination of Lioncourt. Aragorn had been in Lorien at the time and chose to aid in the treacherous journey as he is considerably experienced with the orcs."

"What? Why would he call upon an army and then not wait for them? That makes no fucking sense!" you reeled but then...you knew why. He wanted to do this all by himself in his desperation to make his betrayal up to you and had to find a way to remove Haldir long enough for him to do so. "My god Thranduil, what mess have you gotten yourself into now?" you griped as you placed your hands over your face. His heart was in the right place but his mind was clearly lost. "Ok...." you then said as you gathered your disarray of thoughts. "This can be a good thing I think. Now we will have added protection against the evil that lies in those mountains. But we need to go NOW! Thranduil is probably already there." You visibly shook and Haldir stepped towards you but not before Stephane did.

"Are you alright Josie? You are shaking." he observed as he laid his hand on your arm. This instantly pushed Haldir's "oh no you didn't" button as his eyes glowered at Narcisse. It wasn't just jealousy. It was something Haldir was sensing about the Lord of Dorwinion.

"I am just cold. I will be fine." you softly said with a half smile and then gave the marchwarden a tempered look.

"I fear you will need more than that thin cloak as I pointed out earlier. I have just the thing for you." He then turned to Ashur who brought over a dark grey cloak of heavy material, wool possibly, and it had fur around the neckline and wrist areas. Narcisse must have had him fetch it while you were off venting. Stephane reached out his arm to take the cloak and that's when you saw it. A butterfly birthmark on his wrist. You focused on it for a moment and then brought your attention back to the cloak.

"You want me to wear a dead animal?" you squeaked as your breath could be seen in the now lowering temperatures of the sun's oncoming descent.

"This should be the least of your concerns dear one. You must shelter your child and to do so, you must keep your body as warm as possible. And your little red riding hood attire will certainly attract the big bad wolves of the forest as I mentioned earlier." You could tell he meant well as he held out the garment for you to slip your arms into.

"Jo...you should not even be going. Do you not realize how dangerous this venture will be for you and your child? Thranduil will have all of our heads if we allow this." Haldir finally spoke in his dispute of the situation which you could tell he had been itching to do.

That did it. You immediately turned and aggressively slipped your arms into the cloak over top the one you were wearing for extra layering, then turned to Haldir. "None of you ALLOW me to do anything as you are not my keepers!" you snapped.

Stephane grinned at your hasty response. "I would listen to her. She's a wicked force of magic to be reckoned with." he smugly said as he sat down and sipped on a glass of his notorious Dorwinion wine.

You knew he was referring to the magical force between you and him earlier when your hands made contact with each others. "Stop it Narcisse." you scolded with a scowl.

Was he even being serious right now or mocking you? God this man infuriated every bone in your body and you weren't sure why as he certainly did not come across as being diabolical. Possibly because you knew Thranduil did not care for him but that could solely be due to his own arrogance and rivalry issues with Narcisse. Or maybe it was over Stephane's condescending attack on Legolas earlier. "Ugghhh!" you grunted in which you then saw him playfully smirk at you. Just one slap is all you wanted to do to knock that stupid simper off his pleased face for his successful attempt to get under your skin.

"I merely meant....you have chaos in your soul and lightning in your veins. You, my dear, were made for wild magical things." This he said with a twinkle in his sincere eyes which again told you he was harboring something. "Would you like some hot tea for your journey to help warm you up a bit?"

"Tea?" you asked in bewilderment at his continued kindness after the acerbic attitude you kept giving him.

"Youuu...don't like tea?"

"I don't like you." you candidly stated.

"You don't know me." he somewhat laughed in a self justifying tone.

"I know a little and it seems to be enough."

"That's more than some." His ego was definitely injured at your snide remarks but his confidence stayed in tact. "Well...The tea....will always be an open invitation."

You climbed back onto your horse and leered down at him. "Thank you for the horses and the cloak. They will be returned when possible my Lord." you said in a quite patronizing way which only further amused him. You rolled your eyes and turned to Legolas, Haldir and Aragorn who were also mounted and ready for departure. Haldir then gave the command and you all ventured off with the Lorien elves in pursuit. You heard Stephane call out. "Be careful my Lady." You turned your head back and he bowed to you, then walked off. The combination of his respectful gestures and uncouth wittiness had your head spinning. He was right. You didn't know him.

Aragorn led, then Haldir, you and Legolas followed in a single file down the eastern coastline. The October gales were increasing as you neared the great falls and your teeth began to slightly chatter.

Lightning struck abroad and made you jump. You had never seen such a beautiful disaster aside from your vigorous King. A nightmare dressed like a daydream. It just drew you right in.

About an hour had passed and it was now dark. Beyond the raging and roaring falls were the thrashing deadly waves of the black sea.

You were damn glad you didn't go by boat as you were certain you all would have perished. The moon was almost full in which you were grateful for the light it provided. How ironic it was almost Halloween and you were off to count dracula's castle. You had to chuckle at that thought. If you didn't laugh, you were certainly going to cry and you didn't want that as your tears would certainly freeze solid before they could even fall down your cheeks. You couldn't even feel your cheeks at this point. It was surely an understatement when you were told of how cold it would be. The North Pole would be a pretty damn good comparison.

Up ahead was the path into the deep dark forest. The sight of it made your stomach turn as you thought of Stephane's words of what lies inside the darkness. Right about now, you wanted to kick Thranduil's ass for this. But mostly you just wanted to hold him tight and tell him how much you love him.

You all stopped for a quick break before heading into the night cloaked desolate pathway. You climbed down and went straight to Haldir. "I..I am sorry I snapped at you. I know you mean well and are only looking out for me. And I...." You began to tear up.

"Jo? What is wrong? I am not angry with you. It is you that should be angry with me for what I concealed from you."

"But...I am not. Not even a little bit....and....I miss you so fucking much." you said as you broke down crying. Haldir's face fell as long as a fiddle and he grabbed you up into a long and tight bear hug. His strawberry scent plummeted up your nose as you buried it in his hair. His body heat was pure ecstasy.

"I have missed you too. More than you could ever know. I was so scared you would never forgive me and I could not live with that." he whispered into your ear.

You kissed his warm supple cheek and took his face in your shivering hands. "You may not feel that way after I tell you something I have done. I would be a hypocrite to keep this from you and I would rather you hear it from me than find out another way in which you will soon enough."

He looked at you in worry. "Jo...you are scaring me. What could you have possibly done that is so bad?"

You then just blurted it out about what you did for Selene. All that could be heard was Haldir's echo through the brisk night wind. "You WHAT!" He began to pace which he always did when he was agitated. "As if what you did for Garrett was not bad enough....Jo...what the fuck were you thinking?? You peered down in shame as he only swore when he was livid. So much for your sweet reunion with the now pissed off marchwarden.

Legolas came over with Aragorn in tow. "Lay off of her Haldir! She did what she felt she had to and what is done is done."

Haldir's nose flared and he pointed at the valiant Prince. "YOU stay out of this!"

Legolas and his guardian bickered back and forth about the events in the dungeons of Thranduil's halls. Although Legolas had been against what you did, he stood by you and defended your honor.

The next thing you heard was Aragorn. "ENOUGH! or....

Legolas and Haldir immediately ceased fire and just stared at Aragorn in shock as did you. Then he looked at them both with a huge smile. "Now...let us ride." The ranger's sense of humor was like an acquired taste.

You went to climb onto your horse when a hand fell upon your shoulder. "Will you ride with me. The winds will subside in the trees but the air will be unfriendly as will be predators. I will feel better with you in my arms. You are freezing. Why are you not wearing gloves? Here please take mine." Haldir softly said as he took your reddened hands and looked at you with regret. "I am so sorry....Jo...I overreacted. Please."

He looked so pitiful that you couldn't be mad at him. You expected and understood his reaction. "Come on." you said with a smile and took his hand. Legolas just shook his head and took off behind Aragorn. Haldir patted your horse on the rear so it would follow them and then you both climbed up on his with you in the front. He pulled out a blanket from the satchel and wrapped you up like a burrito, then quickly placed his gloves on your hands. The elven guard split into a circle around all of you, some leading, some following and some walking through the trees in the darkness on both sides of the pathway to serve their duty of protection as you all trailed on into the night.

Snow flakes were now beginning to fall as you all ascended up the mountain. "How...how much further..." your weakened voice asked Haldir as your head laid back on his chest. Your eyes kept closing. You couldn't feel your body anymore and you stopped shivering which was not a good thing. Haldir's efforts to keep you warm were failing. Hypothermia was setting in. You wished you had that warm tea right now. You began to see Thranduil's beautiful face. "More than my own life." you mumbled.

"At least a few hours yet Jo. God I wish you would not have come. What can I do?" You didn't answer him. "Jo!" he shouted in your ear.

"Hmmm?" you squeaked as your eyes snapped open.

"Jesus. We have got to get her warm somehow. We must stop and build a fire!" Haldir reeled to the others in panic and laid you on the horse's neck, then jumped off.

"This is not good." Aragorn whispered as he also dismounted. "A fire and the smoke will alert the orcs and whatever else that lurks out here."

"That is what the guard is for! She is suffering from hypothermia and will die! There is no way in hell I will let that happen!" Haldir erupted in pure anger and stormed off to gather wood.

Legolas quickly went and pulled you from the horse into his arms. "My Lady...Can you hear me? Speak to me please!" the distressed Prince shrieked.

You moaned and your eyes fluttered open. "Leg...Is..that you? I...I'm so tired."

He stroked your face as he held you up against him. "Yes..it is I my Lady. You must stay awake. Please. Haldir is going to build a fire."

"Fire?..." you murmured. Suddenly you heard Stephane's voice in your head..."You have lightning in your veins....use it." Your eyes widened and you stared at your hands. "L..L..Legolas...take...my gloves off...please."

He looked at you in confusion. "My Lady, you must keep them on until the fire is going."

You then brought your hands to your mouth in defiance and pulled the gloves off with your teeth. Your grey colored hands shook as you tried to concentrate. Haldir had just got a pile of kindling laid on the ground when your hand began to smolder. You felt the burning flowing up your arm to your softly luminated hand just as you did when you made the fire that you and Garrett sat around. You also knew what was going to happen like it did then as you still didn't know how to control it.

"Haldir get back!!!!!!" you screamed. The fire shot out like lightning in a blazing beam and engulfed the kindling, knocking Haldir onto his back as he didn't have enough warning to retreat. You immediately fell unconscious in Legolas' arms.

"Josie!" Legolas clamored. He picked you up and quickly carried you to the fire, then sat down with you and began rubbing his hands over yours in front of it. "Come on my Lady, wake up! You did it, there is heat now!"

Aragorn tended to Haldir who was stunned but unharmed except for some minor lacerations on his hand from landing on some sharp rocks. "Jo!" he yelled when he saw you laying there motionless in Legolas' hold. He dashed in a crawl over to you as you responded to his voice and began to wake up. Aragorn brought over a canteen from his horse filled with the magical waters of Lorien and offered it to you. Something new you learned this night about the mysterious liquid. It doesn't freeze. You chugged it down as if every ounce of water in your body had evaporated from the fire that just scorched through it. You then remembered Haldir being thrown by the force of the fireball.

"Oh my god...Haldir! Are...are you alright??? I..I tried to warn you...I..I didn't mean...I would never hurt..."

"Shhh." he said as he lightly grasped your thawing hands. "You did not hurt me."

"Liar." you reeled as you snatched his retracting hand back into yours in which you could clearly see the cuts on his palm. You scooted off of Legolas' lap and turned Haldir's hand over.

"Jo...it is fine. It does not hurt."

"I don't care. Now hold still." You gently rubbed your thumb over his palm and all the cuts faded away.

"There. That's 3 now." you wickedly smiled.

Haldir was completely lost. "3?"

"Three times I have healed you now."

He laughed. "So you are keeping track now?"

"Always." you winked. "The persistent number 3 that always appears somehow."

His face turned sullen as he closed his fingers over your hand. "Jo...I..I truly am so sorry for keeping my knowledge about your mother from you. I..."

You placed your fingers over his lips. "I know. I forgive you." His eyes closed as a sigh of relief escaped his barricaded lips. "And..I..I am also sorry for the things I said to you. More than you know. Legolas was right. I should have left and tried to calm down before saying things I certainly never meant. They were so hurtful...I could never go without seeing your face again. Can you...ever forgive me?"

"Jo, you had every right to lash out at me. There is nothing to forgive. Now let us be done with this yes?" Haldir sweetly said as he stroked your warming cheek.

"Yes...let us be done with this." Legolas bitingly said, then abruptly got up and began to walk off but then stopped dead in his tracks while gaping into the snow covered trees.

"Legolas? What is it?" you anxiously asked in fright.

You and Haldir stood up and you clung to him while Aragorn went to stand by the Prince. Haldir smelled the air. "Vampire." he muttered and pulled you tight in his grip.

"Great job with that conclusion. If you had not wallowed an eternity in your feelings, you would have realized this before I did." Legolas quietly sneered at the marchwarden. Haldir glared at him then gave a hand signal to the guard which were completely out of sight but you knew they were there, inconspicuously tucked away in the trees. The silence was deafening.

"It is Selene. I know that stench anywhere." Haldir snarled.

"What? Haldir, please. You need to call off the guard. I need to speak with her!! She is not going to come out until she feels safe."

"Are you insane? You want me to allow a vampire to just waltz right in here??"

"Yes...and yes. Please Haldir. She is not going to harm me. We have a deal and I trust her." you begged.

"I think your brain froze along with your body tonight." His words were abrasive and he knew it.

He sighed heavily. "I am sorry..." He then raised his hand and gave another signal, then gently but firmly cupped your chin in his hand. "They are disarmed...but if I smell one inkling of a threat to you, there will be no hesitation."

You quickly hugged him tight. "Thank you."

"Oh...and I am staying right by your side. There will be no argument."

"None will be given." you smiled and took his hand, then you both walked away from the fire which was another threat to her. "Selene? It is alright. You can come out. Haldir has promised me you will not be harmed." you called out and then glanced at Haldir with a confirming look. He nodded to assure you.

A blur whooshed from the trees to the ground as Selene landed in a cautious manner with her unearthly beaming blue eyes darting back and forth at the three hungry vampire slayers before her.

You began to walk towards her but Haldir yanked you back. "Wait!!!" he jeered as he peered up at the trees while taking in a breath. "She is not alone." he growled. "The other filth...Garrett accompanies her."

"Unfortunately" Selene griped and rolled her eyes. "I could not rid of the petulant child."

You drew in a quick breath at the mention of his name and scanned the trees in anticipation to see him. You looked at Haldir. "Please...let me go. He will not hurt me."

Haldir belted out a sarcastic laugh. "After all he has pulled, you honestly expect me to believe that??"

"Yes, I do! He didn't hurt me back in Mirkwood when he very well could have now did he? I am asking you to trust me. Let me go speak with them. Please..."

Haldir reluctantly let go of your arm. "You act as if they have changed. These leeches do not change. They only become more fully of what they are. Whom better to know this than me. Your empathy and good heart is your own worst enemy Jo..."

You knew he was right about your empathy but you also knew Garrett better than Haldir actually did. "Just as there are good people and bad people, vampires are no different. There are good ones too who didn't ask for this life and no matter what they do, they will always be painted black. That alone can turn the good that's left in them into evil." you said with a benevolent smile as you kept your eyes locked on the trees so he would know you were speaking of him.

A burst of swift nippy air gusted over you that smelled of his sweet molasses as Garrett descended and nonchalantly walked up aside Selene. "Evil is a point of view. Hello little one. Miss me?" he said with a most beholden look as he peered down at you. He certainly knew how to make an entrance.

"Sorry I'm late. I was just out getting a bite to drink." And there he was...King Garrett Lee. As good as new and back to his witty ways. It was a facade you saw right through to hide his pain. He wasn't as versatile as vampires were presumed to be. He was desperately trying to hold onto the human that still resided inside of him, refusing to fall prey to the monster he almost became and to have someone like you believe in him, forgive him and care for him gave him that little string of hope to cling onto.

You lightly giggled. "You really are a piece of theater....I am so glad you are well."

Selene's look of animosity at Garrett made you curious as to why she loathed him so much and vice versa. "More like a piece of..."

"Soooo...Selene.. is Thranduil and my mother there? Is he alright??? Please tell me all that you know." you eagerly asked in suspense.

"I have spoken with Lestat but have not seen Thranduil or your mother yet. I am under the impression that they are both there but I am sure neither is eager to see me as I am sure your King is going to be livid of my release if he does not already know. The Prince offered me no information on either of them but has agreed to see you as I assured him you only seek your mother and are of no threat to him...but you will be with all these louts at your side." she snarled as she glared at Haldir. She seemed to have given Legolas a break for his assistance in her release although she knew he only did it for you considering he threatened her life multiple times if she even blinked in your direction.

"Certainly Lestat must know something?? Thranduil and Haldir's brothers left a good 12 hours before us. Why would he not tell you if he knew anything??" you asked in alarm.

Garrett was not going to remain passive and abruptly stepped in front of her wanting to help you. "Lestat is a very private vampire living in desolation and he quite likes it that way. You are a stranger to him even if he knows you are Caroline's daughter and....you are human. Not his favorite past time. He wants to scope you out first and decide for himself if you are a threat."

"And if he decides for some reason to believe that I am??" you asked with misgiving.

Garrett took a stride towards you and placed his icy hand on your cheek as he gazed at you with amorous eyes. "I will be right there. I will never let him harm you. I swear my existence on it."

Haldir about flipped his lid when he saw him touch you and that you allowed it. The fearless marchwarden pressed in between you and the vampire, standing nose to nose with him. "That existence is wearing thin. You are overstepping your boundaries. I suggest you take a step back and never put your wretched hands on her again or I will cut them off." Garrett did not even flinch and drew a huge smirk on his face at the Lorien elf.

"Are you threatening me with a bloody good time? I could rip you limb from limb as we speak before you could even utter another meritless threat." Garrett taunted as his eyes galvanized into a dangerously aroused sapphire blue sea.

"See Jo? He has not changed. Or did you forget what he did to me at the cabin?" Haldir affirmed.

"Garrett!" you snapped. His eyes bolted to yours in shock, then turned to shame for letting the elf antagonize him. "And no Haldir, I did not forget, but you provoked him just now when you knew he was not going to hurt me! Do you not trust my words??"

"I knew no such thing! And of course I trust you. I do not trust HIM! What part of he's a vampire do you not understand Jo? It seems his blood has brainwashed you and erased your memory of his past discretions. When did you become so damn gullible?"

"Don't speak to her like that!" Garrett hissed.

The crow that always followed you and Haldir and had helped you in the past, had followed you again and cawed 7 times...but he remained camouflaged in the darkness. What in the world could 7 times mean? you pondered as your eyes searched for your long time absent feathered guardian.

"Halt!" Aragorn warned with a combative posture. "Orcs have been alerted by your mindless shouting along with this useless fire." Haldir quickly signaled the concealed guard as he and the others armed and raised their bows.

"It is true. I smell them...and they bring wargs!" Selene confirmed as one of the ferocious wolf-like beasts then howled in the nearby distance.

"Do you trust me..." Garrett queried as you trembled something awful.

"Yes."

"Then close your eyes and hold onto me."

Once your arms were tenaciously around him, Garrett did not hesitate and thrusted you up into the air with him.

Selene quickly followed suit as Haldir shouted in panic. "JO!!!" Legolas, Aragorn and Haldir frantically mounted their horses and galloped off in a frenzy before the orcs located them.

You felt inebriated and legless as you sailed on through the dark starless night, lost in the shadows in the life preserving arms of the vampire......

Coming up: Lestat, Thranduil and Caroline make their appearances, finally, with a shocking special guest.... *smut coming soon as well and it's about damn time*

@redeemer46

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years ago

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Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 19- Blood On The Streets

Summary: Karli is finally within arms reach. But things get messy when Walker decides to get involved, will you be able to keep your cool with him butting his way into everything?

Warning: fighting, blood, things get wild

Masterlist

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.” Loudly complains Walker as himself and Lemar walk down a length of stone steps to your assemble of three Avengers and one Sokovian. All you wanted to do today was find Karli in peace, not get barked at by this jabbering blonde and his loyal sidekick....who you technically don’t have any beef with in actuality. You just really don’t like Walker....or anyone closely involved with him.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?” Chirps Bucky, expression clearly sarcastic but surprisingly in good humor when faced with this shit Captain America. No doubt from this mornings love making session between you two, that always seems to brighten his mood. Why wouldn’t it? You are the most radiant and charming being there ever was in his eyes anyways.

oh but Walker is surly doing nothing to sway your growing annoyance.

“Come on. You think three Avengers can walk around Latina without drawing attention?” Says Lemar as the six of you begin drawing closer to each other while they walk down the stone stairs.

“No more keeping us in the dark.” Adds Walker before pointing at Zemo, “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.”

“I don’t think it matters.” You counter with an unenthusiastic shrug while Walker’s face shifts to annoyed puzzlement.

He makes it down the last steps, voice rising in irritation just enough to turn some heads, “This better be an unbelievable explanation...”

You take a step to get right in his face, “oh it is...”

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Interrupts Sam, quickly stepping in between the two of you before the blonde makes a move he’ll undoubtedly regret. And before you get arrested for assault.

“I know where Karli is.” Admits the Baron with a simple nod of passing before stepping around the tense meeting, John soon blocks his way up the long stone pathway to where Karli is located.

“Well, where?” He demands, less heated this time.

“All we know is, it’s a memorial.” Adds Sam while Zemo walks around Walker, “So, we’re gonna intercept her there.”

Zemo takes the lead as you and Bucky begin to follow. Sam, John, and Lemar in the background as Lemar adds, “That means civilians. High risk of casualties.”

“All right, good, we’ll move fast. Take her by surprise.” Adds Walker as he walks in step with Sam.

Sam shakes his head, “No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.”

You can’t help but reply, “Look, the person closest to her died, she’s vulnerable. So Sam’s right, now is the best time to reason with her.”

Walker makes a low frustrated grunt before jogging up to the front, “What? No. Wait, no! No! Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Barks Walker while he asserts himself in front of your small caravan of travelers on the hunt, “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot that she blew up a building with people still in it.”

“Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you, man.” Insists Lemar with his two cents of solid reasoning.

“If I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die.” Challenges Sam, voice cool and calm as he stares down Walker who’s truly bewildered by this.

The blonde glances between you and Bucky, “You’ll let him do this? Are you two just gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse.” Counters Bucky, “And he’s not my partner.”

“Walker remains unconvinced as Sam adds, “I used to council soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.”

“I know.” Grumbles John in a dismissive tone, “And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.”

“Wait, John.” Implores Lemar, “If we can talk her down, it might be worth a try.”

John scoffs in irritation, clearly annoyed by everyone and now with Lemar for siding with the three of you. He soon adverts his gaze over to Zemo, “We’ll deal with you later.”

The Sokovian raises his hands in defense, “I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion.” Before pointing to a little girl further down the street, “My associate is just up ahead.”

You begin walking towards Zemo’s little guide and quickly enough does everyone else follow suit, Zemo at your side as he goes to speak with the child in hopes that she knows where to find Karli.

She doesn’t walk too far and soon she’s led you all into a brick building housing two giant furnaces held together by more bricks. She then wanders up to a wooden door across the room, opening it up, the little girl looks back at Zemo before pointing into the other room where more hallways are present.

Sam shares a semi-nervous glance with you before walking towards the door, “All right.” He mutters, making it to the door before Walker pins Zemo to the unused metal furnace. No need to stop him for this one.

“Hey. You got ten minutes. Then we’re doing things my way.” Vouches Walker as he handcuffs an annoyed Zemo to a metal bar, Sam gives him one last silent look before disappearing behind the doorframe, wisely deciding not to deal with that for now.

You could laugh, this new Captain America is far from a patient man. He almost appears to pout like a child when Sam leaves him behind to deal with Karli himself. You know Sam’s well equipped with his own intellect to handle this on his own, so to give him some time, you saunter on over to the door. Conveniently blocking the way for anyone who may attempt to walk in.

This is no doubt Sam’s intention when leaving you and Bucky behind, of course it is, leave the fox to deal with the rats.

Bucky quickly takes a spot at your side, face doing nothing to hide his annoyance with the two wannabe Avengers awaiting to confront Karli soon enough. Neither you nor Bucky speak for a good seven minutes while you both study Walker’s obvious restlessness about the whole situation. He wants part of the action, and he can’t have it.

“Uh-uh. No, no, no. This is a bad idea.” Rambles the pacing blonde as you cross your arms over your chest. What now?

“It hasn’t been ten minutes.” You casually state, raising a brow at him, “Haven’t you ever heard that patience is a virtue? Do they not teach that in Captain America school?”

“Don’t do that.” He grumbles before turning around to face you, “Don’t patronize me.”

You smirk when he turns away, “Sam knows what he’s doing.” Walker ignores you as he checks a wall clock across the room to the left, turning back to you and Bucky. He begins walking quickly in your direction, “I’m going in.” He states just as he makes it to the door where you’re standing.

Bucky’s on your left and doesn’t catch a second to interfere when you place a protective hand against the mans blue and red suit. He takes a step back in time with the strong force of your palm that gives him no choice but to step backwards. Face shifting from shock to puzzlement in a matter of seconds, he might not have anticipated that you might actually be stronger then him. Despite your troubled past and bloody origins.

You release, face stoic and unflinching while Walker trails his eyes up to meet yours, “This is all real easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” He pauses to see a reaction though you don’t give him one so he tries something else. “Valerious, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens in anger while you simply set a hand on his arm, eyes still locked onto the blonde’s clear blues, “Clearly not. And though I’d like nothing more then to use this serum, supposedly running through my veins to send you into a wall. I’d rather not get arrested.”

Walker’s brows furrow at the threatening bluntness of your remark, he opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by you, “Go ahead then. Save the day, Captain America.” You seethe, stepping to the side to let him run past you without another word. Lemar following suit, leaving just yourself, Bucky and Zemo.

“Y/N!” Softly shouts Bucky for letting Walker run off without much of a fight.

“What choice did I have? That idiot wasn’t going to let up.” You snap before letting out a frustrated huff, “Well, come on. Let’s deal with this shit now.” And just like that do the two of you race out the door, trailing down a couple hallways before reaching the opening to the cavernous room where Karli, Sam, John, and Lemar are standing.

Though it all goes down hill very quickly when John tries to walk up to Karli, you watch as she throws him against a marble kitchen countertop with the sheer force of her boot before booking it out another entranceway. Jumping up a small flight of stairs just as quickly while Bucky takes the lead in pursuit of her.

You immediately follow, although he’s soon out of sight like a phantom in a giant old mansion. Not having a solid clue where Karli just dashed off to, you find another staircase and quickly climb up it until you run through a doorway, finding a confused Sam in the process. “This place is a maze.” He mutters, eyes darting all around as he tries to find something significant to chase.

“I know. Have you seen Bucky?”

“I’m right here.” Delves your man as he jogs into your little huddle, “Come on let’s keep looking.”

——

Finishing up in the bathroom of Zemo’s house, you take a breath at the sink, “What is happening anymore?” You mutter to yourself, puzzlement and palpable irritation clear on your face. So far you’ve had Karli within arms reach and just like that she disappeared into the great wherever the fuck once again, this time all because of that stupidly inpatient man who calls himself Captain America. The one who just had to ruin everything. Again.

He’s the absolute worst, and you have to temporarily live with Baron Zemo of all people on this godforsaken planet too. Closing your eyes, you take another deep breath before opening them back up to take a good look at your own face in the mirror. “Okay Y/N....it’s fine. You have Bucky, things will work out. Just keep your shit together, we can’t lose our shit or bad things happen. We’re fine.”

Totally fine.

Giving yourself a semi-confident self assured nod, you wander out of the bathroom and into the large area of Zemo’s home where Sam is seated with his laptop open. Zemo laying on the couch with drink in hand as he recovers from getting shield wacked in the face by Walker when Bucky walks through some doors on the opposite wall, “Something’s not right about Walker.” He states before finding his way into the kitchen, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the counter while you claim a spot on one of the bar stools.

You chuckle as he opens up a cabinet in search of a glass, “Really? I’d never have guessed.” Bucky sends you an annoyed look before taking out a clean glass.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one.” He mutters while grabbing a bottle, “I am crazy.”

Sam smirks, “Can’t argue with that.”

You nod with a light snicker while bunching up his jacket in your hands to use as a sort of pillow against the hard surface of the cold countertop. Bucky opens up the bottle before pouring it in, “Shouldn’t have given him the shield.”

“I didn’t give it.” Says Sam before rising to his feet.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” Sasses Bucky before taking a drink, Sam opens his mouth to protest but is swiftly cut off by the clatter of the doors when non other then Walker and Lemar come bursting into the large room unannounced.

“All right. That it. Let’s go. I’m ordering you to turn him over.” Barks John.

“Hey, slow your role.” Beckons Sam in the calmest way possible as he steps in front of the man, though his tone remains strong, “Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.”

Walker remains unfazed, “How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, huh?” He awaits an answer though Sam refrains from giving him one, Walker smirks, “Yeah...Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?”

Sam chuckles nervously as Walker sets the shield down, rising to his full height, he doesn’t even make it a step forward before a Vibranium spear is thrust past his head and into the far wall. Your eyes immediately trail over to the fierce face of a Dora Milaje just as two more practically swagger into the room.

Ayo and her sister warrior walk into the area before stopping, clacking their spears against the ground in warning as she focuses on Bucky, “Even if he is a means to an end.” She speaks in Wakandan, “Time’s up.” Switching to English so the others can understand, “Release him to us now.”

John Walker gives the two Dora Milaje a little wave, stating his name and his status as Captain America. They don’t move a muscle, faces never even changing a shade which clearly confuses the annoying blonde. “Well, let’s, uh, put down the pointy sticks and we can take this through, huh?”

“Hey, John, take it easy.” Teases Sam, “You might wanna fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.”

John smirks, turning back to the Wakandans, “They don’t have jurisdiction here...”

Ayo takes a step forward, “The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Well he’s fucked.

John takes a step back, “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Setting a hand upon Ayo’s armor plated shoulder before getting knocked across the face with her Vibranium staff. Soon he gets kicked into another staff lodged into a wall, falling to the floor as his partner Lemar stupidly gets into the escalating action.

You keep to the sidelines along with Sam and Bucky while the Wakandans battle against John and Lemar, who, by the looks of it. Are getting their asses absolutely handed to them. To say you’re having a fantastic time watching this all go down would be an understatement.

Sam on the other hand eventually follows into the mix, himself and Bucky, trying their best to keep the Dora Milaje from actually killing the two Americans. You would help, but they seem to have it covered. Or at least that’s what you’re claiming.

Suddenly Ayo is able to disarm Bucky, in the literal sense too, his Wakandan made metal arm falls to the ground with a thud while Ayo raises her spear to an oblivious Walker who’s failing to knock down her sister warrior. Shit.

You quickly step in front of her, “Take what you came for, not their lives.” She stops dead, dark eyes of skill and power on your familiar vessel before she steps back. Giving you a respectful nod of understanding, thus telling her two warriors to leave off. She soon wanders to the bathroom door, opening it to reveal nothing, face shifting into disappointment, she calls for the Dora Milaje to vacate the premises in pursuit of a vanishing Zemo. And with that, they are gone.

Now where did that idiot go?

——

Your day just never ends now does it? After the debacle at Zemo’s residence, Sam got you and Bucky into the know about Karli threatening his family. And the news that she’s ready to meet him again, this time alone. Clearly that was never an option for you and Bucky, so here you are now. Standing behind Sam as he speaks with Karli about her threatening his sister on the phone.

She leans casually against the stone balcony, admitting that it was all a ploy just to get him to understand, more like to get him scared. She then points out he didn’t come alone, before delving into the reasoning why it would be meaningless to kill him. Rather, he should join her, or just let her go instead.

A second later, Sharon adds on the coms that John is in the near vicinity. Knowing he’s on a mission to kill Karli, this is not good for the three of you. He can’t be here to fuck everything up, so with this in mind, Bucky immediately jumps down from the balcony before getting thrown into a wall by Karli.

You and Sam follow suit, she races to harm Sam but is quickly kicked into a cart by you as Sam jogs to your side, “I’ll send you two the location. Go!” Urges Sam before flying up and away, leaving you and Bucky to race out of there in pursuit of Karli who’s booked it through an open doorway.

“Shit.” You grumble, “Come on.”

Trailing after Karli who’s got her stupid mask on, she’s got yards ahead of you and soon disappears into another building. Reaching the doorway, Bucky takes the lead inside and soon the two of you are jogging up a long square staircase before another FlagSmasher jumps in from out of nowhere.

“Grahhh.” Mumbles Bucky in pain as the opposing man pins him to the wall, you quickly come to your lovers aid by grabbing the rebel by his shoulder and throwing him down the staircase.

Bucky jumps over the railing in pursuit of the foe. You jump over a moment later and are greeted with dust, no FlagSmasher, and a heavily breathing Bucky. You turn to the clearing dust where the man is knocked out unconscious on the floor.

“I got him.” Confirms Bucky in a breathless voice.

“I see that.”

“Also thanks for the save up there.” Smirks Bucky as he gently gives your arm an affectionate pat, “That was nice not getting choked.”

“Not by anyone but me at least.” You jest before turning to jog down the hallway, leaving Bucky there with dumb little smile upon his lips and his swimming thoughts for a second before he snaps out of it to follow after you.

Bursting into a large room, you’re both greeted to the sight of Sam and John currently battling about four FlagSmashers. All masked up and giving those two a run for their money. “Ahhh!” Yells some man as he races for Bucky with his tactical knife.

You don’t get a second to help when a woman rushes for you with nothing but brute force. Oh, shit. Dodging to the left, you swerve out of her fists as she slides into a pillar. Twisting around to face you again, she charges full force this time, one arm raised to swing.

But before she has a chance to send a blow straight for your face, you drop to the floor, kicking her legs out from under her. She falls hard. Dazed, she attempts to rise but is quickly greeted by a nice fist to her cranium instead. Unconscious, the woman is no more a trouble for the time being as you rise to find Karli entering the room.

With knife in hand, the redhead makes a beeline for Walker, she skillfully slides across a table before getting body slammed by Lemar who comes out of nowhere. Both tumbling to the floor, they quickly jump to their feet, Lemar readies to fight but is immediately kicked across the room by Karli.

Almost watching it in slow motion, you can predict the fallout before Lemar even hits the hard marble of a pillar. It cracks and he goes limp upon the ground. Everyone freezes, all fighting coming to an abrupt halt as John soon makes haste across the room before kneeling down at Lemar’s side.

You watch as he tries to wake him up but is unsuccessful, during this time, Karli and her companions make a break for it and out the opened doorways they go. Blood kisses the air, a scent all to familiar yet enough to turn your stomach. Wide eyed in shock, you fail to stop them because of the death of Walker’s friend, your breaths are heavy at the sight of blood running out of Lemar’s nose.

Sam runs after Karli, though you don’t have time to notice when a hand suddenly shakes your arm, “Y/N! Come on!” Shouts Bucky urgently, you blink in puzzlement before the realization that Karli is getting away finally hits you.

He pulls your arm, and soon your feet begin working once more. The two of you run into the doorway where Karli escaped from, racing down some steps and through another hallway before finding a door that leads out into the town.

Sam’s immediately in your faces, “Guys I lost her!”

“Yeah no shit.” You snap in irritation, pushing past him as you lead the way towards a growing crowd further down the side-street, “Come on I can smell her.”

They quickly follow your lead and not even fifteen seconds later do you catch the scent of blood on the wind, slowing your pace to a small jog. You maneuver past a plethora of bystanders until you find the source of all of the common.

There he stands, John Walker. Defiant and deadly, face dark and furious as he breaths heavily with shield in hand. You look down and to your horror, lies dead one of Karli’s followers. Blood dripping like bloody waterfalls onto the white marbel of some steps leading to a fountain in the center of town. Crimson staining the shield.

Well that was certainly unexpected.

His dark blue glare shifts over to you three in a second, he almost immediately registers your bewildered and shocked faces at what he has just done out in the open for the whole world to see. He blinks, and soon races off in the opposite direction far away from the towns center crowds.

“Shit.” You seethe as Sam and Bucky look to you now for some type of guidance, “Let’s get that fucking shield.”

——

It didn’t take long to find him, all you did was follow the stench of blood to an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. He moves fast, but he’s not fast enough to run away from his crimes.

Leading the way into the warehouse, you’re greeted by the man in question who saunters slowly from across the largely vacant area. “Walker..” Starts Sam.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good.” Interrupts the blonde as he paces nervously.

“Stop, Walker.” You assert, voice calm and authoritative, causing him to turn his head up to you now. “What?” Says Walker in an accusatory tone, “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do. I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!”

Bucky shakes his head, “He didn’t kill Lemar, John. Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.”

He grimaces in disgust, “I’m not like you.”

“No.” You reply, “But you’re becoming more like me, something that I was a long time ago. Something that will only bring you pain and anger in the future.” John lowers his troubled gaze to the cement flooring.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle. Okay?” Reasons Sam, “If you explain what happened they may consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt. John…” Sam pauses for a few long moments as John stares conflicted downwards, “You gotta give me the shield, man.”

You watch as John slowly lifts his gaze from the ground to the three of you, he shares an irked grin before letting out a breathy laugh, “oh…so that’s what this is. You almost got me.” He smiles, although his grin is anything but friendly.

Sam shakes his head, “You made a mistake.” A solid attempt at reasoning with the man, but it’s a less then fruitful one.

John wary eyes shift from Sam to Bucky and lastly onto you, he scoffs, “You don’t wanna do this.”

Shling. Sounds your claws as they eco around the warehouse walls.

You tilt your head threateningly, “Actually, we do.”

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write-r-die · 3 years ago

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Prisoner - Part 17

March 1067, Norman Conquest of England

Masterlist

A/N: Drama!!

gif from demivampirew

For the first time in a long time, Thomasin felt safe.

Henry made her promise never to remove the pendant he gave her. It seemed terribly important to him, though Thomasin didn’t know why. Still, she agreed without question.

Henry never did shout at her. He didn’t like being angry, especially with someone he loved. Instead, he sat his wife down like a child and looked very deeply into her grey eyes while simply telling her she would never disobey him again, nor would she disagree with him in public. She was welcome to shout and scream and call him all sorts of names when they were alone together, but their situation was precarious. They had to present a united front so no one – just Lawrence, really – would think to pit them against each other.

Lawrence, though, seemed the same as ever. Maybe even scarier. He always had that awful grin on his face. He never got red; that’s what really worried both Henry and Tom. He was too calm, too self-assured. He planned out what he would do to them; now they were stuck in fear until he decided to act. It had only been a week since the wedding, and there was no telling how long Lawrence would wait. But he wasn’t a patient man.

Henry didn’t let Thomasin see his fear over Lawrence’s retribution. Since the wedding, she’d become all soft and willing. He thought she showed something akin to vulnerability. When they were alone, she would sit on his lap or press herself right against his side. They needed to be touching when they went to sleep, either with Henry spooning against her back or Thomasin lounging across his chest. She demanded his attention and affection. Henry obliged her, even going beyond. He’d kiss her in public when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t even mind.

He met her vulnerability with steady confidence. He’d sworn to look after her more times than he could count, and now that she was finally allowing it, he didn’t want to show any weakness. That was what husbands did for their wives – they remained strong and sure.

Henry asked a baron sailing back to Normandy to deliver the message to his family that he was wed; he was quite sure his mother would cry upon hearing the news.

“Should we send someone to tell your family?” he asked that night as he and Tom lay in the dark together. He was pressed tightly against Thomasin’s back. She used one of his arms as a pillow, and his free hand roamed over her body.

“I haven’t got a family,” Thomasin replied.

Henry nuzzled her rosy gold hair. “Yes, you do.” He kissed the back of her neck and sighed into her hair. “And you’ll never be rid of me.”

When the king finally summoned Henry, it wasn’t to chastise him. If he did mean to shout at Henry, it was low on his list of things to do. Henry found himself in something of a war council among other barons and knights of high praise.

“It is time to execute the Saxons,” William announced. “I’ve kept them alive for too long. It will embolden other rebels to attack if they believe I won’t kill them.”

“The rebels are all but gone,” a middle-aged baron said. “Even that young baron from the north has disappeared.” He looked at Henry from the corner of his eye; everyone knew he was referring to Hammond.

“Permanent imprisonment is not much better than death,” another put in.

“All the same,” said the king. “The surviving Saxon prisoners will be put to death by hanging this afternoon. I expect you all to bear witness.”

“What about our wives?” a knight asked. Henry was grateful someone other than him asked the question. “Should they attend?”

William shook his head. “Tis no sight for a woman’s eyes.” He took a deep breath before declaring, “It is warm enough now to travel. We will hunt down the other rebels. If we cannot capture or kill them, we will at least run them out of England and keep them in exile for the rest of their lives.”

The men started shuffling out, murmuring to each other about the Saxon threat. Henry lagged behind the crowd, too lost in his thoughts to keep a fast pace. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice when Lawrence sidled up beside him.

Lawrence made a sound like a sigh. “I do hope poor Tom won’t be too broken up over Cerdic’s execution.”

Henry felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. How did he find out about Thomasin’s relationship with Cerdic? How much did he know about it? What execution? Was that why the barons and knights were gathering?

But the true source of his fury was the fact that Lawrence had referred to his wife as Tom.

Lawrence looked at Henry from the corner of his eye. “Are you broken up, dear Henry?”

He turned his gaze to the other man, a savage look in his eyes. “You will never speak my wife’s name again. Do you understand me?”

Lawrence bowed his head in mock apology before moving along.

Henry paused in a nook in the corridor and ran his hand over his face. Damn.

Coming to England was like stepping in dog shit that one could never quite wipe away. Meeting Thomasin was like stepping in dog shit. One bad thing followed another like a cloying stink with that poor girl.

No, Henry realized. Thomasin meeting him when the troubles started.

***

Thomasin was grateful that Henry had been able to spend both his days and his nights with her. She knew it could not last forever, but she was sad all the same when he was called away, no doubt to discuss matters of war.

Now she would have to spend her days embroidering with other ladies or pursuing some other womanly hobby. She was never terribly good at that, though. At one point, her governess simply gave up trying to make Thomasin a proper lady. Her father let her have free reign of the estate so long as someone was always nearby and she returned to the keep by dark.

She imagined having a similar arrangement with Henry, but they first needed an estate of their own. Everyone assumed the king would give them the estate Thomasin grew up in, but she secretly hoped he would not. It would be haunted, at least for her, and she was sure she would never feel comfortable there. It wasn’t her home anymore. Just another conquered fortress.

The couple spoke a little of returning to Normandy so Tom could meet Henry’s family and there were some vague mentions of estates near his brothers that might be suitable for their needs, but they hadn’t had a real conversation about it. What they wanted didn’t matter; William would likely keep Henry in England to fight his endless war against Thomasin’s way of life. Maybe they would be dismissed in a few years when things were calmer.

She would have to figure out how to spend her days. Her only true friend at court was Elaine, but the healer was often busy during the day. Thomasin accompanied her on a meeting with an elderly baroness with a horrifying rash; she would never do so again.

She was returning from a brisk walk when she nearly crashed into her husband and his friends on their way out.

“Henry!�� Thomasin bounced forward and grabbed onto his hand. She waited for him to kiss her while Charlie and Roger were pretending not to look. She knew something was wrong when he didn’t. “Are you well?”

Henry’s expression was as hard as it had been the day Thomasin tried to escape from him. She resisted the urge to step back. “Thomasin, go back to our rooms. Wait for me there.”

His clear agitation alarmed her; she spoke as calmly as she could. “Is something amiss?”

“Do as I say. I’ll be along soon.” He turned to Kal. “You go with her.”

Something must be truly wrong if Henry was willing to part with his shadow, even for an hour or two. Thomasin’s eyes flickered to Charlie for some hint of what was happening, but his expression was as stony as ever. Roger hadn’t stopped when Thomasin intercepted them so she could not look to him for clues.

She glanced at Henry one more time. He didn’t look all right. She wanted an explanation here and now, but she remembered her promise not to disobey him in public. Staying and demanding something from him would certainly count as disobedience. “Of course,” Thomasin said, forcing a mild tone of voice. She gave a shallow curtsey.

She was chattering to Kal as they walked up a tight staircase when she heard a ruckus outside. There were no windows in the stairwell, only thin slats from which archers inside the castle could shoot at enemy soldiers in case of an attack, but they would do.

Thomasin rocked up on her tiptoes to peer through one of them. There was a large cluster of men spread out across the field. They stood in clumps of three or four, talking among themselves as a handful of servants erected some makeshift structure she couldn’t quite make out. Perhaps if she had something to stand on, she would be able to see more clearly . . .

Kal made a grumbling sound.

“I don’t mean to ignore you, Kal,” Thomasin said. “I just want to see what’s going on.”

She never thought it unusual for one to speak to one’s pets, and Henry regularly held complex conversations with the bear, so she wasn’t embarrassed to talk to him in public as other women might be.

Thomasin pushed up a little further and caught a glimpse of fresh scaffolding, then of a handful of shackled men making their way over to it. The Saxon prisoners were finally being executed, then. Thomasin couldn’t blame Henry for not telling her. He was only trying to protect her.

She was about to turn away when she glimpsed a familiar silhouette and an even more familiar red beard. She squinted into the fading light as the hangman put a rope around the Saxon’s thick neck.

She hated that neck. She once joked to Justina that she’d like to strangle him, but his neck was as sturdy as a thick branch on a tree. She’d only tire herself out trying to kill him.

Cerdic.

Thomasin was so shocked and upset that she pushed away from the window too hard and fell backwards; Kal softened her fall somewhat.

For a moment she couldn’t move or even draw in a lungful of air. Kal was breathing in right in her face, but she didn’t care. She felt removed from somehow, as if she weren’t truly in her body.

Cerdic was a ridiculous oaf, but she’d known him all her life. She’d cared for him not as a lover or brother or even a friend, but in the way a woman was expected to care for her husband-to-be. And he was all that was left of her life before.

It was easier when she thought he was dead, that he’d died in the fray along with most of the other Saxon men. She’d grieved him in her own strange way and put his memory behind her, but now everything swelled up again and tightened her throat.

This was the last straw. She was strong but she wasn't made of ice. There was only so much someone could endure before they broke.

And Thomasin truly did break.

She ran to her rooms barely holding back tears. Her throat was sore with the effort of holding in sobs and her hands were shaking so hard that she almost couldn’t open the latch on the door to the antechamber.

She barely made it through the antechamber and into the bedroom before she fell apart. She slammed the bedroom door before Kal could follow and fell forward on her hands and knees into the rushes scattered on the floor; she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer, not even long enough to reach the bed. She began to weep so hard that she could barely breathe. She made choked, ugly sobbing sounds she couldn’t control that shook her shoulders as snot and tears ran down her face.

Kal whined and scratched at the door, desperate to comfort his mother.

Thomasin kicked the door hard enough to shake the hinges. “Go away!” she shrieked. Her throat was already raw.

She was too tired to move anymore, even to get into bed. She fell to her side and curled in on herself, shivering like a dog left outside in a storm, still whimpering and gasping for breath.

***

Henry stood with Charlie and Roger as they waited for the executions to begin.

“You look unwell,” Henry remarked to his brother-by-law.

Roger heaved a sigh. “It’s always said when something beautiful dies.”

“What, the men?” Charlie asked.

Roger turned to face his friends. “Their lives. Their spirits.” Their physical forms, too, of course.

“That’s the nature of conquest,” Charlie said. “The old ways must end for the new ones to begin. If people cannot accept change . . .” He shrugged.

“I do not like the end part. You must feel some grief on behalf of Thomasin, Henry,” Roger said. “I cannot imagine. . .” he trailed off.

“I didn’t tell her,” Henry said.

“She’ll find out,” Charlie said neutrally. He still didn’t like Thomasin by any stretch of the imagination, but he was coming to accept her. “Assuming she hasn’t already.”

Henry knew that, knew it would be better to tell her himself. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I know,” he said.

***

Cerdic had no last words – or if he did, Henry didn’t hear them.

The men were strung up all at once, the nooses looped around their necks and the wooden bench kicked out from under them. A crueler king might have removed their heads one by one to heighten their fear, but William just wanted the business done with. He’d likely cut their heads off afterwards to mount on spikes near the city gates, though.

Henry left the first moment he could. Thomasin was probably fuming quietly in their room, probably repeatedly stabbing herself in the finger as she furiously embroidered something or other. He hoped so.

Charlie was right: Thomasin had probably found out about the executions somehow. He prayed that she didn’t know Cerdic was among the dead. He wasn’t sure what reaction to expect.

He tried to enter the antechamber quietly, but the room was deathly silent; every small sound he made seemed to echo. The first thing he saw was Kal stretched out in front of the door that led to the bedroom, his chin resting on top of his paws. He looked downright pensive.

“Kal.”

The dog leapt to attention as Henry knelt to scratch his ear.

“Good boy,” Henry murmured.

Kal whined, trying to communicate that something was wrong with Thomasin. He’d been guarding her as best as he could, but she wouldn’t let him into the bedroom.

Henry scratched Kal one more time before steeling himself. He opened the bedroom door. His wife lay on her side on the floor, still sniffling and hiccupping from weeping.

“Tom?” he knelt on the ground beside her.

She moved her head the slightest bit to look up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You knew that Cerdic was here. That he was alive.” She was too exhausted to inject an accusatory tone into her raspy voice.

Henry took a deep breath. A lock of her rosy golden hair had gotten free of its braid; he gently tucked it behind her ear. “Yes.”

Her chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. She shut them and turned away. “It was easier when . . .”

“I know.”

Her chin still moved. “I wish William had never come to England,” she said, voice high and tight. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on a Norman.”

Henry took a deep breath. “Tom, you can’t blame every Norm –”

“Yes I can!” She shouted, jumping to her feet. Henry stood, too. On the other side of the door, Kal whimpered. “It’s your fault! You came here and you took what wasn't yours and you killed the men and raped the women. My country is dead!” Her voice cracked. “I have nothing left! You took everything from me!”

Henry’s voice was low but strong. “You have me.”

“I don’t want you!” she shouted. Her words cut Henry like the blade of a knife. “You or your bastard king and your merciless countrymen! I wish I’d never met you! I – I –”

I want to go home.

“Enough, Tom,” said Henry. “You’ll give yourself a fit.” Thomasin reached for the back of her neck; Henry caught her hands in his and stopped her before she even touched the necklace’s clasp. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Thomasin shoved away from him so hard she nearly fell backwards. Henry, who had the build of a stone wall, hardly budged. That made her so furious that she slapped him – tried to, anyway. Henry caught her wrist in his hand and used it to tug her close.

“Let go!” she shouted. “Henry, let me go!”

But he held her to his chest and would not unlock his grip. She kept shoving and hitting him until he finally released her – only to capture her again.

Somehow, she was suddenly lying back on the bed, her wrists firmly locked in Henry’s grasp as he pinned them above her head. He hovered over her on his knees, locking her legs between his strong thighs to make sure she didn’t try to kick him in her anger.

“Thomasin, enough!” he shouted.

Exhausted, she finally gave up the fight. She sank limp against the bed and started to weep.

She’d never cried in front of him before, Henry thought. He wasn’t even sure if she cried when she was wounded on the road. There were tears in her eyes on their wedding night and the day she tried to escape from him in the forest, but he didn’t think they ever spilled over.

He couldn’t stand to watch but he couldn’t look away. Thomasin needed him now. She was in mourning – for her father, her former betrothed, her relationships with her siblings, her country. She was mourning her own life, too, and what it might have been if William had never come.

“I hate you,” Thomasin whimpered through her tears.

“No, you don’t.” Her husband’s voice was tired but kind as he released her wrists and climbed off of her.

Her eyes were already shut; her outburst at Henry and fit of emotion after seeing Cerdic hanged drained her of all energy and she was on the very edge of sleep. “I hate you, Henry,” she insisted weakly.

Henry knew she wasn’t sincere, that she was just speaking out of anger, but the words still stung him all the same.

It wouldn’t hurt him at all if she’d just say out loud that she loved him. He only needed to hear it once. None of her accusations or insults would bother him if he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him even half as much as he loved her. With those words, he’d be invincible.

But she didn’t say it. Maybe she never would. She loved him, Henry was sure of it, but she was too proud to admit it.

Tom’s tears had slowed and turned from sobs to sniffles to deep, loud breathing.

Henry stayed beside her in bed, both of them still fully dressed, and soon drifted off. She turned to him in her sleep, unconsciously taking her rightful place in his arms and against his chest. Henry didn’t wake; his body knew instinctively to put his arms around her.

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