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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 15

Hannibal gives y/n an idea and y/n negotiates.

@viviace @deadman-inc-bikeshop @dovahdokren

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence

Aftercare was Hannibal's favorite part of the evening. He loved to spend long, indulgent hours pampering his darlings. But usually, there was only one. And that was Will. And Hannibal's clawfoot bathtub, although beautiful, was not big enough for both of you at the same time. Meaning, you had to take turns.

You and Will argued back and forth about who was in more desperate need of aftercare; each advocating for the other, of course. That was Hannibal's fault, really. He should have known better than to ask you to make a decision.

Hannibal emerged from the bathroom, sleeves rolled up and arms soaked to the elbow. "Who is first?"

Before you could speak, Will shoved you forward. "She is."

Hannibal knew better than to let the argument go on, and so did you. You followed him into the bathroom, the smell of lavender bath salts filling the air.

He removed your fluffy robe and watched you step into the warm bath. The water was just hot enough to soothe the aches in your muscles. Hannibal took his seat at the end of the tub where you rested your head. You leaned back and submerged your whole body.

“You have such soft hair.” Hannibal said, pouring a bit of expensive-smelling shampoo in his palm.

“Thanks, I use fabric softener and tumble dry it on low heat.” You answered.

“You have a hard time accepting compliments, don’t you?” He probed, beginning to lather the shampoo into your hair. “Between that and the self-deprecation, I’d say you suffer from low self-esteem.”

You felt yourself melting into him. The hypnotic motions of his hands chipped away at your defenses. “Is that really that surprising?”

“For such an intelligent, sophisticated young beauty?” Hannibal chuckled. “I am surprised you don’t understand your worth.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” You offered. “The fact that a psychotic cokehead fundamentalist Christian cult leader wants me dead tells me I’m doing something right.”

“You are a force of nature, my indulgence.” Hannibal assured you, still massaging your head. “But you don’t need me to tell you that. You already know your power.”

That got you thinking. Would it be so bad to just find a hunting rifle and blow Chase Mulvaney’s head off? What was stopping you? It certainly wasn’t your conscious. All your remaining moral fiber had been ripped to shreds over the course of the last month.

“Tell me something about yourself, Hannibal.” You said, leaning back.

“What would you like to know?” He asked, retracting his hands. He cupped his hands in the water and poured some over your hair.

“Do you ever think about morality?” You said, bluntly.

The question pleasantly surprised him. “Quite a bit, actually. I like to think of myself as a student of philosophy, which deals heavily with the subject of ethics, human behavior, and yes, morality.”

“Do you believe morality is subjective?” you tilted your head.

“There’s not a doubt in my mind about it.” Hannibal smiled. “Those who think otherwise usually exemplify some of the best arguments for subjective morality.”

“Religious nuts like Chase Mulvaney.” You said. “He and millions of others believe in objective morality, but can’t even keep it consistent among themselves.”

“Darling,” Hannibal whispered. “You don’t have to wait for aftercare to talk philosophy with me. I would be happy to do so anytime.”

You spent a half hour in the bath, Hannibal stroking, kissing and cuddling you. As much as you wanted to enjoy the affection, your mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was just a hyperfixation, or post-multiple-orgasm clarity, but the only thought in your head was that Chase Mulvaney had to die.

Your train of thought was chugging along smoothly until it was derailed by the violent buzzing of your phone against the tile floor. You leaned over the side of the tub, trying to make out the contact name from across the room.

Hannibal dried his hands on a nearby towel and picked the phone up from the ground.

“Who is it?” You asked.

“This number is logged into your phone as just a picture of a...red demon?” Hannibal answered.

“Oh, yeah.” You dropped your head. “I’ll call her back, just let it ring out.”

“Who’s the demon?” Hannibal chuckled.

You stepped out of the bathtub and reached for a towel. “Just somebody I know from work. Probably calling about covering a shift or something.”

“Would that be the same person who believed I was the devil?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow, watching you wrap the towel around yourself.

You were about to say yes, but caught yourself. “No. Just some lady I work with who always refused to share her tips with the buses. Super entitled, total pain in the ass. I’ve been looking for an excuse to tell her off.”

“Well, we can’t keep you from that, now can we.” Hannibal cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at your face admiringly. “There should be a clean nightgown for you on the bed. Please tell Will I’ll be ready for him in a couple minutes.”

“Wow, you really did think of everything.” You rocked back on your heels and swung to your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let him know.”

He kissed you back. “Thank you, my indulgence.”

“Just one more thing.” You stopped in the threshold. “Could I please use your computer?”

“I don’t see why not.” Hannibal looked up from the quickly draining tub. “By all means, what’s mine is yours.”

You smiled and blew him a kiss before absconding into the bedroom.

The nightgown he’d laid out for you had far more ruffles and lace than you’d consider appropriate for sleepwear, but it was comfortable and fit you well.

You passed the message along to Will, but hurriedly. You were in a rush to be alone. You had some business to attend to.

You sat at Hannibal's desk, turned on his lamp and logged into your google drive on his computer. While you waited for the content to fully load, you scrolled through your contacts. When you found the demon, you pressed the green dial button.

It didn't take her long to pick up. "[F/N]! Finally, I've been trying to call you all night."

"Yeah, I know." You rolled your eyes. "Some of us have lives to live. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"No need to be snippy." She scolded. "I have an offer for you."

"If it doesn't involve a portion of ad revenue, I'm not interested." You shook your head. "I'm not settling for a flat fee while you make the real money off my experience. My goddamn trauma."

"Sounds like we woke up and chose bitchy today." She teased. "You're not even going to hear me out?"

"Freddie," you began, pulling up a document on the computer. "I happen to have a four-page, comprehensive statement of what happened that night right here. Half of it was cut out for the FBI report."

You could practically hear Freddie drooling already. "And?"

"I won't accept anything under $1200 for it." You finished. "Or 30% of all ad revenue on this article."

"That's not fair." She protested. "Best I can do is $750."

"You made ten times that off my first article." You leaned back in the chair. "Don't try to lowball me, Lounds, I can do this all night."

"Since when were you the assertive type?" She asked, deflecting the conversation.

"Remember when you told me my fifteen minutes of fame was running out and you were my only option to get my story out there?" You recalled.

"At the time, I was right." Freddie contested.

"That was before Chase went from a cokehead to a domestic terrorist." You said. "Now I actually can take it to a more reputable outlet."

"But here you are anyway." She said. "Extorting a small, woman-owned independent news site just for the hell of it. I've got bills to pay, y'know."

"With gaslighting like that, I'm sure they're astronomical." You rolled your eyes. Sighing, you propped your knees against the desk. "Look, I don't hate you, Freddie."

"I don't hate you either." She agreed. "I thought trashing each other was just our mutual love language."

"The only reason I'm considering TattleCrime at all is you." You admitted. "You're loud and unapologetic and it makes people listen to you. I need someone who can take the heat."

"Because you know that mainstream news outlets are going to cut your writing down to maintain the status quo." Freddie finished your thought.

You pursed your lips. "Exactly. You're the only one who's got the cajones to run the whole story."

"I'm flattered." She said, then paused. "If I move some things around, I can probably get you $1000."

You opened a new tab and typed some words into the search bar. You scrolled through the results, leaving Freddie without an answer.

"Hello?" She said. "[F/N]? Did I lose you?"

"How soon can you pay?" You asked.

Your phone buzzed. You had a notification from paypal. A thousand dollars from Fredrica Lounds.

"Right fucking now." She answered.

"You've got yourself a deal." You said, firmly. You typed out Freddie's email address and pushed send. "It's all yours."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal x you #will graham x you #hannibal x will #hannibal x you x will #hannibal x reader x will #will graham x reader #will graham #the sommelier #hannigram #hannigram x you #hannigram x reader #aftercare #fluff #freddie lounds

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drxwsyni · 4 years

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Prey ︱ Yandere Keigo Takami x f!Reader

@theladyshinigami asked: “Hello! First of all, I've been looking for an account like yours for a long ass time, so thank you for existing. Second, may I request a yandere Hawks pinning for a foreigner with a siren quirk that can hypnotize people when she sings? Thanks again”

a/n: thanks for the request babes! hope you like how this turned out!

warnings: swearing, drugging, mild violence, mention of mutilation

2.9k words

It had been no surprise when the people around you deemed your future to be damned after hearing about your quirk.

Like the mythical siren, you could hypnotize people just by singing to them. It put them under a trance, allowing you to do whatever you saw fit with their mindless bodies. As much as you knew it would be more honourable to take the high road and contain your abilities, the potential it held was too great to pass up.

Now, you weren’t a ruthless killer or anything of the sort. No—you simply used your abilities every so often on the unsuspecting lowlife who probably deserved a little bad luck. Almost like a vigilante of sorts.

For the longest time your actions went unnoticed. You were smart—never staying in one place for too long. The fruits of your labor even brought you to different countries.

But good things could only last for so long, and much to your dismay—a certain avian hero picked up on your actions.

In any other case, this would’ve meant the end of your less than honourable career. But instead, the man you came to know as Hawks chose to turn a blind eye to your antics. You should be grateful—your slip up didn’t end with you in prison.

But the reality you faced now was by no means preferable.

Since being initially caught in the act, you could feel an almost constant looming presence above you. Distant, but there nonetheless. You never actually saw anything that would hint at a shadow, but the blanketed weight of instinct was undeniable. Most notably so was when you were forced to lure in unsuspecting criminals to make ends meet.

A once simple and painless task was now something you dreaded.

The crimson vale of feathers would flash before you, their owner taking a stance when you had the job done. By then you’d swiped any necessary valuables from your latest victim—but that never seemed to bother him. Like the visible vacantness of any belongings from them wasn’t a problem whatsoever, the winged hero would tie up your loose ends. Even said you were helping him out, despite your assistance not exactly being legal.

It lasted like that for a long time. Slowly, you grew to hate the means in which you kept yourself on your feet. Not because your sense of morals were shifting to hold concern for those unfortunate enough to be caught in your sights. Rather, it was because of the sights you were caught in.

Those narrowed and piercing—searching eyes always found you in your worst times. And his attitude, it was enough to give you an aneurism. So nonchalant with his dismissal of your behaviour, such a thing that goes against everything he stands for.

But perhaps, this should’ve been the first red flag that showed you he wasn’t the hero everyone knew him to be—something you were supposed to pick up on and use it to your advantage.

You didn’t have time for that though. It was more important to simply erase his taunting words and carelessly intrusive behaviour from your mind for the sake of your sanity. That, and you were much more concerned with making your next move—one that’d hopefully lead you out of the country.

Or at least far enough away from Hawks.

The back and forth to the pawn shop wasn’t the most enjoyable outing, but it was necessary. You could sense that the owners were at least a little suspicious of how much you frequented their establishment—especially given the items you’d exchanged.

Thankfully, the shop was on the bad side of town, meaning they were quite used to people like yourself. Slowly but surely, the stash you kept hidden in a floor vent in your shambly apartment grew steadily. It wasn’t much at first, but as of late you were making a point to be increasingly active with your efforts.

Everything finally came down to one night—you being immensely grateful to your recent catch. The old man was practically dripping with sin, along with undeserved riches to boot. You’d followed him from the luxurious nightclub, where you knew some less than honourable individuals did depraved things to the vulnerable.

It was just your luck—the man was mind numbingly drunk, stumbling back and forth on his feet in an attempt at a walk in a straight line.

While your quirk wouldn’t get rid of his uneasiness, it would give him more motivation to make his way towards a certain direction. One that led him right into your hands, along with his overpriced belongings.

The deed was done in less than a minute—speed being essential in not getting caught. But you weren’t the only one who held that strength to a high standard. Just as you were pocketing the last of his trinkets, you glanced upwards towards the pitch black night sky. Your eyes focused on the abyssal expanse for a few seconds—now was about the time you’d expect the crimson of his wings to grace your presence. It’d be followed by his unbearably confident remarks, and the frustrating way he’d disregard you as a threat.

But the last minute arrival never came. For the first time since you met him, Hawks didn’t show up to court off your latest prey to the police. Frankly, you didn’t mind it.

The man would never know it was you anyways, you being safe enough to keep your face hidden from prying eyes. It just meant you could return home, one very successful haul in tow with complete peace befalling your mind. No dealing with Hawks’ irritating antics—just a quiet walk back all by yourself.

Naturally, the night’s events had you in high spirits. If your calculations were correct, this would be just enough for your stash to equal out to an amount sufficient enough to get you moving again.

The thought brought a smile to your face, and with a spring in your step you trailed back to the cheap and small apartment complex you called your temporary home.

Every time you opened the front door you cringed at the sound of rusty metal rubbing together on the hinges. Now was no different as you shut the rickety frame back into its closed position, sliding the lock into place.

Removing your shoes with a sigh, you trudged to the back of the apartment where your bedroom was stationed. A cold breeze washed over you as you pushed the slightly ajar door open fully. The window was open, causing the curtains to sway under the wind's influence. Shivering slightly at the sensation, you threw your bag onto the bed and made your way to the worn down looking window.

The lock never worked on the damn thing, so there was never a need to care about if it was closed or not. But on a chilly night like tonight, you mentally cursed yourself for not taking more care in regarding it before you left. It got hot in the daytime, often resulting in it being left open for the most part. It’s only expected that every now and then you’d leave the damned thing like that, now mentally cursing yourself for doing so as the room’s temperature was unpleasantly low, shutting it with a thud.

You moved back towards your bed, unzipping your backpack and emptying the contents atop the duvet. Sorting things was always the most interesting part of your night—seeing just what people were willing to spend their money on. You picked up the wad of cash first, being decent enough not to just take his whole wallet. After thumbing through the stack, you took a bobby pin laying on your nightstand and clipped it over the papers, holding them all together.

In your early days of using your quirk to your advantage, you made the mistake of keeping all of your findings in one place. Call it karma, but at one point you were the one being robbed, both cash and other luxurious items going missing.

Now, you were smarter than that. Learning from your mistakes, you kept the two piles separate. At the moment, all cash was hidden in the floor vent.

Getting on your knees in front of the grating, you lifted the top off, letting the light from the room’s lamp flood into the small space.

The cash was gone.

Your hand dived into the metal-lined crevice, sweeping back and forth frantically. There was no way it could’ve fallen back further into the vent. The heating didn’t push that way, and even if it did you always kept the cash bundled—it was too heavy to be blown away out of arm's reach.

Your heart sunk into your chest, a gut wrenching despair taking hold of you.

“Looking for something?”

That voice—you knew who it belonged to before your head whipped around to face the direction it came from. Standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wings outstretched almost threateningly was the avian hero you’d come to hate.

And god, that smirk plastered across his face. He always wore it, like the damn thing was a permanent expression solidified into his being.

You stilled your actions, eyes unmoving from him. “Where’s my cash?” In a way, you could almost take pride in how you managed to keep a calm and steady voice. The rage was still there, but it was contained—for now.

Hawks moved past the doorway, casually stepping towards the closest nightstand. Like he hadn’t even heard you question, he idly picked up a framed photo—the only one you had of your home town that was thousands of miles away. You’d taken the shot at sundown, showcasing all its best features in the honeyed lighting cascading over it.

“Y’know, it’s almost impressive—the money you rake in.” He was still looking at the photo, eyes searching the minuscule details your camera picked up—one that you had to sell for some extra cash in the early days.

He set the frame down, smirk falling ever so slightly. It was the first time he looked even remotely serious—the casual leaned back stance doing nothing when you saw the dangerous glint in his eyes. “I simply...took it upon myself to donate the cash to a better cause.”

Your blood ran cold, the constricting feeling in your chest tightening at his words. For a moment you couldn’t respond, too mortified by his statement. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, until forcing yourself out of a stupor, you responded. “...You did what?”

In the most condescending tone of voice you’d ever heard, the winged man replied. “Hey, don’t look so surprised. I mean what were you even gonna do with it anyways?”

Still kneeling on the floor, you felt pure, seething hatred for the hero in front of you. “What was I—I was going to use it to get away from your deranged ass!”

The sound of your raised and angered voice reverberated off the walls, him paying no mind to it. “Oh, were you now?”

Almost in a lazy manner, Hawks pushed off the nightstand he was leaning on. “C’mon, you didn’t really think I’d let you get away with robbing people.” The sound of his boots hitting the floor seemed louder than they should’ve as he stalked towards your frozen form. “I mean that would be so...unheroic of me, after all.”

Even in the dim lighting of the room, his eyes were almost inhumanely bright as he looked at you like you were a piece of fresh meat.

You should’ve known this would happen. All this time spent putting together enough cash just to get yourself out of this city and far away from the man looming over you—none of it really mattering in then end.

Not if you couldn’t get out of here.

The stash of money might be gone, but you still had the belongings on your bed. They would go for a good price, and if you played your cards right it’d be enough to get you far enough away from him. It would be tight—but it’s possible.

As far as you were concerned, Hawks was no more virtuous than the lowly individuals you entranced with your quirk. It may have taken this moment to solidify it, but now you knew who he was.

Not a hero, just a man pretending to be one for his own gains.

You opened your mouth, prepared to voice whatever melody came to mind. The feeling of a hand clamping over it came before you could manage a noise, and then your back colliding with the cold hardwood.

The feeling of Hawk’s weight on your body felt crushing, rendering you completely immobilized underneath him. He had you hands pinned above your head with his free one in an almost bruising grip, you unable to move away as he sat on your hips.

“Ah ah ah—little bird.” He grunted through the words, still steady as you made some final weak attempts to throw him off before resigning to your predicament for the moment.

Hawks let a few seconds go by after you stilled, eyeing you warily in a way that you could only assume was to make sure you were fully calmed down. He let out a breathy sigh, “So, here’s how this is gonna work…”

He paused, lips upturning ever so slightly before continuing. “I’m gonna take my hand off, and if I hear so much as a peep from you, I’ll rip your fucking vocal cords out. Got it?” The casual look to his face gave a stark and disturbing contrast to his gruesome words.

You swallowed dryly, tears prickling in your eyes. He knew how much weight those words held—your quirk riding on the fact that your means of speaking were intact.

The winged man tilted his head slightly, a look of what felt like fake concern flashing across his face. “Hey, don’t go looking so scared. I don’t wanna do that, I promise.”

His words did little to ease your worries—the promise meaning absolutely nothing to you.

“Now, if you behave then maybe I’ll consider keeping you awake on the way home, okay?”

On the way home—what the fuck is he talking about?

A crease formed between your brows in confusion, mind racing from unknown sentiment. One might think you’d been running for miles with the way your heart beat was hammering inside your ribcage. But it would turn out that fear was much better at producing the same effect.

If you could manage even a second to use your quirk, he’d be done for. You shakily nodded your head, the grip on your face making the action somewhat difficult.

Hawks seemed pleased with your forced compliance, smirk widening in satisfaction.

“There’s my good little bird, now—”

His hand lifted from your mouth, and without hesitation you activated your quirk.

Or at least you tried.

You should’ve known, the man pinning you to the ground was notorious for being incredulously fast. So much so that you didn’t even see him move, only registering the feeling of a cloth sealing over your mouth and nose.

That smell—sickeningly sweet. Your eyes blew wide at the realization, body thrashing beneath him. Looking at him pleadingly didn’t work, especially when the tears running down your face blurred your vision. In the midst of you violently kicking and attempting to throw him off you, Hawks effortlessly dealt with the consequences to your actions.

“Don’t be like that, I tried—”

Even in your weakening state, you managed to knee him hard. But it was no more in force than a kitten scratch. It may have taken him off guard, even interrupting his train of thought, but he was still the one on top.

You knew you would have bruises later on, but that was the least of your worries right now.

“I tried to warn you, and it’s only fair that I hold up my end of the deal.”

The strenuous efforts of your resistance had you sucking in involuntary gulps of breath in exhaustion. You could feel your mind spinning, not being able to focus on any one thing in particular. It was a lightheaded sensation, you not even realizing that your limbs fell almost completely limp in his hold.

Your focus drifted away from the avian human above you, landing on the once opened bedroom window. Your eyelids felt increasingly heavy, once loudly muffled screams turning into defeated whimpers—and then silence.

Hawks released his iron hold on your wrists, leaning back with a deep and relieved sigh. The cloth was shoved back into his pocket, and he mentally thanked himself for bringing his car so he wouldn’t have to fly you back to his apartment for everyone to see.

It wasn’t the first time he regarded your sleeping form, face peaceful and distinctively not contorted with fear—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He’d known your caution well, seeing it in action the countless times he’d pry his eyes into your life. Whether it be from above on those late nights of you scrounging for cash, or through your window as you sifted through the stockpile of valuable collections. Always thinking that your efforts of evasion were enough.

Surely, after going so long with the same routine—laying low and moving against those who had bad luck coming when the opportunity arose—this new stop in your travels would show no need for change. Even when he made his presence obvious, you stayed set in your ways.

You didn’t deem him a threat. You thought that you were the apex predator, and he was nothing more than a scavenger reaping the rewards of your latest catch.

And now, he would teach you that no—he was the predator, and you were the prey.

#yandere bnha #yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere #yanderecore #yandere x you #yandere keigo x reader #yandere writing

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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

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I really like your fic recs and I don’t really keep very up to date with the latest sanders sides stuff on ao3 so, favorite fics from the past week?

Oh uh... lets see today is 8/5/2020... and I’ll do my fav fics that have just been posted or updated this week:

Swept Away - Part Three of my favorite Sirens au, where Logan gets swept up in a storm and wonders if anyone will miss him (they will).

The Variables - Logan bought a house in the middle of nowhere so he could avoid having to ever talk to anyone else ever again. The ghosts have other plans.

You Can Picani Family You Want - Emile fosters two kids and quickly learns he’ll do anything to see them smile.

Atypical Destiny - LAMP soulmates are determined to make their polyamory work, even if no one else thinks it will.

‘Cause Every Time We Touch, I Get This Feeling - Touch starved Janus falls for touchy-feely Patton.

Rays on My Skin - Virgil is six when he discovers that he has multiple soulmates and absolutely none of them speak his language. Oh and also three of them don’t know he exists.

If You Give a Side a Lion - Remus and Roman have some things to work out, but first it looks like theyre gonna have to save the universe, along with three other guys, an alien prince, and his assistant. A Voltron AU that I didn’t know I needed.

The Story of Emile the Seer - Emile is unfortunately born with the ability to see the future. Theres a lot of awful things people would do about that.

Alleyway - Logan finds a baby in a dumpster in an alley and decides to keep it.

Slower Than Words - Virgil can’t see. Patton can’t hear. But theyre stuck in a cell together while people conduct unethical experimentation on them, so maybe they can learn to communicate?

Old Scars, Future Hearts - Virgil has a problem asking for help when he’s overwhelmed, but this time? This time the others are already angry at him. And they wont want to help him if they’re angry at him, right?

the shapes in the silence - Virgil turns into a cat-sized Dragon when he gets overwhelmed which only becomes a problem when Patton finds him hiding in the pantry and thinks he’s a figment from imagination and not another side. And if the Light sides like him so much as a dragon....well maybe he should stay that way.

breathing and other rhythms that used to be easy - A Nightmare brings Virgil back to the dark side of the mindscape, just to check, just to make sure, just to see that Deceit and Remus are still breathing and thats it. In and out. They won’t even know he was there.

Road Trips and Missing Persons - Patton goes out for groceries and doesn’t come back home because he gets kidnapped by a child with a knife. Virgil is on the run from his crazy mother after she killed his father. Janus will do anything to get to his brother before his mother does. Remy isn’t actually dead. And Logan will strangle his entire family for not answering their phones.

Bounty - A sequel to Abduction in the Space Family series: Space, aliens and Virgil is a human in the middle of it all. Excellent series, 20/10 and I will cry about it. thanks.

The Curse of Hanahaki - In which Remus plays himself by cursing Imagination so that anyone who falls in love will cough up flowers. Aka Hanahaki but with a tangible plot.

fall out of in love with me - Deceit asks Remus to make him a potion to dilute his intense feelings for Virgil before they crush him at the absolute worst possible time for Virgil.

A Wager. - Virgil meets professional gambler and they mage a wager they both come out winning in.

i’ll sink for you - Deceit can hypnotize anyone, but Virgil is all to willing to be his plaything.

Save the Moment - Patton takes pictures of everything. Janus notices more than he should.

Lavender - Patton can’t handle the sound of Logan and Roman’s argument, but thankfully Janus steps up to the plate.

Mind Over Matter - Being a human in Space is just asking for trouble. Being forced to fight in fighting ring just makes Virgil another sad statistic. However, choosing not to fight his clearly harmless opponent....that makes him different.

The Apartment - Virgil moves into his first apartment and becomes best friends with the elderly man who lives next door and tells fond stories of his numerous grandkids that can never seem to make time for him. Virgil is unaware this is how to get himself adopted into a new family.

sweet tea in the summer - Roman and Patton are the sweetest of lovers through the years.

How two exasperated doctors adopted three robots - Rival Scientists Janus and Logan both have the great idea to see what their company is hiding on the same night. They were not prepared for the answer, but they can definitely get used to it. (Bickering Loceit? uh hell yeah.)

Breathe Out - Virgil will become minion for one chance to get out of the closet, thanks. aka: The other darksides are terrible, and Janus thinks that he and Virgil might be able to work well together, and somehow that puts Virgil on track becoming a Light side whether he wants to or not. (And I gush because everything this author writes is amazing)

The Debate - Part of The Other Side of the Mirror au, where Janus, Remus, and Virgil are Thomas’s core sides and big bad scary Logan shows up to ruin everything. Except that he’s actually helping and Janus might have to reconsider if the other sides are actually as bad as he’s made them out to be.

And It Fell Away - Patton and Virgil are part of the Earth Kingdom army. Janus is part of the Fire Kingdom infantry. It seems that the only thing they all have in common are their need to escape the current battle and then the war itself, if just to save their own lives.

Come Alive - Patton tries to end it all but not-so-friendly vampire Janus stops him. Now there’s just an agreement: Patton spends one year as a vampire in the underworld city for the supernatural, and if they decide living still isn’t worth it they can take a stake to themselves, but...Janus is willing to bet they can find at least one person whos worth it. Ft: everyone falls in love with Patton at first sight, as it should be.

by the book - Librarian Virgil runs the adult section of the library, but his most interesting visitor is the tiny child who talks too fast and has really super attractive dads.

Pen Pal - Logan’s roommates all get together and Logan doesn’t think he has a place there with them, so he withdraws and turns to his pen pal for company.

Wedding Crashers - While standing at the alter for his arranged marriage to a princess he will never love, Logan doesn’t think his really lovers are coming for him. He’s pleasantly surprised.

You Haunt Me And I Like It - Ghost Virgil has had a lot of roommates before without ever needing to show himself, but this one is just too skeptical for him to leave alone.

Wow that is a lot more than I thought I had!

Looking for more fics? I’m got more lists here on my Fic Rec Masterlist!

#greengabs #fic recs #good god there were so many

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letsloveimagines · 4 years

Photo

Title: One kiss or your soul

Pairing: Modern AU! Ivar the Boneless x female!demon!reader

Prompt: Where Ivar decides to my a deal with a demon.

Word Count: 4520

Warnings: a little swearing, satanic rituals, mention of monsters and death

Note: The images doesn’t belong to me, all the credits go to the respective creators. I only made the collage. Also,the rituals were based on Supernatural.

♦⋅☆⋅♦

He tried to take a short walk that day, for the first time in months... His skin was now bone white, and Ivar knew he needed at least about ten minutes of vitamin D.

What he did not expect was the huge crowd that was on the street that blessed day; families gathered to talk animatedly, children playing with each other to discuss the disguises they would wear and all the sweets they would eat. The city appeared to be decorated with bats, cobwebs, scarecrows and zombies, lanterns and pumpkins. It was then, while he was surrounded by people everywhere and feeling his heart thundering, that he remembered it was October, Halloween more precisely, and the whole community was getting ready for the fun of that night.

The pain in his legs was already characteristic, his gait was sloppy and lame, and crutches were his longtime companions. But that never failed to attract attention as always, and that happened at that moment. The children who played looked at him laughing and pointing, talking to each other, the adults whispered and looked at him with pity.

Ivar hated pity.

And he hated even more how the attention of those shitty people made him feel, even though he was already used to it.

With a strong desire to vomit, feeling the sweat running down every corner of his body and trying to breathe, Ivar looked for any corner where he could take shelter. The small library across the street that seemed to be the only establishment without the festive theme appeared to be the best option. He was quick to cross the street - as fast as it was possible for him - to enter the establishment, greet the lady with the half-moon glasses behind the counter (who chewed blue bubblegum while filing her nails), and hid in the most distant place possible, among several decrepit shelves almost falling with the weight of dozens of books.

Ivar had sat on the floor, his back against the books and shelves, his head hidden in his arms and knees drawn up just trying to remember how to breathe. He was at the beginning of a panic attack, and being aware of it only made him even more distressed. He hated that it happened because of his useless legs and because of people he didn't care about. Why couldn't he have been born healthy like his brothers? The air did not seem to reach his lungs fast enough, leaving him almost choked and trembling all around, and with the world spinning around him over and over again.

It took a while, but it ended up after a few minutes of breathing exercises. The frustration remained, however, leaving him so enraged with himself and the world, that he punched the bookshelf behind him in an abrupt gesture. This hasty action caused so much noise that he was sure that the children across the street had been able to hear. In silence, swallowing hard and fearing he would be expelled to face the crowd outside, Ivar peered slightly at the librarian trying to see if she had heard it too. This one, however, had her back to him with the phone between her ear and shoulder, talking animatedly while continuing to take care of her nails, without paying attention to what was happening around her.

"No..." she exclaimed, certainly wanting to sound shocked, but looking completely delighted by what she had just heard. "Don't tell me that she really said that to you?"

More relieved, the boy leaned back against the bookshelf perhaps with more force than was necessary, as he immediately felt the wood behind him creak and the piece of furniture rocked from side to side. The dark-haired boy was quick to grab it, managing to keep it from tipping over, but not without a few books falling to the floor raising so much dust that it left his black pants almost gray. One of those books, due to fate, had not joined the others on the wooden floor eaten by the termites immediately, but had fallen on top of him, the hardcover hitting his head hard. Thankfully, the boy had been born with a head full of rich black hair capable of supporting the impact, or he could now have a bruise to take care of later.

Curiously, still rubbing his head with the free hand of his clutch, he looked at the cursed object. It was a book with a brown cover and black insignia and broken in the corners. In large and dark letters, in a font that looked like a victorian one he could read 'Monsters in the Darkness'. Interesting title, Ivar thought, quickly putting the other books on the shelf and flipping through the one that had caught his eye.

Looking at the watch on his phone that said it was still 2PM, and listening to the conversations outside, he thought why not.

He found himself a chair, shook off the dust with the back of his hand and began to read. The pages were turned quickly while Ivar, frowning, realized what the book was really about.

"What the fuck?" He asked in a low voice, amazed.

His hands held the book tightly, his eyes skimming over the yellowed and gnawed pages. Or maybe it was the mice, this place seems to be full of them, Ivar thought. It was true. That library was old, smelled of mold and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. But that was a good thing, at least for him, because it meant it was almost always empty. Whoever wrote this must be on drugs.

But he still didn't stop.

The more he read the more confused he became. The names and notes changed as well as the images, but they were all on the same theme: dark creatures and reports of sightings. Vampires, werewolves, spirits... creatures with claws and fangs, ferocious and with the ability to kill as easily as breathing.

The younger Lothbrok was confused but immensely interested. He didn't believe any of that, but it helped to pass the time. The boy always liked scary things, but he liked the real ones better, and those creatures that the book addressed had no way of being real. However, he was unable to drop the book.

His fingerprints passed smoothly through the written words and the drawn figures, feeling the depth of the ink on the paper. The words registered in his mind quickly as he read page by page, practically devouring the book in what seemed to him mere minutes, but in fact it was already three hours straight sitting in a corner of the moldy library, with a weak lamp beside him illuminating his reading.

He read so much until his blue eyes got tired and he was forced to rest for a few minutes, and until he was at the end of the book. The last theme was demons, but as soon as he turned the page to continue reading, he found… nothing, just the back cover of the book indicating that it was over.

Strange, he thought absently. And that page was even stranger, a few millimeters thicker than the others... almost as if it were glued.

He should? Looking again at the librarian who, admirably, was still distracted on the phone after three hours, Ivar grabbed the knife he always carried with him, opened it and carefully took it to the paper, making a small cut. As he suspected, the previous page was actually many more, and Ivar was eager to find out what it was about and why those pages seemed to be a secret.

> Of all the inhuman creatures that walk the earth, demons are the most evil. They desire nothing more than death and destruction, and not out of desperation or need as is the case with vampires who need blood to survive ... Demons kill and torture simply because they want and can, because they love the pleasure that the chaos of humanity brings them. There are those who say that they were also mortal once, but that their souls were corrupted so perversely in the depths of hell that they ended up becoming what tortured them. Blood, pain and death are all that are left behind when they pass.

> They are faster, more beautiful and stronger than should be possible. They are attractive and charming, in a way that hypnotizes a human. But they are evil, above all. Demons are separated into different sections depending on their personal power, or at least that is what we think. They are able to make a deal with a mortal, give us what we want for a while, but take away something they want afterwards. They are deadly dangerous… She, above all.

Ivar didn't even realize he was reading aloud until his voice started to crack, and he had to clear his throat so much that it looked like his throat was scratched. He wanted water, but he didn't have it, and he was not going to stop reading his interesting book now to fetch it. Frowning, he looked back at the page.

> It is not really known who she is or when she was created. Some say that she is Lilith, the first demon known by men and the mother of monsters... Others say that she is even older and her real name is lost, or forgotten by those who fear her. Now, she is known as Y/N, and as her there is no equal. Dark and deadly, she is Lucifer's right hand. But she is the most qualified to make a deal with, if they are brave enough to do so, and if they have something she wants.

Deal? What kind of deal? Ivar asked himself, and at that moment his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. When he pulled it out and unlocked it, a message from Alfred appeared on the display.

Alfred: Hey man, are you sure you don't want to join a horror movie marathon? It was going to be fun.

Oh, Ivar had completely forgotten about that. Alfred had already invited him a few days ago, but the long-haired boy hadn't given him the right answer since he was working on one of the chapters in his new book. He made a point of ignoring his family's thousands of missed messages and calls, however.

Ivar: Nah bro, I still haven't finished the chapter and I have until Thursday to deliver. I will probably be busy working on it for the next few hours. Sorry…

That was what I had to do as soon as I got home. It didn't take long to receive an answer.

Alfred: There is no problem, but you will have to compensate me. The marathon is next Saturday, okay?

Ivar: Yeah, sounds good to me!

He received a "Cool" as an answer and returned the phone to his pocket.

> Generally summoning a demon requires several ingredients: a devil's trap, fire (white, black or red candles), bowl with red-hot charcoal, salt, summoner's blood and the summoning words.

Ivar then proceeded to read what the ritual was like, along with the necessary Latin words.

> However, it is not advisable to do this. Once a demon is summoned and on the human floor, they are freed from the restrictions of hell. There is nothing to stop them from doing what they want. And if you try to summon her... Well, may God have mercy on your soul.

And so the book ended, with a phrase that at that moment seemed so scary.

His throat was dry, his hands were shaking again and for some strange reason he felt the sweat on his forehead and neck, the fat drops escaping the hairline running down his neck and back.

Should I? He thought, confused, it's freaking stupid, I know.

Ivar was a man of science, he believed in the real facts. Yes, he liked scary stories and mythologies - after all, one of his books dealt with Norse mythology - but he didn't really believe in it. And everything in that accursed book that had fallen on his head addressed unreal things, fictional things... Monsters created by the human imagination, by humans who wanted to blame their own evil on creatures that could not exist.

He was already closing the book and getting up to replace it, when he stopped and looked at his left hand, opened his palm and saw the half-moon wounds he had done with his nails in one of his attacks of anger.

He sat down again, staring at the yellowed pages. The dark, sharp letters and monstrous figures, with horns and cat-like eyes were everything he could see... that and his hands, always injured.

The earlier panic attack came back to him, his mind working at full speed. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his dark hair making a mess of locks fall onto his forehead and into his eyes, and he felt like pulling out each one.

The librarian was still talking on the phone, the children outside were playing, but all Ivar could think about was how hard it had been to breathe, and how much the walls felt like they were going to close and crush him in that moment when he was curled up on the floor hours ago, with useless legs at his side and that characteristic pain.

Why couldn't he just be normal?

"Fuck it." He grunted then, tearing up the page that contained the details of the ritual while making sure he was not seen, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. He closed the book, got up, grabbed his crutch and went to put the book in a random place on the shelf where it belonged.

Without further ado, he passed the librarian who looked at him strangely again, still in that conversation (what kind of work allowed her to be on the phone for hours with no end?), And left the place that had been his hiding place in the last hours.

It was night when he returned home. The full moon shone overhead, and the children and their companions were already spotted in all kinds of disguises ringing the bells and knocking on the doors.

Upon entering his practically empty apartment, with only the minimalist decor here and there, he placed the bag from the convenience store on the couch, and pushed it away. The feet of the couch squeaked as they were dragged across the wooden floor and left a prominent mark.

He turned on the TV on a random channel and turned the sound down, just to feel a presence and have a light to illuminate, and closed the curtains on the window that was always closed too. He would never again make the mistake of leaving it open, the last time that Mrs.Rose's cat on the third floor entered the house in search of food, and left a mess of scratched furniture and broken cushions.

Taking a deep breath he took the materials he bought, and prepared himself.

Even though Ivar didn't believe it was going to work, he was still willing to try it, at this point he was desperate… The prices of medicines were high, the hospital bills were even higher, and even with his writing career going well, he continued to lose hundreds of dollars a month. Ivar was too proud to join his father's company, contrary to what his brothers had done. He wanted a job that was his own, and guaranteed on his own merit and not because it was in the family.

And he wanted to go outside and not worry about people seeing him because of his disability and dragging legs... he wanted to be able to live, not just survive.

For once in his life Ivar wanted normalcy.

He opened the box of chalk, took the page he still had in his pocket, and with the red chalk he drew the pentagram shown on the paper on the floor. The lines were more crooked than they were supposed to, but it should be enough to work.

He took the black candles, placed one on each of the five ends of the star, and lit them with a lighter. Then he put the charcoal in a bowl, lit it and watched it burn for a while.

He took the knife in his pocket, took the sharp blade to the index finger of his left hand and pressed hard, breaking the skin. Ivar saw the red drops begin to fall into the bowl, the blood sizzling as it came in contact with the burning coal.

And then he did nothing more than take a deep breath for a few good minutes.

Before being too afraid to continue - he wasted too much time and energy to stop now - he spoke, pronouncing each word slowly and correctly, in a calm tone.

"Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati maea. Te invoco apro funus inferni, Y/N."

For a moment nothing happened it was just him there, in the middle of the living room, with a number of absurd things around him that if anyone saw him, he would be immediately sent to a hospital.

But suddenly he shivered. The floor shook, the walls shook, everything shook. TV and appliances, furniture, lamps, everything. The plates and glass bottles on the kitchen table rattled, toppled and broke into a thousand pieces as it fell to the floor. The windows seemed to want to open with the force of the wind outside that wanted to enter, whistling furiously. Ivar had to hold on to something when the earthquake suddenly got stronger.

And then…

The flames went out, leaving the wax to melt and hit the floor, he wasn't sure how he was going to explain it to the owner, the shaking stopped and the wind calmed down.

Ivar was left in darkness and silence, with blood dripping from his index finger to his pants, and breathing so fast that he had to open his mouth and inhale as deeply as his lungs could take to try to breathe.

Blood was pumping through his veins and hitting his ears, preventing him from hearing.

"You are such an idiot." The man said frustrated with himself. It was just an earthquake, which came just in time to almost make me believe. Later, when I turn on the TV, I’m going to see that all over the news.

He shook his head, and looked once again at the destruction in the kitchen and confusion in the living room. He was getting ready to go clean up the mess when the candles lit again - alone this time - they went up so high that they looked like they were going to reach the ceiling, beautiful dancers in red, orange, and yellow dresses. The firelight created strange shadows in every corner, tall and small, thin and wide.

And there, in the middle of the chalk-drawn pentagram, was a woman.

Ivar gasped in shock, stepping back several steps, almost falling into the sack of coal left there. The woman looked at him and he looked at the mysterious woman.

"Mortals." She almost spat, full of disdain. "Always so bold and wishing for more than they are due."

He didn't know what to say or how to react. He had hoped it would work but at the same time he didn't really expect it to actually work!

"So what do you want, human?" She said disinterestedly, looking at the chalk-drawn pentagram that held her in disgust.

"I want to make a deal."

"Oh really?" The way she spoke suggested that she thought the boy was stupid. "What is your name, mortal?"

"Ivar Lothbrok." He replied proudly, because as much as he hated his life, he could not hate his name.

"Cute." Y/N commented with an eyebrow raised in clear disdain. "Now tell me what you really want."

Ivar tried to swallow his anger, tried not to let it show on his face and mannerisms, but he couldn't. His eyes and jaw narrowed, his nostrils flared in fury, and his hands gripped the clutch so tightly that for a moment he was afraid to break it. "Look at me and tell me what you think I want!"

And she looked. She looked from head to toe, passing through his long dark hair, blue eyes and facial features, over his body and legs... those damn legs.

"I don't see anything too much."

If it were possible, Ivar would now be smoking his ears. The veins in his neck swelled and bulged, and his cheeks flushed with anger.

“All my life I have always been different from everyone else. If we still lived in ancient times, my parents would leave me in the forest for the wolves when I was born. My whole life has been a struggle, I am the youngest son and the one who had the misfortune of being like this. I'm not normal, I'm not like my brothers, and as much as everyone tells me that it doesn't matter… I can't help being angry all the time.” Ivar confessed, forcing his grip on his clutch. “I was born with broken legs, I spent my entire life in hospitals and being inspected by the doctors. And now they said they think that I will get worse and stop walking completely. Being healthy is what I want.”

There was silence for a long time, while the human and demon looked at each other.

"Yes, that is possible."

"Then give it to me!"

The demon's laugh was loud, hoarse and cold, and her face was full of disdain. But then it changed in front of him, becoming something out of a horror movie. The beautiful woman was gone and now there was something much worse. It was an almost grotesque sight in his human eyes. A dark and without beauty female figure. A pale face and half cadaverous; black lips and sharp teeth like a dagger blade. Completely red eyes shining with hunger and malice. Two long horns protruded from between the hair with something sticky like blood.

Ivar's extremely blue eyes widened, he backed away almost falling again in that damn night.

“Honey, this is not how it works. Do you really know who you are talking to? Do you think you can boss me around? Do you expect me to do something to you without giving me something in return?” She said in an ugly, guttural and chilling voice, smiling devilishly revealing a long, almost snake-like tongue.

"As long as you're in that trap, you'll have to do what I want." He tried as hard as possible not to let his voice falter, but he still couldn't.

"Oh really?"

And as if just to prove her point, she took a step forward, approaching and crossing the crooked lines that formed the pentagram leaving the trap completely.

“Deary, you should have done your research better. With a normal demon, perhaps this lowly trap could have worked, but with me? I am something much worse than a simple demon, and by invoking me you have left me completely free to do what I want. ”

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

Ivar's heart was pounding in his chest, almost as if it was about to explode at any moment, and his fragile legs were shaking so much that he didn't even know how he was still standing.

"I want to be able to walk freely, run, jump... Do everything I can't right now. Please..." She seemed to want him to beg, but Ivar didn't. He could put aside some of his pride, but not that much.

They stayed close to each other, he deathly pale looking in amazement at the bottomless red pits that were her eyes, her sharp teeth, her black lips full of darkness... Until she opened a toothy and devilish smile, and little by little her demonic features retreated, disappearing into her skin again and making her look like a human woman again… and a beautiful one.

She walked away still smiling amused, letting out a little laugh. "Usually I give you what you want and you have ten years to enjoy it."

Ivar's heart gave a huge leap in his chest. "What happens at the end of the ten years?"

"I keep your soul…” Y/N shrugged, assessing her sharp nails before looking at him and raising her left eyebrow, still with the crooked smile on her lips. “Which means that at the end of these years, you die. "

Ten years, thought Ivar. I always knew that I wouldn't live long, anyway. But...

"Usually?" He gave voice to his thoughts.

“I liked you, you seem to have courage... You were brave in trying to challenge me, stupid, but brave. I'll give you what you want, in exchange for... ”The woman seemed to think for a while. “… a kiss.”

"A kiss?" The young man thought surprised and in other words, extremely incredulous. With everything she could ask of him, she just wanted a kiss? The book should have been mistaken, it was impossible for this demon to be so dangerous if Ivar is the one that actually wins with the agreement between them.

"A simple and small kiss." She repeated, seeing his puzzled expression. "It's one kiss or your soul, you choose."

"We have an agreement, then." Ivar said.

"Great." Y/N smiled, making her eyes blood-red again.

She came over, put her hand on his neck and pulled him forward until their lips were timidly shocking at first, but quickly turning into a fleeting and toothy kiss, with their lips moving in sync and their tongues caressing one another. She tasted like danger... And it was a good taste.

When they pulled away, Y/N still had the smirk on her mouth when she snapped her fingers, causing him to make a huge cry.

He felt excruciating pain like never before, his legs seemed to be on fire, they burned so much, the pain was horrible. It felt like all of his fragile bones were breaking and growing, only to break again. Ivar fell to the ground screaming so loudly that his neighbors probably thought he was being murdered and would be ready to call the police at any moment.

It hurt, but it passed. Sweat ran down his face, his hands were shaking, his body was shaking. But when he got up again without the help of a crutch, he had never felt better, his legs were… healthy, normal, complete… healed.

"I- I can't believe this..."

"You have what you want, and I got what I want. "

Something about her facial expression seemed wrong, Y/N seemed too delighted just for the simple reward she had won.

"The kiss wasn't the only thing you wanted, was it?"

"No, it was not."

"We had an agreement! What do you-"

"Has anyone ever told you not to mess with things you don't understand?" She stroked his face, with a smirk on her lips. "Honey, you belong to me now."

#ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #vikings imagines #vikings #son of ragnar #ivar imagines #ivar the boneless imagines #vikings fanfic #fanfiction #imagines #one-shots #female demon reader #demon reader #ivar ragnarsson x female reader #ivar x you

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themadlostgirl · 4 years

Text

Abandoned (2)

*Doubt comes in*

~~~

It felt like I was walking into a trap as I ventured into the jungle in search of the music. For days it had been calling out to me, bidding me to follow it. Now here I was doing just that. I tell myself I’m doing this to end the music. If I stop the music then I’ll stop forgetting. Simple as that.

The deeper into the forest I went though the more my confidence wavered. The music was getting steadily louder and more hypnotizing. My steadfast march turned idle like I was taking a leisurely walk. The grip on my sword slackening. I hadn’t even realized I sheathed it again until the music suddenly stopped.

My senses started to return and panic began to set in. I was in the middle of the jungle in the dead of night with no recollection of how I got there or how to get back to my hut. How could I be so careless? I’m smarter than this! Okay. Deep breath. Don’t panic. All I needed to do was start backtracking. I must have left a trail, I just needed to find it.

If I did that though then what would have been the point of me coming out here in the first place? I came out here to stop the music for good. It must have stopped because I was close. I needed to keep going. With a deep breath I turned back around and searched high and low for anything or anyone that could be playing the music. Not exactly easy since everything was shadows.

“There in the field stood a flower rare. Its petals bright with beauteous flair. Along came a bee buzzing through the air. And sat on the flower without a care.” A voice in the shadows spoke and from them emerged Pan, “Then the flower closed and became a snare. The moral of this story I now will share. Even pretty things can cause a scare.”

“Aren’t we a little old for nursery rhymes?” I wrapped my hand around the hilt of my sword.

“Never.” He grinned.

“Is it you?” I asked, “Are you the one that makes the music every night?”

“Oh, so you can hear it. Good. You never moved from your camp on the beach so I was wandering if you could yet. How long have you been able to hear it?”

“A few weeks. Why?”

“And you held out this long. Gotta say, I’m impressed.” He pulled a set of pan pipes off his belt. “These are enchanted. Only certain people can hear the music when I play it. The music itself has interesting side effects.”

“What people? What side effects?”

He brought the pipes up to his lips and played a short tune. Immediately the melody wrapped around my brain and the world around me softened out of focus. When he stopped I blinked as if waking from a daydream. He smiled at me.

“The music attracts those that feel unloved and unwanted. It softens the heartache of such a sad life, erases all the bad memories. All you have to do is let it in.”

“But I--I’m not--I’m not unloved or unwanted! I don’t want my memories erased!”

“If you can hear the music then I have to say different. Ever since your father left you’ve been spiraling further and further down. Wondering when he’s gonna come for you. Holding onto a useless hope that you’re ever gonna see him again. But you know the truth, don’t you? All the evidence adds up but you’d rather hold onto a childish hope than accept it.” He circled me like a beast of pray. Even in the dim light of my lantern I could make out the wheels turning in his head. “You’re lost, spitfire. So helplessly lost.”

The flame of my lantern blew out casting everything into darkness. I drew my sword listening for any snap of a twig or breath of air that indicated he was near.

“Boo.” His voice whispered in my ear.

“Raaah!” I swung and my blade hit another. Pan had blocked the hit with a dagger.

“Quick reflexes, swordfish. But mine are quicker.” He disappeared again.

“Come on out and face me like a man you codfish!” I shouted.

“Who wants to be a man? Grown ups have such little fun.” I tried to pinpoint his voice but it seemed to echo from all directions. “But us, the young blood, we can make games out of anything. Just like we are now.”

“This isn’t a game, Pan.” I growled. “If I get the chance I’ll run you through.”

“No you won’t. Want to know why?” My lamp flickered back to life and Pan stood before me just inches away from the tip of my blade. “Because you’re having fun.”

I lunged the sword at him and he side-stepped it with ease making me stumble forward.

“There is such fire and fight in you. It’s been bottled up and suffocating on that ship. Now you’re free.” He kicked me to the ground. “Free as you are, you still don’t know what to do with yourself. My poor little Lost Girl.”

“I’d rather tie boulders to my bootstraps and throw myself into the mermaid lagoon before I became part of your dumb crew.” I spat, shooting back to my feet. “I came here to stop that infernal music and I plan to just do that. Either by destroying those pipes or by killing you. I don’t care which.”

“The only way you’ll destroy these pipes is if you pry them from my cold dead hands.”

“Then I guess that only leaves us with one option.”

“I suppose it does.” He grinned wider. Like the prospect of dying was thrilling to him. “To die would be an awfully big adventure. I look forward to it. The first move is yours, swordfish.”

With that he was gone.

That bilge-sucking, arrogant, underhanded, codfish! This was not some game! What was it going to take to get that through his thick skull?! Maybe a knife to the eyesocket. I gathered my lantern from the ground and turned around. The path I had taken here was much clearer than it had been earlier.

Another trick of Pan’s.

I came here to stop the music and I think I may have just made things between Pan and I worse. Before he left me alone but now he thought there was fun to be had with me. A part of me wanted to continue my mission and charge further into the jungle until I hunted down Pan again and fight till the last breath. The more rational part of me told me to pick my battles carefully.

I turned around and took the path back to my camp. I would deal with Pan tomorrow after I had devised a new plan.

Storming his camp wasn’t a good idea for multiple reasons. One, I didn’t know where it was. Two, even if I did know where it was the Lost Boys would outnumber me twenty to one. My only hope was to get him alone but I didn’t know when that could be. The only time I’ve met him alone is when it was on his terms. He had either drawn me in or showed up on his own. If I wanted the upper hand I’d have to take him alone and by surprise.

For that to work though I’d have to know his pattern of movement. He has to have one. There’s no way he’s around Lost Boys all the time. But to learn his patterns I’d have to track him down and try not to be detected while I spied on him. That in itself was another headache seeing as how he could appear and disappear in the blink of an eye. I could be tracking him for hours and then he’d blink away to the other half of the island and I’d have to track him down again.

Maybe a betrayal? Pretend to want to be part of his camp and get him when his guard is down. No, that wouldn’t work either. Not only would Pan’s trust take too long to obtain but if I started acting nice now he’d know I was planning something. What am I supposed to do?

At the very least I should find out where his camp is. I don’t know if he moves it but I can’t see why he would since there are no enemies on the island. None except for me. I don’t see him moving his entire camp because I came upon it though.

In the morning as the first light of the sun started to creep up over the horizon I gathered my things and ventured into the jungle. I had no idea how long it may take but I wanted as much time as possible before any of the Lost Boys woke up. I didn’t know a lot about Pan and his Lost Boys outside of what papa and the crew mentioned but I did know that they stayed up very late. So early morning was probably not their friend.

I was hiking through the jungle for maybe a good two hours before I noticed paths naturally leveling out around me. Well worn, some even had fresh tracks in them. I was getting close to the camp. I followed along the path until I noticed a break in the dense forest of trees. Sticking to the morning shadows and creeping as quietly as I could I got closer. I stepped over a tripline and scanned the ground for any other traps or alerts that may have been set up.

This was it, Pan’s camp. Lost Boys were abundant and all soundly asleep either in tents, swinging in hammocks, or passed out on the ground. The remains of what looked to be a bon fire sat in the middle of the camp. I crept around the perimeter searching the faces for Pan’s but I couldn’t spot him. Was he in one of the tents?

Best not to go looking. I knew where the camp was now, that was enough for today. I should get out of here before the boys wake up. I made not of the way to get back as I retreated to my own camp on the beach. Maybe if I can find Pan while he and the boys are asleep then I could get him. It was bad form to attack someone while they’re sleeping but this boy had already taken so much from me. I didn’t care about bad form anymore.

I hunted down some breakfast on my way back to my camp and sat down to relax. I stared out over the ocean praying that I would see the Jolly Roger come sailing out over the horizon. As long as I watched though it remained the same.

I pulled out my pocketwatch and clicked it open again, listening to the metronomic ticking sound it issued. He has to be coming for me. He has to.

The next few days I spent getting up early before any of the boys awakened and hiking back to scope out the camp. No matter how many times I went or how hard I looked I could never spot Pan among them. Did he sleep somewhere else? Why? Wouldn’t he want to be with his camp in case of an emergency?

This was useless. I wasn’t gaining any new information and it was clear that Pan wasn’t here. I’d have to think of something else or else try to find where he does rest his head if not in his camp. With a sigh I turned around back towards my own camp and check the traps I set. I never had much use for snares on a ship but I was thankful that papa taught me now. Not a whole lot of wildlife was on the island outside of birds, frogs, snakes, and a whole lot of bugs. There were some boar but they were very inland so most of my food came from fishing. Hopefully something good had taken the bait I put out.

I checked the traps and felt my stomach constrict when they turned up empty. I guess it was berries for breakfast...again. I never thought I would miss cook’s dried herring jerky so much.

I grabbed a pouch and wandered back into the jungle. I was trying to forage for more than a handful of berries when I felt a small chill go up my spine. Someone was watching me. I slowly reached for my dagger and turned around.

Pan was standing behind me looking bored. “Really?” He gestured to the dagger I had aimed at him, “Aren’t we past this yet?”

“What do you want?”

“Hungry?” He held up an apple. “Probably more filling than a handful of berries.”

“And the price?” I raised an eyebrow.

“No price.” He tossed me the apple and I caught it. “I figured you might be hungry.”

“What brought on this unexpected generosity?” I cut off a slice with my dagger. “Hoping to get on my good side?”

“What if I am?” He pulled out another apple for himself. “Would that be so terrible?”

“Wasn’t it a couple of nights ago that you looked forward to me trying to kill you? Why would you want on my good side? Doesn’t that ruin your little game?”

“Can’t play the game if you die of starvation.” He shrugged. He knelt down next to me studying me from a distance. “Also, seeing as how you won’t make a move in this game I’m getting bored.”

“You don’t know what I may be planning, Pan.” I don’t even know what I’m planning.

“Oh no, I know what you’re planning. Isn’t it bad form, even for a pirate, to do someone in while they’re sleeping? Very bad form, Lady Jones. I’m a little disappointed really.”

“I--” There’s no way he could know that! “How did--”

“You’re up at the crack of dawn every day scoping my camp. You’re more than welcome to come by at a normal time for people to be awake if you’d like. We have plenty of food to share.”

“You knew?!” I fumed. I thought I had been so quiet and clever! No one had ever spotted me. No one had ever been awake. How could he have possibly have known unless... “The reason I never saw you sleeping…”

“If it makes you feel any better it was an accident that I came upon you that first day. I woke up earlier than I expected and saw you skirting the perimeter of the camp. I thought about scaring you or something like that but I wanted to see what you would do. Then you didn’t do anything and that was boring.” He groaned with a great roll of his eyes, “The next day and the day after that you kept coming back and not doing anything. I left out food close to the perimeter to see if you’d try snagging it but you didn’t. I never would have thought the daughter of pirates would be so frustratingly cautious. Shouldn’t recklessness be part of your blood or something?”

“I’m not dumb enough to charge into situations and conflicts blind. Reflexes and being able to adapt to a tough situation are one thing, researching and planning is another. I’m not in an immediate life and death situation so I prefer to be methodical.”

“Life and death, huh?” He turned the apple core over in his hands. “Let’s test that, shall we?” He chucked the apple core at my head. I ducked out of the way just in time.

“What was--” He charged at me with his dagger and I rolled out of the way. It was too early for this!

“Come now, spitfire!” He grinned like the devil, “Life and death situation, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to kill you is what!” I pushed to my feet and unsheathed my sword.

“Sword versus a dagger?” He asked as I took a swing at him, “Isn’t that a little unfair?”

“Coming from the boy with magic.”

“I’m not using magic now.” He teleported behind me and prodded his dagger at my back, “But thank you for reminding me.”

“Don’t.” I thrust my blade behind me making Pan jump out of the way. “You know if any real harm comes to me then my father will have your head.”

“I doubt that.” He scoffed. The dagger in his hands grew until it was a sword the same size as mine. “Do you still believe he’s coming for you?”

“I know he is.” We moved over the terrain of the jungle fighting blade to blade. The metallic sound echoing over the otherwise quiet island. The area around us grew more open and the ground softer as we stepped out onto the beach. My footing was less sure here but then Pan’s had to be too.

“You really do not want to face the truth do you?” Pan sighed. “He left you, swordfish. Your rum drunk father left you here to rot.”

“No! You’re lying!” I let my anger fuel me as I started to regain ground and go on the offensive.

“I’m not.” Pan blocked my attacks with a frustrating ease, “You wanna know how I know that he isn’t coming back for you? How I know he abandoned you here?” He twisted my blade around and knocked it from my hands. “He left because I told him to.”

“What?” I stared down the sheen of the blade he had pointed at me.

“I told him that if he abandoned you here on the island then him and the rest of his crew could go free.” Pan said.

“No.” I shook my head, “It’s another lie. You’re trying to trick me.”

“No tricks here, swordfish.” He held up his hands and the sword shrunk back to that of a dagger that he put on his hip, “I swear on my life. I came to him with an offer. A trade: you for freedom.”

I tried to go for my sword but Pan kicked it further away. My hands fisted into the sand. “Even if you are telling the truth why would you want me?” I demanded “You could have asked for anything. Why me?”

“Well at first it was because I thought that it would be funny. Hook giving up his precious daughter would cause him the most pain after all.” Pan chuckled, “But then I imagined how much fun it would be having you around. I only ever got to meet you once but you had such fire in you. Needless to say I was not disappointed. I am having so much fun with you.”

“Cause that’s what it always comes down to with you.” I said, “Everything is a fun game. You might think that but I sure don’t! These mind games you play are not fun and I will not give into them. You really think I would believe that my own father would trade me away to someone like you?”

“You should. Cause he did.” Pan looked past me further down the beach where my camp was set up. “I never thought that he’d actually do it but I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Adults are so disappointing, especially parents. Selfish enough to sell their own children off to make their lives easier.”

He spoke with a malice that bordered on vengeful. I think that was the first time I had ever seen him look truly angry. As quickly as it came upon him it left to be replaced with his cocky smile. “Consider yourself lucky. You could have ended up somewhere much worse than here.”

He waved his hand and a sack was now in his hands. He tossed me it and I almost fell back with the weight. Inside was a variety of food. “Since you’re too stubborn to come to the camp for food this should last you a couple of days. Have a nice morning, Lady Jones, think about what I’ve said.”

Then he was gone again.

I took the sack of food back to my camp and happily munched on some boar jerky within. I looked around at my camp with a growing sense of doubt. Papa...he wouldn’t trade me for freedom. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

---

(Previous) (Next)

#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader #ouat #neverland

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365days365movies · 4 years

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March 1, 2021: The Hobbit (1977) (Part 1)

In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit.

When I was 9, my school let us read a very special book, originally meant for kids, but beloved by everyone. My folks and I went to Borders Books (FUCK ME, I miss Borders), and we got an illustrated copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. I can’t find that book, but if I ever find it again, Imma buy it IMMEDIATELY, I tell you what. And...oh shit, it’s on Amazon for $12?

Well. I just made that purchase, I guess. But yeah, I loved that book when I was a kid, and this was during the same year that Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy began, with Fellowship, of course. And I wouldn’t end up watching those until a few years later, but I loved those too when I saw them. And I’ve NEVER seen the abridged version, by the way, I’ve only ever seen the extended editions.

Although, I can’t call myself a hardcore fan. I’ve never read the Silmarillion, for example. Although, weirdly, I wanted it as a kid at some point, so I was almost there. But no, I ended up getting into comic books hardcore instead, so I can’t tell you the history of Tom Bombadil, but I can tell you about at least one of the fuckin’ 87 tieles that the Legion of Super-Heroes has been involved in. I’m not gonna like it though.

...Yes, I will, who am I kidding, I love the Legion. Anyway, I’ve still always been a fan of the franchise, and I was extremely excited when Jackson announced that he’d be doing an adaptation of The Hobbit! Seriously, I WAS FUCKING PUMPED, you have no idea. I re-read the book, I was super-excited...and then Harry Potter changed EVERYTHING. Kind of.

See, Harry Potter’s development as a two films made from one book seemed to kick off a trend. Breaking Dawn and Mockingjay are the two that immediately come to mind, as does this film. However, to be fair...that’s probably a coincidence. Yeah, this film was originally developed as two parts, WAY before Deathly Hallows got that treatment. And even then, Jackson and Del Toro had difficulty breaking it up into two parts, and three ended up being easier. Still...the change from two-to-three does feel a little connected to that trend.

Anyway, in celebration of that decision, I’m gonna break this review into three parts! Yes. Really. I want to see if it works. And so, let’s talk about the other most famous adaptation of this book by talking about its creators.

Yup. Rankin-Bass did 2D-animated cartoons, too! And this was one of their most famous ones, dating back to 1977. But wait! There’s more! This was followed by Ralph Bakshi’s version of Lord of the Rings by a different studio. You know, this one?

Yeah, that one. It was only based on the first two books, Fellowship and Towers. But it was technically unconnected to the Rankin-Bass version. Which is why it was REALLY weird when Rankin-Bass came out with an adaptation of the third book, Return of the King, right afterwards!

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE. Because both of Rankin-Bass’ specials were animated by a Japanese studio called Topcraft, who’d actually worked with Rankin-Bass for years. But then, they went bankrupt a few years later, and was bought by Isao Takahata, Toshio Suzuki, and...Hayao Miyazaki. And it was renamed as...

So, this is a Hobbit adaptation produced by the Rudolph people and animated by the people who would eventually become Studio Ghibli. Well, uh...holy fucking shit. Let’s DO THIS BABY. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/3)

As we’re wont to do in this story, we head to Hobbiton in the Shire, where we meet Bilbo Baggins (Orson Bean). A simple Hobbit in a simple home, with a happy and simple life. But one day, he’s approached by Gandalf (John Huston), who seeks a burglar to help with the mission of a group of dwarves, led by Thorin Oakenshield (Hans Conried).

We also immediately start off with two songs from the original book, and I have to say that I like them a but better in the Jackson movies, but they’re still well performed here. Anyway, after dinner, the true goal of their quest is given. Beneath Lonely Mountain, the ancestral home of the Dwarves, there was a kingdom ruled by the King Under the Mountain, Thorin’s grandfather.

Through reading the lyrics of the song “Far over the Misty Mountains,” Thorin tells the tale of the takeover of the Dwarves’ great golden hoard by the dragon Smaug. Bilbo is tasked to help the Dwarves steal back the treasure stolen from them. And, while he’s extremely reluctant to be a part of all this, Gandalf basically forces him to, the pushy bastard. And Bilbo’s Greatest Adventure now lies ahead!

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Speaking of, here’s the song “The Greatest Adventure”, sung by Glenn Yarborough, who is the living personification of vibrato. Fuckin’ seriously, this guy’s voice is ridiculous, but I love it so much. As the night passes underneath Glenn Yarborough’s hypnotically shaky voice, and uncertain, Bilbo stares out at the moon. Once it’s over, we’re on our way to the Misty Mountains.

Bilbo’s having a tough time with the long journey and rough weather, and it doesn’t get much better when they encounter a trio of trolls. They send out Bilbo to try and steal some mutton from them, but he’s IMMEDIATELY a failure, and also manages to tell the trolls that the dwarves are present. Nice one, Bilbo. The trolls catch all of the dwarves, although Bilbo manages to escape.

The trolls argue about how to cook the dwarves, but before they get to do anything, Gandalf shows up and summons the dawn, turning the trolls into stone and saving the dwarves. While they’re initially quite frustrated by Bilbo’s failure, he makes it up by discovering a horde of goods and weapons stolen by the trolls. This is also where Bilbo gets his classic weapon, Sting.

Gandalf, cheeky bastard that he is, suddenly reveals a map that he’s kept secret from Thorin, its rightful owner. Bilbo, a classic cartomaniac, is able to interpret the map. But there are also runes that they can’t quite read. And so, Gandalf brings them to his friend, Elrond (), who’s wearing a sick-ass glittery tiara that’s hovering off his head. How come Hugo Weaving didn’t have that?

Anyway, Elrond identifies the swords that Thorin and Gandalf grabbed as Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver and Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer, because FUCK YEAH, BABY, those are some fuckin’ NAMES! WHOOOOOO!

Anyway, he also points them in the direction of the mountain, and shows them hidden features to the map. They head through the mountains after this, and rest in a cave. Unfortunately, this cave is on Goblin territory, and the group (sans Gandalf, who’s disappeared to make out with Cate Blanchett or whatever) is quickly ambushed by a group of now-horned Goblins, who chant their song as they go “Down, Down, to Goblin-Town”. Which is a song that I love, unironically. It compels me to sing along.

The Goblins nearly kill them when they discover Orcrist in Thorin’s possession, but they’re saved by the sudden appearance of Gandalf with the glowing sword Glamdring. He kills the Great Goblin, and the group run out with the Goblins in hot pursuit. Well, except for Bilbo.

Yeah, Bilbo falls into a cavern below the mountain, and the dwarves think him gone for good. However, he’s miraculously safe on the ground, having landed in an underground aquifer, in which lives THE GREATEST CHARACTER IN THE MIDDLE-EARTH FRANCHISE FUCKIN’ AT ME I DARE YOU

And just so we’re clear, I’m not talking about the film version only, I’m talking about Gollum/Smeagol in general. Granted, I don’t want a film starring him or anything (coughCruellacoughcoughMaleficentcoughcoughClaricecoughcough), but I love this dissociative little dude so much. He’s one of my favorite fantasy characters in general, and is also maybe the best example of a sympathetic villain, in film at least.

OK, to be fair, I love Andy Serkis’ version of the character a LOT, like a LOT a lot, and it’s a great version of the character. OK, so what do I think of this version? He’s...interesting, actually. If I’m honest, I kinda like him. This is similar to how I always pictured Gollum when I was a kid.

I mean, listen to this description from the book, yeah?

Deep down here by the dark water lived old Gollum, a small slimy creature. I don't know where he came from, nor who or what he was. He was Gollum - as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face...He was looking out of his pale lamp-like eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking.

I dunno, that does sound more like this version of Gollum to me, just saying. Anyway, while Gollum is off fishing in the water, Bilbo gets up on the shore, where he finds a little golden ring Not important, just a ring, definitely means nothing at all, NOTHING AT ALL, NOTHING TO SEE HERE.

The hungry Gollum (Brother Theodore) happens upon Bilbo, precious, wonders if Bilbo would taste good, and is basically about to kill him for his sweet hobbit meat, before Bilbo takes out Sting. Now afraid, Gollum offers a game of riddles. The two make a deal: if Bilbo wins at a game of riddles, Gollum will show him the way out. But if Gollum wins, precious will eat him raaaaaaaw and wrrrrrrrrrriggling!

The riddles commence, in a super-fuckin’-classic moment, and also ends with maybe the most bullshit moment in all of fantasy lore. After clever riddles with answers involving eggs, wind, and time, Bilbo’s last riddle is “What’s in my pocket?” The fuck, Bilbo, that’s absolute BULLSHIT!

Not that it matters. Bilbo wins, but Gollum goes to find his ring to show it to Bilbo before he takes him away. Thing is, though, that’s what was in Bilbo’s pocket, which Gollum quickly figures out, my precious. He’s about to kill Bilbo to get back his birthday present, precious, but Bilbo discovers the secret trick of the ring: it turns the wearer invisible, AND THAT WILL NEVER BE A BAD THING EVER.

Gollum thinks that Bilbo’s escaped and runs after him toward the exit. This, of course, leads Bilbo towards the exit inadvertently, and he follows Gollum, then jumps over him to get back. To which Gollum screams the following:

Thief! Thief! Baggins! We hates it! Hates it! Forever!

I hear you, buddy. I hear you. Well, once Bilbo escapes, he reconvenes with the rest, and shares his adventure in the cave, but leaves out the ring. And Gandalf seems to know, based on his dialogue. And I checked, and he figured it out in the book and Jackson movie, too. And I gotta say...WHAT THE FUCK GANDALF

I mean...DUDE. CHECK UP on that shit. Do you wizard job, man! If you’d been like, “Dude...you didn’t find a magic ring that turns you invisible, ight, because we’re FUCKED if you did”, NONE OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS WOULD’VE HAPPENED, AND BOROMIR WOULD STILL BE ALIVE

Everybody talks about the fuckin’ eagles, but WHY DO I NEVER HEAR ANYONE MENTION THIS SHIT? Gandalf the Grey: Middle-Earth’s most irresponsible asshole, I swear...

This seems like a good place to pause, actually. See you in the next part!

#the hobbit #the hobbit 1977 #rankin-bass #orson bean #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #john huston #gandalf #otto preminger #cyril ritchard #brother theodore #gollum #don messick #paul frees #glenn yarbrough #j.r.r. tolkien #rankin bass #hans conried

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Solavellan smut: Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

My part of another sweet and spicy trade with the insanely, ridiculously talented @elbenherzart. This is the first part of what will be a short three-part fic.

~6650 words; read here on AO3 instead.

****************

Nare was combing her hair.

She was humming to herself as she drew the comb through her hair – long auburn hair that fell in lustrous locks almost to the small of her back. Her hair was a deep, rich, copper-russet-amber that there was no good word for in the common tongue, and Solas could only imagine what it would feel like to twine his fingers in the long auburn strands.

He smoothed out his bedroll and pretended not to watch as the comb made its hypnotic way along the length of her hair. He sat cross-legged on his bedroll and pulled out a small book about veilfire runes from his satchel, but before he could settle into the book – or try to, given the immense distraction he was facing – Nare spoke to him.

“Are you sure you want to share a tent with me?” she said. “I talk in my sleep sometimes.”

He looked up to find her smiling. He set the book aside and tilted his head. “Interesting. Do you recall encountering any conversational spirits in your dreams?”

Her face softened with surprise. Then she snorted a laugh. “You’re teasing me. Well, if I wake you up saying all kinds of nonsense, just know you’ve been warned.”

He smiled at her, then picked up his book and opened it to the first page. A minute later – a minute during which he was completely preoccupied by the soft susurrus of her comb moving through the strands of her hair – he looked up at her once more. “I believe the fairer question is if you are certain you wish to share a tent with me,” he said. “You could have shared with Cassandra, if you preferred. Or had a tent to yourself. You are the Inquisitor; you’re entitled to a tent of your own.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “I don’t mind sharing with you.”

She wasn’t meeting his eye, however, and her cheeks were turning faintly pink. All at once, Solas was certain that she was thinking about the same thing as he: the kiss they had shared in the Fade not two weeks ago.

That breathtaking, toe-curling, utterly unplanned kiss that left him completely desperate for her and completely panicked.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He hadn’t kissed her, in fact; Nare had been the one to initiate the kiss, and if Solas was honest, he was still rather shocked that she’d done it, given how demure she usually was when they were alone.

But her usual modesty only made her boldness in the dream all the more alluring. Bold, yes: that was the word for the kiss she’d given him. Her fingers were firm on his cheek as she turned his face toward her, and her hands fisting in his collar were assertive. But his own response had been even bolder: pulling her against his chest, sliding his hand over the dip of her spine toward the curves of her bottom, pressing his thigh between her legs to make her gasp against his lips–

His cock stirred in his breeches, and he hastily adjusted his position on his bedroll so she wouldn’t notice. I was too bold, he scolded himself. Returning her kiss had been far too bold. Stupid, even. Impulsive and ill-considered, like the behaviour of a new elgar’venathe just getting used to having a body.

“Solas?”

He jolted from his heated reverie and met her gaze. She had stopped combing her hair, and she was looking at him.

“Yes?” he said.

She hesitated, then dropped his gaze and ran the comb through her hair once more. “Oh, nothing. I just… was wondering what you were, um, thinking about.”

I was thinking about you, he thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, and it wasn’t just this moment with her lush waves of hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her slender back. It was the way her eyes widened when he described some of his forays in the Fade to her. It was the way she took such pleasure in stepping barefoot into a cool stream, as though she’d never felt anything so blissful as the water between her toes. It was the way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking or when she was nervous, making Solas think of how it would feel to have that lush lower lip of hers between his own teeth.

It was that kiss in the Fade – that foolish, impulsive kiss that should never have happened. But now that it had, he couldn’t think logically about anything else.

She was still waiting for a response. Solas tilted his head. “I was thinking that it has been many years since I’ve watched anyone dressing their hair,” he said. It wasn’t untrue, after all.

She raised her eyebrows. “Did you often used to watch women dressing their hair?”

Her tone was playful, and Solas allowed himself a smirk. “Women are not the only ones who dress their hair in an elaborate fashion,” he told her. His memory conjured some of the more ornate braids and styles that nobles used to wear back in Arlathan: hairstyles dressed with gems and shimmering filigree and feathers from the creatures that Andruil caught in her hunts.

He shunted the bittersweet memory aside; it was neither here nor there. What was here was Nare, and she was grinning at him.

“So you used to just watch people dressing their hair?” she said. “That’s a special sort of hobby.”

Her grin was cheeky, and Solas smiled faintly. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I mean only to say that I… have not been in such close quarters with anyone else for some time.” He cleared his throat surreptitiously; that was more than he had intended to admit.

Her grin softened to a gentle smile, and she was quiet for a moment as she ran the comb through her hair. Then she lowered the comb once more. “Nice try, Solas. I know the truth.”

His heart jolted with alarm, but Nare wasn’t finished. “You’re watching me comb my hair because you’re envious, aren’t you?”

Without quite meaning to, he let out a little laugh. “Quite the opposite. My lack of hair allows me to keep cool in hotter climes.”

“A likely excuse,” Nare said playfully. “You wish you knew what it was like to have this much hair to comb, don’t you?”

He smiled more widely at her. “It is not an excuse, I assure you. And I am very competent at the dressing of hair.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you really?”

“I am, in fact,” he said. “I am a man of many talents.”

The instant the words left his lips, he regretted them – especially when Nare’s ocean-blue eyes grew even wider. Fenedhis, he shouldn’t be flirting with her; he shouldn’t be indulging in the warm feeling that this suggestive banter was rousing in his chest. But flirting with Nare just felt so good.

Not just flirting with her, in fact. Talking to her, walking alongside her, hearing her making decisions about the Inquisition, watching the thoughts as they flickered across her face like fireflies: everything about Nare felt good, a sort of good that he hadn’t felt in ages – if he’d ever really felt this good before.

She chuckled; she was blushing now. “Well, I think you need to prove it,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Excuse me?” he said.

She nibbled her lower lip, rousing an unwelcome and undeniably pleasant buzz of warmth low in his belly. Then held out the comb to him. “Prove it. Here, you comb my hair.”

He stared at the comb in her hand. He should say no. He shouldn’t be agreeing to touch her, precisely because the exact thing he wanted to do right now was touch her. He ought to politely decline; it was a mistake to get close to her.

He opened his mouth to say no. “All right,” he said instead. “You will have your proof.” He took the comb from her.

She beamed at him, then turned around on her bedroll to face the side of the tent, and Solas shifted his position so that he was kneeling behind her. Carefully and gently, so as not to touch her neck, he lifted a tress of Nare’s hair.

It was just as silky as it looked: a heavy curtain of russet strands that shone with warm golden highlights in the soft light of the alchemical lamp. Solas ran the comb carefully along the length of her hair, savouring the way it slid smoothly through his fingers, then lifted another lock and combed it carefully from root to tip.

He lifted a third lock of hair, skimming her scalp with his fingertips in the process, and Nare gasped.

Solas stopped breathing. The gasp was miniscule: a tiny catching of her breath, so soft that he almost didn’t notice – soft enough that he would have failed to notice, were he not acutely aware of everything about her body right now. He was aware of the straightness of her spine, the slightly rapid rate of her breathing, the fact that he could detect no outline of a breastband or bustier through her light linen tunic. Thus, when Nare gasped at the grazing touch of his fingers on her scalp, he noticed.

He exhaled slowly and silently as he combed the lock of hair. He reached for another tress, and against his better judgment, he stroked her scalp more firmly this time as he lifted it.

She inhaled shakily, then shifted on her bedroll in a restless sort of way, and Solas’s unruly manhood straightened in his breeches. He silently cursed himself as he combed her hair, cursing his disobedient body and his disobedient hands as they touched her and his disobedient thoughts as they strayed to the idea of pressing his teeth into the tender nape of her neck.

He ran the comb through her hair again. Then, almost absent-mindedly, almost as though he wasn’t in control of his own hands, he lifted another lock of hair and gently wound it around his fingers.

He pulled her hair gently, very slowly and very gently, and Nare gasped again. It was a clear, sharp sound this time, and one that he couldn’t pretend not to notice, not when Nare immediately covered her mouth.

She likes when her hair is pulled. The thought rang through his mind, clearer and more compelling than the sweetest note of a song, and Solas swallowed hard and fought to keep his voice calm. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. His cock was pulsing, and his ears were feeling hot, and he was half-praying that she would tell him to give back her comb and get out of this tent. He was half-praying that she would tell him to stop, because it was becoming increasingly clear that he wouldn’t be able to stop of his own accord.

“No,” she blurted, to his mixed delight and dismay. “No, it didn’t hurt. It– you, um…” She trailed off and took a breath. “You were right. You’re… good at this.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Would you like me to continue?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. So Solas continued to comb her hair, running his fingernails lightly over her scalp and pulling gently at her hair before every sweep of the comb. With every pass of the comb, her spine became just a little more arched, and Solas’s impatient and foolish manhood grew harder and more insistent.

By the time he had finished combing her hair, her head was tilted back to expose her throat and her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow but deep. She was exquisite: poised like the absolute perfect picture of desire, like a flawless visual representation of what the word please looked like, and Solas was so busy berating himself and his own undisciplined cock for bringing them both to this terrible position that he almost couldn’t enjoy how beautiful she was.

Almost.

He stared at her with a confusing mixture of smug satisfaction and self-loathing as he lowered the comb to his lap. “I am finished, Nare,” he said quietly. “Your hair is combed.”

She inhaled slowly and didn’t reply, and Solas forced himself to breathe through the ravenous roar of his impatient urges. He held out the comb to her. “Here,” he said.

She turned around halfway and took the comb from his hand. “Thank you,” she said faintly. Then she pulled her hair over one shoulder and began to braid it.

He stared wordlessly at the exposed line of her neck as it sloped into her shoulder. That perfect, smooth, pale line of her neck that his mouth was watering to taste…

He exhaled slowly. Then he realized that her eyes were on his face.

He met her gaze, and the air stalled in his lungs once more. She was staring at him, staring at him more heatedly than anyone had looked at him in countless ages, and the longer he returned her stare, the more stunned he felt by her attention. She was bright and brilliant and beautiful and ripe, and so very incredibly young.

Too bright and beautiful and young for the Dread Wolf to risk tearing apart.

He bowed his head briefly, dropping her scorching gaze in the process. “Goodnight, Inquisitor,” he said.

For a telling and heartbreaking moment, her face fell. Then she smiled. “Goodnight, Solas,” she said. “Thank you for the, um, assistance.”

He nodded politely, then turned to his bedroll. He pulled off his outer tunic, leaving only the cooler sleeveless undershirt behind, then hastily slid into the bedroll and rolled onto his side facing away from her.

For a long, excruciating minute, Nare was silent. Then he heard the soft shuffling sounds as she settled into her own bedroll. A moment later, the alchemical lamp went dark.

Solas opened his eyes. In the darkness of their shared tent, he could hear her quiet breathing: slow, deep breaths, the same as when he’d been combing her hair.

The sort of slow, deep breathing that he was using himself to try and cool his own terrible urges.

He closed his eyes. I am not this man, he scolded himself. He was not the sort of man to wind his fingers so shamelessly in a woman’s hair. He was not the sort of man to pull that woman’s hair for the sheer pleasure of hearing her lustful breaths. He might once have been that man, once upon a time when he was young and new and impatient to feel everything that a body could possibly feel. But this was not Arlathan, and he was no longer a hot-headed fool. He was Solas now, a quiet and reclusive apostate. He was not the sort of man who flirted with a beautiful younger woman and gloried in her brilliant smile. And he was certainly not the sort of man who wrapped his fingers around his own throbbing cock the second he was presented with a beautiful woman that he couldn’t – shouldn’t – have.

And yet, here he was: lying on his side in his bedroll with the most distracting pulse between his legs, and his own hand moving slowly over his belly to curl around his aching shaft.

He squeezed his cock. A jolt of pleasure rippled up toward his throat, and he forced himself not to react. It is just to relieve the pressure, he thought. Just to keep himself reasonable and calm while sharing a tent with the Inquisitor. He certainly wasn’t going to bring himself to completion, not with Nare lying less than a meter away. Not with Nare lying there in her bedroll wearing only her leggings and her light linen shirt – the linen shirt that he knew was the only barrier hiding her skin from sight. Not when Nare was lying right there with her silken russet hair braided demurely on her pillow – beautiful russet hair that Solas wanted so badly to take in his fists…

A tempting image suddenly appeared at the backs of his eyelids: Nare on her knees in front of him with her head tilted back, just like she was a few minutes ago. His own hand twined in her long thick hair, just like it was a few minutes ago. But instead of wearing her leggings and linen shirt, she was naked.

A pulse of longing swelled in his throat and his chest and his cock. He slid his palm up along his shaft, and another wave of bliss fanned through his abdomen.

He pressed his lips together hard so he wouldn’t make a sound, then stroked himself again, but this time the pleasure was tainted by shame. That’s enough, he thought; this was just meant to lessen the pressure a bit, to calm himself enough to resume his role as the polite and mild-mannered man that Nare had come to expect during their travels together.

But his heated thoughts wouldn’t leave him be. In the darkness of his closed eyelids, he could imagine her so clearly: her pale throat entrapped by his fingers, her knees spreading wider with every gentle tug of her hair, and her plump lips parting to whisper his name…

He stroked his cock again and again, and the rush of pleasure was nearly enough to render him lightheaded. Then Nare sighed.

Solas froze. When ten tense seconds ticked by and there was no further sound from Nare, aside from the slow and gentle breathing of sleep, he released his manhood and rolled quietly onto his back.

He rested his head on his arms – all the better to keep his hands where he could control them – then opened his eyes. The tent was dark, but his eyesight was keen even so, and he could clearly see the shape of her cheek and the curves of her eyelashes. He could clearly see the shape of her braid traversing her pillow to coil over her shoulder, and he could clearly see the slow rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, and–

And a rush of shame curdled in his belly. He shouldn’t be staring at her like this. He was Solas, the quiet apostate who was trying to stay incognito, and Nare was the infamous Inquisitor. He was old and timeworn and saddled with ulterior motives, and Nare was young and determined and free of guile.

He was the Dread Wolf, and Nare was bright and beautiful and so obvious in her wish for him to take her that it made his heart ache.

He turned his face away from her and breathed slowly, then forced himself to count the ins and outs of his own ragged breaths until the throbbing of his cock ebbed down to an even pulse. Eventually he fell into a restless sort of half-sleep, a suspended state between waking and sleeping, but the thoughts of Nare only felt stronger here; they flowed incessantly through his half-conscious mind like a current of heated desire and heavy regret, and with his guard down and his muscles starting to relax with the softness of sleep, his firmly-shunted wants began to whisper more insistently in his ear.

He didn’t want to just be the mild-mannered apostate who talked to Nare about the Fade and bade her a polite goodnight at the end of the day. He didn’t want to lie so chastely beside her in the isolation of their separate bedrolls. He wanted to be the man who fisted his fingers in the fiery mass of her hair and who slid his hand over the smoothness of her belly to feel the slippery heat between her legs. He wanted to be the man that Nare desired so strongly that she was driven to kiss him in the Fade, despite her usual demure demeanour.

And once again, he was reliving that kiss, reliving the glory of that unexpected and unplanned moment when her lips were pulling at his own and her fingers were gripping his vest and his knee was nudging her thighs apart…

Here in the Fade, the memories were melding with fantasies and thoughts. In this blissful melding of memory and imagination, Nare was rolling her hips against his thigh, and his cock was growing harder and more insistent with her every thrust, and she was naked: naked and flushed with her rosy-tipped breasts and her rosy lips parted and panting. Her hands were sliding down his chest and over the ridge in his breeches, and both of them were breathing together in the kiss, and she was saying his name, breathing his own name against his lips: Solas. Solas...

Her hand was stroking his cock. Her fingers were skimming his cheek. Desperate and riled, he turned his face toward her touch. “Nare,” he breathed.

“Solas?”

He hummed an affirmative and lifted his hips toward her coaxing hand. Her thumb was drifting across his lips, and he darted his tongue out to taste her, drawing a shuddery sort of gasp from her throat.

Her gasp, her pleasured and pleading gasp: it was such a blissful sound, the finest sound he’d yet heard in this staid and static world. He hummed with satisfaction and thrust into her hand again, but…

But it wasn’t her hand he was pressing his cock into.

He opened his eyes. The hand stroking his cock was his own. And Nare wasn’t naked and riding his thigh; she was wearing her leggings and her light linen shirt, and she was kneeling on the ground beside him.

He froze – completely froze as though he’d been struck by a curse. But before he could speak or move or feel anything other than a numb sort of horror, Nare was leaning over him and stroking his cheek.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” she whispered hurriedly. “I – I’m so sorry to wake you, I just–”

“Nare,” he croaked. He hauled his hand out of his breeches and sat up halfway. “I didn’t intend – my apologies. If you’ll excuse–”

She gripped his collar and kissed him.

A rush of heat roared through his entire body from his ears through his throbbing cock and straight down to his toes. He parted his lips on sheer instinct, but before he could taste her with his tongue, she pulled away and covered her mouth with both hands.

“Shit,” she squeaked. “Creators, I – I’m sorry. You were sleeping, I shouldn’t have – oh gods…”

He stared stupidly at her. Her voice was distinctly breathless, and that look was on her face once more, that open and eager and wide-eyed look of wanting, and his mind was muddied with sleep and with the howling desire that was pulsing through his blood.

Without any further thought, without any further logic or reasoning or shame, he cupped the back of her neck in one palm and pulled her into a kiss.

She moaned into his mouth and clasped his wrist. Her other hand was stroking his face, and then she was shifting her body as they kissed, stretching out beside him and pressing her groin against his thigh, and it was all so much like his dream. Her fingers on his face, her kiss, the eager way she was riding against his leg: it was all so uncannily like his dream that it nearly felt surreal.

She sat up and peeled her shirt off, and another dizzying rush of lust roared through his limbs and his cock. He stared at her, at the bare rounded curves of her breasts and the crowning glory of her budded nipples, and in the dark and the quiet of the night, he started to wonder if… if perhaps this was a dream. Perhaps he was still asleep, drifting in that lightheaded limbo between the static world and the Fade. Here in the darkness of the tent, who could say he wasn’t enjoying a particularly vivid dream? In the darkness provided by these canvas walls, who could say that he wasn’t still asleep?

He skimmed his thumb along the curve of her breast, and she let out a little moan. Then her fingers were gripping his free hand, pulling his hand over his own belly toward his breeches…

His breath hitched with excitement. Then Nare leaned over him and licked his lower lip. “Please,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

Without thinking, without question, he slid his hand into his breeches and took his shaft in a tight grip. He stroked himself and groaned, and Nare stretched out beside him once more and pressed her groin against his leg through the bedroll.

“Come here, Nare,” he gasped. He fumbled with the bedding that covered his lower half. “Come closer…”

She hastily peeled back the covers and slid into his bedroll. When she was lying halfway on top of him in the bedroll, he slid his fingers up along the nape of her neck into her hair.

He curled his fingers in her hair and pulled, and she craned her head back. “Solas!” she whined.

He didn’t reply; he was too busy feasting on her exposed throat. His tongue was tracing the tendons in her neck, and his lips and teeth were drawing little tiny mewls of pleasure from her throat with every nip and kiss, and all the while he was stroking himself, sliding his eager fist along his pulsing length. With every pounding beat of his heart, his conviction in the dream grew greater: of course this was a dream, an aimless and wonderful wander through the Fade, because this was who he wanted to be. He wasn’t just the polite apostate who provided guidance to the Inquisitor when she asked, and he wasn’t the weary ancient rebel whose duty hung around his shoulders like a yoke; he was young and bold and lustful just like Nare, and in this moment, with her exquisite half-bare body stretched out beside him and rubbing against his hip, he felt every bit as hungry as the wolf that they accused him of being.

She stroked his neck and chest. “Please,” she whined. “Please, I want to see…”

Bolstered by the impunity of the dream, he ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth. When she was whimpering and thrusting against his hip, he pulled away.

“What do you want to see, Nare?” he panted.

Her reply was immediate. “I want to see you touching yourself,” she said.

He ran his tongue over her nipple. “Why?” he asked.

She arched her spine and inhaled shakily. “B-because I… I want to see when you finish.”

His cock jerked at her words, and he ran his palm along his length as though to soothe it. “Why do you want to see that?” he asked.

“Because I want to lick you clean,” she blurted.

Her words sent another spike of excitement through his belly. He exhaled shakily and tightened his grip on his cock. “Tell me again,” he gritted. “Tell me what you wish to do.”

“I want to lick you clean after you come,” she panted. “I want to taste you.”

He gasped in a breath and stroked himself more quickly. His climax was so close, rising slowly but surely like the first hazy glow of sunrise at the edge of the horizon, and her words were bringing him ever closer to the glory of that rise…

“Again, Nare,” he groaned. “Say it again.”

“I want to taste you!” she whined. She pulled his tunic up to expose his belly and ran her fingers below his navel. “I want to see you come right here so I can lick it off. I want that, Solas, I want it so much…”

His climax suddenly struck, surging through his abdomen and pulsing through his cock in hot spurts that painted his belly exactly as Nare had wanted. He gasped and jerked, his fist tightening convulsively around his shaft as he rode the dizzying wave of his peak, and as the pleasure ratcheted through his body, he realized with an odd rush of unreality that this was his first orgasm in thousands of years.

Or it would be, if this were not a dream.

It is a dream, he told himself firmly. It had to be a dream; that was the only way he would do something this bold and impulsive and irresponsible.

He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut until his pleasure ebbed from a blinding flash down to a pleasant glow. When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Nare bending over his body.

She licked his belly, taking his seed on her tongue exactly as she’d said she would, and Solas watched blissfully as she lapped carefully at his skin. When every drop of his seed was gone, he reached down and lifted her chin.

“Come here so I can kiss you,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “But I just… I thought men didn’t like the, um, taste.”

He coaxed her closer with his fingers on her chin. “I want the taste of your tongue,” he said. “To taste your hunger, and the hunger you had when you tasted me.”

She smiled at him – that brilliant smile that haunted his dreams and his waking hours alike – then lowered her lips to his. Her kiss was gentle and soft, but Solas parted his lips to coax hers wider, then stroked her tongue with his own.

Her breath caught in a tiny gasp, and he slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer to deepen the kiss. Her tongue was hot and smooth and flavoured with the faint bitterness of his seed, and he hungrily licked her tongue and nipped her lips until she was clenching her fingers on his chest and whimpering into his mouth.

He gently pulled her hair, and she mewled before tilting her head back into his fist. He pulled a little harder still, forcing her to lie back in his bedroll so he was stretched over her instead.

She mewled again and gasped for breath, then gasped once more when he grazed her throat with his teeth. He lapped hungrily at the salt of her skin, then lifted himself on one elbow so he could study her. She was flat on her back and lifting her hips in desperation, and even in the darkness, – the darkness of this dream, he reminded himself doggedly – he could see that some of her moisture had seeped through her smallclothes to darken her leggings.

“Solas,” she begged. She reached up and clasped his neck. “Solas, please…”

He forced his eyes back to her face. She was staring at him, pinning him with those pleading eyes, and she was so beautiful and bright and lustful and… and she deserved so much more than he could give her. She was begging him with her words and her body and her heart in her big blue eyes, and he didn’t dare give her what she was asking for. It would be far too selfish.

But he also couldn’t back away now, because he was far too selfish.

He kissed her again, coaxing her lips open to tangle his tongue with hers, then pried her fingers away from his neck and guided her hand down over her belly.

He broke their kiss and pressed his lips to her ear. “It is my turn to watch now,” he whispered.

She nodded eagerly and shoved her leggings and smallclothes down to her knees, and Solas’s greedy gaze flicked to the apex of her thighs. Already her fingers were slipping into her cleft, dipping low to find her slickness and spread it over her fragrant flesh, and he watched with a feral sort of hunger as she swirled her fingers between her legs.

He pushed her leggings down lower, then smoothed one palm along the inside of her thigh. She mewled again and spread her knees even wider, just as he’d hoped, and he stared shamelessly as she began to pet herself more eagerly still. Her fingers weren’t the only eager parts of her body, however; her whole body was shifting and moving, hips rising to rock against her left hand while her right hand clenched convulsively against her collarbone, her thighs sliding apart smoothly as he continued to stroke her tender inner thigh, and her breasts, rising and falling rapidly as she fought for breath…

Without tearing his eyes away from the juncture of her thighs, he lowered his mouth to her breast and suckled her nipple, and she jolted again and let out a pleasured little sob. He lapped at her nipple, then planted a line of kisses along the tense line of her throat until his lips were at her ear once more.

“It is a pleasure to watch you, Nare,” he whispered. “And I suspect you will be reaching your pleasure soon.”

She gasped and jerked her hips. “Yes,” she breathed.

“There is something I want to do when you come. Shall I tell you what it is?”

“Please!” she begged. “I – tell me…”

He brushed her earlobe with his lips. “I want to lick your fingers clean.”

She dragged in a tremulous breath, and Solas continued to murmur in her ear. “You have tasted me. I would have the privilege of tasting you in kind.”

She nodded hastily. “Yes!” she blurted. “Yes, of course, I…” She broke off with a moan. “Solas, I’m close…”

He chuckled softly. “Take your time, Nare. There is no rush.”

She nodded and whimpered and rubbed her fingers between her legs. A few breathless heartbeats later, she gasped in a sharp breath, and Solas pulled her hair.

She cried out – or she would have, had he not muffled her by sealing his lips over hers.

Her free hand rose to clasp his neck. She was moaning still, moaning with the pleasure that was causing her to thrust wantonly against her own hand, and when Solas dipped his tongue into her mouth to silence her, she clenched her nails against his neck and suckled his tongue.

He grunted, surprised and pleased by her aggressive kiss. Her hips were rising still to meet her own hand, and his tongue was tied by her voracious kiss, and when she finally released his tongue, he wasn’t ready to pull away.

He kissed her again, tugging at her lips with his teeth and lips alike and lapping at her tongue, and she kissed him back just as hungrily. By the time she had settled from the ebbing of her orgasm, they were both panting against each other’s lips.

Solas stroked her cheek and kissed her one more time: a soft and gentle press of the lips. Then he lifted her hand from between her legs and ran his tongue along the length of her slick index finger.

She gasped, but he barely heard it, distracted as he was by her flavour: she was musky and primal and fresher than the finest apples in Arlathan, and a rush of saliva flooded his mouth. He greedily took her shining fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean, then lifted his head to look at her.

Fenedhis, that look on her face: it was tempting and beautiful and real – so real and tangible and clear. And all at once, his cloud of lust-driven denial crumbled apart. This was not a dream; this was not a foray into the comfortable and malleable world of the Fade. This was tangible and solid, an event that he had allowed to happen and could not shape or bend or alter to his will, and now that it was done, he… he did not know what to do.

He breathed hard as he stared at Nare. He stared into the deep and lucid pools of her eyes, these eyes that he was coming to adore more with every passing day, and with every beat of his heart, a cold sort of uncertainty tempered the roaring heat that had prompted him to fall into this tryst in the first place.

He shouldn’t have done this. He shouldn’t have encouraged her. What had he done?

A slow and lovely smile curled the corners of her lips. “A man of many talents, hm?” she whispered. Then she broke into quiet giggles.

He smiled at her, helpless at the sound of her laughter. “No talent was involved here, Nare. I did nothing. You pleasured yourself.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “With your help,” she said. “You did the, um…” She cleared her throat. “I really liked when you, um… pulled. My hair.” She dropped her gaze and nibbled her lower lip.

Ah, her shyness returns, he thought. But his fond amusement was diluted by the ache in his chest. This was the last moment when he could make the excuse that he had done nothing. Like their kiss in the Fade, Nare had initiated this tryst, and he could use this fact to back out of this liaison. To preserve them both from the pain that he knew was going to come.

No, he chastised himself. Take responsibility for your actions. Any pain that came from this tryst would be his fault alone. She was blameless in this. Once again, Solas was at fault.

Once again, Solas had made a mistake.

“Solas?” Nare whispered.

He snapped out of his melancholy. She was gazing at him with a shy sort of hope.

“Yes, Nare?” he said.

She nervously licked her lips. “What does this mean?” she asked. “Are we… do you, um…” She broke off and swallowed hard. “What does it, um, mean?”

The pain in his chest swelled. What did this mean? It meant far too much to him – far more than it should. Nare was the first person who had caught his eye in thousands of years. She was the first person who had desired him in longer than he could recall. She was the first Dalish elf who had listened to him without dismissing him outright, and when he closed his eyes at night, her smile was the one that traced itself on the canvas of his closed eyelids. With every passing day in her company, every day he spent walking by her side and hearing her thoughtful voice and watching her make decisions for the good of her people, Nare meant more and more.

She couldn’t mean this much. He couldn’t allow her to mean this much. But he couldn’t say that to her, not with her lounging naked in his bedroll with her heart in her eyes looking like his every unattainable dream come true.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “This means that you will be very tired in the morning,” he said. “And I suspect the others will be too, unless you took the time to cast a spell of silence that I was unaware of.”

She burst out a laugh and covered her mouth, and Solas smiled as she laughed into her hand. He pulled the edge of the bedroll up to cover them both. “We should try and get some rest,” he said.

She smiled. “You don’t mind if stay in your bedroll with you?”

She looked so hopeful and happy, and it broke his heart. He swallowed hard, then kissed her forehead. “I don’t mind,” he murmured. “Sleep well, Nare.”

She snuggled against his chest. “You too,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams. Enjoy the Fade.”

He smirked at her cheeky tone, then closed his eyes. I always do, he thought. But for the first time, this staid and waking world held more appeal than the Fade, because she was here. Nare belonged to this world, this tranquil world where magic required so much effort and spirits were reviled.

For the first time, Solas would rather be here than in the Fade. And that thought scared him more than he could say.

#solas #solas fic #solas smut #solavellan #pikapeppa writes #elbenherzart #may the dread wolf take you and never let you go

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iamalivenow · 5 years

Text

[can’t tag it but its explicit because of course it is]

“Build me my panopticon, and I'll give you everything you want.”

“Everything?” Robert watches the man sitting across from him. Even in the dim lighting, the low glow of the gas lamps in this quaint little establishment, Jonah Magnus manages to stand out brighter than any other living thing. “A high offer, certainly.”

“It would be so good for me.” Jonah sits upright, always proper, always delicate, immaculate, with his long sleeves and high collar. Every slip of skin felt like a treat he wasn't meant to be having. “So unbelievably good, my good sir. And the joy must spread, mustn't it? Workers? Sums? Simply ask and you'll receive it.”

His eyes- his eyes are so horrifically captivating. He feels drawn in, every single time. They're not even that vibrant, it would seem. The color on anyone else felt like nothing at all, but on Jonah- Robert finds him drawing them in the margins of his drafts more often than one would think. He finds himself frequently drawing all of Jonah, with his dark hair and his dark clothes and his captivating gorgeous eyes.

“Ah, well.” He smiles and catches Jonah's own grin for but a moment. “I wasn't aware that you were attached to the project.”

“I wasn't until recently. A sudden rather sharp change in management, as it were. But I've little interest in perusing the venture if your name is not attached.”

The food here is barely passable, and he hardly blames Jonah for not eating any of his. The ale is excusable, but they're both clearly gentlemen of standing, and if Jonah will not imbibe then neither shall he.

“Dare I ask if you are a fan?”

“Ask away.” Robert laughs, lifting a hand to his mouth.

“You're much too funny, Jonah. Much to funny.” His lips quirk up again, and that is simply a delight. “Yes, of course I'll take the work. Am I a fool to say no such a phenomenally lucrative offer?”

“Wonderful.” Jonah slides contract papers across the grimy table and Robert has to wonder why on earth someone as high standing as Jonah would ever invite someone to such a hole in the wall. Mayhap out of consideration? His estate was not too far, and certainly more sparing then a quick jaunt to Germany, or where ever it was that he was staying.

“I'll have the designs over as soon as Monday. Wednesday at the latest.” Jonah's beautiful eyes grow wide for a moment.

“So soon?” He clears his throat. “I appreciate it of course, more then anything but, you needn't rush for my sake.”

“Oh, I've been toying with ideas for some time now. And that aside.” He does call a waiter over to inquire of the whiskey offerings. Certainly Jonah would understand the need to celebrate. “I find myself rather inspired as of late.”

If he was more artistically inclined, he would rush to his estate for his canvas, while the image of Jonah Magnus smiling so brightly at him was still fresh in his mind.

…

They are in the onsite office, discussing materials when Robert sees Jonah pass down the hall.

“Ah, my good sir-” He nudges past his assistants and rushes to the hallway. “Pray, have you lost your way?”

Jonah turns from where he stands, a particularly dark navy riding coat on his slim waist, tucked into perhaps the whitest pair of trousers he's ever seen outside of a shop.

“No, no not at all.” He laughs at that, as if that's somehow the best joke he's heard in a few days. “Just-” He makes a hand gesture. “Taking it all in.”

“My office is-” Robert glances through the glass, at his two assistants still pouring over measurements. “I'm occupied with rather dull business at the moment, but if you've need of me I can make time.”

“Ah, I see.” Jonah crosses his arms and takes a moment to think. “I'm quiet alright actually, just checking in.” To say that Robert feels crest fallen is an understatement. “However, as I am here, I might as well ask now. I've been invited to a party this coming Friday, by the Lukas'. If you are not dreadfully busy, would you find the time to accompany me?”

Ah-

As in-

“Forgive me, I've not met them-” He's heard of them certainly. Most people have in their circles. But most people have not had any personal acquaintance. He honestly doesn't know why he's surprised by Jonah anymore. Every day the man finds new ways to fascinate him.

“They're rather reclusive.” He laughs to himself again. “Mordechai is friendly enough when you can draw him away from his studies. You will come won't you?”

“Ah- Yes, yes of course.” He had nothing to wear to meet someone like the Lukas' but that is rectifiable. A quick trip to the estate would rectify that hopefully. Laura would understand, these were the Lukas' they were talking about, after all. “Should I bring something along?”

“A jovial mood.” Jonah smiles. “Though, if you've in possession of a good cherry, I don't imagine it will be turned down either.”

The image flashes in his mind but for an instant but Robert can not help but linger on it. The two of them, close friends, confidants, sitting on a balcony in the late hours, two glasses between them. Robert can see the pale skin of his wrist, can feel the hot breath of Jonah's whispers on his ear. The two of them so close, and then Robert, turning to gaze into those eyes, like a man possessed he grips Jonah's chin and tugs him into a kiss.

“Of course.” It comes out barely more then a mumble. Bottle of cherry. A cheerful disposition. His mind lingers on the kiss, even when the rest of him reals, begging composer in front of the man, in front of his friend!

Jonah places a hand on Robert's shoulder, searing somehow, even through the layers of his waistcoat.

“Friday.”

He remains locked in the spot, nigh breathless until he could no longer hear Jonah's heals down the hallway. And then he did what any sensible gentleman would do in his circumstance, and rushed to his desk chair before he could faint on the floor.

…

The party was a rather raucous affair.

A most peculiar gentleman, much to lively for a man his age, had challenged the two of them, Robert and Jonah, to a game of darts almost as soon as they arrived which he won instantly, bullseye on every shot. Jonah had stood by and watched with amusement as Robert missed all but one, but the man, Fairchild, clapped him on the shoulder.

“You shouldn't play against him for money.” Jonah told him later, when the dancing had begun and both of them with out a partner, stood to the side. “He'll clean up every time.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Mm.” Jonah nods. “Old acquaintance.”

“And has he always been so-”

“Full of vigor?” Robert laughs. “I can't attest to the man's youth but for all I've known him he's been much the same. Wonderful artist.”

“Artist?” Of all the things he could have imagined, it certainly wasn't something so... sedentary that he would place on the man.

“Recently, he's been rather fascinated by trains.”

Trains...

“And how is it that you've come to know him?”

“Similar work, I suppose you could say.”

“Gossiping?” Robert jumps, not his finest moment. The man stands behind him almost as if he'd appeared out of thin air. “Is this him them? Your brilliant architect?”

Jonah had called him brilliant?

“Robert, this is Mordechai.”

“Ah, our host.” He holds his arm out and after a rather long moment, Mordechai shakes it. A peculiar man as well, but so different from Fairchild. Solidly built and rather imposing, hair already graying even as he seemed rather young. “A pleasure, Mr Lukas.”

Jonah, though, looking rather pleased with himself, called him brilliant?

Him?

“So well behaved.”

“Oh, Mordechai please. Not so early into the night.” Jonah looked embarrassed for some reason, a lovely look, a most lovely look. The thought of seeing just how deep that blush might travel left Robert breathless again. Where on earth was this coming from- Laura, Laura would certainly have quiet a few words to day, her father even more so. Lord, pray no one finds of these thoughts-

Pray Jonah never finds these thoughts of his, that they never spill out anywhere near the poor man.

Does his entire chest bloom in that exquisite red-

“Pardon me.” He bows briefly and turns away from the two friends. “My glass is almost empty.”

“Your glass- have of mine then, I'm not drinking tonight.” Jonah's voice does sound some distance away.

The taste of cherry on Jonah's lips, the taste of his tongue under the moonlight-

“I insist. And surely the two of you have some catching up to do, yes-” And as he rushes across the dance floor, he must imagine Mordechai echoing Jonah's earlier sentiment of how early it truly was.

The dance floor is lively, beautiful people twisting and turning in hypnotizing patterns. It's easy to become distracted from his goal of trying to find an servant, or mayhap a balcony to clear his mind.

Jonah on a chaise lounge, shirt unbuttoned and a blush that reaches low on his chest, the moonlight bathing him in an utterly divine radiance, hair splayed out, hands reaching up for Robert's face, to run a thumb along his lip and beg for more affection. For Robert's hands on his, running over the smooth planes of his body. For Robert's fingers to do the work of getting him out of those trousers and to put Robert's mouth to much better use then just gasping for air and whispering of Jonah's beauty. For more and more, for Robert to take him there and then, on a balcony adjacent to a crowded party and damned be who sees, for Robert to-

So mayhap not the balcony then.

“Are you alright, lad?” Ah, Fairchild again. How do people keep sneaking up on him? “Looking rather peaky there.”

“I'm quiet alright, just-”

“Catching your breath?” There's a grin on the man's face Robert doesn't appreciate all that much.

“Something like that.” Robert runs a hand down his front. “I don't suppose you've seen a servant- I've been searching-”

“So have they I imagine.”

Of all things, he doesn't find himself all that surprised at the riddles. They seem to be expected, for the evening he finds himself having.

“Ah, Jonah- Mr Magnus said you were a painter.” Anything to make small talk, anything to bring some shred of normalcy back to him. To erase even half of his brazenness.

“Mmhm.” He points up and Robert humors him.

The ceiling is a thing of spectacle, an endless sky so realistic he swears he sees the clouds drifting betwixt the chandelier.

“It's-” He finds himself at a loss for words. How could he have not even noticed, how could anyone hide a masterpiece such as this on a ceiling of all places? It's so easy to get lost in as well, an endless blue as real as the one outside- it's almost as if day time itself has been captured, tamed, and splashed over the ceiling.

“Breathtaking?” Jonah's voice rings out like a shot.

“Flatterer.” Fairchild laughs, slapping a hand on Jonah's back who just smiles back good naturedly. “It wasn't a gift for you.”

“That would be my honor, wouldn't it.” Mordechai laughs, here now too.

They're old friends, the three of them, clearly, why in the Lord's name would Jonah bring him along.

“But if you would like one, I'm sure I could break out the brushes again.”

“Mayhap another time, Simon.” Jonah had smiled, smiled, smiled again.

That damn beautiful smile.

Worse still, his eyes.

Robert felt so exceptionally small under those eyes.

“Pardon me, gentlemen.” Again, barely more then a mumble. “I- My wife is expecting me.”

“So soon?” Mordechai asks, a hand on Jonah's shoulder.

“I was potentially a little unclear on the events of the night.” He clears his throats. “I would hate to have her worry over a miscommunication.”

“Of course.” Jonah steps away from the other two men. “Allow me to walk you out?”

Say no.

Pray, Lord, the will to say one simple word.

“Certainly.”

Not that simple word.

…

He dreams of him now.

Well.

He dreams of the two of them, under an endless sky. The two of them in isolation, in tall grass, the only two left alive. Clouds rush overhead only to twist and turn into stars shining brightly and brilliantly. He dreams of Jonah whispering secrets that he can never remember when the morning comes.

Of Jonah's eyes on him, hungry.

Watching endlessly, almost never blinking as if he wants to drink all of Robert dry.

He wakes to an empty bed, and a quick run of his hand to his waist assures him that is a good thing. Bless Laura for being dutiful, for not asking him of his most absurd moods of late.

Jonah invites him out to have tea, and again, no does not come to him.

He wants to see him, is the worst of it. Mayhap not the worst, but it does feel to some degree unnatural. The pull between them.

“Robert.” Jonah stands from his seat, brushing his lap. “How pleased I am to see you again. Your wife was alright, yes?”

“My wife?” He sits across from him and gives his order to a waiter already at his side.

“The miscommunication?”

“The miscommu- oh, Oh, yes of course. She's very understanding, my Laura.” He smiles in way he hopes is convincing and not sickly or weak. Jonah smiles back, reaching forward to take Robert's hand in his.

He can see the pale skin of his wrist.

Jonah doesn't have a wife, some traitorous part of his brain supplies. Jonah has been a bachelor for a long time now. He lives alone, as far as Robert knows. No relatives to speak of, no servants. He travels between London and some tiny village in Germany frequently enough, but when Robert asked him about it months ago, Jonah had made clear it was of a visit of a friendly nature.

He can still see Jonah's wrist.

His face feels warm.

“How is the jail progressing?”

“The-”

Of course this a business meeting, yes, of course. Excellent. Wonderful. He could speak on the finer points of concrete and structural support and subtle design elements for hours on end, and threse no way his mind will drift off to any untoward places.

A thousand blessings on his chosen profession.

A thousand at least.

They spend the better part of the day discussing logistics, and that's fine. What isn't fine, what most assuredly will send him down yet another spiral of confusion, is that, despite what Robert initially thought, that Jonah was just attached to the project for the sake of investiture, Jonah. Jonah seemed. Interested.

And not only interested, but involved. Aware of terms, aware of expectations. So unlike the usual sponsors he spoke with, Jonah had opinions he wanted to contribute. At some point he asked the staff to bring him a paper and pencil and the man started drawing diagrams- the lines were straight! Straight!- at scale, with variation- one of them even explained how he had intended the lighting to work- and around the point when Jonah had mentioned wanting to bring in an electrician, Robert had to excuse himself to the wash room.

He looked a mess, splashing water onto his face and getting half of it down his shirt.

This man was going to put him into an early grave.

…

“Phenomenal!”

Jonah walked along the center chamber, running his bare hands along the walls.

“As we discussed.” Robert says. “To your specifications.” He looks so elated, Robert feels as if he might expire at any given moment.

“This, truly, this is everything I had ever hoped for. And look, look how-” Jonah throws his arms out. “How monumental it all it! How-” He waves a hand in the air. “Truly, Robert. Truly, your finest work.”

He climbs the stairs two at a go, in a rush to get to the observation deck and Robert does all he can to keep pace.

“I didn't imagine it would please you quite this much.” Thought the praise is nothing if not appreciated. “It's just a jail.”

“Just a- No-” Jonah stops on the stairs and grabs Robert's hand before tugging him the rest of the way. “Don't sell yourself so short, my good man, my best man.” He laughs. “You'll understand from up here, come, come, don't dawdle.”

“I swear I'm not.” Jonah laughs again, echoing through the empty space.

“It's not just a jail.” Jonah ushers him into the observation room. “This is-” He sighs and looks through the glass at all of the empty cells. “This is a seat of power.”

“Peculiar way of thinking of it.” Robert gasps for breath. Quiet a few bit of stairs there.

“But it is- this is going to change everything.” Jonah leans on one of the desks. “You could see everything they do, everything all at once, every movement, every whisper, practically every thought if you're attentive enough. At every moment, of every minute, of every day. Not a moment of peace, not a moment to yourself that isn't observed, that isn't cataloged. Nothing is secret, nothing is private, it's all for me-” Robert looks at him.

Really looks at him.

“For you?”

“Speaking metaphorically. As a guard.”

“Oh, of course.”

“But truly, this is-” He jabs his finger into the desk he's sitting on. “This is going to- god, Robert.” He smiles, wide. Dangerous, he thinks, oddly sharp for a man as soft as Jonah. “I promised you everything you wanted, do you remember? When we started?”

“Of course I do.”

Of course he does.

He has a feeling he couldn't forget even if he wanted to at this point.

“So what will you have? How could I possibly repay you for all of this- this majesty you've granted me.”

“You, the security guard.”

“Oh, no. No, me. This is a masterclass of architecture. To think I could aid you in it. To think you built it for me?” He drags the word out, hand on his chest. “Either way. What of everything shall you be having, my good man?”

“You.” He says.

It was truly, truly just him trying to catch up to the conversation. At the pace that Jonah was going on, all of the praise he had been heaping, all fo the metaphors, Robert had truly gotten a little lost along the way.

Jonah, though, for his part, as Robert's eyes go wide and he starts to mumble his way through a thousand apologizes, doesn't even look surprised.

And then he's in Robert's space, staring for a moment, and then kissing him.

Robert is certain he tastes the cherry.

“Everything you want.” Jonah says, one hand already working the buttons on Robert's slacks.

“What are you-” Jonah kisses him again, teeth along his lip that makes his head spin.

“You think I don't notice how you stare sometimes?” Well he was really rather hoping Jonah hadn't. “Like I'm that damn ceiling in Lukas' manor? Like you want to fall into me and disappear?”

“I'm sorry-” He begins- before there's a hand over his mouth- Jonah's soft hand.

Touching his face.

“Don't be. You think I don't want you to?”

“You like being stared at?”

Jonah laughs.

“You're wonderful.” Jonah says and returns to the buttons. “Truly. After this-” He points between the two of them. “I'll teach you some secrets, hm?”

“Secrets-”

“About why I wanted you so desperately-” He drops his knees and before Robert even has the sense to fully realize what is about to happen, Jonah has his hand around his cock, giving him a few strokes before opening his mouth licking at the head. “To build this prison for me.”

“Jonah-” Robert grips the desk behind him, fingers digging into the wood. “You don't- for the love of God, you don't have to-”

“Oh, but I want to.” And then Robert's cock is in his mouth, and what a mouth, what a mouth. His tongue is the only thing in the entire world and Robert wants nothing more then to just stay here, frozen for all eternity. And he's staring again, Jonah is, the same hungry way he stares in the dreams. In his visions of that all too elusive balcony. “I wanted to at the party, at your office, at that filthy decrepit excuse of a restaurant.”

“Oh-” It's a moan that escapes him now, an even louder one follows when Jonah is back to licking the head of his cock, swirling his tongue around like it's a sweet. “Jonah-”

“I was wondering, how long it would take for you to realize I wanted you too. If you were bold enough to shove me onto my knees there and then, make all of them stare, make all of them watch while I sucked your cock.” The possibility seemed to far removed at the time. “But now, you've given me such a phenomenal gift, I forgive you entirely for the wait.”

“Jonah- Jonah-” The only word on his tongue now is this man's name. Have there ever been any other words? Has all of the English language been created just so he could utter Jonah's name with enough reverence in this singular moment?

“A genius, ahead of his time.” He places a kiss on it, as if that's something one does, and then takes all of Robert into his mouth. All of him truly, until Robert feels what must be the velvet skin of the back of his throat. He bobs his head back, until his face is brushed up against his pant leg. One of Jonah's hands grips his thigh, hard enough to bruise.

“Jo-Jonah-” Robert gasps for air, one of his own hands leaning down to run it through Jonah's dark hair. Jonah pulls off for but a moment.

“Grip it. Harder, yes just like that.” And then he's back, sliding the entire length of his cock along his mouth and into his throat. That wet heat is everything, his entire being, all and all and all of him. “I'm not breakable, pull like you- ah!- that's it- that's it-”

“Is- Is it truly alright?” He is pulling rather had- but all he gets is a nod and a hum, and oh, he feels the vibrations all the way up his spine. It makes his toes curl in his boots. It makes him grip Jonah's hair hair.

Jonah does- does something with his tongue just at the very head and it makes his toes curl again, his eyes fluttering shut and another long sigh escaping his mouth. His thigh is slapped and his eyes fly open- Jonah smirking up at him through his long lashes.

Alright, so he'll just keep his eyes open then- all the better- certainly all the better with how red Jonah's lips are getting, with his eyes watering just a smidge. He feels like he's about to spill over- from the tightness in his belly and the way his hips start to jerk to meet him, he must be.

When he does spill, and he does rather quickly after the thought, it's right against the back of Jonah's throat. Jonah grips his other thigh, breathes through his nose and swallows every drop, before pulling off of him with a satisfied grin on his face, a hand wiping at the saliva on his chin.

Again, the desire to rush home, to grab paints he doesn't own and spread them on a canvas are so strong- to commemorate this moment, every moment they've had together- is so strong he barely knows what to do with himself.

“Will you take me in hand?” Jonah's risen at some point, mouth close his ear. A quick glance down confirms the warm bulge grinding against Robert's thigh all to inviting to neglect. He fumbles the buttons with significantly less grace then Jonah had his own, but Jonah is patient, hips jutting forward every now and then in impatience. Finally, he gets him free. “Lick your hand first.”

Robert does as he's told, and for a singular moment there may be a part of him struggling with the revelation that he is about to touch another man's cock, but it's a quiet part, and the moment is gone quickly.

He is so warm, and heavy in his palm, head already dripping- the thought that he had gotten aroused from sucking Robert's cock- that Jonah- Jonah- his Jonah would have gotten hard from something like that makes him feel as if he's been set ablaze.

“Jonah-”

“As you would yourself-” And he does, stroking him as if his life depended on it. Jonah's arms are over his shoulders, his palms on the back of his neck. He's panting- he's making Jonah pant, gasp, jerk his hips into his grasp- he feels dizzy, but he doesn't dare close his eyes. Jonah- Jonah likes being watched, then so be it. It's all he can do in the moment, especially when his hand still for but a second and Jonah whines right in his ear.

“Jonah-”

“I-I'm loathe to beg- b-but if you want that of me-” He gasps, hips jolting forward again. “Then please, please, please, Robert-”

“Jonah-”

“Please-”

Robert grasps him a little tighter, and stares down at the red of his cock and Jonah moans in his ear, fucking his hand until his climax, a sharp and punched thing, ends in a groan, resting his head on Robert's shoulder.

“Are- Are you alright?”

“I'm phenomenal. Just- catching my breath.”

Once they are presentable and clean again, Jonah stares out the windows with a smile on his face. His lips still a little red, stained with his effort.

“That was-”

“Mordechai is throwing another little get-together, this coming Friday.” Jonah glances at him. “Mayhap this time you'll stay long enough to allow me the pleasure of showing you the view from the balcony.”

Robert-

A lot of things go through his mind all at once, nervous and jittery and oddly calm at the same time. How did he know, did he know or was that just an assumed spot for these sorts of things, had he knows the whole time before even Robert himself knew, had he some how orchestrated this entire thing, did his friends know, is that what the teasing about, was he being serious while he was on his knees, why did he know so little when Jonah seemed to know so much?

“I would love to.”

#the magnus archives #writing #fanfic #long post #i blacked out and wrote this in four hours

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silver-lily-louise · 5 years

Text

A Whole New World - a Shadowhunters fanfic

Chapter 2 - A New (Fantastic) Point of View

Summary: In which Magnus - with the help of Disney's 'Aladdin' - clears up some discrepancies, and Alec most definitely does NOT get flustered. Credit goes to Disney’s ‘Aladdin’ for all titles so far. A/N: Towards the end of this chapter, when they're discussing how the genie in 'Aladdin' is a prisoner, there's some talk of past slavery practices regarding genies. I believe I've handled it sensitively, but please let me know if anything needs adjusting.

Chapter 1: AO3 / Tumblr Chapter 2: AO3 / or read it below!

~oOo~

When he wakes up, a part of him thinks that he must have dreamed it all. A genie? A magic lamp? It feels absurd to even consider it. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen, and certainly not to people like him.

But as he stretches, blinking the sleep from his heavy eyes and yawning cool awareness into his brain, the memories clarify, and he knows that they feel too real to be anything but. Still, after he slides on his slippers and shrugs into a hoodie to stave off the chill, he wanders into the living room, and his stomach flips when he catches sight of the lamp on the mantelpiece.

He turns to the kitchen, and Magnus is there, looking just as decadent in teal as he did in scarlet the day before. He’s leaning back in one chair, his legs propped up on a second, a heavy book in one hand and what appears to be a mimosa in the other. When Alec enters the kitchen, his eyes flick over, and a wide smile spreads across his face as he puts the book down. ‘Ah, good morning, Alexander. Hungry?’ ‘Yeah, starving,’ Alec says, feeling the beginnings of an instinctive, wondering smile on his own face.

Magnus swings himself around until he’s sitting up properly in his chair, and waves a hand across the table. Two plates of Belgian waffles, a jug of maple syrup, a bowl of chopped strawberries, and a cup of coffee appear on the table. ‘Your coffee – cream or sugar?’ Alec manages to collect himself enough to answer, though he can’t quite bring his eyebrows down from his hairline. ‘Uh, no – black’s good.’ He takes a seat opposite Magnus, helping himself to strawberries. ‘Wait, is this one of my wishes?’ he asks, mostly as a joke. He doesn’t think it would be, but what does he know about how all this works? Magnus snorts. ‘Please. As if I’d let you waste a wish on something so trivial.’ He looks at Alec, tilting his head in that same assessing way he did the night before. ‘So, you’re convinced that all of this is real now, hm?’ ‘I’m… seventy percent convinced,’ Alec allows, drizzling a thin hatching of syrup over his breakfast. Magnus beams at him. ‘My, my, a thirty percent jump in a single night? You flatter me, Alexander.’ He elbows his book gently to one side as he nabs the bowl of strawberries, and Alec glances at the cover. ‘Les Mis?’ he says. Magnus hmms an affirmative around his first mouthful of waffle. ‘I must admit, I avoided it for a long time – I tend to get a little bored when a story drags on past three volumes. But, you know. When I got stuck, and it became apparent I was in for something of an extended stay, I took the opportunity to catch up on some of the lengthier works I’d yet to read. It’s quite good – though I must say, it’s a lot… bleaker, without the rousing musical numbers to liven things up.’

They eat in a strangely comfortable silence for a while, before Alec’s curiosity gets the better of him. ‘So these… wishes,’ he says. ‘I’m a little lost. How does it all work?’ ‘Fairly much as you’d expect,’ Magnus says with a shrug. ‘You ask for something, and if it’s reasonable, I give it to you.’ ‘Reasonable like… possible? Or reasonable like ‘a good idea’?’ ‘A combination of the two – I can do many things that you may have previously considered impossible, but I have both my limits and my standards. I rarely deny wishes, but when I do, there’s always good cause for it.’

Alec mulls that over. He didn’t even know that genies could refuse wishes. Or travel. Or… well, the point is, every time he thinks he understands the situation here – ridiculous as it is – Magnus reveals something that highlights just how clueless he is. An idea forms in his head, and he clears his throat to voice it before he can chicken out. ‘You know,’ he says, ‘I think I’d feel more – prepared, for the responsibility of these wishes, if I knew more about… all of this.’ He gestures to the breakfast, to Magnus, behind him towards the lamp, before forging ahead. ‘So. With that in mind, it’s occurred to me that the only point of reference I really have is Aladdin.’ Magnus’ nose wrinkles at the mere mention of the film. ‘So I have an idea. It’s my day off, so why don’t we hang out for a while, and you can tell me everything they got wrong? Then I’ll know where I stand.’ He smiles, hoping it doesn’t come across as nervous as he feels.

Magnus frowns a little, humming in consideration as he finishes his drink. The silence stretches long enough that Alec starts to internally berate himself – you idiot, he’s a powerful magical being, he doesn’t want to ‘hang out’ with you and talk about a movie he hates – but by the time he puts down his glass, Magnus’ frown has cleared, a small smile in its place. ‘Sounds like fun,’ he says. He waves a hand, instantly clearing the table, and begins moving into the living room, where he snaps his fingers and an instantly recognisable title menu appears on the T.V.. ‘Oh – we don’t have to actually watch it,’ Alec says, back-pedalling. ‘Nonsense,’ Magnus counters, ‘it’ll be much easier to explain the mistakes as we go along.’ He settles into a corner of the couch which faces the T.V., shifting a couple of pillows behind him to get comfortable. ‘Besides, I may dislike the inaccuracies, but as I mentioned earlier, I do enjoy a rousing musical number.’ His eyes shine, almost hypnotic, as he gestures for Alec to take a seat beside him, and Alec finds himself doing so, finding that he’s suddenly incredibly thoughtful about the exact meaning of the phrase respectable distance.

The movie begins to play, and Alec tries to relax into the familiarity of it, but he’s hyper-aware of the sheer weirdness of his situation. He’s sitting there, watching Aladdin – a movie he and Jace must have seen hundreds of times as children – as a grown man in his own apartment, sitting next to an actual, dazzling, real-life, eight-hundred-year-old genie.

Jace would never fucking believe this, he thinks.

***

The first few scenes of the movie pass without much comment – apparently, Magnus’ issues with the movie don’t concern the worldbuilding. Alec’s first query comes when Aladdin starts to explore the Cave of Wonders. ‘So, question – magic carpets? Is that a thing?’ ‘They used to be,’ Magnus says. ‘They still exist, but they’re not a popular travel option these days. Too many cameras about. Before, if someone outside of the magical world spotted you, they’d likely be called crazy. Nowadays, a shot of a flying carpet would go viral in seconds, and it’s such a pain trying to keep the whole thing invisible while you’re trying to steer, too. I tried it around a decade ago, and I nearly crashed into the Eiffel Tower.’

The lamp comes into shot, and Magnus snorts. ‘Ugh. As if any self-respecting genie would reside in such a plain lamp. What’s the point of immortality if you don’t live a little?’ He waves towards his own lamp; Alec swears that it glows for a moment, and he grins. Show-off. ‘Now that,’ Magnus continues proudly, ‘is a lamp. Tasteful, not gaudy – but still decorative, still interesting to look at.’ ‘Minimalism hasn’t caught on in the magical world, then?’ Alec asks teasingly. ‘Not among genies, at least. By and large, we have excellent taste.’

Aladdin rubs the lamp, and Alec asks, ‘Another mistake?’ Magnus tilts his hand back and forth, in a gesture that says eh, sort of. ‘Technically, that would work. Sort of like how if an earthquake hit, you’d likely jump out of bed. It’s a little annoying for those of us on the other side, though.’ He turns to Alec, raising an eyebrow. ‘As you can probably guess, from how I tried to shake you off last night.’ It takes Alec a moment to remember what he means. ‘Oh, with the – oh.’ His hand moves unconsciously to the nape of his neck, and he feels sheepish. It seems so obvious now. ‘Of course. That was you. I thought it was just some weird, vibrational echo or something. Actually, I thought it might be some sort of damage to the lamp.’ Magnus chuckles. ‘Yeah, I can understand how that would make more sense to you. For future reference, though – if I’m in the lamp and you need me, asking politely works just as well as shaking my whole house.’ ‘Noted.’

Onscreen, the genie gives the rules for wish-making. ‘Two of those are accurate,’ Magnus confirms. ‘Necromancy isn’t possible without dark, dark magic, far beyond even the most powerful genies. And wishing for more wishes isn’t something any genie will grant – we’re not beholden to some sort of magical contract, wish-wise. We make an offer we think is fair, and we stick to our word.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Most of us, anyway. There are a few rotten apples in every bushel, right?’ Alec nods. ‘Makes sense. So wishes are more like… gifts?’ ‘Exactly. It’s just a way we repay favours, or choose to make life more interesting. It’s nice using one’s powers to give someone else what they want for a change. Try it, next time you’re bored.’ Alec smiles. ‘Huh. Cool idea.’ He pauses, remembering how they got onto this topic. ‘Wait, so you can make people fall in love?’ ‘Of course. It’s honestly not that difficult – a bit of brain chemistry here, a dash of soul-shifting there, et voila. But personally, I’ve only done it once.’ ‘Why?’ Magnus shrugs. ‘It doesn’t feel right to me, usually. I wouldn’t want someone to alter my thoughts that way, to mess around with my emotions. It seems a horribly personal invasion. On the odd occasion that I’m asked to do it, I refuse. I tell the wish-maker to pick something else.’ ‘Except for one time?’ Alec prompts gently. Magnus is quiet for a moment. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather not,’ Alec assures him. Magnus shakes his head. ‘No, it’s okay, it’s just…’ He sighs. ‘The one time I granted that wish was to a young gay woman a couple of centuries ago. She was due to be wed in an arranged marriage, and she couldn’t bear the thought of spending her life with someone she knew she’d never have feelings for, no matter how kind he was. So she asked me to make her fall in love with him, and I agreed.’ He glances at Alec, briefly flashing a sad smile. ‘She was happy, after that – she went through with the wedding, their families were overjoyed, and she raised three beautiful children with a good man whom she cherished, and who cherished her in return. But I wonder, sometimes, if I made the right choice. If there wasn’t some – some great wrong, there, in helping someone to deny something so fundamental about themselves.’ He settles back on the sofa, attention returning to the screen. ‘I think about her a lot, actually. I can only pray she didn’t come to regret it; that I did a good enough job, so that she didn’t feel like something was off, or like something was missing.’

‘Hey.’ Alec reaches out, places a hand on Magnus’ shoulder. ‘She was hurting, and you did the best you could to help her. You tried to make her happy – and from what you’re saying, it seems to me like you succeeded. I don’t think that’s wrong.’ Magnus turns back to face him, and under the weight of those golden eyes, Alec suddenly becomes self-conscious, quickly removing his hand. ‘Thank you, Alexander,’ Magnus says softly. Alec nods awkwardly, and turns back to the movie, feeling Magnus’ gaze linger for a few seconds before he does the same.

By this point, Aladdin’s genie is confessing that he’s a prisoner. ‘Poor guy. No seafront visits for him, huh?’ Alec asks, trying to lighten the mood. Magnus laughs gently, and something eases in Alec’s chest. ‘No, apparently not,’ he agrees. ‘There are ways to bind a genie to their lamp, so they can only wander a little while summoned, but they went out of fashion centuries ago. Actually, that’s where our be careful what you wish for reputation started,’ he says. ‘Trapped genies couldn’t refuse requests, the same way free genies could. So instead, they started to twist their masters’ words, giving them dark shadows of what they truly wanted. As a protest, it worked wonderfully – once people realised that owning a trapped genie wouldn’t guarantee that they’d get what they wanted, demand for them fell, and the unscrupulous lot who’d been taking part in the practice realised that it wasn’t worth all the danger and effort of the binding ritual anymore.’ ‘Well, that’s good.’ He feels a little bad for making a joke of it, now, even though he hadn’t known. No-one deserved that kind of trapped half-life. ‘Yeah. It’s a lot nicer walking the earth without worrying about slavers lurking around every corner. And without any of that interference, we can go where we like. We just have to take our lamp with us.’ Alec smiles, still feeling a little somber from the heavy topic, but tickled by the thought he’s just had. ‘You’re like a really cool tortoise, then.’

Magnus turns to face him, and Alec feels himself turn red as that beautiful, genuine smile re-emerges, quickly dissolving into a hearty, raucous laugh. ‘I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted by that, Alexander.’ ‘Hey,’ Alec says, feigning indignation even as he laughs, too. ‘I love tortoises. And I called you really cool.’ ‘You did, you did,’ Magnus acknowledges, sighing deeply as the laughter comes to an end. ‘Anyway – yes, that’s the gist of it. We’re free to wander, but we take our home with us wherever we go.’ Alec turns back to the movie, settling a little deeper into the couch cushions and tucking his legs up beside him. ‘Sounds pretty good to me.’ ‘Yeah,’ Magnus says quietly. ‘It is.’

The rest of the movie passes too quickly, the familiar story interspersed with occasional bouts of warm, comfortable conversation. ‘By the way,’ Magnus says, shortly after Aladdin is thrown into the sea. ‘If at any point during our little agreement, I find myself in a position to save your life, I won’t make you use one of your wishes for it.’ He winks. Alec chuckles, and hopes it isn’t obvious that his heart rate has just doubled. ‘Very kind of you.’

~oOo~

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #malec #malec fanfic #malec au #genie!magnus #mine #slavery mention #food cw #alcohol mention #let me know what you think! I'm really enjoying writing this ^^

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

Text

Chapter 16

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart by George deValier

Feliciano raced along the long train platform, pushing through the mass of waiting passengers, apologising and laughing as they stared bewilderedly after him. He turned to check that Roderich was still in sight behind and spotted him easily through the crowd, dressed in his elegant dark suit and carrying his small, simple suitcase. He gave a little nod and Feliciano laughed again, swinging his own small case beside him as he spun around and headed for the far end of the platform.

They all looked rather important, these people who crowded the busy station, like they had something urgent to do and somewhere special to go. Feliciano felt like he was one of them, even though his simple wool jacket and flat brown cap weren't nearly so fancy as the men's black suits and the ladies' lovely dresses. But he belonged here just as well, since he also had somewhere special to go. Feliciano tore through a small group of closely huddled gentlemen, accidentally knocking their newspapers in a falling flurry, then past a cluster of pretty girls in bright dresses who laughed and flipped their hair when he took off his cap and flashed them a grin.

Feliciano could not remember ever feeling this excited, this alive. Not since before Ludwig left, and that could have been a lifetime ago. The cool air flowed fresh on the wind and in his lungs, the bright sun shone warm in the sky and on his face. Intense, almost painful excitement had bubbled in Feliciano's chest since morning, since he had left his little farmhouse and his little village and everything he had ever known. Since he had thrown his arms around Lovino, promising him they'd take their own train ride together one day; had kissed Antonio's cheeks, promising to bring him back real German tomato schnapps; had been swung wildly in Grandpa Roma's arms, laughing, promising to come home. Even the long car ride to the city had not dimmed Feliciano's excitement. The drive had simply increased it; travelling down roads and through towns he had never seen, knowing that every turn of the tyres was taking him closer to Ludwig.

Feliciano wondered, briefly, if he should be afraid. He was used to feeling that way, after all. But even though this was new, even though he was leaving everything he had ever known, even though he did not know what to expect - Feliciano could not be afraid. Because Feliciano was going to Ludwig. He was going to his happiness, and his peace, and the place his heart had been leading him for years. It wasn't their oak tree, but that didn't matter. Because wherever he was, whether in Italy, or Germany, or the moon, Ludwig was his somewhere else – Ludwig was where he belonged. Feliciano was going somewhere he had never dreamt of, yet at the same time, he was going home.

By the time Feliciano reached the far platform, a long line of travellers had already formed, jostling and talking loudly and fumbling for tickets. Feliciano literally jumped in excitement when only moments later, a huge red train tore, steaming and screaming and whistling, down the line and into the station. "It's our train!" he cried out gleefully. "Roderich, Roderich, it's our train, it's here, our train is here, Roderich!"

Roderich finally reached him, adjusting his glasses wearily and letting out a very deep breath. "Yes, yes, Feliciano." But even if he had a slight exasperation to his voice, he was also smiling, and did not try to hush Feliciano up as the surrounding crowd stared at them openly.

When the train came to a slow, steady stop, Roderich took Feliciano's arm, leading him past the long line and up towards the front of the machine. They stopped before a long, polished door that read First. All this was brand new to Feliciano, and he watched with rapt interest as Roderich showed his tickets to the man beside the door, who bowed his head and motioned them inside. Feliciano practically pushed Roderich aside in his haste to get on the carriage, but once there, he stood at a bit of a loss. Feliciano had never been on a train before, had never even seen pictures, and all these doors leading off the long, red carpeted corridor just confused him. Roderich smiled as he passed. "First class passengers have separate compartments. We're just up here, Feliciano."

Feliciano nodded, hefting his bag under his arm and following Roderich to a compartment at the end of the hall. Inside, deep brown leather benches faced each other beside the tall windows, alongside a shiny wooden table and elaborate light fixtures. Long, gold ties held back dark red curtains, and plush, red material carpeted the floors. The compartment was only around the size of his bathroom at home, but it looked like pictures Feliciano had seen of hotels and restaurants in places like London and New York. Feliciano stood still and whistled softly. "I had no idea trains were so fancy."

Roderich gave a tiny shrug as he placed his suitcase on the rack overhead. "It is pleasant enough. The line from Berlin to Vienna had slightly larger compartments." Roderich took Feliciano's bag and Feliciano bounced into the big, comfortable seat by the window, staring around and wishing he had brought his camera to take photographs for Lovino.

"You must be really rich, huh, Roderich?" Roderich just let out a short breath of laughter, placing a newspaper from his pocket on the table and taking the opposite bench. Feliciano turned to him and grinned. "How long until we get to Berlin?"

Roderich bit his lip, trying to hold back his laughter. "Two days, Feliciano. But this is an Italian train, so…" Roderich shrugged apologetically. "Possibly longer."

Feliciano's shoulders fell and his heart sank. He had not expected the journey to be so long – how could he possibly wait so long? "Oh."

Roderich's smile turned kind. "But I brought some books. And the kitchen serves quite excellent cuisine."

Feliciano immediately brightened. "Do they make pasta?"

Roderich laughed again. "I said this was an Italian train."

The afternoon passed as quickly as Feliciano expected – which was, of course, far too slowly. Feliciano tried what he could to take his mind off waiting. He went for a long walk along the length of the train, into carriages darker and shabbier than his and Roderich's, and tried to guess where passengers were from by chattering at them in a mixture of three languages. He cuddled a fluffy puppy belonging to a little girl from Salzburg in second class and had a very interesting chat about buttons with a nice Roman lady in third. He raced all the way back to his seat in first class, saluting the stewards on the way, and put his limited German into practice by shouting, "Hallo! Ich bin italienisch!" at a passing Austrian couple who rolled their eyes and nodded as though that sentence seemed to explain something.

As the evening drew on, Feliciano flicked through Roderich's books on the German language and culture, disappointed at the lack of pictures of any kind. He stared out the window and tried to guess exactly what part of the beautiful Italian countryside they were currently travelling through. He headed out into the hall, chatting with the stewards and juggling oranges from the food cart and playing marbles on the floor with a little English boy who kept telling him he 'spoke funny.' He prodded Roderich with questions about Berlin and Ludwig's village and what Ludwig's grandfather was like and how much longer it would be until they finally arrived because this endless, interminable day just seemed to stretch on forever. And when the dinner bell finally rang, Feliciano jumped up and raced into the hall, desperate for another distraction.

The first-class dining car was even fancier than the rest of the train, and Feliciano was delighted to see that Roderich was right about the cuisine. Feliciano finished his fettuccine pesto so quickly that Roderich gave him the rest of his own, explaining that he didn't eat that much anymore. By the time they arrived back at their compartment, the light had long since faded outside. The gold lamps flickered brightly, and still the constant, whirling, restless excitement turning in Feliciano's stomach and buzzing through his veins refused to subside. He simply did not know what to do with himself. How could he possibly sit in this seat, quiet and still, for another two days? How could he sleep, how could he breathe, how could he stop for one moment to think, when Ludwig was so close? No, he had to keep moving. Had to keep talking. Feliciano practically bounced in his chair as he spoke. "Roderich, where do you think we are? Are we still in Italy? I wonder if we've crossed into Austria… Roderich, what is Austria like? What is your home like? Is it…"

"Vienna is the most beautiful city in the world." Roderich interrupted smoothly, taking his seat opposite Feliciano and drawing the red curtains shut. "It has changed slightly since the war, but anywhere you go, you can always hear music playing. In the park, on Sundays, people come dressed in their finest clothes and waltz to the tune of a full orchestra, all afternoon. In the winter, small choirs sing Christmas carols on street corners in the snow. And sometimes…"

Feliciano rested his head on a pillow against the wall, listening to Roderich's soft, calming, almost hypnotic voice. Vienna sounded wonderful. Feliciano immediately decided to see it with Ludwig. And they would see Berlin together, and Paris, and London, and maybe they could even go to America one day. He and Ludwig could go anywhere, now - together. Feliciano closed his eyes as he imagined it. No bombs echoing off the mountains. No enemy planes flying overhead. No sunset when Ludwig would have to turn and leave. Just Feliciano, and Ludwig, and the entire world…

Before he knew it, the room had gone silent and Feliciano realised Roderich had long since stopped talking. He shook himself from his haze, looked up at Roderich and asked, a little dazedly, "What time is it?"

Roderich put down the book he had started reading, pulled his pocket watch from his pocket, then blinked as though surprised when he clicked it open. "9:55pm." His eyes softened and he breathed a short sigh of laughter, as though he was remembering something.

Feliciano tilted his head in confusion. "Why is that funny?"

Roderich shook his head. "Never mind, Feliciano. But I think it is time for you to get some sleep."

The very mention of the word turned Feliciano's stomach cold. He swallowed heavily and looked down at his feet, ran a hand through his hair, twisted his fingers together, then jumped when Roderich's hand rested gently on his as though to still him. He glanced up, surprised, to see Roderich looking slightly concerned. "Calm down, Feliciano. What's wrong?"

Feliciano took a deep breath. His wild excitement had dulled somewhat, and now he was starting to feel a slightly nervous twisting in his stomach. "I'm scared that if I go to sleep I'll wake up tomorrow in my bed at home and this will have all been a dream and then I'll never see Ludwig, and I want to see him so much, even if this is only a dream, even if I have to stay awake for three days so I don't end up back in my own bed."

Roderich stared at Feliciano blankly for a few moments, as though absorbing his rapid-fire words. Then he smiled softly. "I promise you, Feliciano, you're not dreaming. You are really here. We really are going to Germany, and you really are going to see Ludwig very, very soon."

Somehow, Feliciano found that Roderich's calm, kind words reassured him. The whole frantic afternoon caught up with him, his eyelids grew heavy, and the next thing Feliciano knew, he was blinking blearily in complete darkness. He realised that he must have fallen asleep, and immediately broke into a cold, panicked sweat. No, no… What if he was back home? What if this was all over? Feliciano wrenched himself upright and turned his head, almost expecting to see Lovino's bed across the room. Instead he saw Roderich sitting opposite him, holding the curtains slightly aside and staring out the window, his violet eyes shining in the early morning moonlight.

Feliciano rubbed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief. "Can't you sleep?"

Roderich glanced up at him, a little startled, then shrugged slightly. "I'm just thinking."

"About Gilbert?" Roderich froze and Feliciano winced. He had tried to avoid that very subject all day, and now, in the dark, silent hours of the early morning, he just blurted it out without thinking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that, should I?"

"It's all right. I wasn't thinking of…" Roderich broke off and sighed quietly, shakily. "Well, I suppose I was, in a way. I suppose I'm always thinking of him in some way."

"I understand. I used to wonder sometimes, about what happened to Ludwig. You might think I'd wonder all the time, but I didn't, because that hurt too much. But even if I wasn't directly thinking about him, I still always sort of was, you know?" Feliciano paused, wondering if he was really helping the matter or just making it worse. He never did know quite what to say in these situations. He followed Roderich's gaze out the window and, in the full moonlight, could easily make out tall, white peaked mountains in the distance. It was easier to believe where he was going and what was happening in this eerie, moonlit stillness. "He'll be happy to see me again, won't he?"

"Feliciano, he lives to see you again."

Feliciano nodded, a bright spark of warmth flaring in his chest at the words. "Thank you for coming to Italy. To get me. I mean, it is such a long way to go, and I know that you love Ludwig's brother and so you must care about Ludwig too, I mean I'm sure I would care about Gilbert if I ever met him, but… oh no, I shouldn't have said that, should I? I just mean… well…" Feliciano stopped just briefly to collect his jumpy thoughts. "Why did you come so far? Why are you doing this?"

Silence; even the rattling of the train engine seemed to soften. Feliciano knew he'd asked too much. But Roderich still answered, even though it took him a few moments to do so. "You are right. Gilbert loves his brother, and I owe Gilbert everything. So of course I will do all I can to help Ludwig." Roderich again fell silent, staring out at the passing landscape, still and otherworldly under the blue waning moon and the sparse dusting of twinkling stars. Feliciano waited for him to continue. He still did not know much of this graceful Austrian who had fallen so unexpectedly into his life, but he knew he already trusted every single thing the man said. There was something about the calm, gentle, honest way he spoke that made it impossible not to. "There are many types of love in this world, Feliciano. Some are quiet, and comfortable, and smoulder softly. Some blaze brightly and fade fast. But some - and this is very rare - some burn forever." A small, distant smile appeared on Roderich's lips. "They change everything you ever thought you were, and at the same time, make you more yourself than you could ever be alone. Not everyone finds it. True, not everyone wants it. But if you do find it, or if it finds you, the whole world changes, and you realise that the true purpose of your being was simply to have been in that person's life, and them in yours. I think I am right in saying that you understand this."

Feliciano breathed cautiously in the silence. He was afraid to break it. His eyes drifted to Roderich's arm holding back the curtain, and that number etched crudely down his forearm, stark and harsh in the soft, pale light. 354471. Again Feliciano asked, before meaning to do so, "That number. Why is it really on your arm?"

"Because once, a number is all I was." Roderich clutched his marked arm, his eyes far away. "People do terrible things in this world, Feliciano. Things I will never forget, and never understand. And that's why we have to hold onto the beautiful things."

Feliciano did not want to know what terrible things Roderich referred to. He could tell it was something too painful and too unsettlingly wrong to speak of. So instead, he asked about the beautiful things. "Is that why you came for me?"

Roderich finally turned his head, his violet eyes staring directly into Feliciano's. They were deep, and sad, and seemed older than the rest of him. Feliciano suddenly wondered exactly what Roderich had been through during the war; what evil those eyes had seen. "I have seen too many lives destroyed." Roderich smiled suddenly, and somehow, his quiet joy seemed as intense as his sadness. "How could I not wish to see two remade?"

Feliciano felt happy, sad, and overwhelmingly grateful. He closed his eyes and simply said, "Danke, Roderich." A small smile tugged at his lips. "You are sort of my brother, in a way, aren't you?"

Roderich laughed breathily, then his cool hand smoothed gently across Feliciano's own. "Yes, Feliciano. Now go back to sleep."

The train continued travelling on, unending, interminable. Sometimes Feliciano slept, sometimes he couldn't. When he was awake, either pacing restless along the corridor outside the compartments, or chattering incessantly at Roderich, or watching the changing view of the Alps out the train window, all Feliciano thought of was Ludwig. The low buzz of excitement was still there, but this nervous waiting seemed to be slowly drowning it; this desperate longing growing stronger, constant. Through neat little villages and narrow mountain passes and tiny Austrian towns; over rolling green vales and blue, trickling rivers and pretty yellow fields. Constant, and unchanging, until the countryside turned darker and Roderich told him they were heading into Germany. Feliciano felt a leap in his chest at the words, then pressed himself against the window, desperate to take it all in.

Here, the broad, dark fields were untilled, bordered by wild, shady forest outskirts. White, craggy hills overlooked steep, tree-dusted valleys. Strong, solitary castles peppered the mountainous horizon, and the rivers they crossed were wild and gushing. The towns they passed were broken and ruined, the long, barren streets littered with debris. A dull, aching sort of pain throbbed beneath Feliciano's chest at the sight. So much was ruined here - so much destroyed. But this was Ludwig's land. This was his country, the one he loved and defended and fought for. This was Ludwig's home, and even if it was broken, it was beautiful.

In the end, the journey took nearly three days. The train pulled into the Berlin station in late morning, and Feliciano was not really surprised to find that Roderich had a big, black, shiny automobile with a driver already waiting. Feliciano did not speak as he climbed into the car, exhausted, drained, and growing so nervous that his stomach felt like it was crawling into his throat. With too many thoughts and feelings and worries spinning through his head, Feliciano tried to focus on the landscape outside the window as they drove out of the city and headed west into the countryside. The view of green, forest-rimmed fields and tall, distant mountains did not change for hours, though Feliciano's anxiety worsened with every passing minute. Every now and then Roderich would talk briefly about some castle in the distance, or offer Feliciano an illustrated page from his newspaper, or ask if he wanted to perhaps try and sleep a little. Feliciano could barely respond.

After a few hours they started to drive past widely spaced farmhouses, eventually drawing towards a little walled village. Part of the wall was missing, as though it had been blown away, revealing narrow, winding streets and rows of colourful, peaked buildings like little gingerbread houses. A multi-tiered, shining white castle rested on a forested hill and overlooked the picturesque, tree-bordered town. Feliciano's eyes widened as he tried to take it all in, his chest swelling at the charming yet awe-inspiring sight. It was like something from a fairy-tale. He recognised the place immediately from Ludwig's own description of it, on a long-ago winter afternoon overlooking the Italian countryside – It is warm and friendly. It is wonderful. It is home.

At the flash of memory, everything hit Feliciano at once. What was happening, where he was, where he was going. He could barely feel, barely hope, everything turning painfully real and meltingly dreamlike at the same time. A numbing, throbbing, almost terrifying anxiety overcame him, and Feliciano clutched the old wound in his chest, trying to think and trying to breathe as the whole incredible reality of these last few days pressed down on him. The car hurtled forwards, unstoppable, carrying Feliciano to his one final destination, to his purpose and his reason. To his somewhere else.

The car turned slowly into a narrow, pretty, cobblestone street. When they finally drew to a stop before a small wooden house with a peaked roof and flower-bordered windows, Feliciano was quite certain for a moment that he was going to pass out. His heart hammered beneath his skin, his breathing came too fast, and the old pain in his chest started to flare.

"We're here, Feliciano." Roderich opened the door for him, reaching out a steadying hand, and Feliciano stood on shaky legs. He could not answer. The rising anxiety reached almost painful levels, in his chest, his head, his veins; it turned his body numb and his mind to fog. Roderich did not need to lead him up the little hedge-trimmed trail that led to the house. Feliciano simply saw the door and felt himself drawn towards it, though he was unsure how he put one foot in front of the other. He did not have to knock - the door opened almost the second he reached it. Feliciano looked up, his breath freezing and his heart stopping, into a face like Ludwig's but older; stern and serious and framed by waist-length white hair. Ludwig's grandfather. He regarded Feliciano blankly, raised an eyebrow, and flicked his eyes to Roderich and back. Feliciano just stared.

"Please, sir, I…" Feliciano stopped when he realised he was speaking Italian. He thought frantically, but every single word he knew in both German and English abruptly flew from his mind. He was not even sure he could properly manage Italian. He froze in panic for a moment before saying simply, "Ludwig."

The stern German's eyes softened slightly. His next words were in English. "The little Italian, I presume."

"Feliciano." The word came out as a breathless whisper.

"Feliciano." The tall German looked Feliciano up and down with steely blue eyes, then took one steady step back and nodded down the hallway behind him. "The last door."

Feliciano stared blankly. He understood the words, but somehow, he did not know how to accept them. The last door… After all these years, could it really be this easy? Ludwig's grandfather did not repeat himself, however, and eventually Feliciano forced himself to take that long, slow, momentous step across the threshold of the doorway.

Feliciano had been racing and running for the last three days, desperate to keep going and keep moving. But now, here, at the end of the voyage and with Ludwig at the end of the hall, he could barely take a step. It was both too real and too illusory, as Feliciano walked slowly down the hallway in an almost trancelike daze. Images drifted past the corners of his vision: paintings and photographs on the soft white walls, light through the open doors cutting rectangles onto the dark green carpet. Sounds floated, ethereal, through the pulsing silence: a floorboard creaking, a bird singing outside. It all flowed across his senses, sharp and dull, but Feliciano barely noticed any of it. His gaze remained locked on that final door; his very bones felt drawn towards the end of the hall.

Because in the end, the whole journey had led Feliciano here. The car that took him from the only village he had ever known; the train that carried him through places he'd only dreamt of; the shiny black automobile on the road outside that finally brought Feliciano here, to the most important place in the world. To this house, and this corridor, and that door at the end of the hall.

But it was a longer journey than that. A journey that had started four years ago, on a warm winter afternoon, when a kind German officer with sky-blue eyes first gazed down at Feliciano in the sunlight. A journey Feliciano had remembered and recreated so many times it seemed almost fantastical. Speeches of flying and lavender and loyalty; words spoken in too-lyrical German and too-strong Italian. Stolen glances and songs of resistance, language lessons and soccer games beneath a gnarled old oak tree. Falling against Ludwig's military jacket in a narrow alley that echoed with gunshots; wearing that very same jacket, studded with green leaves and rosemary, during a simple, calm, beautiful walk into the hills. Every day of waiting, every hour of not knowing, every endless second of being without the person Feliciano needed more than anything else in the entire world. All of it had led him here. Every step Feliciano had taken for the last four years had led him here.

But after waiting so long, these last few steps of the journey were almost too much to take. Clenching anxiety rose in Feliciano's chest; hot panic clawed at his throat. What if Ludwig had changed? What if he had moved on? Feliciano's head swam briefly… oh Lord, oh God, what if Ludwig had forgotten him? Feliciano's head felt light as his pulse pounded in his ears. He had been so excited the day before… where had this crippling terror come from? Surely these fears were nonsensical - surely he was being ridiculous. But this situation was too strange, too real; it was too much, too close…

After a deep, dark eternity, Feliciano finally reached the end of the hall. He ran his trembling hand gently over the wooden door - dark, smooth, heavy – then turned the polished handle shakily, pushing it open with an almost painful hesitation. He felt numb, like he was watching all this from far away. Numb to the sensation of his heart pounding in his chest, of sweat beading on his brow; numb to the heavy tread of his feet on the ground. Feliciano stepped nervously, cautiously, desperately, into a small, green courtyard. The warm scent of lavender and rosemary drifted on the cool, fresh air, reassuringly familiar and comforting. Sunlight streamed brilliantly through an intricately latticed ceiling, illuminating the bright, open room, brightening rows of flowers and potted plants and dark wooden furniture. And there, in the corner…

Feliciano froze. His breath stopped; his bones locked. It was only a brief, still, stunned moment before he gasped deeply and put his hands over his eyes. "I'm dreaming." The words came out faintly, unbidden, and he did not know if he spoke them in Italian or English. He could not even look. Of course he was dreaming… because how could he be here? How could Ludwig be here? Feliciano's hands shook against his face; his breath sounded fast and heavy in his ears. He had imagined this meeting a thousand times, played it over and over in his mind, and now that it was happening, he didn't know what to do. It was too wonderful to be real, and he was so scared to look, and oh, God, what if this was all…

"Feliciano."

Ludwig's quiet whisper sliced through the still, rushing, pulsing silence. It cut through Feliciano's ears, his head, his heart, and mended all the broken pieces that had lay shattered inside him for years. For one brief, black, silent moment, the world ended. When it flooded back, Feliciano was surprised to find himself still standing. He lifted his hands, opened his eyes, and Ludwig was still there. Still sitting beside the window, still gazing back silently, still a calm and perfect image from Feliciano's memories and dreams. But this time, finally, Feliciano would not have to wake up. Praying his legs would not give out, Feliciano tore across the room. He fell to his knees, threw his arms around Ludwig's shoulders, and finally let the relentless tears that had been building inside him for so long come pouring out. "Ludwig…"

Ludwig gasped and embraced Feliciano desperately, surrounded him with strong arms, almost lifted him from the floor in a frantic embrace. Feliciano could not contain his sobs of relief. He was back where he belonged. He hid his face in Ludwig's chest, clutched at his shirt, touched him and felt him and breathed him. Ludwig's heavy breath sounded broken and unsteady in Feliciano's ears; his chest rose and fell rapidly against Feliciano's cheek. Everything outside this moment disappeared. The haziness in Feliciano's head cleared and sharpened until there was nothing in the world but Ludwig holding him. Feliciano barely managed to speak, choking out shaky words against Ludwig's chest. "Ludwig, please… please tell me…"

"I'm here, Feliciano." Ludwig spoke into Feliciano's hair, his voice heavy and rough. "I'm here with you."

Wild, overflowing, unbearable joy rose in Feliciano's chest. He was made whole with Ludwig's words, and could only laugh at the overwhelming sensation of relief. He could only lean into Ludwig, could only melt into his embrace and feel all of him. Ludwig's skin, his hair, his heartbeat; that still-familiar scent, that strong, gentle warmth. Warm fingertips brushed the tears from his cheeks, and when Feliciano finally looked up, Ludwig stared back as though Feliciano was the only thing that had ever existed or ever mattered.

Ludwig's face was older, thinner. A long, deep scar ran under his eye and across his cheek. His heart clenching, Feliciano reached out and traced a finger lightly over that raised, red scar, as though he could wipe it away. What had caused such a thing? What had been done to him? At the touch of Feliciano's hand, Ludwig closed his eyes and turned his head. Feliciano froze at the movement. Oh, what if Ludwig thought he was disgusted? What if he thought Feliciano was horrified? Feliciano could not stand Ludwig to think that, so he leant forward quickly, unthinkingly, and pressed his lips against the scar. Ludwig's breath stuttered and he returned the kiss, gently, against Feliciano's cheek. His breath tickled Feliciano's ear as he whispered, "Feliciano…"

Feliciano's heart soared. Because a scar meant nothing. Because Ludwig was beautiful, and breathtaking, and perfect, and his eyes were still the bluest thing Feliciano had ever seen. "Ludwig. You are…" Feliciano could finally believe it. He ran his hands over Ludwig's face, touched his lips, and he had to gasp for air, breathless from his laughter and his tears. "You are here. Ludwig, I missed you - I missed you so much, and I didn't know if you…"

"I know, Feliciano." Ludwig's hand rested, warm and heavy, on Feliciano's cheek. He brushed the corner of Feliciano's eye with his thumb. "My Feliciano…" Ludwig was older, and changed, but he was also just as Feliciano remembered. Feliciano felt warm, after being cold for so long; he felt right, when things had been so wrong. He was found, after so many years being lost. This was overwhelming and amazing and beautiful and perfect and bright and wonderful, and yet none of those words meant anything, because no mere words could possibly describe this.

Feliciano leant into Ludwig's hand, grasped it with his own. His racing pulse pounded swiftly between their fingers. "I said I would come, Ludwig. Remember? I told you I would come for you if you… if you did not come for me."

Ludwig's eyes darkened, like he did not know whether to laugh or cry, and he whispered. "Yes. I remember."

Feliciano pressed himself closer against Ludwig, ran his hands over his face, his arms, his hair… "And I waited. I waited so long, but I said I would wait, remember - I told you I would wait forever…"

Ludwig's hands trembled, but only slightly. "It's all right." Ludwig held Feliciano tightly, strongly. After all, Ludwig was always the strong one. Feliciano knew Ludwig would keep him from falling apart. "It's all right, Feliciano…"

Ludwig ran a hand soothingly over Feliciano's hair, but the words kept tumbling out, unthinking, as though Feliciano was trying to release the feelings that crowded his chest. He had not anticipated the full, striking effect of this moment; had not realised how strong this would be. "… and… and I worried, also. I worried, and then when Roderich came for me instead of you I thought something might be wrong, isn't that silly?" Feliciano laughed, but Ludwig lowered his eyes. "Oh Ludwig, I was so surprised when Roderich turned up and…" Feliciano did not know how to handle these emotions flooding though him. It was suddenly too much to deal with. "Oh, Ludwig, Roderich is here too! You must come and say hello!"

Feliciano wanted to stay with Ludwig forever. He wanted this to be the way it always was, like the entire world had disappeared, like no one else existed. But these feelings running through him were so strong they were painful, so strange; and he needed to breathe, he needed air; he need to stop, needed to fall deeper… Feliciano tore his hands from Ludwig, forced himself to his feet, and turned – because it was the only way he would stop falling apart. He did not hear Ludwig move behind him, however, and turned to see him still sitting.

All Feliciano could think to do was call him. "Come on, Ludwig!"

Ludwig stared up at Feliciano for an endless moment, his blue eyes strangely lost and empty. The gaze seemed to last for hours. But finally Ludwig breathed out heavily and lowered his head. The simple movement turned Feliciano's blood cold. He stilled, frozen; unable to move, unable to blink. Unable to think it. "Ludwig?" A small, unanswered whisper. "Ludwig, stand up."

Ludwig did not reply. Feliciano's heart dropped, slowly and heavily. A burning chill ran down his spine. He suppressed the sudden thoughts and memories that spun through his head - I am here on behalf of one who can not come himself…

Feliciano shook Roderich's words from his mind. He was over thinking… he was misinterpreting… This time Feliciano said the words firmly, desperately, with a hint of panic. "Ludwig. Stand up, Ludwig."

Ludwig closed his dark blue eyes, slow and silent in the fading sunlight that streamed through the latticed ceiling. The silence lasted too long before he spoke, low and soft and broken. "I can't."

Feliciano paused for a moment. He could not understand the words. He paused to think, to forget, to ignore. Then he shook his head determinedly. He managed one word through the tears that refused to stop falling. "Why?"

"A parting gift from the Russians." Ludwig's voice was still low, still soft. Still broken. His eyes opened slowly, staring at the ground. "A bullet to the spine."

A long silence. "... oh." Feliciano was not sure if he did not understand, or if he did not want to.

Again, it took too long for Ludwig to continue. "I can't stand up, Feliciano. I can't… can't walk. I never will." Ludwig broke off, shuddering, and still Feliciano could not move. Still could not understand. "That's why I'm here." Ludwig spoke with his eyes on the ground, with his hands in his lap. He looked like he was apologising. "Do you think I would be sitting in this room, in this house, in Germany, if I could walk? Do you really think I wouldn't have done anything, everything, to…" Ludwig broke off again. He looked out the window beside him, blinked firmly, breathed deeply before he could finish the sentence. "… to get to you?"

Feliciano could barely move. Seeing his strong, brave Ludwig look so lost and broken was too unexpected. Because always, since the first moment they had met, Ludwig had been the strong one. He had been the one to hold Feliciano, to calm him; to accept him, to sustain him. Even these last few years, not knowing Ludwig's position or his fate, Ludwig had been Feliciano's strength - the very strength Feliciano had clung to when everything else had fallen apart. But now, seeing Ludwig unsure like this, Feliciano realised that he could be the strong one. He was strong enough to accept this – he was strong enough to keep Ludwig from breaking apart.

Feliciano stood still for only the briefest moment more. "Don't cry, Ludwig." He walked to Ludwig slowly. Again he dropped to his knees, a dull, broken thud in the silence, and ran a shaking hand across Ludwig's cheek. Ludwig reached for Feliciano, a stark desperation in his face, and pulled him back into his arms. Feliciano leant into Ludwig's neck, breathing that scent that was still so familiar after four long years. He whispered, brokenly. "Don't cry, Ludwig, because it's all right." Feliciano breathed through these settling, familiar feelings, and he accepted this - because this was all right. This was Ludwig, and Feliciano could do this for him. Feliciano could do anything for him.

Ludwig's damp eyelids fluttered closed against Feliciano's cheek. His deep voice sounded pained and devastated. "I'm sorry you came all this way, just to…"

"No." Feliciano said it firmly. He drew back and placed his fingers on Ludwig's soft lips, stopping him before he could say it. He shook his head determinedly. "Don't ever apologise. Don't think of me like that, Ludwig. Don't think that this matters to me like that."

Ludwig nodded, slowly. "I know, I…" He smiled as though realising, as though understanding. "Of course. I know." He laughed, breathlessly, and it was the most beautiful sound Feliciano had ever heard. "Feliciano…"

"Ludwig…" Feliciano smiled back, his chest swelling, and it was like every feeling, every sensation, every particle of joy and longing and aching and bliss hit him at once. He felt lost again in those blue eyes, and this could have been any of those precious, golden moments he'd spent with Ludwig. It was familiar, it was eternal, and it was a new beginning. He'd felt this before, but now there was no one to stop them and no war to break them apart. Everything merged, joined, defined into a joyful uncontainable realisation, like nothing Feliciano could have ever imagined. It burst through his mind and his head and his body, like an explosion of light, and Feliciano laughed and shouted. "I'm here with you!"

Ludwig laughed, pulled Feliciano close, and with their arms around each other and their tears mingling on their cheeks, Ludwig finally pressed his lips to Feliciano's. Everything fell into place, complete. Ludwig's lips were soft against his, strong and close and right. Ludwig's arms were firm around him, and it was perfect. Because this was Ludwig. And even if he was broken, he was beautiful.

Feliciano's entire life had existed only to lead him to this moment, to Ludwig, to this single embrace. It was the same as that first kiss under the oak tree, as that perfect kiss in the rain; the same as those shattering kisses in a barn beside a fire, as that last devastating embrace on a silent Italian road. The same joy, the same completion, the same perfection - all of it.

Except that this time, they did not have to say goodbye.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Auf Wiedersehen Sweetheart chapter 16

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marissaofunderground · 5 years

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The Halloween Ball Event, Day 1

[A/N: I’m going to be writing my entries, since I’ve been drawing so much, and with Halloween a week away, writing will be faster, as well as allowing me to tell more of the story. I’ve already drawn some Halloween ball-related art prior to this event, I’ll reblog those when I get to those days as well as add more of a narrative. This event is being hosted by @werewolfpopstar.]

The sun was setting over Inkwell City, the heart of Isle 3. Autumn leaves blew in the crisp breeze as they let go of the branches of their trees, scattering carelessly to the ground below. Dead leaves littered the parks, sidewalks, and the streets. Children played in the fallen leaves as small animals hid beneath them, gathering food for the oncoming winter.

Leaves blew past the door of an office building as it opened for a group of employees who were off work for the evening. Each member was unique in appearance - from a human male to a talking peacock, a plant-like woman to a man whose head was a street lamp. This was Inkwell, where anything could be anyone - and anyone could be anything.

“...and with that, have a good night, everyone,” the Peacock said as the group of office workers stepped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

“Goodnight!” chimed in the plant woman. “Get home safely, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You too,” said the man. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” nodded the lamp-man. “See you tomorrow too. Goodnight, then.”

The lamp man waved goodbye as the office workers parted ways for the evening. Hands in his pockets, he went in the direction of the nearest bus stop. A chilly wind nipped his glass face as the city around him began to darken and the lights of the stores and businesses around him grew brighter. Having reached the end of the street, the bus stop sign standing proudly, the lamp-man took a seat on the bench next to it when he heard a female voice ask:

“Lewis?”

The lamp turned upon hearing his name. Approaching him was a rosy maple moth woman, his girlfriend.

“Rosie! Didn’t expect to see you here,” Lewis exclaimed.

“Surprise,” Rosie said with a smile. “I decided to come out here to see you rather than wait for you at home,” the moth explained. “Because I got something to ask you about, and I thought we’d talk about it now, what do you think?”

“It’s not serious, is it?” asked Lewis with concern.

“No, no, it’s exciting, actually,” Rosie began to drop the news when the bus came to bring them home. Taking his hand, the couple got on board and paid their fare, gripping the hand-rails of the crowded bus as it started up again on its way.

“Well, as you know, it’s ball season,” Rosie continued, “and there’s many places holding them for Halloween next week. One of these is also running a haunted house as a part of the ball. Would you like to go to that one? If not, there are others.”

“Oh, uh, a haunted house?” Lewis wasn’t sure. He wasn’t the type who enjoyed a scare for fun like Rosie did, but he knew she had fun at them, and it was always good business for the Monster people.

“Um, sure, we could go. I might stay in the ball, but if you want me to come with you, that’s fine.”

“You do what makes you comfortable,” said Rosie. “The haunted house is just an option, there’s plenty of other things to do. Dancing, food, drinks...”

“Yeah, you’re right,” nodded Lewis. “So where is this place?”

“I believe it was called Maryland’s Haunted House? I’ve got the ad for it clipped out on the kitchen counter, we can look it over when we get home, k?”

“That sounds good,” agreed Lewis. The bus had screeched to a halt once more and the couple got off at their stop. It was even darker now and Lewis’ head lit their way back to their apartment.

~~~~~~

After they got back home, they read over the advertisement for the ball. It had the address and the time, listing all the exciting things the ball had to offer, as well as the dress code.

“So, you want to go to this one?” Lewis asked.

“Do you?” Rosie asked in return.

“How about it, then?” Lewis nodded and set down the ad. “I’ll be alright, regarding the haunted house.”

“Okay, my sweet.” Rosie kissed her love on the cheek. “I’m gonna start dinner now.” She flitted off to the kitchen and got started.

~~~~~~

The couple were going together, they knew that much. But they also considered some of their friends. Later that evening, Rosie decided to call some friends of theirs to see if they were interested in going.

“I’d l-l-love to,” replied Moanique, a teenage zombie who worked as an engineer for the Phantom Express when she wasn’t attending high school, “b-but Shelley and I are going to the Halloween dance h-h-held at our school.”

“Oh, you have fun!” said Rosie, knowing full well how school dances were an experience that wouldn’t last. She at least hoped that her young friend would enjoy her dance more than she ever enjoyed any she went to when she was Moanique’s age.

“Thank you, w-we will,” Moanique’s voice rang from the other end of the phone. After she hung up, Rosie decided to call Lady Luck, a rather strange friend of theirs who was harder to get ahold of due to where she lived and worked.

“You’ve reached the Devil’s Casino,” an impish voice squeaked on the other end. “I’m Delilah, your receptionist, is there anybody you’d like to speak to?”

“Delilah? Delilah Demon? It’s me, Rosie!”

The little demon perked up at the sound of the Moth’s voice on the other end. “Rosie! I don’t think I’ve seen you since that beach trip over the summer! How’s you, and Lewis?”

“Oh, just great, how have you been? We’re calling to ask if you and Luck would be interested in Maryland’s Haunted House ball this Halloween?”

“That’d be fun, but I think my dad wants me here for his own ball. Luck’s gotta be there too, she’s part of the staff and all.”

“A Halloween ball in the casino? Sounds like a good time!”

“Yeah, if you’re a heavy sinner,” Delilah giggled. “Besides, I don’t think Luck wants to hypnotize any friends of hers when she sings.”

“Fair point,” said Rosie. “Well, tell us all about it! I’d love to come, but I know you’d rather we stay safe.”

“Me and Luck both!” Delilah agreed. “My dad’s almost had your soul once, let’s not have it happen again.”

“Right,” whispered Rosie, remembering that one time. She shook her head. “Hope to see you and Luck some other time then.”

“Yeah! Catch up with ya later! Have fun at your ball, Rosie!”

“Thank you, you too, bye.” The girls hung up, and Rosie sighed, disappointed but understanding about their friends. Different people were going to different balls, but it was the season, after all.

~~~~~~

“So, how’d it go? Anybody coming with us?” asked Lewis as they got ready for bed.

“‘Fraid not,” sighed Rosie. “Second year in a row, and our friends got their own balls to go to.”

“It is what it is,” Lewis reassured her as they got into bed. “We can’t go to the one Luck works at, but when Moanique and her friends graduate, they’re always welcome to join us. That’s only a few years away.”

Rosie giggled. “I wonder what her friends would think of us, two people in their late 20s, possibly our early 30’s by then, hanging out with them,”

“They’d probably get over it eventually,” pondered Lewis. “The older you get, the more age becomes just a number.”

“Very true,” Rosie yawned. “At least we’re going somewhere together.” She cuddled into him, enjoying the feeling of his warmth and embrace, returning the gesture with her four arms. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she felt his fingers massaging the base of her wings. She would drift off to sleep in no time.

“Mmh......goodnight.......”

“Night, love.”

#cuphead oc #cuphead ocs #TheHalloweenBallEvent #werewolfpopstar #my writing #does this even count as a fanfic if it only focuses on fan ocs?#my fanfics #lewis lamppost #lewis lampost #rosie mapleton #lightmoth

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mythicallore · 5 years

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The Zanfretta Abductions

Here we have a strange case out of Italy of what may very well be the first recorded encounter with what people commonly refer to as “reptilian” aliens. (If not the first, then the most widely known at the time)

It all started one night in 1978 at the village of Torriglia. Pier Zanfretta was simply making the rounds on his security route when he made to the currently empty home of one of his clients. All of a sudden the lights and engine of his car died. As he was looking around he noticed lights coming from the house and assumed that the home was being burgled. So Zanfretta, with gun and flashlight in hand, decided to sneak around to try and surprise the criminals. However, it was him that would be surprised that night and the shock would change his life forever.

Something touched him on the shoulder and he spun around to meet “An enormous green, ugly and frightful creature, with undulating skin..as though he were very fat or dressed in a loose gray tunic…” Was his original description of the creatures. He would go on to describe them as having large yellow triangles for eyes and points on either side of their faces. He sprinted away and as he made it back to his car, a massive UFO rose up from behind the house. It began to glow and blasted him with a wave of heat before it disappeared completely.

Zanfretta radioed his dispatcher for help. He was rambling and in shock when the found him, saying of his attackers “No, they aren’t men, they aren’t men…my God are they ugly.” He brandished his gun at his comrades, he seemed to not know them and they were forced to knock him to the ground. They were shocked to find how warm his clothes were since it was so cold and icy out.

The Italian Military police were sent out to the area that night after Zanfretta was rescued. The found huge prints possibly created by the UFO’s landing gear that was 9 feet in diameter and horseshoe-shaped. A staggering 52 citizens reported seeing the large UFO around the area of the home at the same time Zanfretta claimed to have seen it.

During the course of the investigation, Zanfretta’s credibility was further increased by a number of people who came forward in defense of his character. A member of the press found it hard to believe a family man, with a stable career and obvious hate for his newfound fame, would willingly make up a story that could cost him so much. However public opinion was against him, he would go on to say to a reporter named Di Stefano “People call me on the phone at all hours to play jokes on me. I don’t know what it was that I saw, but I saw it. I am not a liar…if I could have, I wouldn’t have reported my experiences, now that I see the consequences.” Those words echo modern-day sentiments from many abductees. They often lament talking about what happened to them because of the backlash they received from not only strangers but their own family at times.

So in an attempt to shed some light on what happened, On December 23rd Zanfretta agreed to be hypnotized. Dr. Mauro Moretti, a member of the Italian Association for Medical Hypnosis put him under. Under hypnosis, Zanfretta revealed that the aliens had also abducted him and had taken him to a strange hot room filled with light. There they communicated with him through a glowing device. He found that the strange mouthpieces they wore allowed them to breathe while on earth and that they were from a planet called “Teetonia” somewhere in the “Third galaxy”. The interrogation lasted some time and the creatures revealed that they wanted to speak more and would soon arrive in greater numbers.

Three days after his session with Dr. Moretti, Zanfretta claimed to have been abducted again. This time he said that his car was overtaken and controlled remotely. He was driven through a tunnel before a bright white light flooded the car. His dispatch claimed that he called in at the time in a very controlled voice saying “The car has stopped. I saw a bright light. Now I am getting out.” Hours later he was found by two other guards out in a field by his car in a heavy rain. Zanfretta was weeping, crying out “They say I must leave with them. What about my children? I don’t want to…I don’t want to.” The military police were called and found to their confusion that Zanfretta’s clothes were completely dry despite the rain and that the roof of his car was “as hot as an oven.” Shocking them as well was the 20-inch boot prints that surrounded the car.

A full report was filed on January 3, 1979, and labeled “Report on the Sighting of Unidentified Flying Objects by Fortunato Zanfretta.” The military police later went on to say that the reliability of these events actually occurring was “good”. After this Zanfretta began to receive even more attention and scrutiny. He was examined by neurologist Dr. Giorgio Gianniotti who found that “…The man is in a state of shock, but he is perfectly sane.” This, however, did little to stop the harassment so he once again agreed to undergo hypnosis but this time he allowed it to be televised.

In this session, Zanfretta claimed that the device they used to speak with him was a glowing helmet and it caused him a great deal of pain. They took his gun and fired it, some would speculate in an effort to see if human weaponry could hurt them. They expressed an interest in taking him with them to which he responded with “I know that you need me, but I don’t want to. I like to be alone. I have two children. I feel good this way…and after all, you are not human beings. You are horrible.” Hundreds watched but the scrutiny only increased further. Eventually, things died down, until he was abducted yet again.

Zanfretta and his motorcycle were found on the summit of Mount Fasce. None of the locals had seen him drive up the only road that led to the top. This time Zanretta insisted that he be given sodium penathol, the “truth serum”. Under it, he claimed that he had been picked up by a green light. The doctor who administered the drug confirmed to the press “No human being can knowingly lie while he is under treatment, so I think it’s very probable Zanfretta had these encounters.” (It was not known at the time just how malleable a person’s perception becomes while under sodium penathol, even allowing for the implantation of false memories. One of the reasons it is no longer used as a truth serum.”)

His forth abduction was not an encounter he would have alone. After he disappeared in December of 1979, four members of his security company were sent to find him. They found instead a strange glowing “cloud” which shot out two beams of light at their cars, killing the engines. One of them shot at the UFO, which then went dark and faded out of sight. The encounter proved too much for another, who later ended his own life with a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Now for some crazy stuff.

As if it weren’t off the wall enough. Zanfretta says that while filling up his car with gas after the last encounter a strange man came up to him. The mansupposedly was bald with an egg-shaped head and wearing a checkered suit with a chest-plate made of steel. The man’s voice compelled him to follow and he was shown a ship filled with strange beings in jars. Some “frog-shaped” others more birdlike or even similar to a “caveman”. The being tried to give him a sphere that would humanity to know who they were and how they lived. He was instructed to give the gift to Dr. J. Allen Hynek in America, who as a premier UFO researcher at the time. Zanfretta did not do this however and instead claimed to have buried the object somewhere.

His last hypnosis session with Dr. Moretti was the oddest session of all. He made strange sounds, spoke in an unknown language and said things like “Question with negative answer, tixel…you can’t work out anything in a case like this. To believe or not to believe doesn’t mean anything: each thing in its own time.”

That was the last encounter Zanfretta would have with the beings but his description of the man in the checkered suit echoes a being encountered by others. In November of 1966, in West Virginia, A Woodrow Derenberger had an encounter with a strange vehicle pouring flames from both ends and shaped like a lamp. A smiling man stepped out and spoke to him without moving his lips. Claimed his name was “Indrid Cold.” He was baled with an egg like head and wanted to know more about UFO sightings in the area. The same manwas spotted by two boys behind a fence, where he was dubbed the Grinning Man and was seen in Point Pleasant around the same time as the Mothman sightings.

“Honey, did you order a subscription to the Watchtower?”

I have a theory that this Grinning Man may, in fact, be a Man in Black. Reports of them indicate that they seem shockingly similar. Bald, fancy suits, asking and talking about UFO encounters. Always giving off an otherworldly feel and disappearing as quickly as the arrived.

#paranormal #aliens #abduction #supernatural

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anjana-sen · 5 years

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Sapphire Lodge - Quaint & Haunted with Fjord View

by Dr. Anjana Sen

I am staying at the Sapphire Lodge by the Mirage Valley overlooking the Mist Cavern in the outskirts of Magnolia fjord. The Lodge is halfway uphill, with 500-700 meter high cliff lines both at the back and frontside.

I wanted to stay by the onset of spring-time, before I make a decision to purchase (and thereby squander a fortune). Spring comes quite late here, and unusually late this year. The lodge seemed a bit atypical to me because of its combined stone-log structural built. I have a great fascination for stone-log cabins, particularly in the wilderness.

However, this is way far from being called a “cabin”. Idyllic, remote, secluded, rocky, rugged terrain with foggy cedar-birch forest, far away from 10th floor board meetings and financial district mayhem. But not just bleak emptiness.

What a coincidence,…..Silver and Sapphire. Magnolia and moon. These have long been the theme of my life. And weeping willows suit perfect with my solitary disposition.

I visited this place last autumn. The guards and caretakers keep this place securely locked up. That might have saved this classic treasure from vandals, paranormal-enthusiasts and explorers but upgraded very little in the renovation efforts.

The North-West part of the mansion was in relatively poor condition.

Conversely, the South-East wing of the mansion, “The Sapphire Lodge”, where I will be staying for now, is in much better shape and safer as well.

Last year when I took a very brief tour inside the mansion, I felt like verging on getting lost in a labyrinth. Its perplexing floor-plans seemed to be a complex series of countless doors after doors, rooms after rooms, lounges, parlours and salons, porticos and windows, galleries and libraries, lobbies, terraces, secret chambers, assembly halls, banquette halls, ballrooms, frequent staircases after staircases, endless corridors after corridors, covert tunnels and lavishly decorated ceilings and walls.

The North-West wing is mostly full of abandoned clutter, antique handicrafts, sculpture, art objects, ornate rugs, lamps, wall brackets, crockery, damaged paintings, ancient wood doors, windows, monographs, daily-life items, and more.

What distinctly mesmerized me was the wine-cellar with its exquisite wood-carvings, and the remarkable collection of vintage wine; now merely a dilapidated crawl-space almost obliterated by cobwebs.

“Tomorrow I am planning a whole day on a library ladder somewhere in this wing of the villa, devouring hardcover treatises from another century”, I promised to myself. I can hardly wait.

That time I spent half an hour at the most, and made a rushed assessment. The libraries and chandeliers in the mansion particularly attracted my attention, as always, and distracted me, to be honest. So I had to draw a rather vague floor plan in my head, which I noted down on paper ......back home.

The North-West wing is colossal and spread out in an L-shape. Considerably larger than the South-East part. I explored the North-West wing in the past, when it was in better condition, not as perilous as it is now.

This mansion is a hidden gem, architecture-wise, but nobody is interested to purchase it. It used to be frequented by hunter groups using it as a hunting lodge. Rumors of haunting and mysterious spooky incidents that go on in this villa have kept people away for decades. Now its glorious past is forgotten. It’s abandoned. Wild grove has taken over. Nobody stayed here last 15-20 years.

On my long drive here, a nebulous crescent moon in the background of hazy grey-peach sky on its way to the direction of the South-West was staring down at me. The location and timing indicates that it’s a waxing crescent.

I relished a spectacular sunset through the askew terrains and hills in nuances of dark olive and sepia, even though I heard on the radio about the quickly approaching bad weather in the late evening today.

I passed through wide uninhabited natural forest areas of 20-30 meter high nearly 200 year old murmuring cedar and birch trees, from the foothills all the way up to about 2000 meter altitude.

On arrival, a very familiar fragrance of high-quality cheroots, incense sticks, wild flowers and lime oil gave me a nostalgic feeling, and I almost heard a sort of hypnotizing whispers in my ears, as if the lodge is saying it’s my long-lost home. It wasn’t an uncanny feeling, but a mystifying ambience.

Large glass windows along with the sliding glass door from the ceiling to the floor are occupying the entire front-wall of the living room.

In front, far off on the remote shore, dense forest borders the landscape in conjunction with the cove on the right corner (South side), whereas, on the East side (left corner), the old lighthouse is not clearly visible at the moment because of the thick mist in the background of deep murky birch and spruce forest, under the gloomy sky, which is gradually turning into an appearance of smoked silver.

In the late afternoon, I settled down in an antique bamboo armchair by the fire. A light knitted blanket is loosely spread on my feet. The wood-burning fireplace is on its way to succumb to ashes, leaving a pleasant fragrance and more of a smokey shadowy surrounding.

On the corner table, an antique lantern of hazy glass lampshade is giving dim light from its quivering flame.

The heavy curtains were slightly open for me to look out to the dreary weather. Light sleet has started silently. To my dismay, this seemed to be utterly contrary to my plan and expectation!

I frowned, since I was really looking forward to gaze at a picturesque panorama view of starry night, a dreamy setting moon over the fishing boats, canopy of arctic willows, listening to cicadas. Well…..apparently not today.

I turned my attention from outdoor to the interior. Other than armchair, foot-rest and lantern, there are velvety sofas, low sofa-table of glass, heavy rugs, few faded oil-paintings depicting seascapes, lighthouses and hillside farmhouses, also wicker sideboard, bookcase, glass-cabinet and grandfather floor-clock, which must be the leftover that didn’t qualify for last year’s auction.

Suddenly through the corner of my eye, it appeared to me as if the glass-cabinet door is moving. Well,…it looked like an apparition standing in front of it and is trying to shake it open! As soon as I chuckled, “Here we go……..”, a knocking sound started behind the fireplace, but only a few times, then it stopped! What was that about?

By now I have realized, absolute tranquility that I was expecting does not exist. Incessant rounds of violent gusts are blowing through the dense forest, almost to the extent of harsh disruption. And the forest is waking up from its hibernation, responding back with a jarring sound, leaving a whispering echo, which I am listening to with my eyes half-closed.

I noticed now, the line of horizon distinguishing between the remote coast-line and the sky has started to disappear behind the grey mist, becoming more and more obscure, and soon invisible.

When I started to feel sort of a damp chill in the air, I shivered and pondered, should I bring more fire-woods and enjoy a little bit light reading or get ready for bed. I rummaged through the bookcase only to find old magazines, catalogues and news-reviews. I frowned, I feel like reading something else.

I turned to the rear side of the ground floor and stepped outside the drawing room area. After two dark corridors, right turn at a half-empty gallery and two small steps up, there comes ground floor’s large bedroom first, then kitchen and bathroom farther back. Staircase to the upper floors is located next to the kitchen, and at the side of the bathroom, a dark narrow hallway leading to the North-West wing of this villa. This passage is actually “blind”. In order to block direct access, it’s most certainly kept shut at the other end, even though that cannot be seen from here.

The ground floor bedroom looks charming but outdated, it has a large four-poster bed with silk brocade frills. Hmmm,………..I contemplated the choice of floor and choice of bedroom. I never liked the idea of ground floor bedrooms. This is something that has always made me uncomfortable for some unknown reasons. I took the stairs to inspect further upstairs. I can see it’s not an open staircase. The door at the top end of the staircase is locked with a padlock.

The floor plan drawings in my head are rather vague. This is unexpected, but anyway. I came back down to find the keys. The first place I would look is the top of the fireplace. And…yes! There it is. A large key ring of total…. 7 keys. After trying 4 keys, the fifth one opened the padlock. But I wasn’t ready for what was coming next.

As soon as I pulled open the door, I’m sure I heard a sort of a creaking sound, as if somebody is tiptoeing in there on the old wood floor. But nobody is supposed to be here,…..or anywhere in this villa at the moment. The staircase door was locked until now, and I just opened the lock 5 seconds ago !!! There is no other access route, as far as I know. I froze at the doorway and the sound stopped. Burglar? I had an eerie feeling, and it made me worried.

Oh no,…………I didn’t have my flashlight in my pocket. Should have brought the oil lamp from downstairs. But soon I noticed a dim ray of light as I stepped into a lounge area. The first floor in this section seemed to have an open lounge area with assorted dining furniture and glass walls on both South and East sides, opening to an attached covered terrace on the South-East corner.

Obviously there is nobody in here. I had no idea why the wood-floor made that creaking sound even before I stepped on it. Must be some other very familiar sounds caused by very common things, like the water-droplets trickling down the chimney, or the wind blowing into its top. I didn’t feel like thinking too much about that right now.

There are two additional bedrooms on either side of the first floor, one of them being relatively larger than the other. Another elegant bathroom at the rear side as well. The dim quivering light rays were actually coming from the corner room, which turned out to be a medium size library. Yes, I remember now.

I can see that, one bedroom has the view of the cavern in the fjord, and the other, the larger one is overlooking the lighthouse. Moreover, this larger bedroom overlooking the lighthouse also has a fireplace itself! “Superb!” I mumbled to myself. Then there is no point of staying by the fire downstairs. I will bring up some fire-woods upstairs, start this fireplace instead and sleep in this cozy bed.

OK perhaps I need the blanket from downstairs. First I wanted to check out the library. There is an antique oval center table and a similar lantern is sitting on top of it. Who lit this lamp in here, while this floor was locked?

All the walls are filled with large bookcases containing old hardcover classics. There are also some paperbacks and some handwritten manuscripts. “Hurrah!” I mumbled again. Surrounded by antique furniture and hardcover classics in a quaint mountain lodge and shopping at the farmer’s market would be paradise for me.

I quickly set down the large key-ring from my hand on the center table next to the burning lamp in the library, and went back downstairs to fetch the blanket, which was now hanging at the back of the sofa in the ground floor living room. Is this the way I left it? Hmmm…… I am getting confused again. OK, never mind.

When I went back to the bedroom upstairs with the blanket, I felt stupid. Only if I opened the small closet in this bedroom sooner. There are two thick soft quilts in there. Those I could use on the bed. There are extra pillows as well in a wicker chest in the other bedroom here.

Abruptly, I caught a glimpse of something white, and a faint scent. My eyes fell upon a small pile of gardenia flowers, which were lying on the small bed-side table !!! No, not artificial ones, they are real ones. Fresh and wet. I can swear they were not there when I first time came in to this bedroom a few minutes ago. And how would someone know about my fascination with gardenia?! How would someone even obtain those tropical beauties in this part of the globe?! Ok, whatever.

As I was closing the wardrobe in the bedroom, suddenly something caught my eyes through the bedroom window. The steady illumination from the lighthouse is still piercing through the bleak weather, as usual, but….what’s that over there?!! Some strange light out in the pitch-dark gravel path……almost like a group of fireflies. Not only that,…….a dark figure (a person?) was walking towards the lodge.

Who’s out there in this weather in this remote solitary region that does not even have a railroad or a post-office whatsoever? That eerie feeling is back again. One of the watchmen perhaps? No, not before the season starts. Even the lighthouse-keeper’s cottage is empty, and that’s a long walk from here.

It’s hard to see because of the tall dense foliage of the high hedges along the pebble-fence in the premises, and 10-20 meter high Rhododendrons, which are almost guarding or hiding this villa from the outsiders. I went down all the way to the ground floor living room, but by that time that obscure figure had disappeared or perhaps turned around the left corner.

The main entrance port is not really on the ground floor level, it’s located halfway below, on a semi-basement level, with a few stone-steps leading to a foyer, so that the real ground floor is elevated to a rather higher level, making me unable to see all the way down beyond the turns of the gravel path. I am absolutely certain that I locked the main port properly myself, and the port is considerably robust.

“Don’t worry about that”, I assured myself, “I was mistaken.” Now I need to go get some fire-woods from the utility-shed at the back of the lodge.

I pulled out my flashlight from my overnight-case, ran upstairs again to fetch the key-ring from the library table, opened the back-door of the ground floor, sauntered through a dark hall-way, took a few stone-steps, and arrived in front of the boiler-room-utility-room area at the end of the hallway. This annex area, built adjacent to the main structure, is not totally indoor, not totally outdoor either.

The drizzle was brutally whipping me. Thank god I didn’t have to go out for fire-woods. According to the weather report, this drizzle is going to turn into heavy downpour of hail after midnight. The dew drops at dawn are definitely going to form ice crystals.

Right behind starts a wide expanse of backwoods and plantation. I stood there for a while and fantasized about a perfect blend of North and South, Besalύ and Undredal.…..a backyard, pink-purple lupine and rhododendron, fragrance of lavender, gardenia, magnolia, …..blended with intoxicating smell of lime leaves, coriander, basil, eucalyptus, faint glow of moonbeam,……ahh.

Both utility-rooms were locked with padlocks. I unlocked the rooms, filled a large pale with fire-woods, checked that there is plenty of hot water for my night-time shower and then locked the rooms. On my way back through dark hall-way, just by chance my eyes suddenly looked up to the direction of the North-West wing, and my jaws dropped. There is a bright light in the attic room and a silhouette figure is standing there!!!

The South-East wing, where I am staying, does not have any attic room, but the middle part of the North-West wing is a colossal three-and-a-half floor building with that attic room on the top. The North-West wing is not safe to live in, and hence barricaded by the authority. All the rooms, corridors and access-tunnels have old-fashioned padlocks on. It’s practically impossible for outsiders or criminals to…..just barge in.

I looked again. That head, that build, form and shape of the body have a creepy likeness to something very familiar to me. Cannot figure out what at the moment. It was quite baffling, and I was apprehensive, but not really panic-stricken. Not yet anyway.

I shut the back-door carefully and went back upstairs feeling a little bit jumpy. What’s happening? I went into the bedroom to start fire in the fire-place. Suddenly a metal-glass clinking or rattling sound in this mute deserted villa startled me and made me look up, and I noticed that the chandelier is now swaying like a pendulum, as if mild earthquake is going on, or somebody smacked it. There was no reason for that kind of movement. I told to myself, “Who’s trying to scare me off ??” I went back to the library.

And I froze once again.

I can swear I saw the hurricane lantern of hazy glass lampshade was the only thing that was sitting on the oval center table, and I can swear I left the key-rings right next to it. Oh yeah, I also came second time to fetch the keys. But now,… there is something lying next to the lantern on the table. It looked like one of those hand-written manuscripts from the shelves over there by the East-side wall. And it’s lying open.

I am now leaning forward on the table. No, I am wrong! Not manuscript. It’s actually a sort of ancient diary. Sapphire colored soft cover with gold borders. Not turquoise, not aquamarine, Sapphire! And the ancient yellow-brown water-damaged pages of fibrous pulp. Moreover, as I notice now, the page that was open, is 30 April ! Today! 200 years ago!

My freezing cold trembling fingers hesitantly picked up the diary. Somebody has written in violet ink, which is mostly faded but legible, “The gardenia in the bedroom cheered me up today.” “I saw a dark shadowy figure in the attic. Then I discovered a dead-body lying in the South-East corner library floor.”

I felt my arms and knees starting to get severely debilitated and getting almost paralyzed. Reminiscence flashed in my eyes, and certain words started ringing in my ears, “my long-lost home”, the words first came to my mind the very moment I entered Sapphire Lodge !

I warily turned to the East wall, and now………there is no shelf anymore. The whole wall has now turned into some kind of glossy shiny plate, like a home-movie. An entity, sort of two-dimensional, is appearing, but my eyes failed to recognize what it is.

I came out of the library like a zombie, petrified and traumatized. On my last visit, I made sure to note down all access tunnel-routes / passage-ways in my head. And I am 200% sure, there was absolutely no access to this floor area from the other parts of the mansion. But….now….I can clearly see a pitch-dark tunnel has appeared on the right side of the staircase. And it’s connecting directly to the North-West wing. It didn’t even exist few minutes ago, when I carried the pale upstairs!

My blood has turned into ice. Right in front of my blurred eyes, I now see that dark shadowy entity is emerging from the North-West end of the tunnel and sauntering towards me!

Now there is no doubt why this physical structure in the attic looked so familiar to me, when I first saw it while carrying fire-woods. It’s me, no doubt. Only difference is, the face is upside down !!!

I staggered back in to the library, stumbled and collapsed. Fragile yellow-brown pages turned into crisp beige, faded ink turned into bright violet, 200 years’ ignominious past disintegrated and vanished mercilessly in dismal emptiness, as deluge of hail started.

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levi-ish · 6 years

Text

Crimson & Navy [P.P] | Prologue

Summary: It was just one rule, just one, and you happened to break it.

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader

Genre: Romance, a little angsty, mentions of abuse

A/N: This is a 40′s, aged up, cabaret fic and it’ll be only 3 parts, just for fun because I wrote that a long time ago in portuguese and never posted, so I decided to put Peter bc why not and turn it into another project. I hope you guys like it!

Masterlist

[Prologue] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

The soft music that came from the piano played around the room being only audible enough because of the acoustic that came with the walls and the great stage. You pulled the edges from your fur coat to keep the coldness away from your warm body while the sound of your short heels clicked on the dirty sidewalk, earning lots of curious looks from people that didn’t want to mind their own business that night.

You tried not to glance around because you already knew that they must’ve seen you already, so hiding felt more comfortable. Stopping in front of those big doors, your eyes glowed with those lights and the smell of cigarette and leather filled your nostrils. With deep breaths, you pushed them slightly, trying not to get any more attention that you already had.

The crimson color captured your eyes, being the most exuberant light in the whole place. The big wooden counter filled with baristas and drunk men sat by the corner, filled with empty glasses and probably cries from heartbreaks; you saw the tables placed on the floor, leaving space to the dance area that was now empty, just like you.

“Do you want me to take your coat, ma'am?” Asked a man wearing a fitted black suit behind you. Feeling your heartbeats growing quicker from the scare, you smiled sweetly with your red stained lips, showing pearly whites just like the ones that hung around your neck, gracefully. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Of course, you thought to yourself. They would never let a woman alone.

“Oh, yes. He’s just a little behind, but he’ll soon get here” you lied, but your eyes showed him honesty, so the man just quirked his brow from curiosity. Women shouldn’t be alone. They’re women.

You slowly took off your coat, slipping down your shoulders while you turned around, leaving the well placed curls to hang loosely on your back, shaking them just slightly so the perfume could make an appearance. The man placed the coat on a hanger and smiled at you, and you reciprocated.

His eyes followed you for a bit, as if he was waiting for a companion to show up, so you just shrugged your shoulders and hoped that the dress could distract, even if it was for a second, only.

And it did. The man seemed to like your peplum dress that matched your lips and the decoration, emphasizing your presence there. You held tighter to your little purse, playing with the little jewelry glued to the lock while walked confidently to the centre of the counter, glancing at those big curtains that hid the whole stage.

You leaned into the wooden surface, hoping that it wasn’t wet and showed your pearly whites to the barista, a trick you learned since your birth and had been doing since then. He soon came closer with a napkin, wiping another clean glass dry and putting it aside.

“I need to speak to the owner” you said, clicking your lips slowly, so he could be hypnotized by the red lipstick, just like every other man in that room.

He then pointed at the man sitting on a table full of people surrounding with loud laughs and fake smiles that seemed to be there just by interest. The interest of getting something from him.

You then decided to walk there, trying to dodge every table with drunk men just trying to talk to you, but you weren’t interested. The music only got louder and you were hoping that you could take a peak of what would happen on the stage, but you were pretty sure you would have plenty of time to see that later. When you got to the crowd, you cleaned your throat and waited for those people to give you space, and soon, the people that surrounded the man seemed to stare at you, turning attentions to other than the owner.

“Are you Mr. Stark?” You asked, a serious expression framing your face.

“The one and only.” He said, drowning the rest of the liquor that was inside his glass, letting out a loud sigh right after. The man looked polished, dressed in a nice grey suit and black shoes, his hair was pulled back with some gel and a cloud of cologne irradiated from him, almost making your nose twitch. “To whom do I own the pleasure?”

“Names later” you dig your fingers deeper into your purse, your teeth grasping the insides of your cheeks while the slight taste of blood filled your mouth. “Let’s talk business. Is there somewhere more private?”

“You are a bit young to me, darling” he said, a sarcastic laugh showing up.

“But not too young for your business, Mr.” You quirked your eyebrow and he pointed at a little door beside the stage, standing up right away.

“Shall we?”

You nodded and followed the man to the little room. He opened the door like a gentleman and the lights of those various lamps and a little brown couch sat on the corner, inviting you to sit and take off your heels that hurt like hell, but you needed to keep posture. Mr. Stark went to the little bar and opened a whiskey bottle that sent the delicious wooden alcohol smell to your direction, capturing you while you walked around, keeping your back as straight as you could.

“So…” He put the liquid into a glass and closed it, sipping slightly and twitching his face. “What about business?”

“I want a job” you said without thinking twice. You practiced that scene the whole trip to New York and you couldn’t just skip your lines.

The man gagged on the whiskey and put his glass aside, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand and turned into your direction.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to work here” you said again, now sitting down and crossing your legs, showing the power that you never had before. “I’m sure you’re not deaf, sir.”

“I’m not deaf, and I’m definitely blind. A girl like you doesn’t belong here.” Mr. Stark kept going, now pushing a chair in front of you and sitting so you two could be on the same level. “Are you running away or something like that?”

“Something like that.” You teased, smiling from the corner and resting your hands on your lap. “I saw on the newspaper that you were looking for new dancers. It was pretty surprising, since the newspaper doesn’t support places like that, so I wonder who you had to pay for that advertising to show up on third page.”

“You know how to dance?” He quirked his brow again, daring you.

“I’ve been practicing ballet since I was five and I learned how to dance flamenco a few years ago. I’m more than what you’re looking for and you would be a fool to not accept me.”

“You’re pretty bossy for a desperate person.” He said, smiling teasingly.

“I’m not desperate, Mr.” Lies. “I’m just looking for a job. Is that so wrong?”

Mr. Stark seemed thoughtful, leaning back into the chair and sipping on the whiskey once more, licking the rest of the fluids that rested on his lips after that. You played with your purse’s jewels and waited for an answer, pretty anxious about what would happen next.

“Okay. I’ll give you a shot because I see potential in you.” Said the man and you cheered on the inside, smiling quickly so he couldn’t see any vulnerability. “But, there are rules.”

“Alright” you said and crossed your arms with delicacy, placing your manicured hands on your bare arms.

“First one, you have to use a name other than yours” he said and you nodded.

“Second one, you can’t drink while working. It’s a big no-no.” Easy.

“And third one, you can’t interact with clients.” You smiled again, teasingly and feeling relaxed. “This is the most important one, so don’t forget or you’re out.”

This is the most simple thing I had to do my whole life, and my whole life I did simple things. You uncrossed your arms and left the couch, standing right in front of him and offering your hand to him, witch he shook.

“Deal.”

But you didn’t know what was coming for you; or whom.

#peter parker #tom holland #peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #spiderman #tony stark #brazil #spider man: homecoming #avengers #40s #cabaret #fanfiction #mapas writing #bucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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