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punkandsnacks · 4 years ago

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Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter 17; Highlands Part I

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

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Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- slightly naughty bits

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Everything was soft, and warm. Her whole being is snug and safe and lost. Completely lost to sleep and rest.

Mellowness spreading out through each of her limbs like warm embers of an amber fire or a splash of spicy whisky. As if she’s laying in a bath full of silk rose petals and perfectly warm water.

Best sleep she’s ever had in her life. She owes it to the influence of his being near.

Fur pelts and blankets wrapped around her as she’s slumbering on the velvet bench. Curled up in a swathe of them, Kylo smiles, she’s all bundled up, like a little burrowing bug. Her head slumped onto his strong shoulder. Fine wool of his coat scuffing her pale cheek red.

He had his arm around her back and every now and then leaned over and nuzzled his mouth and nose into her hair. Breathing in the plain perfume that he so adored. Kisses her brow. Hints of salty lavender and sage peppermint soap pouring off her. Her skin and her clothes all amalgamated into the encompassing scent of his Iris. The one that he never could resist. The one he knows so dearly by now.

He’s so glad she’s here.

She’s in his arms. It makes him smile he just can’t help it.

He slept a little - in fits and starts mostly. When she’s so warm and sweetly tempting laying her head on his shoulder how could he not? Nestles his nose into her hair and falls asleep too, with a smile on his face, and calm peace taking up his chest. Spreading through him like clouding smoke.

Every muscle in her body coaxed into that sleepy calm lull by a gently rocking motion that sent her engulfed into dreams, like a newborn being swayed in their rocking cradle.

Its the gentle pitch of the coach as it tumbles over rocky highland roads that does it. Crackles and jolts over the stony lanes that cut through the miles and stretching glory of the emerald glens and the heather strewn hills.

He flickers the curtain back from the window his side with his free hand, and milky sunshine spills gold into the scarlet cabin from a clouded heaven.

He peers out the glass, clouded sunshine snatched at his eyes. Quite a stunning vista awaited his attention. He’s used to fish filled lakes, mountain scenery and the lush impossible green of Bavarian landscape under a searing sky. He was made and formed and still sustained, all these years later, by bitter snow and cold rocky climes. Inbetween layers of sinking crushing snow and pine trees was he was formed. Moulded out of such a savage ground as that of his Nordic homeland.

Scotland has a hint of this too: a savagely beautiful terrain. A vast portion of its wilderness remained.

Hulking mountains, the glitter of a loch in the sunshine. Catching like a cascade of sapphires and diamonds in the sun. Dense forest woodlands and rolling hills crested with purple-pink heather. A native plant, as hardy as the landscape and people it sustains.

The sun chips through the clouds and dapples over the valley of the brown-tawny green mountains they’re travelling between. The loch lies spilled and landlocked in the middle. The sky is clear but the wind is howling and icy, and he can feel it’s bitter gale wrapping around the coach.

Scotland is a land he can recall very little of. His previous tours of England over the years kept him mostly in the southern regions. But he remembers some viking settlements on the coasts, in a time when his clans and kin ruled the seas. Pillagers, plunderers and warriors claiming the land for their own like a wandering pack of rabid dogs.

He remembers being at sea, seeing these shores coming into view. Cliffs clearing out of the misty horizon. Stood at the front of the langskip as it rowed him closer to a new land. Some slithers of his memory can still recall.

The woven tunic rasping his cold skin. The taste of sea salt crusted on his lips. Cruel heavy rain pelting into his braids and stinging his head like a thousand needles. The studded leather cuffs and tunic he wore cold from the exposed elements of a ruthless sea. His usual black fur wolf pelt lining his massive shoulders. He can recall how long his hair was back in those days. Braided and knotted and twined with silver ornaments. Kohl smeared on his already dark eyes. He made quite the picture of a savage.

He was on this island a mere two months before he sailed back home. And fate would set its hand on the path towards him being turned by Draegan during that portentous battle.

How different it all is now. Being here, in these very different, yet same, highlands, all these centuries later. With his perfect love of his life, under his arm. On their path towards matrimony.

However dishonourable their actions to get them here. He would’ve slaughtered the whole county if that’s what it took.

He strongly suspected her mother would be in such uproar by now, she’d send for the police or the local magistrate. He can see it now: some six-horse phaeton being governed at impressive speed, by a stony faced police duty constable, haring it down the hair pin roads after them. Mrs Ashton will have painted him the perfect black hearted villain of the peace. Seducing away her eldest daughter to ruin.

Kylo’s smirking at the thought. How correct it is. Except he will not be such a Byronic blackguard as to seduce her and then abandon her like a stray.

He will bed her with such fierce passion make her his Lady. And by god- this wedding can’t come soon enough for his liking.

He admires the scenery a moment or two longer. Before turning back to her.

He nuzzles his mouth to her forehead. Her warm creamy skin against his mouth and he takes a gentle kiss of it. “Dove?” He calls to her through her sleep. His voice a rumbling hush. Chipping through her engulfing pretty dreams.

Her eyelids flutter and she gently comes too - his mouth a loving press on her temple. His lips are a silky wisp on her skin and it makes a beautiful thrum of conscious delight run through her. He feels it pluck along every nerve in her spine. Like a knife carving and picking through stitched thread. His nearness undoes her so brutally.

Her eyes peel open and he watches the sunshine catch in them. Oakmoss and honey. “We are in the highlands?” She asks.

Voice eclipsed under a husky tone that sleep still clings to. He smiles at her. Tucks a straying curl of hair back behind her ear. Her cheek so pink and warm from her slumber.

“Take a look…” He gestured to the window with a casual nod. Smile glowing with love of her, in such an adorably mussed state.

She rubs the bleariness of sleep away and leans across him to admire the prospect.

The breath is quite snatched from her lungs.

She never knew the scenery of these British isles could differ. For years she’d been the landlocked country miss. So used to the frosted green-brown fields and flat valleys of the genteel farming countryside of the south. The unexciting stretch of her home county.

She never knew a landscape could be this vast. Such huge mountains with golden and green grass and purple heather crawling up them. So high they stabbed into the searing grey of the sky and snow dusts their tips where the icy wind blazes. She’s never seen such colour and brutality in such a vista before. It’s quite a refreshing sight to her innocent eyes.

She cranes her head to catch a glimpse of the loch sandwiched between the mountains. The severity of the grey sky fills the waters. But it still looks like a great stretch of Prussian blue ink. She feels like she’s seeing the world for the first time with wide open and educated eyes.

“Goodness…” She gasps in amazement. Kylo smiles looking at her sweet creamy profile bathed in sunlight. The clouds are roiling in temper in front of the sun, Grey and churning, interrupting the light pouring down from the heavens. Kylo suspects there will be rain soon.

She sits back and unfolds some of her cocooning blankets from her legs. She was quite warm enough when she’s holding his hand. Fingers sloped and tangled together in her lap.

“Whereabouts are we?” She enquires.

“Near Kinlochleven. That peak there…” he gestures out the window with a pointed finger. “Is called Ben Nevis. The highest peak in all of Western Scotland.”

“Without meaning to take a liberty; I thought we were intended for Gretna green?” She asks.

He chuckles and leans over to pluck a sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth. He pulls back and rests his forehead to hers. Nose nuzzled against her cheek.

“Take all the liberties you should like, my love. You won’t offend me so easily.” He tells her.

“I must confess I had considered that if your mother is hateful enough to send someone to stop our union, Gretna Green would be the first place she’d look.” He smiles cunningly.

“I thought we had better err on the side of caution.” He insists. “Not that slobbering hounds from the very bowels of hell could stop me marrying you-“ He drawls lovingly.

“But I thought it best to avoid a nasty encounter if there is one to be had.” He tells. “You don’t mind? Do you?” He seeks with a frown.

“Mind?” She repeats. She leans close and kisses his cheek.

“You could tell me our wedding is being hosted in a ditch and I’d still be delirious with joy.” She tells him.

He chuckles kindly at her sentiments. Smile crinkles up his eyes and cheeks. She wants to follow those sweet dimples with her fingertips. Like trailing well-work paths and lines and dips in a map. Skimming over roads travelled.

“I had planned for a little better than a ditch. I sought out an Inn that looked most comfortable. Rather rustic. I’m afraid it’s not going to be a grand manor house overrun with servants.” He tells her. Preferring honesty over catching her in a lie.

She’s still smiling. “I’m not a grand kind of woman. Cosy sounds wonderful.” She insists. She had no qualms about his doing or acting upon anything that could make her uncomfortable.

“I’d take a cosy wedding with you - over anything cold and grand and proper. Like my supposed wedding to Sergeant Hux would’ve been.”

She could see it all so clearly; a stifling preconception of wedded life.

A big society affair - Maratella and Mama would invite every old matron and stuffy Lord of their acquaintance within a fifty mile radius. Anything to show off the grandeur of the match. They’d be wedded under no less than a hundred pairs of eyes, and the odious, foul-breathed, Reverend Potter, watching them.

With a tepid kiss on the lips and duty done, the party would retire to a wedding breakfast hosted at Cavenham - Maratella would insist. They’d spend the wedding night there before setting off on honeymoon the next day. If there was to be one. Probably some boarding house in Brighton or something that wouldn’t remove them too far away.

Iris shudders at the merest intimation of bedding Hux.

He wasn’t repulsive but if his conjugal manner was as alike in every other cold attitude that he treated her. She was in for an uncomfortable procedure in consummating their marriage. It would be very polite, and sharp and quick. A fumble and an insulting rut and she’d be done with him.

He wouldn’t kiss her. Or lay into her with glimmering affection and wildly consuming love in his eyes. He’d do his duty and then she’s damn certain he’d have retired to his own bedchamber. Leaving her there, sore, bleeding and sticky-warm between her thighs. It completely crushed her heart to think that may have been her existence. Loveless encounters until she was beget with child.

He would never hold her. Never kiss her for pleasure. Never walk into a room she’s in, and not dream about taking her in his arms and kissing her like he won’t possibly survive if he doesn’t. He won’t take her hand and hold it the way Kylo is this very moment.

She doesn’t regret her choice. She’ll never regret her choice.

“I shall defer the grandeur until we get to Ranlor. And you will be cherished and spoiled and treated as a Lady should. As well you deserve to live.” He pledges.

Thoughts and the prospect of her new home fill her with giddy desirous joy. She blushes a little at the warm tone of his words.

“What’s Ranlor like?” She beams.

Oh, they’ve had many a courteous back-and-forth in ballrooms with every matron in the world breathing down their neck. Here there is no pretence or cautiousness;

She needn’t be worried she’ll be remarked upon for gazing at him too long. For smiling too much when he talks to her. He need not show less than what he feels for her. Here, like this, their love is unconfined.

It’s no one but the two of them and he’s absolutely full up of delight to remark upon it.

“It’s the one place I’ve had that’s ever felt like a true home to me. The downfall of an existence like mine. I’ve drifted through so many fine houses and châteaus and dwellings. Such a rootless way of spending life.” He begins.

“You would not want me should you have seen where I grew up. I was raised in a dim timber hut no bigger than ten metres square.” He chuckles lightheartedly.

“I can safely assure you. That wouldn’t deter me.” She tells to the handsome man who owns her entire heart.

She tentatively reaches up to skim her palm down his cheek. Can’t quite fathom that she can touch him like this- adore him. Admire him. All those things she never seemed able to do. Now they are all within her grasp.

He takes that dear sweet hand of hers and holds it to his lips for a second. Kisses her knuckles and a shiver of delight crosses her whole being. Rubs his fingertips along the smooth pink oval stones of her neat fingernails.

“Better finding a home at last than years of living in a place that never quite agrees with you.” She tempers softly. Her whole happy childhood spited and soured by her mothers greed for a good marriage.

He feels that comment deeply from her. “She was very wrong to take that feeling from you. Of your native land. Your centre of being.” He explains. “I should hope she is paying sorely for her mistake of you, and no less.” He observed spitefully. And he means it.

Iris doesn’t blame him for it - rather she empathises greatly. She smiles in her agreement.

“I hope Ranlor Castle will serve well. And in time that you may think of it as your home. Because I would want nothing less than your being satisfied and happy with it.” He hopes.

“The way you speak of it- I don’t see how I could not adore it already.” She tells.

“How long have you been in residence?” Fully expecting his answer to be of a shockingly long timeline.

“Since the late 1500’s.” He casually offers.

“Ranlor was an impulsive purchase of land. I admit. But I was sick of war. Of moving with army encampment from country to country. Sick of living in dirt and wet muck and fighting. I bought it because I wanted to wake up each morning and be the master of the land where I lay my head. To know the view I wake up too, is the same one I shall be greeted with at sunset.” He tells her very poetically.

“I’ve lived in attic garrets, huts made of straw and mud, and postage stamp sized rooms. But by that same token, I’ve stayed as a guest of honour at Versailles. Lived with princes and kings and queens and been a companion warrior to many number of emperors in my time.” He offers. “But in Ranlor I found I appreciated having a place to return to where everything surrounding me is entirely my own.”

Iris is blown away by the stories he must have to tell. “When we sup tonight, I absolutely insist you tell me about some of the places and the people you’ve seen. I am my fathers daughter after all. I am an unabashed glutton for history.” She chuckles.

He takes her chin and brings her face closer to his. Melts their lips into a slow bruising kiss. Passion sparks at her skin and it feels like it bruises her.

“How can I possibly deny such a request?” He drawls against her lips. Breath rasping against her scorched cheeks. Her blood simmering hot under her skin and the smell of it is beautiful-

“I want to know every intimate thing.” She begins. He bites back a groan. Good god, how she’ll have it…

“Keep kissing me like this Iris and I’ll give you anything you want…” He sighs in desiring agony into her lips and wraps his big fingers around the back of her head. Completely dwarfs her skull in his grip.

She clutched at his shoulder - otherwise she’s sure she’d simply float off up to the moon in bliss.

“Kissing you is more than enough. I am wholly satisfied by that alone.” She says when they break away. Not able to deny how alluring he is in this way-

Impassioned to the point of fever. His eyes as dark as storm clouds above them. Calls to mind things like granite, and crows feathers and black leather. Dark but light touches so deep. His lips are a raw sweet-cherry pink and he looks like the starving wolf about to gobble up a baby deer.

“We’ll be near to our Inn soon.” He comments. “We are but ten miles from it I believe.”

She smiles and lays her head on his shoulder. Happy to watch the scenery roll them by. Joining her hand with his again in their lap. He takes up a vast proportion of the velvet bench but she cuddles nicely into his side. He kisses her hair again and then turns and watch their coach rumble along the roads.

She could happily drift away again. The scent of him calmly infused into his clothes. His cologne and the soap and sandalwood oil he uses. Pine from the forest, thorny tumbling brambles full of rich, tart fruit, and an undercurrent of eucalyptus and mint. Rich delicious and earthy. And he is a man sprung from the salt of the earth. She adores how his roots are humble, and he’s come so far as to rise into a Lords title. It’s a quality she admires.

Not before long, houses to start to crop up out of this beautiful Scottish countryside. Low little stone houses and then suddenly a fine granite clad town is before them. A promenade of wooden shops socketed into grey brick buildings above. Full of wares and goods for sale.

It’s quite a bustling little town and the outcrop of the splendid mountains is it’s backdrop. The loch nearby for fishing. The land for hunting game and meat. This was a rich land in so many ways. Bursting with scenery and culture. So different from her sheltered upbringing.

The coach takes them along the centre of the road. Up the slope of a hill a little way. Past some more shops and dwellings and there it pulls onto a lane that leads them to a small brown stone building. Set back from the road with a swinging sign on a post announcing its name. A silvery depiction of an animal hangs on that signpost. The White Stag.

She smiles as the coach follows the curved road. Leading to a modest wooden porch. The place was tavern like in appearance. A small and long, squat stone building. Burrowing into the earth after many years of standing. There’s a pretty wilderness of garden surrounding it. Crumbling stone walls sprouting heather. Every window peers out across the wide plain of the glen before them. It’s an open terrain. Bare to the expanse of the elements. But when a place is so happily situated, Iris can’t think it could look anymore handsome.

The coach lumbers to a creaky stop. They gather themselves and step out. She puts on her bonnet, pulls her coat up her arms as he steps out. He turns back to offer her a hand down.

Their driver - a very obliging young lad from Hellford, Sampson was his name - was kind enough to see to their luggage. Even her meagre carpet bag.

He was a nice boy. Kylo had said he was eager to drive a coach, even in the driving snow and frost. Kylo wouldn’t want such an uncomfortable job but he seemed keen. He had a way with the horses. Had the touch with them. And Erland even likes him so that’s as high a praise as can be bestowed.

He was a beanpole lad with muddy hair and jug handle ears. Poky shoulders and a towering stature. Two reed thin legs shoved into his tall boots. Coat swathing his lanky body.

When they broke their journey to take luncheon at a roadside inn near Lancaster, and to feed and water the horses.Kylo insisted that they all seek some sustenance to keep them going.

The pair of them sit in the sunny window in the small, dim pub and share a platter of succulent honey roast leg of ham, cut into thick wonky sliced chunks of juicy meat, with golden roast potatoes and buttered leeks. Served with mugs of sweet crisp apple cider on the side.

The food was splendid and they smile and talk intimately - she found great joy in the fact that no one around them censured or took interest in them like back at home. With every pair of eyes watching permanently it seemed. They sit opposite each other, in the window alcove, around a wobbly pub table and she couldn’t be happier. Nor could he. The smiles on their faces reflect this fact.

Before they ate, Kylo excused himself and quickly went to the bar and said something to the kind serving maid. Slipped a coin into her hand. And came to sit back down next to her. She raised a brow. She knows what he’s just fixed.

Sampson seemed most grateful that they sent him a plate of meat stew, roast ham and a flagon of cider out to the mews for him. The dear boy stumbled and blushed and wrung his hat on his hands and told them it was most kind when they returned to the coach to continue their journey. He told Kylo his last employer wasn’t nearly so generous.

Iris overheard all this as she stood feeding oats to the horses - even though Kylo told her not to spoil them.

Erland was shifting with excitement that she’s fussing him. The silly old thing. Kana was still a reluctant girl. But she seemed fond of Iris all the same.

Kylo smiled at the young boy. Told him he was looking forward to what the young lad would make of the stables at Ranlor. For he was pledged to make the crossing with them.

He wouldn’t be staying in the inn with them. Kylo booked the boy comfortable rooms closer to town. Told him to have a rest whilst he and Iris get on with proceedings of marriage. But he’ll be there at the weeks end to take them to the port to make the ship.

He gathers their luggage. Manages easily even though he looked about as tensile in strength as a lanky wet rag. Kylo takes her arm and leads her into the Inn. She’s getting rather used to the dim glow of these places of late.

He holds the door for her and she ducks in first. He has to swoop low to avoid stubbing his head on the doorframe. Her boots and his clack on the clean flagstone floors. Recently swept she guesses. Every table was wiped and adorned with little vases of wildflowers. Framed pictures and etchings hang straight on the lumpy stone walls. A fire crackles gently in the open fireplace. Horse brasses pinned to the bar glimmer as if polished. Thick plum and grey tartan curtains float poker straight on the brass curtain piles above each window.

The place is clean and tidy and not full of rowdy drunks with straw and ale spewed across the floor. She simply adores that it’s a tavern that takes pride in its neat as a pin appearance.

A few men sit around some tables enjoying a drink in the cloudy milky sunshine of the window. There’s some chatter and laughter in the din of the room. It’s beautifully warm and the air smells like ginger and oats. Something delicious being baked in the kitchens no doubt.

A matronly woman, very pretty with a tumbling shock of frizzy greying red hair greets them from behind the bar. A beige wool dress and apron tied around her middle. She was very beautiful in her late age. A warm face with ruddy cheeks and a complexion that had seen just enough sun. Eyes were a healthy moss green. Her weight lay entirely in her wobbly plump hips. She carries herself proudly.

She’s wiping down the pristine oak bar surface before her. But she stops and smiles when she catches sight of them. Kylo in all his sheer dark mass was impossible to resist or ignore, after all.

“Good Morning, Sir. Miss.” She beams and nods at the both of them. Handsome scottish brogue in her voice sounds kind. Iris likes such gallantry. Most people didn’t bother greeting young ladies when men were present.

Kylo smiles at the woman. Doubtless she was the landlady. “I’m looking for Mrs McCormack, I’ve written to secure lodgings upstairs.” He asks her.

“Aye.” She smiles fondly. “You’d be Lord Ren and Miss Ashton, I presume?” She asks. Looks to the both of them.

“The very same.” He confirms. Stroking Iris’s hand where it lay resting on the crook of his arm.

“How wonderful it is to see you both. I must welcome you the highlands.” She smiles. Laying aside her cloth.

“You have a beautiful Inn, Mrs McCormack. I’ve never seen the like.” Iris smiles at her.

“You’re very kind miss. I thank ye. I take great care to keep my threshold clean and presentable as possible. Everyone here calls me Mrs M. So don’t you be afraid too. If you’d come this way I’ll show you to your rooms.” She nods. Moving behind the bar and out to the stairs set into the alcove of the wall near them.

Kylo lets Iris walk up first. Of course. Watches her smile as she eyes the frames on the wall and asks the kind Mrs M about the White Stag’s history and it’s stories as they all alight the creaky wooden stairs.

He listens to them talk as they walk along a creaky landing with cream wallpaper studded with scarlet roses smeared all over the thick walls. Candles and heavy curtains in every window. Shutters ready to block out the harshest of Scottish winter nights.

Mrs M leads them to a door with a worn gold handle and opens it for them, guiding them inside. Iris instantly sees what he meant about the rooms being cosy rathe than grand. It is cosy and she’s take this handsome room over any gilded grand manor bedchamber.

The walls are tumbling exposed gold bricks. The floors are ancient groaning oak. Worn and bleached an old grey from years of heavy treading boots. The double bed is the centre of the room. A huge soft mattress and downy pillows, foot of it laden with blue and green tartan blankets and a sheep’s skin draped across the end. The mahogany headboard cresting in waves at the foot and the head of the bed is carved and ancient and so very elegant.

There’s a ginormous fireplace at the end of the bed, across the room. Already lit. Popping sparks and blazing heat out into the sunny room. There’s an alcove of a window seat stuffed with cushions and another wool tartan rug. Juniper green cloth armchairs reside by the far wall surrounding a small end table. The room is undeniably snug and home-like. Emphasised in earthy tones of blue and grey and green. Very much like the dazzling highland hills in which it sits.

Iris is so quietly giddy with contentment. She also spies a door to a yet unseen anteroom.

“There’s a private dining room for your particular use through here. Though you’re very welcome to come down and fast in the tavern if you wish. We serve three hot meals a day if you should like. Our cook can make anything you fancy.” She promises.

Her keen eye then spots a crease in the bed linens which she frowns and steps across to smooth out. Iris can see she had a very discerning eye. Kylo lingers in the doorway behind them. Hands folded as he watches her take it in.

He observes as she walks across the room and peers through into the dining room Mrs M spoke of. It’s charming too. Red covered chairs, a long mahogany table. Candlestick of brass shines in the sun. Fire blazing by the dining table.

“Your washroom is just here too. For your convenience.” She moves towards a door opposite the head of the bed and opens onto a small chamber. Installed with a copper bath and a side table with a jug and basin and a screen. “Bessie is the chamber maid and she’ll attend ye’ with any water you’ll be needing.” She tells.

Iris loves it.

“It’s an exquisite room. Mrs M. We are very happy with it. Aren’t we, Kylo?” Iris smiles. Unlacing her bonnet.

He smiles at his intended. “We most certainly are.”

Mrs M seems fascinated with his first name. “Aye now that’s an interesting name. Your lordship.” She puts a hand on her aproned hip and surveys him with friendly curiosity. “I’d wager there’s some Scottish somewhere in your family tree wi’ a name like that.” She nods.

Kylo smiles. Iris’ slate and honey eyes glimmer warmly at him across the room in the cloudy light. Slight beams of it coming though the window are twirling lazily with dust. “There is some Norse I believe. Lingers far back with my ancient ancestors.” He tells their landlady.

“I would’na be surprised mi’lord.” She wagers with a fond grin.

“Oh. I’ll forget me own head next.” She explains. Rummaging into her apron pocket. Drawing out a heavy iron key. “Your room also has its own entrance. Though of course you may always come up through the tavern if you wish. Thats the key to door at the end of the landing there.” She points out the door. Hands the key over to Iris.

She then nods politely to them both. “It is nearly noon. Can I fetch you both a tray of tea? Cook just baked some shortbread I believe.” She smiles.

“That would be heavenly. Thank you.” Iris concludes. Setting her bonnet down on the bed.

“Might I also request you send your maid up to have the bath filled? My fiancée has had a long and tiring journey.” Kylo asks.

“I’ll send her up right away. Your lordship.” Mrs M insists. Moving to the door and shutting the latch softly after herself.

Kylo turns back to her after she leaves them. Iris has her back to him, slipping off her shabby blue coat.

He’ll have to get her another. She’ll be his Lady soon. She’ll need a finer coat than this beaten old thing. It gets stuck on her elbows. He walks across and aids her. Grips the back of her collar and helps guide it down.

She blushes when he leans down and holds her shoulders delicately as he kisses the join where he neck meets spine. A tendril of lose hair curls at his nose. He smiles against the back of her neck. Arms slipping down to draw her into an embrace. Big palms crossing at her stomach.

She places her hands over his. Savours the silence and the feeling of his solid comforting weight at her back. Enclosing her in love.

“You truly like the room?” He seeks. She conceals a blush - rather poorly - when she reflects that the bed she’s now looking at that they will be sharing. On their wedding night. He will bed her in this room and that thought makes her knees weak.

She twists in his arms. His palms rasp over her wool dress. Slides to her hips. She smiles sincerely up at him. “Truly. And I adore its surroundings. And especially its occupant at present.”

He smiles and leans down to claim her mouth in a sweet kiss. She’s so sweet. Sweeter than brown sugar and cream and tart fruit. He drinks of her lips like the greedy pillaging viking he absolutely is. He sucks and nibbles her bottom lip and holds her close when her knees wobble with it. Smiles and breaks the kiss remarking how weak his kisses make her.

“Have a nice long soak, and that cup of tea, my love. You’ll be stiff sore from sleeping in that coach on my shoulder.” He insists. “I may ride Erland into town to fetch a few things…” He tells her.

He had to take care of her, after all. He will not fail in that duty as others had. He was far too gallant. And in love-

She can’t deny how heavenly a soak will feel on her aching bones. And she did have a stiff neck- And although his coach was most comfortable, she is clad not to be in that jolting rumbling box for another night.

“To approach the subject not very delicately-” She starts. Wringing her hands for distraction. “When is the wedding ceremony?” She asks.

That makes him grin. “Four o’clock today. My love.” He smiles.

He wishes there was an artist here with a palette of oils and a bare canvas to hand; for her face is a picture.

“I had the banns read three weeks ago. Paid out a considerable sum to secure the church. All we need do is turn up to the chapel in our best, and the Reverend will wed us. Then and there.” He smirks.

Iris laughs. Smiling in disbelief. She places a hand to hold her middle. She feels almost faint with happiness.

“I think then, that I had better take to that bath.” She chuckles and blushes. He crosses back and kisses her cheek. Cups her neck and gives her a kiss that leaves her shivering long after he pulls his mouth from her.

“I won’t be long. Dove.” He promises. With one last kiss to her hand, he strides for the door and ducks out. “Drink your tea. Wallow in your bath. Make ready to marry me.” He smirks and winks.

Leaving her reeling with the force and memory of his insolently handsome smile.

The room feels doubly empty and so lifeless without him in it. There’s more oxygen without him. And she means that in a sincerely loving way.

When he’s here she’s aware of every smile, every move. Every touch he gives her is magnetic. She’s a bundle of blushes and nerves when he’s near. A giddy silly girl who trembles at the touch of his hand. Who hears the pounding of her heart hammer furiously in her chest when he’s near.

She does as he instructs. Mrs M sends the kind Bessie, the chamber maid, up with a tray of tea and then a big steel jug of hot water for her tiny copper bath.

She drinks the tea and nibbles a biscuit as she unpacks her meagre clutch of things from her luggage that Sampson brought up. As crimson appeared to be Kylo’s preferred colour; she chose accordingly. Hoping her gown wasn’t too crushed from it’s journey in the trunk.

She brought one good gown and a handful of plain cotton and wool ones. The one she would marry him in was a plain ruby-wine red. French Burgundy was the colour name.

It had a ruffle of demure lace stitched all around the scooping neckline and the brocade silk is gathered and stitched intricately at the back. Forming a beautiful slight train and cutting a severe figure. Her mother would have made a comment about it being a red dress. She couldn’t fathom the energy to care.

It makes her in such a passion she wants to pen a letter to her mother right then and there; tell her she’s marrying Lord Ren in a red dress. Like a harlot. See what she makes of that. She wants to watch her face crumble and her rage come snarling forth when Iris signs the letter as Lady Ren. See what her termagant of a mother makes of that…

She hangs it up to ready it for later. Smiles at the sight of it hung on the wardrobe door. Ready. As she should be- she hastens toward her bath.

The kind chambermaid was even so good as to leave a little organza pouch of dried heather and lavender on the side for her. With a little white pebble of honey and oat soap.

Iris catches sight of it as she unlaced her gown and rugged away her stays. She thinks it’s most kind of her to spare the expense of a little trinket. The steam of the piping hot water is muggy and sluggish in the air. Clouding up the mirror behind the jug and basin.

She sinks into the water. Lavender that she sprinkled into the tub spices up the air with its plain floral hint. She smiles gratefully as she submerged fully in the milky cloud of delicious heat. Rubbing the cake of soap along her arms and legs and sudsing up every inch. She does the same with her hair. Wets it and combs through a little oil. Scrapes her scalp with her nails and rubs the soap in and then rinses it.

She scrubs and scrubs until her skin is pink and every inch of her has been kissed and rubbed with soap. She climbs out and dries. Combs her hair out and rubs it. Repeating the process sitting by the small bath chamber fire until it feels significantly more dry. Ready for her to manage pinning into a coiffure. She could manage one on her own; Meg had taught her a few tricks over the years.

She pulls on a new chemise. A sleeveless one that would fit under the dress she’d chosen. She’s rubbing her hair with a flannel towel and takes her silver hair brush with her to go sit by the fire in their chamber. She brushes and brushes until her muddy locks look less and less like a wet soggy puddle.

She hears his treads on the cracking creaking stairs as he comes back.

The afternoon shifting later as the sun slides along behind the clouds. The door latch lifts from the other side and her handsome fiancé comes back in. Nudging the door open with his foot. For his arms are laden with boxes. His hair flounced by the wind and his cheeks pink from it too. His eyes were deviously bright with the exercise- it’s also because he’s caught her sat there in her shift with damply drying hair like some tempting forest nymph.

In all his dark coated glory, he completely fills the doorway to their chamber. His white shirt peers through the gap in his unbuttoned coat. A black cravat is knotted up his neck. Moulding into the stretch of his coat and his big polished boots peeling out where it ends at his calves.

Bessie comes after him. Carrying more boxes. Kylo gives her a coin and a smile of thanks. She bobs and scarpers quick and silent from the room.

Kylo looks across to his intended with a frown of confusion. Had he scared her? Or maybe she found their engaged state sharing a room to be shocking - some people were very strict on such matters.

“I think she is perhaps a little shy. And-“ she leaves her explanation there.

She merely gestures to how tall and big, and handsome, he is. He made Iris tremble in her skin with his smile, and she was years older than the serving maid. To an impassioned young girl prone to crushes and passing fancies, Iris imagines he’s an Achilles heel of blushes and furtive glances. She thinks of her sisters’ reaction to him. All lashes and rosy smiles. Like gardenias coming into bloom for the sun.

He makes a noise of agreement. And that’s when he brings around his arm that had previously tucked behind his back. He brings around a bouquet of flowers. Tied with a grey ribbon that reminded him of her eyes.

“I cannot allow my beautiful bride to be flower-less on her wedding day.” He explains. Setting them before her in her lap as he crouched in front of her.

She is touched beyond words. She grips the flowers and lifts the blooms up to her nose to drink in their scent. Purple thistles, pink and mauve heather, bluebells and wild violets. Harebell and myrtle and a Scottish primrose. A beautiful clutch of green, white, purple and blues.

“They’re beautiful.” She comments. Stroking her fingers along the frail petals. Their nectar and greenery spicing up the air.

“Thankyou.” She sighs onto his lips as he leans in for a slow kiss. He stays on his knees for her - the only way she could reach his lips.

“I fetched some other things for you…” he explains. Taking her hand and pulling her up. He leads her to the bed and her heart thumps a tad faster - thinking they’ll be doing this later on tonight, in a handful of hours, for entirely different reasons.

He shows her the collection of items he’d purchased.

Save for two gold wedding rings - it’s all for her. She is speechless.

There’s three new exquisite silk and lace gowns. An entirely new Scottish-wool coat. Parchment, ink and quills for any letters she wishes to write. Some ribbons and hair pins and pretty silver baubles and combs to decorate her hair coiffures. Five pairs of embroidered stockings, and some round little cakes of oat soap.

Her mouth gapes as she looks to him. He shrugs and offers an explanation - Looking deuced too smug. “You deserve trinkets aplenty to remember your wedding day by.” He explains handsomely. She holds his hand. Quite stunned and not knowing what to say.

No ones ever told her she deserves to be spoiled before. It’s quite a new sensation for her to fathom.

“It’s not a day I’ll be forgetting in any hurry. Believe me.” She tells him.

She sees his eyes dart across the room to where her wedding dress is awaiting being worn. Hung on the door. He smiles fondly at her choice. Looks back to her.

“I can help you with your gown fastenings if you’d like?” He asks. Voice uncharacteristically husky.

She rises to meet his challenge. “If you’re offering.” She smiles. Bravely looking him in the eye.

She turns away and breaks the spell his eyes cast. Walks across and fetches her dress. Steps over to him and he encloses it around her after she steps into it. The fastenings already loose.

He slides it to skim over her hips. Up past her waist. Rests it at her waist and pulls the two sides together over her shoulders.

The way she tugs her hair aside makes his mouth water. Throat bobs where he swallows.

Lovers have done that for him before- countless times and countless lovers- But her doing this, nearly undoes him.

He focuses on his task. Tugs on the hidden laces at the back of her dress. Laces her into it, closing the ties at her shoulders. Eyeing the curve of it that cut around her lovely shoulders. Ruby red against her creamy skin. It’s too tempting to even indulge that certain route of his thinking-

He works efficiently. Fingers brushing the brocade silk and her back. The scent of lavender and spicy oat soap tantalising him as he laboured in this favour for her. He gets to the last tie and he mourns being able to be this close. Parts by stroking his hands down her back, the span of his fingers meet her waist easily. He kisses into her tumble of still drying hair. Inhales her. Cherished the moment of him being pressed against her back.

He called for the bath to be refilled when he came back- and honestly the chambermaid was too damn efficient. Her knock rattled the door and kylo blinks and nods her to come in. Their lusting spell is broken again.

Iris flushed and steps away to round the side of the bed to fetch a pair of stockings. Holding her skirts aloft.

The sight of the curve of her ankle sends his mind reeling into the squalid plains of Male frustration. He swallows and lets the maid fill the bath for him. He was in need of a scrub too. Not exactly covered in the grime and dust of the road but he’d relish the chance to run some soap over his skin before his wedding ceremony.

When he looks back to his beautiful intended, she is sat in the window alcove that’s stuffed with cushions and a tartan rug. Framed by sunlight. Hair turned into spun bronze and gold. Eyes sparkling like polished moonstone. She’s looking down in her lap, with two ivory embroidered stockings in her hands. Running a thumb over the garter ribbon. It was a soft blue. He likes blue on her.

He tries not to envisage that particular part of her anatomy that the stockings will rise up to, too much. He waits for his bath to be drawn and counts down the frustrated and rife minutes as they pass, like the truly impatient Lord he is.

#between wolves & doves #vampire!kylo #kylo ren x oc #adam driver #Regency era #slow burn

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laserdog10 · 4 years ago

Text

Loneliness

”It’s not so bad not being in a league that suits me.”

It was a personal mantra that she told herself every day, even if it did kind of hurt. Citrus was born as both a Rose and an Arc, two powerful family bloodlines that were well renowned on Remnant by now, thanks to the defeat of Salem. However, Citrus’ elder siblings Garnet and Blossom, have been shown to be marginally stronger and almost gifted...or actually gifted. Garnet had inherited a portion of Ruby’s Spring Maiden magic on top of Jaune’s hefty Aura with the addition of a strong Semblance, while Blossom was a Silver Eyed Warrior, the greatest of all destined to slay Grimm and be the heroes of humanity. While Citrus was...just normal.

Yep, no insane powers, no off-the-wall weapon that has multiple transformations, no fancy Semblance (other than the ability to talk to animals), she was a normal girl who wanted to be a Huntress, like everyone her generation. However she felt an odd lonesome feeling inside her, when her brother and sister went off to Signal for the first time, Citrus was alone at home with her aunt Yang, grandpa Qrow, uncle Tai, and aunt Raven. If that wasn’t enough her Semblance let her speak to the family dog Zwei and the five wolves Ruby adopted, Drei, Vier, Funf, Sechs, and Null. And yet...she still had this emptiness in her heart. Well unlucky for her it was about to intensify that feeling tenfold as she was about to head to Signal tomorrow, the day after her siblings and cousin graduate. Right now it was well into the evening, the sun setting on the horizon, rays of light beaming down on the Rose-Arc & Xiao Long-Branwen residence, Citrus leaning against the railing, teetering her weighted collapsible scythe, Soulful Reave, back and forth, her emerald green eyes staring off into space, tangerine curled hair catching the wind.

Jaune: Someone’s a little broody.

Citrus: Hmm?! Oh, hi dad!

Jaune: Is Qrow’s mysterious edginess rubbing off on you or am I just reading too much into this?

Citrus: Pffft, nooo dad, I’m fine, thank you. Just...thinking, deep contemplation about the future.....

Jaune: Excited you’re going to Signal tomorrow?

Citrus: Heheheee, not really...?

Jaune: Why not?

Citrus: *stops teetering her scythe* Dad, do you think I’m...special?

Jaune: The “daddy loves his special girl” kind of special or...

Citrus: The special that’s meant for amazing things, I don’t feel like I am.

Jaune: Woah woah woah, what brought this on?!

Citrus: Nothing, I’m...*sigh* Dad, compared to Garnet and Blossom, I’m so bland! I have nothing truly remarkable about m-* her shoulders are held as she faces her father*

Jaune: Citrus, tell me what’s going on, is everything okay?

Citrus: I don’t think so...have you ever had the feeling of overwhelming loneliness and that you’re far behind people close to you?

Jaune: More than you could fathom, sweetheart. But that was a long time ago, and with a little bit of time, and the love from those people around me, it eventually went away. Why, is it the fact that your brother and sister are way ahead of you getting to you?

Citrus: *tears form in her eyes* Y-yeah, a lot...

Jaune: Oh, sweety. *he brings his small daughter into a huge hug* Believe me when I say that feeling is completely normal, your mother and I had this lonely, by-our-selves spell when we first went to Beacon.

Citrus: I just feel so out of place. I hear about all these kids who were raised by amazing Huntsmen, their amazing transforming weapons, and their powerful Semblances, then there’s me. Swinging around a simple scythe and talking to animals, no Maiden or S.E.W. powers...

Jaune: Citrus, look at me. *his gaze is met by the distraught, teary-eyed face of his daughter* All these feelings, all these issues you’re feeling right now are completely normal for a thirteen year old to experience! Think it like, you’re still going through your “character arc,” which always starts just as you turn thirteen. You’ll get to that important “climax” of your story some day.

Citrus: *sniff* R-really...?

Jaune: I know so. Now let’s go inside, dinner’s almost ready!

Citrus: I’ll head in a second, gotta go put Soulful Reave back in in the shed.

Such an action to her weapon would make her brother, proverbially, lose his mind, but she took good care of her scythe, occasionally but primarily leaving it in the room she shared with her siblings, like they do with their weapons. Tomorrow would be the first step into this “character arc” of hers, and she would tackle it however she could!

-The next day-

Strolling down the halls of Signal wasn’t so bad, she was old enough to be by herself while her parents weren’t too far off. Ruby had gone with the many other parents of new students to a little meeting, confirming their classes and whatnot, meanwhile Citrus wandered around Signal, her orange cloak flowing as she strolled along, seeing big metal lockers to hold plenty of supplies, classrooms, a library, and the cafeteria. What she didn’t expect to come across was a large crowd of kids clamoring around a board with a myriad of papers on it. Among this crowd the youngest Rose-Arc saw the red-patched blonde hair of her sister.

Citrus: Blossom? *she called over the talkative graduates*

Blossom: Hey baby sis! You here on your intro tour? *the blonde side-stepped through the moderate sea of teens, a few of which turned heads to the younger teen*

Citrus: Yep, mom just went with the other parents to that meeting! What are you doing over here with everyone?

Blossom: Seeing who got their academic success title.

Citrus: You’re what?

“An awesome title for how well you did in your classes!” chimed a female student.

Citrus: Oh, cool!

Blossom: Wanna guess what I got?

Citrus: I...don’t know what they are.

Blossom: Oh, well come look.

Taking a closer look at the board, Citrus saw this hefty list of names that made her head spin. So many names, numbers, scores, classes.

Citrus: This makes my brain hurt...

Blossom: Same here, and could you help me find my name, I’ve been helping everyone here find their’s for a while n-

Citrus: You got Salutatorian, Garnet got Valedictorian, and Lea’s below both of you!

Blossom: I’M WHAT?!

The students: THEY’RE WHAT!?

“I’m what now???” came a familiar voice behind the girls and the crowd. They turned to find Garnet himself, in the midst of eating a roll of cookie dough from the cafeteria. Without thinking the students swarmed him, barging questions left and right; “How are you so smart,” or “Please teach me your ways,” and “You’re amazing Garnet!”

Garnet: Woah, slow down guys, I’m not that great honest! I just studied and practiced like anyone else would.

“But you got Valedictorian, dude!!!” exclaimed a male student with very punk-rock hair.

“That’s an achievement in and off itself!” cheered a preppy looking girl.

“You’re a freaking prodigy, bro!!!!” cried a sporty, muscular lad.

Garnet: Alright, listen up everyone, I’m gonna give you some life advice you all need to hear. Trying to be like me is impossible, and I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m a prodigy. Yes I have powers of a Maiden inherited from my mother, yes I have a massive amount of Aura and strong Semblance to boot, yes I also have multiple weapons and am highly skilled in using all of them. However that doesn’t place me above the rest of you, nor should it make you all downplay yourselves! You all have your strengths and weaknesses, but you shouldn’t strive to become like me, because I’m not perfect. Imitation is the cheapest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay in greatness. Don’t strive to be me, strive be a better you, because their can only be one of us in the world! And if you do find someone like you later in life...*claps hands* Then I got nothing. *awkwardly smiles*

His audience applauded, but mostly laughed at the perplexing finish to his speech. His sisters had their own reactions, Blossom shaking her head and smiling in a way that conveyed a “The fact I’m related to you is astonishing” feel, Citrus on the other hand was captivated. “Strive to be a better you,” this phrase alone struck many chords in her, to the point that the lonely feeling of hers dissipated somewhat...

“Ohhh yawn-a-fuckin’-rama! That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard, One Armed Arc!”

The students instinctively winced at the sound of the boastful and snarky voice. Collectively looking to the source, a tall girl with long burnt-orange hair and indigo eyes, clad in gray armor with a gold trim, a jet black waist cloth on the tool belt around her. Strapped to her back in a sheath was a morning star mace, the signature and feared weapon wielded by Signal Academy’s tyrant.

Blossom: Carly Winchester...

Citrus: ...

Garnet: And why are you here?

Carly: No reason, except I just heard a one-armed loser spouting some bullshit and being humble. Face it, you could be running this school! And yet you choose to be weak, lumping yourselves with these peons who could get their asses reamed by you.

Blossom: Garnet isn’t weak!

Carly: Aww look, little Ms. Self-loathing wants to act all big and tough! Why don’t you can it and go cry on the roof like you always do.

Citrus: *grits teeth and clenches her fists*

Garnet: What I do doesn’t make me weak Carly, I-

Carly: OH FUCKING SPARE ME! Hearing your high and mighty “holier-than-thou” bullshit makes me sick, you have the powers of a damn GOD and look where you are!

Citrus: ...hat’s it to y... *mumbles*

Carly: Hmm what’s that Shorty, got some shit to say? If you don’t then butt the fuck out, the adults are tal-

Citrus: WHAT’S IT TO YOU!? All you ever do is hurt and scare people, that’s not power, that’s being a jerk!

Carly: You-!

Citrus, standing in front of Carly now: My big brother is more of a Hunter and leader than you could ever hope to be! All you are is a bully, a coward, and an absolute BITCH!!!

Everyone present gasped, Garnet and Blossom were shocked into silence. Calling Carly a bitch was something else entirely, but hearing it from Citrus, someone who had never sworn in her life?! Surely they must’ve been dreaming, right??? Obviously they weren’t, for Carly had looked around incredulous, thinking she had heard the orangenette right.

Carly: The fuck did you just say to me you little shit...?!

Citrus: You heard me, you’re nothing but a BI-!

Carly: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!

The warrior girl screamed in tandem with swinging her mace directly down onto the smaller girl. The motion happened at such a speed, all that was seen was a shiny, gray blur kicking up dust and debris when it landed.

Garnet/Blossom: CITRUS!!!

The youngest Rose-Arc braced for the impact beforehand...but it never came. Instead when she opened her eyes, she was in a dust cloud, embraced by her cousin, Lea Xiao Long-Schnee, her giant gauntlets blocking the crushing blow.

Lea: Might I ask why the hell you are attacking my cousin, Carly? *she said in a low tone, pushing the warrior girl back a good few feet*

Carly: Mind telling me why your brat isn’t on her child leash?!

Lea: *eyes turning lilac, blue fire adorning her hair* I think Citrus is going to be the least of your worries right now...

Citrus stepped back, knowing full well what was coming next. Garnet walked past her but not before looking at his baby sister.

Garnet: Might wanna go get mom and the principal, this courtyards about to become a war zone. *he winked*

Carly targeted him first, her mace colliding with the boy’s head and sending him staggering. He regained his footing, readying his own gauntlets as Lea pounced on Carly, throwing her into one of the support columns in the courtyard, Garnet running up and landing jab after jab upon Carly. Blossom held Citrus’ hand as they ran off to find their mother before the situation got worse, as they ran they heard the unmistakable sound of the Maiden powers flaring from their brother and cousin.

Blossom: We’ll leave it to them to kick Carly’s butt.

Citrus: ...

Blossom: You okay?

Citrus: Yeah yeah, just thinking.

Blossom: You narrowly avoiding getting brained by an amazon brute???

Citrus: Well...besides that, but what Garnet said earlier.

Blossom: Oh that.

Citrus: It stuck with me, and...and I think it should solve all my problems.

Blossom: ...if you say so!

Seems her father was right, today was when her character arc would begin, and now she would walk through it with her head held high!

#rwby #ruby rose #jaune arc #rwby lancaster #garnet rose-arc #blossom rose-arc #citrus rose-arc #voila! my final lancaster kid has received her story!#hope you guys enjoy the absolute jerk that is carly winchester #don't know if I'll make her a recurring oc since I don't have anyone I ship with cardin lol

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chipzle · 5 years ago

Text

Based on the drawings by @zl3ruh

This has been in the works for a while because I was trying to get more chapters written but that just didn't happen. This is really bad; I don't tend to write that much.

Enjoy :)

Steven awoke, snuggled amongst the many fluffy blankets around him. The light from his window pierced through the places that the blinds did not cover, almost blinding him as his eyes flickered open. I was a hot June day and the sun had risen above the glistening sea a few hours ago.

At his feet, sat a pristine white and ginger feline, Cat Steven. The boy sat up and petted her soft, velvet fur. She let out a purr of glee as he did so. He placed his other to his chin in a form of concentration. He knew there was something to do but was extremely unsure. What was on today's agenda?

There were no colonies to liberate.

There were no armies to disband.

There were no corrupted gems to heal.

So why did Steven have the feeling that today was significant?

Pulling back the almost infinite amount of covers, he finally decided to stop thinking about it and just get out of bed. He tiredly stumbled over to his wardrobe and skimmed through it, searching for his usual jeans, jacket and star shirt. He noticed an abnormal item in his casual clothing; A grey and green blazer. He carefully lifted it out.

Realisation flooded over him like a tidal wave...

Today was Steven's first day at UA!

He shot his head round to look at his cookie cat clock.

Lessons began in 10 minutes!

As quickly as he could, Steven yanked on his school Uniform, grabbed the cheeseburger backpack he had packed the night before and dashed out of the door almost destroying the hinges as he ran to his late mother's old pet, a lion!

"Lion!" he exclaimed, as the pink big cat padded towards him. Steven had never known what his mother had named this abnormally coloured cat so he had just decided on a literal name instead. He loved literal naming, just like his home.

"Hey. Sorry, I'm in a hurry. Could you take me to school please?"

Lion lowered his body downwards a little so that Steven could climb on his back with much more ease before sprinting off onto the ocean. The sea became solid beneath his soft but strong paws.

He let out a ferocious roar that manifested into a swirling pink and white portal in front of them.

Once on the other side of the portal, they were greeted by the world around them. Japan looked nothing like Beach City. Lion lay down to rest as Steven affectionately patted his head, showing his gratitude.

There was no time to waste. Steven bolted into the front entrance and through the halls.

Class 1-A

Where was it?!

Steven skidded to a halt after running around the maze-like hallways when he saw before him the sign that showed his classroom he was so desperately searching for. The room was buzzing. A boy with spiky red hair and one with spiky blonde were in the middle of a heated argument, Some girls were busy chatting away in the corner and a group consisting of a boy with green hair, a boy with dark blue hair and a girl with brown hair were too. Steven shyly took an empty space at the back.

"Making friends can come later. I need to get used to school first." He quietly mumbled to himself for reassurance. From what Connie had told him, he knew it would be a very new experience for him. Steven doubted that he had ever sat still for more than 10 minutes. Besides, he had never been to a local school, let alone a foreign one.

Hopefully, language wouldn't be too much of a problem. Pearl had spent the last month teaching him the basics he would need to begin with: classroom language, conversational language, common phrases and of course, manners.

At the front of the class, a strange man with long black hair, wearing dark clothes and a white, tape-like scarf around his neck emerged from a yellow sleeping bag. His sudden appearance silenced the students as they rushed to their seats.

"Ok then," the man began in a low, monotone voice, "Welcome back to another week at UA."

Steven could get the general idea of what the man was saying. Clearly, this was a teacher.

"Also," The teacher continued, "We have a new student here today."

He guested across the classroom towards Steven.

Everyone turned to look at the boy.

Within seconds he was surrounded. People swarmed him with greetings ranging from "Hey there!" to "Hey newbie" to "My name is...".

"Sit down!" The teacher called out, waiting for the teenagers to shoot back to their seats before continuing in his usual robotic tone, "Poor kid. Probably can't understand a thing you're all saying. The boy's American."

The class let out a collective sigh of understanding and a few shot apologetic looks at the half-human.

The teacher lazily proceeded, "As I was going to say," He gestured towards Steven again, "This is Steven Universe. He was accepted into the hero program through recommendation."

Some heads turned to him after this. Some with anger. He mainly noticed a boy with white and red hair with a scar down the left side of his face and a boy who had been shouting at his class-so called - mate.

Steven had tried to keep his head down throughout the rest of his lessons to not draw too much attention to himself. However, this was difficult as people were still staring so hard that they could practically see his soul. It didn't bother him. He was just the new kid. The fact that he didn't speak fluent Japanese only made it more interesting to everyone else.

Now, Steven was entering the canteen. It was lunchtime.

A myriad of students was scattered across the tables in such a way that he would have to sit next to one inevitably. Scanning the room, he spotted the group of two boys and a girl that he had noticed at the beginning of homeroom.

With his head down, Steven made his way towards the table they were sitting at. Remaining silent, he sat beside the broccoli boy and pulled the lunch that Pearl had packed for him out of his bag. She had been very excited to make it. Even though she didn't find 'consuming edible substances' enjoyable, she did find some fascination in the way humans prepared it.

Steven was pulled out of his thoughts when the girl gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey... Um, Steven." She began slowly to make it easier for him to understand her, "I'm Ochako." She said as she pointed to the boy next to him, "That's Izuku, " She finishes by hugging the one with dark blue hair. "And this is Iida!"

Steven smiled and nodded, his mouth too full to reply.

"Uh... So you got in through recommendation, huh?"

She asked, a little quicker this time, "What's your quirk?"

He paused to swallow.

"I don't think he doesn't understand that Urakka san... sorry... Steven " Izuku jutted in before he could reply.

"No, no, it's not that" Steven informed him politely, "I do. I was just y'know... eating."

"Oh," Izuku went red with embarrassment, "Sorry. That's my bad, continue." He pulled out a medium-sized notebook.

"It's ok. Uh... what's a quirk?" Steven questioned awkwardly.

The three gaped in a mixture of shock and confusion.

"It's your ability, power if you will." Tenya replied waving his hand rapidly in a robotic style.

"Well, all of my powers come from my gem." Steven lifted his shirt, revealing the pink diamond embedded in his stomach where his belly button should be "It used to be my Mother's." he explained, slightly embarrassed.

"So what can you do?" Ochako asked, shifting excitedly her seat.

"Well for starters," Steven summoned his shield, "But there are a few other things I can do."

"Like what?! " She said, still amazed by the glimmering shield that had just disintegrated before her.

"Well, I can do normal gem stuff like shapeshifting, fusion and bubbling."

"Whoa! That sounds really powerful." Ochako gasped, Iida stared in amazement and Izuku wrote down every word that poured out of Steven's mouth.

The four of them spent the rest of lunch introducing themselves and their quirks. They were deep in conversation by the time the bell rang signalling the end of lunch and all walked off to their next lesson.

Just imagine that there's a bit more of a language barrier. I can't be bothered to write all that. They can basically understand each other. Of course, Steven's Japanese will get better over time.

#Steven Universe #steven universe au #Steven Universe Crossover #BNHA #MHA #SU #Steven Universe the movie

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kyndaris · 5 years ago

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Formosa, the Beautiful Island

Taiwan, or the Republic of China, is only recognised by a few countries as its own sovereign state. To most, it is seen as a rebellious territory of the People’s Republic of China. No wonder then that when I told my work colleagues, some were of the opinion that I was venturing into the very epicentre of the COVID-19 outbreak. At the time of travel, Taiwan’s reported numbers were quite low. During the week I stayed, it reached to the mid-twenties. A far-cry to some of the more major outbreaks in countries such as South Korea.

Unlike Australia, though, the entire populace seemed incredibly paranoid about contracting the virus. The streets of Taipei had masks everywhere. People were encouraged to practice good hygiene. When entering hotels, thermometers were aimed at foreheads to ensure those staying were not sporting fevers. For this blogger, it felt both excessive and oppressive.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. It was the 15th of February and our flight to Taiwan was slated to be one of the last few flying out for the day. My mother and I had spent much of the Saturday completing chores and packing the remaining items we needed for our trip.

It was seven when my cousin appeared at the door to take us to the international terminal of Sydney Airport. Checking in proved to be a simple affair, although I discovered that China Air was one of the only queues where a vast majority of individuals were sporting facial masks. I wanted to tell them to remove them as were departing Australia. At the time, there had only been about 15 reported cases across the nation and several had already recovered. According to the Department of Health, there was no need for the public to be donning anything. When my mother joked about it, I grumbled about the whole situation until we had passed through security.

As we waited for our flight, my mother decided thought to take advantage of her status as a holder of an American Express card. Despite the fact that the lounge was in the opposite direction of our gate, we made our way to the exclusive lounge. To my utter dismay, I was mistaken for the housekeeper by one of the other guests. I would not be lying to say that I felt a little outraged that such a mistake was made. Yes, I’m of Asian descent but that doesn’t mean I’m automatically the help. But who knows. Maybe the man would have asked the same question if I was of Caucasian appearance. Who knows. At the time, I was filled with indignant outrage at the thought that I had been racially profiled. Instead of challenging the man, however, I merely answered with a simple ‘no’ as I made my way to the restroom.

On the plane, there was a sea of masks. Bowing to the pressure, my mother and I slid on our masks. I didn’t think it was very likely that we would be contracting COVID-19 but even the flight attendants were sporting protective facial masks.

A long eight to nine hours had us finally land in Taoyuan Airport at four in the morning. Mask still in place, we disembarked and made our way through Taiwan quarantine and customs. Just like Australia, Taiwan also had several restrictions on individuals carrying passports from the People’s Republic of China. We were also made to complete and sign a declaration in relation to COVID-19 that threatened a hefty fine if it was discovered that we had lied.

Luggage in hand, it was a long wait for our ride to the Orchard Hotel that we would be staying in for the night. Unable to check in, however, due to the fact that it was not even noon, my mother thought it best to take advantage of the day and squeeze in a little sight-seeing despite the inclement weather.

With the aid of our driver, we arrived in Taipei City at eleven. With our trusty map in hand, we wandered the streets - taking in the sights and sounds of the west side of the city. From Ximending, we stopped first at the Red House as well as a small temple that we could enter via the street. After stopping for lunch, with my mum purchasing a set of beauty masks for the area around the eyes, we visited the back entrance of the Presidential Office.

All in all, it was a fairly quick tour of the immediate area where we had been dropped off. As it was also a Sunday, not many stores were open. And still exhausted by our early start, I was able to quite easily persuade my mother that it was best to head back to our hotel. After all, it was three in the afternoon. Surely, we could check in now?

An express Taipei Main Station had us return to the airport. It was followed by a short taxi ride. Within the hour, we were safely ensconced in our rooms and finally able to rest.

The 17th of February started early as well. With a proper breakfast in our stomachs, our tour began in earnest in Jiufen. It was with mild surprise that I greeted the massive coach that had been prepared. Considering the threat of COVID-19, what had once been a group of roughly thirty had swindled down to seven. Unfortunately, three Canadians had not been able to make their flight. Beyond my mother and I, only another mother-daughter duo joined us. Yes. That’s right. We had a tour group of FOUR. That’s right. You read it correctly. Four. F-O-U-R.

How they were expected to make any profit was a mystery to me. But I’m glad that they decided to continue, even with such small numbers.

A few hasty introductions later, our tour guide going by the name of Jason, provided us an overview of Taiwan and its rich history. Jiufen, the place that he was taking us, was one such place that exemplified its complicated history as a territory that had once belonged to Japan before it was ceded back to China after the Second World War. Located quite close to Taipei, Jiufen is situated atop a winding mountain path that makes it very difficult to navigate with a huge coach. Taiwan, in general, uses scooters more than cars for transportation and it was clear from the narrow alleyways that it is almost a necessity. Just before we reached the car park that was next to the cemetery, our tour guide also provided us with some additional history about the place: from how it got its name to why so many Japanese tourists visited it.

After an extensive shopping trip in Jiufen that had my mother and I nearly frozen in place, our little group headed to the Grand Hotel of Taipei. Embodying Eastern aesthetics, it was a grant palatial building that I had first seen in an episode of Fresh off the Boat. My mother and I spent our allotted time inspecting all that we could of the first two floors. Though there were cafes and stores aplenty, we kept our wallets firmly closed until we finally returned to our bus.

Our next stop was a garden in Shilin. After taking a gander at the myriad tulips on display, my mother and I retreated to a local cafe for something to warm us up. Though not as frothy as the hot chocolates in Australia, I very much enjoyed regaining feeling in my extremities as the beverage heated up my cold freezing body.

Back on the bus, we headed to the next city on our itinerary. Several hours on the road, where I slipped into a micro-sleep and learned a little more of the Canadian duo, we arrived at Nantou where we checked in to our hotel and enjoyed a fairly simple dinner before retiring for the night.

This first glimpse of Taiwan was an enlightening one and filled with a hefty number of surprises. The facial masks were a bit of a nuisance, but to the people living on the island, prevention is probably much better than the lack of a cure. Risking one’s health, along with others is a pretty steep price for purely selfish desires.

#personal blog #travel blog #taiwan #taipei

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years ago

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12/09/2019 DAB Transcript

Joel 1:1-3:21, Revelation 1:1-20, Psalms 128:1-6, Proverbs 29:18

Today is the 9th day of December. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you today as we continue our journey forward. And, yeah, we can practically count down the days, we can practically see the shore on the voyage that we've been on together. Today we’re going to be beginning new books in both the Old and the New Testaments and when we get to the New Testament, we have reached the final book. So, we’ll be spending the rest of our time in the New Testament in the book of Revelation. But as we get into the Old Testament we have come to the book of Joel.

Introduction to the book of Joel:

Joel is another of the minor prophets and we’ll read the whole thing. We’ll read the entire book of Joel today. So, let's just consider what it is we’re going to read. Ironically, nobody really knows who Joel was. There are other people in the Bible with the name Joel, but scholars don’t believe that any…any of those people are the author of this book. But stylistically this is prophecy and Joel shares a similar language style with other prophets like Ezekiel or Jeremiah or other minor prophets like Amos, Micah and Zephaniah. Some scholars have argued that Joel could be the work more one prophet, then others considered the fact that the similarities between other prophetic books just to simply be a byproduct of…of the time like of the shared culture the shared tradition and the shared language. But Joel doesn't really give any historical clues inside the text either, which makes dating this book really hard. And, so, many scholars have come to many different conclusions over many different centuries. But like in just broad terms, Joel has been dated somewhere between 500 and 800 B.C. but dating the book…I mean scholars have agreed that dating the book isn't necessary to understand the books meaning and impact. Joel writes of a vast horde of locusts that invaded the land and destroyed it, ate all…everything green, destroyed all the vegetation, destroyed the crops and a great famine followed this plague of locusts. And Joel used this natural disaster as his backdrop to call the children of Israel back to repentance. And most scholars think that this locust invasion, this was an actual event not just like a metaphor or an allegory, it actually happened. And Joel used that event to speak…well…to speak the apocalyptic prophetic message of judgment that is found in this book. And as is the case with much of the Bible, Joel's words were intended to reveal a fork in the road. Like if…if you've noticed on our journey through this year, we keep being brought to forks in the road. Nearly every day we’re…we’re allowed to see a path that goes this way and a path that goes that way and where they're going to end up. And Joel, the path of repentance would lead them to blessing and restoration, and the path of rebellion would lead to what Joel calls the great and terrible day of the Lord. And, so, we begin. We’ll actually begin and end the book of Joel today. Joel has three chapters and we’ll read them all. And we’re reading from the Common English Bible this week.

Introduction to the book of Revelation:

Okay. This brings us to the final book of the New Testament, and for that matter the final book of the Bible. And Revelation has captured the fascination of readers in ways that no other book has. And the interpretations of this book are myriad, and it's been looked at through many lenses over thousands of years and some of them are pragmatic and some of them are fantastic. So, this book is self identifies the author as John, but it doesn't…it doesn’t say clearly which John we’re talking about. So, traditionally the accepted author is the apostle John, who wrote the gospel of John as well as first second and third John. This has been questioned though, since at least the third century and we are in the 21st-century, so a long time and that continues until today. But based on the evidence, the tradition that the apostle John was the author is very possibly true. And if that's the case then the apostle John later in his life was banished to the island of Patmos where Revelation says it was written. And this little island of Patmos it's believed was like a Roman penal colony, where…where like criminals and like political opponents and the prisoners, they would be exiled onto this island and just kinda left there to figure it out. And it's a real island, it still exists until today. It's in the Aegean Sea. So, between like Greece and Turkey not that far from Ephesus actually where…where it is believed that John spent his later life. So, Revelation is considered a work of apocalyptic literature, which is why there is so much intrigue and confusion around it because the genre is highly symbolic, and the reader must discern what is to be taken literally and what is to be looked at allegorically or as a symbol of something else. And since the subject matter is like the beginning of the world as we know it and an emerging new era for all of humanity, then obviously people want to figure out what to take symbolically and what to take literally which leads to widely diverse conclusions. And this has been the case for thousands of years. So, for example, some read the book of Revelation entirely from a first century perspective, right? Trying to route themselves specifically in the time that it was written and read it that way and would then conclude the events in Revelation as already taken place. Then others see the book outlining like a chain of events beginning in the first century and lasting until the end of the world. And then others believe that the symbolism that's in Revelation is…is…is timeless…is just outside of time, it’s describing things that are beyond what we can fully comprehend and is beyond time and is describing a cosmic struggle between good and evil. Any of these views can be legitimate. But getting lost in the details, like just being lost in the mystery and attempting to just take all of the pieces and force them to fit in some sort of way, that might not work. It's been the custom of every generation for all of these thousands of years, and nobody's been right, at least in trying to outline, you know, sort of a date and time for all of these events to take place. But one thing that we will…will not be able to avoid as we move through Revelation is a theme that has been emerging for months, endurance. In some ways it’s like we’ve been following this theme of endurance all the way to get to Revelation so that we can then begin to see how endurance is irreplaceable in the ultimate battle between darkness and light. Revelation ultimately tells us that those who endure, that those who stay faithful to the testimony of Jesus, in other words that their lives are speaking of Christ and endure until the end no matter what happens because of that, those will be eternally victorious or quoting it from Revelation, “they defeated him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives so much that they were afraid to die.” So, as we move into Revelation and move through all of its imagery, we need to focus our attention on this theme of endurance because it's critical. And we’ll discover that endurance isn't like hiding…hiding away, hiding yourself and just trying to wait something out. Endurance isn't a passive thing. It's not a defensive posture, right? Remaining true when the whole world is against you and you could lose your life, that is a powerful statement against deception. And its deception as we'll see, that has always been the greatest force set against mankind. We saw that from the very beginning of our journey in the book of Genesis and we will see it in the book of Revelation. We are to remain true. Our witness, the word of our testimony, the way we live our lives in the light and in the truth will expose the darkness and this will keep happening until the very end. And as we will see, as we get to the end of our time together for this year, the end that causes so much fear because of the book of Revelation is actually a new beginning. And, so, we begin. Revelation chapter 1.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for Your word. And as we continue to move into this month and get settled in this new week we just keep moving through new territory in the Scriptures and it's as if the Scriptures speed up as our year speeds up and this gives us a fantastic opportunity to quicken our pace to stay in lockstep with You and everything that we say and do. And, so, as we move into the book of Revelation, we invite Your Holy Spirit to lead us to the understanding that we need for this season in our lives. And as we continue to move through the minor prophets, and we learn a lot of history we invite You to speak to us. Come Holy Spirit we pray, we invite You into everything we do and say today, everything that we think today. Help us to see the path that we are walking through the eyes of the kingdom. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website and home base and where you find out what's going on around here.

And it's Christmas and that's what's going on around here. And we have a Christmas tradition here around the Global Campfire that…I was trying to remember the first year of this tradition and I'm thinking it was maybe the second or third…I think that I can safely say for the last decade during these two thousand tens we’ve had this tradition, and that is our annual Christmas party. And we’re a virtual community, right? So, we’re wrapped all over the world and that we so…so…I mean, wow! What an enjoyable thing if we could all get together in some stadium somewhere and have a Christmas party but the logistics of that…I don’t even…yeah…I just…we’re a virtual community and we have a virtual home. And, so, we have to celebrate and have our Christmas party together around the Global Campfire virtually. And, so, what we do is we call in our Christmas blessings, Christmas stories, Christmas wishes, and we share those with each other. We’ll compile them all sometime next week, but for this week you can call in and share your Christmas wishes to the community that you've shared this year as we've traveled through the Bible. So, you can obviously dial 877-942-4253 or you can dial any of the other numbers. Like in the UK you could dial 44-20-3608-8078 or if you’re in Australia you can dial 61-3-8820-5459 or no matter where you are in the world, if you have the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the little Red button at the top, the one that we use to call in our prayer requests. The same numbers that we use to communicate via prayer with one another, this is what we’ll use for Christmas. There's only one rule. This is one time when you can call in more than once because if you have a prayer request you need to make that a separate call. If you have a holiday greeting, you need to make that a separate call. Just don't combine a prayer request in a Christmas greeting in the same call or it’s gonna get real confusing around here. But all this week until the end of the week we’ll take these calls. Use the Hotline button, use the phone, however you please but call in and share your holiday greetings with your brothers and sisters who have been sitting around this Global Campfire for the year and taking this journey together and then next week we’ll start putting that all together and we’ll release our annual Christmas party.

Additionally, we’ve been talking about this for I guess about a couple…couple weeks…roughly-ish…the Daily Audio Bible Christmas Box for 2019 is available and it is packed full of some of the most popular resources that we have. And we are just thrilled about it and I'm thrilled…thrilled just to watch it go all over the world. And that is available in the Daily Audio Bible shop. You'll find a Christmas section. And, so, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com as well. There is a link and that link lives on the homepage and I thank you for your partnership. If…if you…if you want to use the Daily Audio Bible app, you can just press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer the mail, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And as always, if you have a prayer request or comment or right now for this week a holiday greeting, you can just press the Hotline button in the app or dial any of the numbers that we talked about just a couple minutes ago.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I will be waiting for you here tomorrow.

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theriustraveler · 7 years ago

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Therius - Meeting

Little writing about my take on how Therion and Cyrus would meet. I apologize if it’s OOC, I definitely need to study their in-game dialogue more. Hope it’s an enjoyable read nonetheless!

Click. Click. Click.

The fool’s bangle upon his right wrist sings a near constant song of shame with its single chain. It’s dull iron marks its owner as a convict. Undeniable proof of a thief’s humiliating blunder.

Therion shakes the words out of his head while rubbing at his wrist. He had wrapped it in bandages earlier due to the bangle already scraping against his skin. The bandages are lightly stained with the red of blood, only noticeable when he moves. There was no one to see it, however, out here in the east Atlasdam Flats. The thief needed to restock and rest before continuing his journey to Noblecourt and Atlasdam was a decent city. If the scholars are going to be overly obnoxious and much too eager to express their knowledge, Therion may just need a drink as well.

The rogue continues down the path, catching sight of the nearby sea and a stone bridge leading into the city. He crouches low as he walks, rubbing away the monster blood on his dagger and broadsword on the grass. Therion reaches the bridge and flips his weapons back into their sheathes. Quick and masterful hands pat himself down. Clothes seemed to be in their usual places. He runs a hand through his soft pale hair and ruffle it even more. His roguish look is complete- not that he particularly cared much for looks as he did for his reputation. The click of the bangle’s chain reminds him too often.

He walks into the busy, stone-built city. It appears considerably better compared to the other places he has thus visited. Afterall, Atlasdam is the largest city in all of the Flatlands and is a place of learning. Countless scholars and nobles have come here, especially for the Royal Academy and the Royal Library. The library is said to have many ancient and historical books. Therion smiles to himself at the thought of stealing in this city. Pickpocketing nobles is effortless but stealing a book from the Royal Library may prove a challenge with its security. The rogue reminds himself he wasn’t here to steal, however he also has time to burn and the amount of gold in his pockets doesn’t feel quite satisfactory. Lady Cordelia Ravus hadn’t given him a time limit to steal back her family’s dragonstones. He sets that task aside and continues to wander through the city. After walking along a lengthy pathway, Therion nears the palace gate. He had passed a pair of guards conversing and learned that the library is to his left. Therion enters the building and gazes at the myriads of books around him, some in average book shelves and others in shelves that reach up to the second floor. Many scholars are present, all too busy reading to have noticed nor care for the new arrival. Only one woman, the librarian behind the desk, seemed to had noticed him. Therion takes notice to the door behind her. Special archives, he guesses.

Unbeknownst to the thief, there’s another set of eyes on him. A certain pair of pale, intelligent blue eyes that are appalled by the thief’s rugged clothing. The black caped man had seen a flash of purple above the ancient pages of his book and finds himself both intrigued and disgusted. This new arrival clearly does not wear the clothes or symbols of a noble. The dagger and sword at his hips hint more at a warrior than a scholar. The irises of his eyes shift from sapphire blue to emerald green in the changing light as he looks around. The scholar observing him from a corner, Cyrus Albright, smirks with pride. It was common for newcomers to be amazed at their large collection of books. Cyrus looks back down at his book. Strangely, he’s only able to read fifteen sentences before his focus breaks. The young man had been etched into his mind after literal seconds of observing him. He glances up from the pages once more and-

A thief?!

If Cyrus wasn’t so self-confident about his intelligence, he would have doubted what he had seen. But like usual, he knows what he saw. The blonde started walking towards the entrance and his light purple poncho betrayed him for two seconds, revealing a royal book as the clothing flew up. Cyrus immediately recognized the cover of the book and remembers reading it from the special archives behind Mercedes, the librarian. He looks to his right and sees the door leading into the archives is closed. Mercedes is standing there as if nothing had happened either. Cyrus frowns and shuts his book, sliding it back into place on the shelf. He rises from his wooden chair and adjusts his cloak, then walks over to Mercedes. He questions if someone in purple had slipped past her and she says no. Intrigued once more, Cyrus exits the building and goes to the nearest guard, just feet away. He finds out that a man in purple had headed downtown. After several questions later, the scholar finds his target at the tavern. A man in purple was easy to discern from the crowd and Cyrus finds him at the bar by his lonesome. There’s already four empty shot glasses by him and he lifts his head to down another one. Cyrus, quite uncomfortable in this environment, quickly walks across the room and takes the seat next to the blonde. He doesn’t notice him and keeps his gaze forward. Cyrus searches with his eyes for the location of the book on his body but doesn’t see any particular object shaped like a book underneath his poncho.

The barkeeper walks over to them and asks what Cyrus wants. He simply asks for an iced water and sees the blonde turn to him, confused. Cyrus turns to meet his gaze when the barkeeper walks away. Therion’s expression goes blank and he simply blinks, then turns back to his empty glasses. If he had recognized Cyrus, he certainly didn’t show a sign that he did.

“Dear friend,” Cyrus says, staring at the wall before him, “I believe you have a book that needs to be returned. I’m already tasked with having to find and return a different stolen book.”

“Why not get that one then?” Therion replies, looking down at the shot glass in his hand. The other absentmindedly taps on it.

“So you don’t deny stealing it,” Cyrus points out. Therion doesn’t reply until the barkeeper serves the scholar his water and walks away.

“I’m simply borrowing it,” Therion says. A tone of lightness and sarcasm suggests he isn’t completely serious about the matter. The fact that this thief had managed to slip into the archives… Cyrus must be cautious. Despite how horrendous his fashion sense is, he certainly has the skills of a masterful thief. The two weapons at his side suggest experience in battle as well; any normal thief would have one small, singular weapon like a dagger.

“Are you ‘borrowing’ it to sell it off?”

“Maybe. You were staring at me earlier in the library, do I seem like the type to come here for reading?” Therion puts down his glass and turns his youthful face to Cyrus, eyebrows raised in boredom and in question.

“You seem the mysterious type,” Cyrus says, raising his hand to his chin in an inquisitive manner. “And mysteries exist only to be solved. I believe you are a better thief than it seems and you had stolen the book to get my attention. Why?”

Therion hums his approval. “I heard on the street that a professor has to leave Atlasdam because of… complications, with a princess. You’re that professor, aren’t you?”

Cyrus frowns, considering where the thief was going with this conversation. He nods, nonetheless, saying, “Yes, that is me. Cyrus Albright. And I am going to go on a journey to recover a stolen royal tome. My ‘exile’ happened to be perfectly timed and allowed me to leave Atlasdam with a reason.”

“Then maybe you’d like to come with me,” Therion says. “I’m on my own mission to steal back stolen… items.”

Truly a mysterious one, Cyrus thinks. “I assume I’m not allowed to know what items you mean, but I do think I need to know your name. More importantly, why ask me of all people to accompany you?”

“I’m Therion,” the thief says with a slight incline of his head. “And let’s just say… I’m looking for a partner in crime. I have a good feeling about you. You seem sincere.”

“You want me to become a thief?!” Cyrus asks, shocked and eyes widening. Therion brings a finger to his lips and shushes him.

“Yes, absolutely,” Therion sarcastically says. He takes a deep breath and lowers his hand from his face. “Listen, I have a lead in Noblecourt for what I’m tracking down. A scholar like you could help me out there. You seem to have a knack for scrutinizing too. You help me, I’ll help you.”

Cyrus turns away and considers Therion’s words. Having a master thief with him could help him track down his own thief. He imagines that the young man wouldn’t fit in at Noblecourt, just like here in Atlasdam. His offer to help sounds genuine and rare as well. The scholar nods and turns back to Therion.

“You are a mystery still waiting to be solved,” Cyrus says. “I shall accompany you, Therion. Let us become partners, if not in crime.”

Therion smirks. “Then you’d best get used to my crime, Cyrus.”

#octopath traveler #project octopath traveler #therion #cyrus albright #therius #cyrus x therion #reflet writes

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yunasightx · 6 years ago

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Names and Puzzle Pieces( aka , give me the Mcmercy fam fluff!))

(Behold this monster that has literally been sitting on my flash drive for a over a year and a half. I have no excuse for this fic besides the fact that I’m a sucker for wholesome expecting family fluff— and that goes double for this pair. Literally.)

Disclaimer:

As I stated before, this fic has been sitting around for a while .. so I really did not go through it with an ultra fine tooth comb (( and is also the reason why there are some characters, like Moria, who are not mentioned even though they have a strong relation to members of the original Overwatch--- especially in regards to Mercy and Mccree’s past. They simply were not around at the time when I wrote the bulk of this. I added Brigitte in last minute though , because it was a bit easier to mention her....and i may also ship her with a certain rocket-jump gal ))I did try my best, but I really just wanted to get it over with. So, apologies for Iand grammar issues. I may go back to edit later if I see anything insanely obvious.

In the meantime, happy reading and enjoy! ))

Tornborjn,

I just looked over the schematics you sent me. So far, the upgrade looks promising – but I’m a little concerned about stress the additional weight and momentum might put on the joints in Fig 4. Reinhart is not as young as he use to be ( despite what he might boast about) , and while an extra booster might help the Crusader Suit have a little bit more of the “OOMPH” the two of you are looking for …. Osteoporosis is not just something that is exclusive to women. Which reminds me…. I believe you are overdue for your yearly physical as well, Bärchen <3.

Angela

Ps. I highlighted the issues I think need a second glance. Maybe we can get lunch next Tuesday to look them over? I have been craving grilled fish and sriracha something terrible lately.

Angela read over the email one last time, checking for the usual typos and general grammatical errors, before hitting the send button. The email blipped out of existence from her computer screen leaving only the default Overwatch logo quietly staring back at her.

The doctor leaned back in her chair with a content sigh, “Well, one thing down…. Several more to go.” She had spent the whole morning cleaning out her (what always appeared to be) constantly full inbox; replying to and sending out correspondences to anyone and everyone who had questions and concerns for the Head Doctor of the reinstated global peacekeeping organization. Angela supposed she could have been fielding most of them off to an intern, or even asked Athena for assistance, but she liked being proactive in things ---- and truth was… she needed SOMETHING to do for the next couple of months.

Angela glanced over to her Valkyrie Suit which stood like marble statue between the two pristine white and glass shelves behind her desk while her hand came up to rest on her still- rounding stomach. The lighting of the room gave the enameled white coating a soft iridescent glow and illuminated rest of the black, orange and gold details. The sight of it rising over the back of her chair, even with the wings powered off, as someone walked into her pristine office was something that she knew bordered on spiritual

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss the adrenaline, the rush, and energy of being on the field ,or being actively involved in something ; but while the she would always be incredibly proud of her first child ---- at the moment she now had other lives she had to care for first.

And she knew the others were in good hands; Lucio and Zenyatta were newer to the life style of being a Overwatch Field medic , but so far they had shown enough promise that most of Mercy’s fears had been eased. And dear darling Brigitte had taken the helm of that group in stride after dealing with patching up Reinhardt for years. They often came to her for advice, and she was very happy with how far all of them had come since joining Overwatch.

Angela actually had the sneaking suppression that donning the Valkyrie suit for so long was the reason why her pregnancy had been going so smoothly —for the most part— in the first place . The results weren’t completely definitive, but it seems wearing and handling experimental bio- nanotechnology over a long period of time had had some unforeseen side effects. One of which being what basically boiled down to slowing down the aging of Angela’s cells. It wasn’t much, just a under a decade in difference to her chronological age—-she would still age, she just wouldn’t have to worry about things like grey hair , wrinkles , mammograms, and arthritis as soon as everyone else.

Ana had joked the she should retire and just sell her product to a home-shopping network as the newest “anti-aging skin care line” --- then buy a nice little vacation home in Hawaii for her , McCree and the little ones ( with an extra guest house for their favorite “Nana”, of course).

But, Mercy knew that at nearly Thirty-Nine years of age she should have expected a myriad of complications with getting pregnant, at least naturally ---- especially with both her and McCree starting to push forty. So, when it had happened after their first try… it had come as a bit of shock. She and Jesse had talked about the possibility of children, the idea of growing their family just a little, but they had still had gone into the whole thing with a mindset of “if it happens, it happens”.

And when they discovered it they would be having twins….

Well, Mercy made a note to add gynecology and fertility research to her ever growing list. After she had to pick McCree off the floor that is.

But, aside from three and a half months of nightmarish morning sickness and the never ending whiplash of weird cravings, everything had been progressing surprisingly well.

Well… almost everything.

Angela’s thoughts broke off when she felt what was quickly becoming familiar fluttering of movement pushing against the palm of her hand. She laughed and lightly rubbed her fingers over the spot, “I guess nap time is over , hmm?” She hummed. She felt another little persistent nudge and sighed, “Right..... back to work!”

Angela braced her hands against the armrests and pushed away from her desk, before awkwardly hauling herself back to her feet; grunting as her center of gravity and new constantly-changing weight shifted back to her pelvis as her very round stomach curved out in front of her and her lower back arched in.

Angela knew she was surprising large, even with twins. She looked more like she was nearing the tail end of her third trimester with one child, rather than twenty weeks with two.

She had given up trying to button her lab coat and pants weeks ago, and forgot the last time she had been actually able to see her feet (were her toes still painted sky blue? Or was it lilac? Rustic orange ? The world will never know. ) Now, she just opted for breathable tunic dresses and a nice pair of stretchy leggings with her favorite pair of flats ——and when she was home, she all put lived in Jesse’s flannel shirts ( but, she had the feeling even they wouldn’t fit for much longer either at this rate..)

She thought about the closet of cute, but sensible new maternity wear Ana , Lena, Brigitte and Pharah had eagerly helped her shop for just a few weeks ago (with the former captain letting Mercy know she should be very thankful she didn’t have to be stuck with horrible fashion styles that were around when she was having Pharah… or the lack there of). She felt a bit guilty that she was growing out of them so quickly.

Then again….. technically the twins were farther along than twenty weeks. At least, from a gestational stand point.

That was other thing . The other unforeseen side effect of donning her Valkyrie suite for so long and so often. Besides slowing down her ownaging, somehow the twins were growing at a slightly accelerated rate. Not insanely or supernaturally fast, but every test her and Winston had run had proven they were consistently three weeks ahead of any normal development.

Mercy had gone back and doubled, even tripled checked her math, but it was hard to mistake the night that led to all of this. It was enough of an oddity that even though there had been no other complications, both of them agreed to err on the side of caution and treat her as a usual High-risk case and closely monitor her and the babies’ progress.

Angela huffed and braced one hand against her lower back as the other started rubbing circles along her upper right side, hoping to dislodge whoever decided to jam themselves between her spleen and ribcage. She waddled over to her stainless steel work station by the large glass wall that ran the length of the room and looked out into the hallway between her and the panoramic windows that viewed the deep shimmering blue waters of the Alboran Sea. She picked up the tablet she had left there and pulled up her own medical file, along with half- a- screen’s worth of notifications of upcoming appointments and tests. The lab results from her latest round of blood tests had just come in; most of her levels were fine, except her iron levels which were a tad little low (Angela rolled her eyes at that. Of course, Jesse’s spawn would be as obsessed with red meat as their father.)

She quickly scrolled through the rest of the results, then sent them and the reminded of her next ultrasound away with a flick of her fingers before pulling up several medical files and the list of Overwatch agents who she still had to hound down for the yearly physical. Thankfully, a majority of the list was already highlighted in bright blue, but there were still a handful of names in red ---and most of those she didn’t even need to look at to know who was dragging their feet to the medical wing.

Let’s see…..Genji came in for his exam Monday, so he’s done. Hanzo was on time, as always. Lena is tomorrow—I’ll need to remind Winston about that. Mercy tapped Tracer’s name and informed Athena to let her fellow scientist know about his needed assistance.

“Shall I also remind Winston that it is time for his exam as well, Dr. Ziegler?” The AI suggested helpfully.

Mercy laughed, “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll just recruit Lena to help me hold him down, you know how he can be.”

The AI let out a slightly computerized sigh, “Unfortunately, all too well I’m afraid.”

I will probably have to drag Torbjorn here myself after lunch next week …And I will probably have to ask Ana , Pharah, and Brigette to help with Reinhart, The doctor sighed as she turned back to her list, her fingers briefly hovering over the names that were blocked out in black---- the white lettering spelling out the identities as sharp and finite as a row of marble headstones on a dark lawn. The files had been pulled over with the rest when Athena had backed up the old medical records from the original Overwatch.

Gerard Lacroix --- Deceased

Jack Morrison --- Deceased

Gabriel Reyes --- Deceased

Ana’s name had also recently been shrouded in the mournful color, but she had given her blessing to correct the outdated file. Her active status was now in the same bright cobalt blue as her daughter’s name near the top --- although, she had objected to also having her “Captain” title receiving the same treatment.

“I’m retired now, malak. These old bones aren’t fit to keep babysitting you brats all the time. Just leave me in the back with the rest of the old timers, and we’ll bail you kids out when you’ve finished having your fun.”

“76” on the other hand refused to go by any other name---- no matter how hard Angela or the others tried to convince him to reconsider, the old solider stubbornly refused to budge.

“The commander of Overwatch died at the Swiss base. If you want him, you can find him six feet under his tombstone in Arlington.”

As for the last two names….. well… despite their best advancements and research even science couldn’t truly bring back the dead.

And even then……….. Angela was not sure she would ever cross that line. She had toed it with Genji, even the very reasoning behind her own nanotechnology research flirted with that perilous edge …

But sometimes, the line between Man and God was drawn for a reason, and the price that asked was just too much to handle. You could make life, mend it, repair it if need be ----but you could not return light to a candle that no longer had a wick to burn.

Enough of that, Ziegler. Angela shook her head to clear her thoughts, and leave the past where it was supposed to be. She scrolled through the rest of the names until she came to one very familiar name that she wasn’t surprised was still in red.

“What am I going to do with him?” Angela sighed and tapped opened the file, so focused that she missed the metallic jingle of spurs and confident clomp cowboy boots sneaking up behind her.

“Boo.”

Angela jumped in surprise when two arms grabbed her from behind and that mischievous, honey-whiskey -warm voice smirked against the back of her ear. She shot a pointed look over her shoulder ( which lacked any real bite), but Jesse just greeted her with one of his charming smiles---- completely unapologetic as he leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of her shoulder as both of his hands drifted down to the sides of her stomach.

“How’re y’all doin’?”

Angela could feel his warm chuckle and smile against her skin when he felt one of the twins jab at the underside of his human palm, “Well, that one definitely takes after me. Not even out yet, and already tryin’ to start a fight.”

Angela rolled her eyes, but there was smile on her face as she turned her head and kissed his cheek. He had trimmed his beard a little bit from the wild bush he had during his vigilante days, and his hair was back to the style he had it during the prime of his days in Blackwatch . It was still unkempt and disheveled as ever, but Angela has always liked that length on him. And Jesse said he finally got sick having it stick to the back of his neck in the blistering heat and finding beard hairs in his whiskey.

“Did you just get back?” She could still smell the salt, sea spray, and limestone of Ilios on him, along with a bit of gunpowder and a little bit of nicotine. Jesse had reluctantly agreed to cut back on the smoking when they decided to try to start a family (only because she had threatened that he would have to bunk with Genji , Hanzo and Zenyatta for the next eighteen years if he so much as thought about lighting up around her or the children) , but when he was out on assignment he still smoked at a cigar or two. Mercy was at least grateful he wasn’t smoking a pack a day anymore.

He had cut back on drinking too. Genji had mostly been the one to thank for that----he and Zenyatta had been helping Jesse slowly deal with his demons over the last year and a half. For the youngest Shamada, it was the least he could do for his former Blackwatch brother and very dear friend, and the two now had a bond that went deeper than just former coworkers.

It was nice to see both of them smile so easily again.

Eventually, the two of them ganged up on her; and while she originally dug in her heels and refused to acknowledge the parts of her that she shoved and locked away in deep into the shadows, far away from anyone else (her failures, her regrets , guilt and blame and what ifs) ……it didn’t take a neuro scientist to know that something besides her work or adjustments to her suit was keeping her awake all night. And her heart was so much lighter for it.

“Just docked”,Jesse pressed another kiss against her shoulder before lifting his head a bit and resting his chin there with a deep content hum, “Figured I’d hide out here for a bit before having to face the paperwork.” He wrapped his arms under her stomach to pull her into his warmth, “Don’t think I’ll be able to keep doing this for much longer. What are ya feedin’ these kids ,Angie?”

Angela smacked his arm ,”Burgers and sriracha. And I wonder who I can thank for that.”

“Hey, don’t pick on me. I remember those paper bags you tried hiding under your desk,’ Miss McDonalds’.”

“It was Wendy’s.” Angela said automatically, not even phased about Jesse calling her out on her old guilty pleasure.

“Yeaaaaaaaahh,” Jesse drawled out with a lazy smirk that she could feel curl against her neck , “ but you’re gonna be stuck with a bunch ol McCrees so I figured it was more fitting.”

“Who said they were going to be “McCrees”?”

Angela had to bite down on her tongue from laughing as the charming “I’m winning this round” smirk slipped right off the gunslinger’s face.

“That ain’t very nice, Angel. Don’t be mean.”

“I am not being mean,” Angela had to try very to keep her voice clinical and matter-of-fact , instead of breaking out into the giggles that tickled in her throat. She knew it wasn’t nice to tease him like this, but it was cute when he pouted. “Technically, we are not married so—“

“And you told me you didn’t want that right now,” Jesse pulled away, and Angela knew instantly that she went too far. Frustration mixed with the jet lag and three sleepless nights of clearing out stubborn Talon agents from Greek ruins that lined the cowboy’s shoulders, giving him a wounded look that was worse than any bullet to her heart.

She knew without asking what his plan had been the moment he stepped on to the helipad---- a nice cold drink, kick off those dumb boots, and to spend the rest of a quite afternoon with the woman and mother of his children who had basically stolen his heart almost twenty-two years ago.

“ I offered it to you, but you said it wasn’t necessary. That is just a dumb piece of pa----“

Angela swallowed the rest of his argument by reaching out and pulling his head down to kiss him sweetly, putting a cooling balm on his temper. He seemed to have gotten the message because his shoulders instantly relaxed under her hands as his went to her widened hips and he shook his head with a gravely sigh, “I really don’t like how easily you can get under my skin like that sometimes, woman.”

She shook her head and gave him another kiss before pulling back and reaching up to apologetically smooth back his hair, pushing back a laugh when he tried to puller closer but her stomach got in the way, “ No, that was a terrible attempt of a joke. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Jesse had always been the more emotional one between them; the sentimental, passionate, and sweet parts of their relationship --- a simmering slow southern day outside of Sante Fe. Even after all these years, she still had trouble accepting that when Jesse McCree loved you he did it absolutely, openly, and without holding anything back----it was all or nothing for him.

When she thought back on it, Angela realized she never stood a chance.

For Jesse, a ring and wedding was more than just a tradition. It wasn’t a claim on her, or a way “to keep her an honorable woman” and their children from being born under questionable circumstances or the hundreds of other reasons people have married for over the thousands and thousands of years of human history.

It was a promise. One of the most important ones he could ever give, besides his oath to Reyes and Amari when they offered him a rank in Overwatch ----a chance to do something worthwhile and good.

Angela just didn’t know if she was worthy of that promise just yet.

She still had moments where she worried if she could do this. If they could really could do this. That whisp of doubt that had spread and thrived in the shadow of the ruins and rubble of the old Overwatch. In the shadow of her every regret and helplessness and weakness when everything she held dear crumbled right through her fingers. The one thing she could never heal and fix.

Those names flickered in her mind again.

....The names of those she failed to support.

But, she was more than willing to try.

As silly, confounding, confusing, reckless, and dramatic as her cowboy was ----she never really thought the idea of spending the rest of her life question her sanity around him sounded bad. Even back before the old Swiss base had been nothing but a pile of bitter-sweet memories, secrets, and rubble. Before they had answered Winston’s recall……and then decided to try to pick up the pieces each of them had been carefully tucking away during the years in between.

They weren’t puzzle pieces that fit together, but------

“ I think McCree is a lovely name,” Angela hummed as she pressed her lips to his cheek, just along the curve of the dark circles under his right eye, “ I also think you should have gotten more sleep. No offense, Jesse, but you look dead on your feet. And I am the doctor who is pregnant with twins.”

The cowboy gave a resigned sigh and sank down into a nearby chair, pulling her with him and across his lap since his arms had tried to find their way around her waist again. She placed her tablet down on the counter and shifted to make herself more comfortable, placing her hands over his as they followed the faint movements of the twins hands, knees, elbows, and etc pressing against her sides. “Just give this old cowboy a few minutes, Ange. I missed you somethin’ fierce out there,” He muttered against her skin as he rested his forehead against her shoulder again.

“You really should be taking better care of yourself.”

The gunslinger gave a soft chuckle at the old scolding that had lost its intentional bite years ago, “Acknowledged”.

Angela knew Jesse had a terrible time sleeping when he was away on assignment these days; which was more than unusual because she couldn’t think of a place at the Swiss base where someone had not seen him napping with his hat over his face and his boots probed up on a random surface. It would not have be long before said hat was slapped off, and he was dragged off by his ear for laps by a very grumbly Gabriel Reyes to burn off all that extra energy he had obviously been storing up.

“And just what are you smiling about?”

Mercy came out of the past, and shook her head at Jesse who was watching her with an amused smile before she settled against his him with her head on his shoulder, “ Nothing, just some silly memories. I can prescribe you some minor sleep aids if you think that would help.”

The main reason for Jesse restlessness out on the field was because when his mind didn’t have to be focused on a gunfight, it was right back here with her and the twins. It wasn’t so bad in the beginning, but as her pregnancy progressed the little fear of something happening when he might be several time zones away kept knawing itself a nice little home at the back of his mind---- like a mouse chewing its way through a baseboard.

Nightly phone calls and face -time sessions helped reassure him that Talon had not attacked the base, Hana had not accidentally shut down the entire power grid by rigging up a super computer for gaming, and Winston did not turn her or the children into a tubs of peanut butter ( “………have you been drinking with Winhelm and Torbjorn again?” “……No, but I did have some kind of weird Japanese fish dish Genji made.” )

Even then ,Hanzo had taken up Mercy’s position of McCree’s common sense out on the field --- taking away the gunslinger’s phone so the bright LED screen didn’t give away their position when he kept checking in every five minutes as bullets whizzed by their heads.

Jesse gave a tired sigh as he raised his head and rest his chin on the crown of her head as he drew in closer, “I’ll be fine. I just need you and our bed , and maybe a hot toddy to dull the edge. I’m home now, that’s all that matters.”

Home. After how many years that word did hurt to think about anymore.

The two of them stayed like that for a while. Forgetting about emails and exams and desks full of paperwork, and just trying to enjoy this moment of absolute suspended moment of peace like a sip of Angela’s homemade hot chocolate or Jesses favorite aged whiskey.

If she closed her eyes she could almost smell the air of the Swiss alpines again, feel concrete lightly bite the backs of her thighs and the warm weight of a young gunslinger’s arm and serape around her shoulders as her knees dangled over the side of roof while she and Jesse watched the sun rise over the base. Watching as the light and sky started out deep and rich and slowly turned golden, blinding and bright.

Almost….. if it weren’t the constant movement jostling her insides.

“They don’t like keeping still, do they?”, Jesse grinned, his hands were tracking them across her stomach again, eagerly moving from her sides and resting just below her navel now. He looked down at her, eyes lined with jet lagged and some residual signs of his drinking and smoking lifestyle--- but still the same soft and lively molten brown she first seen at seventeen.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Angela tilted her head up and teasingly nipped the tip of his nose.

“ Hmmm….. How long are you goin’ to be cooped up in here? I was thinking you, me, some nice seared steak and pasta, and ---“

“If you even think about mentioning another one of your western movies again, Jesse, I am just going stay here and sleep in one of the med bay beds tonight.”

“…….Well, now who’s jumping the gun? I was goin’ to suggest that one old timey pirate movie Ana use to play all the time during break nights.”

“…….I’m sure you were, cowboy.”

Jesse held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, alright. You get to pick the movie tonight. Just don’t make it one of those boring educational flicks again. I’d like to be able stay awake with you tonight.”

“You liked the last few I’ve selected,” Angela pointed out, rubbing at her side to calm down whichever twin was unhappy bout suddenly being ignored.

“Yeah, well one of those was about those murders in Victorian London. Of course that’s going to keep my interest. But seriously Angie, as much as I want to know about what’s going on with you and the kids, “ The Gestational Process and Bonding of the Human Species ; From Conception to Birth And Beyond” isn’t exactly what I would call a “date night movie”.”

“……That is a fair point,” Angela relented, “ I just thought you would like it since you have pretty much checked out every single book we have about pregnancy in the library, and have hounded Ana,Torbjorn, Winston and I with questions. You even had Hanzo buy them for you in town.”

She watched as her cowboy turned a nice shade of pink under his beard, “ ….You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

“Jesse….” Angela chucked endearingly as she brushed his hair out of his eyes, “ Libeling, it’s been kind of hard not to. But, it is sweet ----- a bit annoying sometimes, but it’s been a pleasant surprise.”

Jesse looked down at his hands, which had gone back to her middle, gently circling his thumb over the back of her hands. His voice was soft, almost unsure, like he was slowly trying to figure out an new language and did not want to mince up the words “ …..I’m just a fish out of water with all of this. I never thought I would ever have a shot at something like this. That it wasn’t in the cards for me with the shit show our lives became after everything. But, God, did I want …… I don’t deserve an inch of you ,Ange. I sure didn’t back then and I’m not sure I do----“

Angela kissed him before the raw emotion leaking into his voice broke both of them in two. It was safe to say this was uncharted territory for both of them; two orphans who only had faded fragments of their own parents and a mismatch patchwork quilt they called family that had been made, ripped and repaired over the years as a reference.

There were a thousand things she wanted to tell him right then, but she would save that for when they were not surrounded by the cold, sterile, and professional environment of the med bay and her office. She wanted to be wrapped up in one of his flannel shirts and his arms first.

“I do have something for you,” She reached for her tablet and pulled up the file she had been saving for when he got back.

Jesse groaned the second end moved her arm, “ Angel…look, I know I’m due for that blasted checkup, but do you really—“

“You can relax, it’s not your physical. ..Yet. I will be getting you for that later,” Angela handed him the tablet and watched as one of his eye brows raised at the sight of her name and date of birth at the top of the page. She offered him a sheepish smile, “ I know you wanted to be there, but I’m afraid Winston got the dates mixed up. No one else knows about it yet…..but I thought it would be a nice surprise for you when you got back.”

She could barely hide her excitement as his eyes flitted down past all the medical information and jargon the he did not understand, and landed on the one part of the report that was impossible to mistake. She had to bite down on the corner of her lip to keep from beaming at him when his brown eyes went wide and looked between her, the tablet and back again. It was one of the few time she had seen the bombastic cowboy struck speechless, “ …Both?”

Angela nodded, finally letting herself smile,“ Both. One of each. I guess that means we’re done after this.”

But,Jesse seemed to have missed her joke as he quickly set the tablet back down and demanded to know which twin was where. Angela laughed as she guided the one hand to where their son was trying to cozy up to her ribs again, and the other to where their daughter has kicked his hand earlier. “ They do move , but I think that’s where they are for the most part, “ Angela titled her head as she took in the suddenly serious look crossing on Jesse’s face that he only got when he was trying to whip a strategy during a mission , “Is something the matter, Libeling?”

“….. Figuring out how much I’m gonna have to stock up on ammo for when they get older. Maybe finally talk Torb into installing that finger gu-”

“Jesse Leon McCree!” Angela’s glare cut through his thought faster than one of her laser- guided scalpels, “For the last time, I am not installing finger guns into your prosthetic!”

“I didn’t say you, now did I?”

“ Torbjorn won’t do it either. I already warned him I would revoke his honorary grandfather card if I ever caught him with schematics.”

“ Awwwww, come on! That ain’t fair, Angel!” Jesse whined. “ How else am I supposed to scare idots away from little Annie when she gets older?”

“Are you thrity-nine or nine…? And I am sure you will come up with something. Also, we are not naming out children after wild- west outlaws.”

“…Dam.. I was sittin’ on that one for a while,” Jesse looked at her again, “ What about-“

“No.”

Jesse jutted out his lower lip and looked at her with those big puppy gold-brown eyes that had been bane of her existence for the last twenty- something years. ….But, she would be lying to herself if said she wasn’t at least a little bit happy that genetics promised that there was a very good chance at their children would have his eyes as well.

“Fineeeeeeeee,” Jesse sighed when he realized he wasn’t going to win their little stalemate, although there is more than a hint of a whine to it, “What about “Fenrir” for the boy then? That’s something you’ve always liked.”

“Oh mein got!” Angela rolled her eyes, “Out of all the Norse myths I have told you, of course that’s the one you remember.”

“What? We could call him “Fen”,” Jesse pointed out innocently.

“You do remember that Loki is the one who gave birth to him, don’t you?”, Angela pointed out with a sigh, “ Only you would want to name your son after the eater of the world and killer of Odin? How about “Tyr”?” She tapped her finger nail against the scared- up skull engraved into the metal plating of his bionic arm. “The god of Justice. That seems a bit more fitting. “

Jesse watched her hand with a little smirk as he leaned his head against her shoulder again. They might have been playfully arguing about names, but she had never seen him look so content. The look in his expression said it all… ….he held his entire world in his arms. “Eh, it’s not as cool. Any kid of ours is going to be hell –in- a- hand basket and an angel all-in-one, they need a name goes with it.”

“I think it’s just in your nature to -- how do you Americans say it----“ Go Big or Go Home”?” Angela laughed as Jesse gently, but playfully pulled her closer against his chest, his hands resting on her hip as his lips grinned against her forehead and his beard tickling between her eyes

“Yep ,sounds like me. I’ve always dreamed big---- how else could I have gotten as lucky to end up with someone like you? You don’t get chosen by an angel just by waiting around and twiddling your thumbs.”

Angela rolled her eyes as she shifted in the cowboy’s lap as their daughter let her know she didn’t like being squished between them by trying to kick elbow her pancreas. Jesse’s hands instantly went to the spot and circled his fingers to apologize.

They were going to be fine.

“Well…..I do have one name in mind… ,”Angela hesitated. She wasn’t quite sure how Jesse would react to her suggestion. She still didn’t know how she completely felt about it.

It had started as a little idea that had just popped up in the back of her mind the moment the blood tests had confirmed everything, like one of the single little cells their children had started out as. At first, she just shook it off as an impossible notion, just the increasing hormones her body being annoying ; but like Jesse, it just hunkered down and refused to budged until she begrudgingly paid attention to it.

It was name that had weight to it, memories and heartbreak. But, she knew it was a name that meant a lot to Jesse… and even herself and many others in their little rag tag family. And the more she had thought about it, each week the name just sounded a little more right. Her mind went back to the list of names of those she had failed to save.

You could not return life to can candle that no longer had a wick , but the scent of the wax would always linger.

“Gabriel.”

She carefully watched his face as her stomach squirmed in a way that had nothing to do with her tumbling twins or morning sickness. It only took a few moments, but it felt life time as she watched the confusion on his face melt into surprise then something so soft and speechless that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or cry herself.

For now she would blame it on the hormones.

“I like it, Darlin’,” His voice was soft, like a warm camp-fire on a cool night as he reached up and tucked her side swept bang behind her ear. “ … Thank you.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand as his callused and tanned finger s trailed over her cheek, still the same as they had always been despite all the years. They still felt like home.

“There is nothing to thank me for, Liebling. “

“…. I still want Fen as a first name though.”

Angela gave a heavy sigh, Andddddddd there went the moment,“ Do not make me kick you out of my office .“

Jesse just gave her another smug and charming smirk that made his right eye twinkle, “Gotta come up with a better bluff than that, Sugarbee. I’m your favorite pillow.”

“Well, since you are here ,Darlin..” She drawled a little too innocently , “ I do have a long list of overdue shots with your name on it.”

The cowboy blanched and Angela just gave him his smirk right back before breaking down into a smile and leaning forward to kiss him as he huffed against her mouth and pulled her as close as her stomach would allow. “ Woman, I swear there is devil in those angel eyes sometimes.”

No, they were not puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together --- there were too many broken edges that had been worn and dented over the years. They were more like pieces of a shattered glass that had been put together into a mosaic. Something that was a little old and new at the same time , fractured and whole… and made something wonderful and beautiful when the light shone through.

#mcmercy #fanfiction #Overwatch #look mah i write too!#jesse mccree #overwatch mercy #mccree #angela ziegler #family fluff #oc kids

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narukuwrites · 6 years ago

Text

002. Part 8

Words: 3,592 Tags: Merman AU, Angst, Drama, Magick, and Witchery, Fluff, Mention of forced incest Summary: Ralph decides its time to give Connor and Markus some answers with regards to recent events, Josh is satisfied that Connor isn't an immediate threat and has an honest chat with North, Kamski learns that Connor has gotten rid of his bracelets and decides another visit with Amanda is needed, North realises she's driven a wedge in the friendship she has with the others and decides to make amends.

Authors Note: So here is the next part a day early! Surprises ahoy! I may edit this chapter later but we’ll see.

Ralph had watched all of this unfold quietly and it was clear that Connor and Markus, who from what he could gather was the leader of Jericho. It was interesting but not surprising that Markus had been quick to ensure that Connor was kept safe and that wasn't uncommon - there was something his friend hand, even if he was wholly unaware of it. Queen Chloe had spoken to him during the times when Connor was busy dealing with the politics and responsibilities that came with a being a royal heir and prince to a throne which would one day Connor would be sat upon.

Chloe wasn’t an ordinary mer but she had chosen that form, she had been capable of not only being able to cure and create life within the oceans, but to also have the ability to tip the balance and ensure that one who was deserving of her, would have all the success that he wanted. And when Connor had been born, almost all of that was now within him. There would be someone who her son would find worthy and noble enough to grace that being with his gift, his power. To have Connor by your side would guarantee you the success and favorable circumstances in all of that person’s endeavors and actions, but to someone who was truly deserving of it. Connor it seemed had chosen that to be Markus.

When the new merman came in, however, the dynamic in the room changed and Ralph should he need it - had his knife close at hand and would not think twice about using it. He has promised to keep Connor safe always, he would not break his promise to the Queen who had been more of a mother to him, then his own was. And so when Connor spoke seemingly dissolving the tension between them all and letting his touch soothe Markus, he felt himself relax a little but he didn't let go of his knife - that was hidden in the bag he was holding. And with his free hand sent the dark-skinned mer a cordial wave when Markus introduced him.

"He is a friend of mine, yes, Connor this is Josh.." Markus paused to send his friend a glare ignoring the affronted look he was given and continuing on. "..Connor this is Josh and the shy blonde is Ralph, his brother.." and he felt himself let out a sigh of contentment as the brunette spoke once more in that beautiful eloquence that seemed to come naturally to the brunette.

"It's nice to meet one of Markus' friends, he speaks quite fondly of you. I hope I haven't caused any inconvenience in keeping your friend from his responsibilities. But he was showing me around your wonderful home - it truly is a marvel. Ralph and I look forward to seeing it fully...."

Josh didn't quite know how to respond to the mer, that he'd been introduced to but he felt that he didn't have to worry about anything untoward - if anything that everyone had said earlier that he had queried were indeed correct. And his gaze fell upon a blonde mer behind Connor and Markus and gave a wave back and tried not to focus on the fact the face of said mer - was scarred and damaged.

"Ah its, nice to meet you too, but please don't be sorry I shouldn't have barged in so abruptly - it should be doing the apologizing but thank you for your praise. Jericho is indeed something we've proud of.," he said and he did genuinely feel guilty for interrupting and so he was thankful when Connor and Markus too didn't hold it against him.

"We're all good Josh these things happen your worry was understandable. I won't be too much longer here but am I right in assuming that you saw I already went ahead and began processing everything with Connor and Ralph. I will need to spend a bit more time with Connor - to see how he can help us..." Markus said in a manner that you couldn't help to be drawn to.

"As I was explaining to Markus, I am happy to help in whatever way I can. I am quite adept at a myriad of things, but when Markus has a clearer understanding of things. You can be rest assured you and the others will be informed and perhaps who knows we'll work together, on exciting new endeavors.." Connor added before sending Josh a smile that was both reassuring and warm.

"Sure that sounds good. Find us when you've sorted it out but don’t rush please.." Josh told Markus before focusing his attention on the other two, Jericho's newest arrivals. "Welcome to Jericho, I hope you settle in comfortably but don't be afraid to seek out myself or the others if you need anything - we're a family here.." he added and that was true. Jericho in itself was a large amalgamation of people from all kingdoms and all levels of society - that co-existed a lot of the time peacefully, and there was the odd disagreement at times but nothing overly escalating into something that would cause a problem in the long term.

"Thank you, I'll bear that in mind Josh.." the brunette said and he felt happy hearing those words from the brunette and felt a bit disappointed when Connor's attention was focused once more on Markus. But he pushed that notion aside and nodded before swimming off and leaving his friend with the two new mer's, feeling a lot lighter and relieved than when he had entered.

Markus didn't like the fact that Connor, as used Josh's name, the sudden need to possess the newcomer to their cause, was something that he couldn't explain but he for some reason knew that the other mer felt the same. And as soon as Josh was gone he wrapped his arms around that lithe, slightly defined with subtle musculature and holding Connor close and letting out a happy sigh when those arms did the same.

"Don't worry the jealousy you felt will pass,. I meant what I said earlier, before the interruption - but I don't know to what extent that will encompass. Know that I will be here for you though..."

The change Connor felt in himself was something very liberating and he felt freer than any time before in his life and he wondered if maybe it was more then just Markus that was the cause. Ralph's words from earlier resonated deeply with him and it made him wonder just how much his friend knew. "Ralph, what you said earlier? You know something more, don't you? About me..?" he asked his friend and shifted a little to allow for Markus and him to lay down comfortably.

Ralph nodded and let out a quiet sigh, he had known this moment would come but for as prepared as he was, it was still a little terrifying but nevertheless he would impart onto Connor as much as he knew, and since it involved Markus now as well, he was the one his friend had inadvertently chosen. "I'll do my best to try to explain it, but your mother gave me something she wanted to you have as well.." he told his closest friend and almost brother as he took a small tome one that Connor would no doubt recognize and handed it over to him.

When Ralph pulled out his mother's notebook he felt a myriad of emotions go through him as he took the proffered item and held it to his chest tightly and closed his eyes and he could feel the phantom warmth of his Mother's arms wrapped around him and he let out a sob and allowed Markus to pull him closer, giving him his support. He missed her terribly and the thought of seeing his beautiful Mother, pale and gaunt as the illness took her that was not how he would remember her. No his mother was beautiful and kind.

"You should read that when you feel you are ready. Know that I had to write for her as her state deteriorated and I know you don't want to reminisce about that time, I do not want you to - but it was so you would know why the writing changes.." Ralph said and it was upsetting for him to see that Connor was a little upset but having Markus nearby helped to alleviate that from worsening.

Markus knew that he couldn't really do much aside from being here for Connor and although this was a private moment he felt privileged for being allowed to share it with these two newcomer mer's - who it would seem would change a lot of things for him. And he still had fears of course but hearing that Ralph would do his best to perhaps make all of this easier to understand - that would be a start. But regardless of what or whom Connor was, Markus knew one thing, that he would not let the brunette mer go.

"She is Nyai Loro Kidul, the Goddess of the Sea.," Ralph said quietly. "She chose to live the life of an ordinary mer though when she came across your father - who sought her out and unlike the rest of her suitors wasn't scared of who she was and stole her heart. And you Connor - you were her greatest treasure and her entire world..."

Markus was speechless by what he had just heard, there were many myths surrounding the Goddess of the Sea, she was a deity they still worshipped she controlled the seas and took the souls of any who she wished for. But there were other stories and whisperings. And Connor was her son, did that make him a deity also? Was the reason he felt the pull towards him because of that, he felt confused and was pulled from his thoughts by someone's warm hands cradling his face - and all of what he had thought a moment ago was gone.

"I don't like seeing you worried and lost in thought, stay with me - I'm right here Markus.." Connor told his handsome darker tan mer that he held a great fondness and desire for. The need and want to give Markus all that he sought, regardless of the cost.

"Ralph..thank you for telling me who my mother was, but I think you will need to explain what that means for Markus and I - as well as yourself and well..." he paused and looked to his friend. Who seemed to understand and carried on explaining things further.

"I don't quite know what your Mother meant, she did her best to try to explain it to me but you hold a great deal of power within your entire being Connor, the power to control the seas, the life within it and to grant someone you know to be worthy, your boon to help them achieve what it is they desire - no matter the cost.." he paused a sadness going through him at the fact the cost was heavy for such - but Connor had the right to know and so he carried on.

"The cost of helping Markus and all of those within these walls could cost you your life Connor but truthfully I think there is a way to avoid it if you decide to limit how much you help. Queen Chloe, your mother wrote all of what that entails in her book, which you now have. I have never read any of those pages though.." Ralph added honestly and he hadn't. He would never invade Connor's privacy and he had kept his promise.

Elijah let out snarl at the fact that the rite he had performed hadn't given him a clear indication of where Connor was, only a rough idea of where he had been. Connor might have taken off his bracelets but it was a good place to start the search - but he would need to do a few things first. In his absence, he would have to make sure the council was bound to his will and ensure that his Kingdom, would continue to run smoothly. It would mean he would have to visit Amanda, something he wasn't particularly fond of doing but their alliance was one that had its advantages, although the cost had been rather high for the presiding King. But it was a cost he was fine with paying and it would perhaps come in handy - now that he was closer to finding where exactly Jericho's location was and getting his son back.

He had expended a lot his energy in doing so but he would stop at nothing to make sure Connor was back here with him. His son would guarantee him everything he wanted and it had been worth it, to court and woo his mother - who unbeknownst to everyone was a Goddess and she had been a beautiful and he had truly cared and loved her but that faded with time and when Connor was born, the dynamics between them changed.

The queen was still alluring of course, but it was clear that almost all of his wife's power was now within their child, and so his wife had spent all of her days secluded in the beautiful garden then she attended to. And Elijah wanted to possess all of the power available to him, that was an attractive quality he craved and sought. To have Connor disregarding the fact he was his son, as his queen and consort would ensure his Kingdom and indeed the very ocean and all within it - were his to command. And wasn't that a wonderful thing?

He smiled at the thought, his sudden anger at not being able to locate his son properly falling away as he knew that soon, he would grasp that power once again. And he would take the time to properly claim and worship it. How his son had willingly accepted given into his touches and ministrations in the library - that seemed like an eternity ago now but soon he would have all the time in the world, to explore and take all of what Connor would willingly give him. He would keep Connor safe and away from greedy, grasping hands that weren't his own.

And with a dark smile, he stretched and lay down on the bed his son occupied and slept in and decided that a short nap would be sufficient enough to help him get back some of the energy he had expended. Dark mer magick was something that took a little bit of one's life energy each time a rite required for a spell was done, but considering it was one of the most powerful forms of mer witchery such a price was the cost - something that he had found a balance for. Those touches he had given his son over the years, along with those bracelets had ensured that any that he spent was given back to him. But now that it was no longer the case he needed to see Amanda but first he would rest and with a tired yawn let

"Soon you'll be back with me Connor.." he murmured as he closed his eyes and let the lingering yet fading scent of his son coax him into the realm of welcoming slumber.

"So you're telling me you left Markus there? With the two new arrivals...?" North asked a little perplexed and trying to figure out just why the sudden change had occurred. Sure it wasn't unusual for their friend to do his best to be involved in every aspect and area of Jericho - but from what Josh had told her, this felt like something more. And although she wasn't particularly keen on the fact this was maybe perhaps because of what Lucy had said, it was still good to see Markus being more pro-active. Recently she had noticed that he'd been a little lackluster with everything and she couldn't blame him - everything they planned with regards to taking back the kingdom, each plan seemed to have something which wouldn't make it successful or if it did - the cost was too high.

"Well I don't think either of them poses a threat, I mean we did want Markus to get more involved with things - so technically he's doing what we wanted him to..?" Josh replied as he took another bite of the mackerel he has bought from one of the stalls on his way back from where he had left their leader. He felt a lot more at ease now, for some reason it felt right to have Connor here. Jericho was a haven for everyone and he was sure that whatever had caused the attractive brunette mer to come to them, it must have been something pretty bad.

"You're right I guess. Say, Josh, do you think I've been a little too harsh on Simon..?" North asked it had been a few days since they had their disagreement and it was distressing for her to know that she was the reason why Simon had been avoiding being near her and Josh, the divide between them was something that had become noticeable and she found herself missing Simon's calm aura and friendly nature. Without him everything was unbalanced and it felt wrong. Simon was supposed to be with them and instead she has driven him out.

"You've been a bitch to him, yeah but I think you can still work things out. I won't be the middle-man for this though, this is something you should do for both Simon and yourself. You need to let go of the past North, you are strong and I know you can do it.." Josh finished what was left of his mackerel before speaking again. "..You can let your emotions show none of us will think you weak because of it and you will be all the stronger for it. Instead of dwelling on the past - think of the future and all the possibilities it holds.."

North listened as Josh spoke, he out of all of their little group was the one that had always balanced her out, even when they had disagreements they had still managed to find a way to make it agreeable to both of them. It was nice to have his support and until recently she hadn't really given much thought as to romance - she'd been around three mermen all her life. All of them had been her brothers in a way, but she had found herself over the last while gravitating towards Josh and with everything that had happened recently - it only made her come to realize that he seemed to spend a lot of time with her also.

She was more comfortable around these three than anyone else and many times in the past she had hung out and socialized with the many other mermaids that resided within the walls of Jericho- but found it very overwhelming, even though they had all been so welcoming, she still felt like the oddity and they were seemingly very curious as to what it was like, working in close proximity of not one but three mermen. Many of whom seemed to be fairly smitten with all three of them, but Josh, however, had been a favorite and she didn't know how she felt about that. They had admired her also, a mermaid being high up within Jericho's hierarchy even though they didn't technically have one, she was still essentially one of the three second in command that Markus had.

And so when she had been distracted by her thoughts she hadn't noticed that Josh was not sitting rather close to her with a soft, concerned almost loving look in those lovely eyes of his. "I..yeah you're right I've been a bitch and I will fix things with Simon, this divide I've created it hurts me a lot and I didn't mean to but - " she broke off though mid-sentence when Josh reached out and took her hand, in a gentlemanly manner which made her suddenly feel very warm.

"I'm here for you North. I won't be going anywhere. Come to see me when you've talked with Simon - there is something I want to tell you.." Josh said to her earnestly before giving her a smile and adding. "..Something I've been wanting to tell you for a while but never found the time to.."

"Sure, Josh. I'll come to you after.." North replied suddenly feeling butterflies in her stomach and watching as Josh swam off in that calm meander his movements always tended to have. Taking a deep breath to calm herself she nodded and made her way towards the topmost part of Jericho - where the deep sea garden was. Here in the deeper depths of the ocean, there was plant life of course - just as colorful in its own right as those in the shallower seas. It was a place many a mer from Jericho went to enjoy the quiet solitude that all mer needed.

North just hoped that Simon would accept her apology and that Josh was right - she needed to let go of the past and instead focus on the future. But witchery and mer magick was something she would never be comfortable with - of that she was certain.

#novella #fiction #markus x connor #rk1000 #detroit: become human #dbh markus #dbh connor #dbh kamski #dbh north #dbh josh #dbh chloe #dbh ralph #dbh #merman au #merman alternate universe #markus rk200 #connor rk800

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thekidultlife · 7 years ago

Text

Saudade | Badboy! Jihoon AU

Words: 8077

Genre: Fluff (lol no smut this time)

(A/N: Ok. I must apologize first. Sorry. I was supposed to write an update of Oppaya but I procrastinated and this was the result of my procrastination lol I divided it into two parts since it was getting realllllyyyyy long. but here ya go. Enjoy! :) )

Saudade (n).- a feeling of longing, melancholy or nostalgia

Lee Jihoon hated it.

The summer heat, the sweat dripping down his temples, the community service he was doomed to fulfill.

Lee Jihoon hated summer.

“Mr. Lee,” the motherly voice of the school counselor—Mrs. Kim rang on his ears like it was his warning alarm. “I’m not surprised that you’re back for the seventh time.”

Jihoon’s eyes turned into slits as he wore yet again his stubbornness to prepare himself for the incoming admonishment. He knew the counselor simply cared for him yet he didn’t need that care. He was fine by himself in his punk black t-shirt and tattered jeans.

“Since this is your seventh time, you already know by now that fighting with students from other schools will result to another community service punishment,” Mrs. Kim continued; knowing fully well that Jihoon would never listen anyway. Jihoon winced at the bruise on his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Which part of town am I going to clean this time?” Jihoon asked sarcastically with a dramatic roll of his eyes; tired of all the formalities and just wanted to get on with it.

“You’re not going to.”

The boy was taken aback but hid it with a simple arch of his brow. Well that wasn’t what he expected.

“You are going to this address later this afternoon. Someone will be waiting for you,” she told him and right at that instant, Jihoon was already thinking of not going. It wasn’t like he was obligated to follow; he can always choose to disobey—as if he wasn’t used to it.

“I will be personally checking on you. You know I will, Jihoon,” Mrs. Kim continued as she stood up from her seat and placed a piece of paper with an address written on it on his hands. He could only look at her with restrained annoyance as he crumpled the paper he was holding. Great. Just great.

Jihoon could only scowl on his way out of the office as he pocketed the paper in his pants. He didn’t want to go but he owed a lot to Mrs. Kim and it will be against his conscience to add any more to his piling list of sins. So there he was, sighing as he walked down the empty hallways and towards the blistering summer heat outside which he surely hated.

“You’re still not kicked out? Wow, just fucking wow.” Soonyoung, a close friend—and probably Jihoon’s only best friend—asked curiously; standing up straight after leaning on the wall for a long time.

Everyone; no, not really everyone but probably half of thirteen people where gathered inside a rundown warehouse and were just chilling out. Most of them were still students but some like Seungcheol and Hansol had already dropped off of school.

“Well, he’s still acing his classes despite being asleep all the time,” Jeonghan said in a matter-of-fact tone as he laid down on the tattered couch. “Ah, I’m so envious.”

“Why would you be? You’re sleeping most of the time anyway,” Mingyu, the tallest, remarked as his fellow friends simply groaned at him.

“What he means is that, he also wants to get top scores even though he’s sleeping. Go fucking study language Mingyu,” Seungcheol explained as he emptied a can of beer and tossed it to the mountain of cans by the door which was once a garbage bin.

“Anyway, I can’t go with you guys later. I have to be somewhere,” Jihoon interrupted as he sipped on his own can of beer, looking rather brooding and grumpy.

As soon as his gang members heard him, loud complaints and noises filled the vast expanse of the warehouse and luckily, Seungcheol was there to keep their mouths shut before it got out of hand.

“Seriously? Can’t you just fucking stand them up?” Seungkwan, who seemed to be unusually quiet today asked, probably because he was licking on his dripping popsicle stick.

“I would have if I could but Mrs. Kim will be there and like hell am I planning on getting scolded for the second time today,” Jihoon replied, throwing a nasty glare at Seungkwan as he placed the can on the stack of crates beside him, before he could get shit drunk and ruin everything.

“Too bad we won’t have ‘The Little Gremlin’ to beat the shit out of everyone with a bat later,” Soonyoung joked but Jihoon simply gave him a narrow gaze before he kicked the guy’s leg furiously.

“What are you going to do there anyway?” Mingyu asked while Jihoon shifted his position on the arm chair he was sitting on; shrugging in the process.

“She wouldn’t tell me. Looks like I’ll have to fucking guess,” Jihoon replied as he prepared himself for a little nap, enough to last till the afternoon which he still has no idea of what to expect.

“If only I fucking knew that this place was on top of a fucking mountain I wouldn’t have come,” Jihoon complained as he strode uphill; sweat forming on his brow as his joints screamed at him to take a rest. He could hear the distant seagulls crying at the distance as the tangerine rays of the afternoon sun reflected upon his eyes. Sometimes, afternoons can make him feel some things.

Jihoon frowned as he gazed at the scorching asphalt he was walking on and finally averted his eyes from the ground and to the peaceful sunset before him sitting on the vast myriad of colors which was the sea. He stopped for a bit to catch his breath. While he hated summer, he still loved the sea and everything it has to offer—the breeze, the scent, the beauty of it as the sun rose and sets. It reminded him of his past which he always wished to escape but cannot. Knowing where his thoughts were drawing him to, Jihoon averted his gaze back to the asphalt road and continued onwards to the quaint house sitting atop the hill.

As he gradually approached the small building, Jihoon had realized that it was a studio more than anything and heard sweet music pouring from its sun basked whitewashed walls. He cautiously looked over its trimmed hedge of roses and saw that he had to move closer to satisfy his curiosity.

“Piano?” he muttered to himself quietly, his step almost missing the stone path he was supposed to walk on.

Striding over the gate, Jihoon could finally discern the whole melody of the song and soon felt that he had heard it before once in his life yet he could not place it when or where—it was really familiar though.

Once he had reach the front door, he pressed the doorbell twice yet nobody answered him; the music still playing continually.

He then pushed the door slightly and he sound grew louder. It was a sorrowful melody yet there was a touch of youth and magic in the song like it was a farewell to childhood innocence—he might have deemed it as a perfect soundtrack for his life. Jihoon was hesitant to enter but the music was enticing him to leave his inhibitions by the door and continue onwards. Following where the sound was coming from, Jihoon carefully treaded on and finally realized that his feet had brought him to a small room where the door was slightly open.

There he saw beyond the small opening was you playing the piano—bathed in warm light as fingers danced above the keys so skillfully; a small smile gracing your lips. You pressed on the higher keys as your left hand continued to play deeper chords on the lower registers. To Jihoon’s eyes, everything he saw in that room was ethereal—including you—and as soon as the music stops, he was frightened that you might fade away with the vibrations of the last note. To his eyes, you look like beautiful mirage.

Unable to look away, Jihoon was unaware that you had finally finished playing and were looking at him with wide eyes. In a matter of second, you grabbed a nearby music stand and ran after him like a maniac.

Let’s just say that Jihoon had a terrible afternoon.

Sitting on a comfy sofa; unlike the one Jeonghan loves to lie on, Jihoon nursed his bruised temple with an ice pack as you sheepishly brought him coffee and some snacks.

“So yeah…um, yeah I’m sorry. I kinda overreacted—”

You started with pursed lips yet Jihoon had interrupted you with a fierce glare—he was bound to rage quit sooner or later.

“’Kinda’? You fucking hit me with a stand!” he shouted as you winced in guilt. Ok. Yes. You overreacted.

“But you can’t just go inside people’s houses!” you defended yourself with a frown and a glare of your own.

“Then why didn’t you lock your fucking door? Good thing I wasn’t some criminal—”

“You do look like a criminal though,” you replied; looking at his gangster get up as Jihoon gave you a jaded expression.

“Wow. I’m flattered,” he told you; his words dripping with sarcasm as he looked away. “Anyway, I’m Lee Jihoon.”

“I know,” you replied in an instant as you sat on the arm chair opposite of him while he gave you a look of astonishment. “You just don’t know me because you’re asleep during class.”

“We’re classmates?” he asked you with his brows lodged up his forehead as your grinned at him.

“I’m hurt. My one and only rival in our school doesn’t recognize me,” you mocked him playfully as he rolled his eyes at you.

“Very hilarious. If you think I’m you’re rival, then you’re probably Y/N. I’ve seen your name up the rankings,” Jihoon said as he leaned against the couch with a proud smile on his face.

“I’m not ‘probably Y/N’. I am Y/N. Now wipe off that smirk on your face. It doesn’t match with that bump on your head,” you replied as he frowned at you once again, taking a cup of coffee from the table.

The both of you looked at each other in silence—him still sipping his coffee as you observed his every action before you could decide what to do next.

“Since you’re Y/N, it’s not a bit surprising that you’re good with the piano. I heard you were winning competitions or something,” he suddenly began talking, cradling the cup carefully on his lap.

“I didn’t expect you’d know that.”

“Everyone talks about you in school. My friend Jun kinda has hots on you.”

“Jun has hots for everyone,” you replied with a frown and an arched brow as Jihoon simply grinned at you; beginning to think that being there with you wasn’t so bad after all.

“Well?” he finally asked as you gave him a confused look.

“Well what?” you threw him another question as Jihoon groaned at you.

“I’m pretty sure I’m sent here to do something, not spend afternoon tea time with you.”

You listened to him complain with an amused smile on your lips—thinking of the different ways he will react once you finally reveal what he was sent to you for. Jihoon had noticed how you were looking so smug as you leaned against the arm chair you were sitting on and finally stopped talking; giving you a suspicious gaze.

“You fucking know something. Tell me right now,” he demanded yet you made sure you wasted a lot of time before talking, just to keep him hanging.

“Well, you better clear your schedule for the whole summer because you’re going to be with me,” you replied as he froze on his seat with the lukewarm coffee still on his lap.

“What the fuck are you—”

“You’ll be learning how to play the piano. With me. Starting tomorrow.”

Lee Jihoon hated summer.

“Jesus. I thought you were ghost.”

You gasped softly in astonishment as you opened the French windows of your studio after seeing Jihoon peer over. He was looking at you with an annoyed expression as if he didn’t really want to come but simply had no choice. Jihoon actually began his forced piano lessons the week before and was now starting to tackle a lot of basic stuff—ranging from the pedaling techniques to sharps and half-steps. Without a piano available anywhere else but your studio, he knew he had to come to you if he wanted to practice.

“But here I am. So let’s just fucking begin,” he replied, jumping in your studio through the window like it was the most usual thing to do.

“If you keep on giving me that attitude, I’ll just keep on playing my violin all day,” you replied as you raised a brow. You were actually doing your early morning practice when Jihoon decided to show up on your window and frighten the shit out of you.

As soon as he heard your words, Jihoon immediately scoffed and sat in front of your piano—waiting like a grumpy cat. You, on the other hand, leaned against your window sill and watched him demonstrate how stubborn he can be.

“Well? Aren’t we going to—”

A stomach growl echoed across the quiet room as Jihoon turned his head away from your smug grin; his ears red in embarrassment. You then placed your violin back to its case and tapped Jihoon’s shoulder lightly.

“C’mon. Let’s get us some breakfast,” you told him as you went towards the hallway, encouraging him to follow you.

Eventually though—probably without any choice, Jihoon traced your steps to the kitchen and unconsciously observed the interior of your home. After a week of spending time in your house, he was now well aware how you were probably a daughter of some rich person; seeing how everything seemed modern and chic with those large glass windows and weird abstract paintings on the walls. Finally finding the kitchen which was as modern-looking as the rest of the house, he saw you placing on the marbled island counters a pair of plates and some utensils.

“Pancakes, bacon and eggs?” you asked him as you grabbed from the fridge a carton of orange juice but Jihoon simply looked at you blankly—still taking in the grandeur of your kitchen.

“What?”

You huffed and placed servings of pancakes, bacon and eggs on the counter. “I do hope you like them.”

“I really shouldn’t eat here like this,” he remarked as he finally sat on the counter beside you after trying to convince him for almost fifteen minutes.

“You didn’t even hesitate when you trespassed last week. Now that I’m inviting you for breakfast, you get all shy?” you replied with a fed-up look on your face that he simply grunted in annoyance for losing an argument. “You better eat a lot.”

Reluctantly, he gathered a serving for himself as you did so as well; both eating in the silence of your ultra-modern kitchen. You knew he was enjoying the food as he simply chewed on the bacon; taking in a mouthful after next.

“By the way, is it really okay for me to be here? I mean, where the fuck are your parents? I’ve been here since last week and I haven’t seen a single shadow.” Jihoon asked after some time, stabbing the yolk of the sunny side up egg and let the liquid ooze out on his pancakes before diving in for a bite.

“They don’t live with me,” you said simply, earning an evocative gaze from Jihoon as you sipped on your orange juice to ease the dryness in your throat. “Dad’s in Germany because he’s the principal conductor of Staatskapelle Berlin. Mom…well, Mom has a different family now.”

“Oh. Well, just pretend I didn’t ask,” he replied before finishing the remaining pancake on his plate.

You smiled weakly at him as you wiped your lips. “It’s ok, really. I’ve accepted it. Dad comes home every off-season anyway, so it isn’t like he doesn’t care for me.”

Jihoon simply gazed at you and then nodded slightly—understanding how lonely it must be living in a large house that was not really a home. He suddenly felt lucky how he had met twelve idiots who, albeit troublemakers, still care for him like he was family.

A few moments later, the two of you were back inside your studio—Jihoon was doing you prescribed routine finger exercises on your grand piano while you shuffled on the exercised book which you gave him before he left for the weekend. After finally finding what you were looking for, you placed the thick book on the stand and exhaled exasperatedly.

“Okay, I guess this is the piece we ended with last week?” you asked him, sitting beside Jihoon as you found that you would be discussing arpeggios and chords. So without any further ado, you began.

“Ok so a chord is a group of three or more notes, just like how I instructed you to do for the finger exercises. All chords are built in steps of thirds. Just like this,” you started and pressed on the C, E and G keys in front of Jihoon, who carefully observed what you were doing. “Here, C is the root—this is where we are building off our chord.”

“But when we only play three notes, that chord is called a triad which contains a root, a third and a fifth. And if I take the C, E, and G keys and play them together, that is what we call a C major triad,” you continued talking as he listened. Wanting to clear what you were explaining, you showed him how by pressing each piano key with your fingers.

“I’ve said earlier that a triad contains a root, a third and a fifth but the order of the tones may change without changing the name of the chord. When the lowest note is the root, just like this C major triad I just did, the triad is in the root position. But when the lowest note is not the root, the triad is inverted, like this,” you continued to explain, wondering if Jihoon was absorbing anything you were talking about.

As you proceeded with your lesson, you were quite surprised that Jihoon was being obedient and was listening intently to everything you say. He was even asking you questions about a few things which were not clear to him.

However, what is important in taking lessons is practicing what you had just learned. So you left Jihoon to his own devices as he allowed his fingers to get used to pressing the individual keys while you went to the kitchen to prepare some snacks.

As soon as you left, Jihoon continued to run both his left and right fingers up and down the keyboard, practicing a simple piece called Summer Breeze until he got the feel of the piano keys. He always liked the sound of the piano playing and was silently enjoying himself—like he’ll ever tell you that. His mind eventually wandered off as he remembered the melody you were playing when you first met, on the piano and how you looked so perfect underneath the afternoon light flitting on the curtains as the melody continued on.

He didn’t know what was the actual name of the piece yet he knew how every note must sound, like it was the back of his hand. He knew how each chord must be played, how every individual note must follow the feeling of the whole song. He wanted to express the emotion he had felt when he saw you playing the same piece and translate it into music. You looked so mesmerizing and utterly unreachable like a lucid dream he would have whenever he took afternoon naps.

He continued on playing arpeggios and all without even realizing that you were listening to him behind the door—completely astonished and curious about who he really was. You managed to be silent until he finished the whole piece, which was your cue to enter the room.

“Pavane pour une infante defunte,” you muttered as you placed a tin can of biscuits on the side table beside your violin case. “It means pavane for a dead princess, but Maurice Ravel never intended it for a dead princess. He said it was just a piece that a little princess might dance to in court during the olden times.”

“Doesn’t sound really festive,” Jihoon replied back without sparing you a glance, realizing that you had just discovered one of his secrets.

“It was meant to express nostalgia—longing for something from the past,” you answered him as you leaned against the large French windows. “Why didn’t you tell me you already knew how to play?”

Jihoon pursed his lips as he pressed a few stray notes on the piano keys; still deciding what to tell. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Besides, it’s not like I remember everything.”

You sighed at his answer and closed your eyes. You felt incredibly annoyed at how he made you feel like an idiot since last week, teaching him things he already knew. But in a larger sense, you also felt that Jihoon must be carrying something heavier and much more grave than your annoyance that talking about it makes him uncomfortable. Whatever it is, it must be connected to music.

“As far as I was instructed, I just have to give you something to do for the whole summer,” you started as Jihoon abruptly turned his head towards your direction. “Since this was something I couldn’t have foreseen, I guess there should be a change of plans.”

“Can’t you just fucking let me go? I only have a few months of freedom before school starts again,” he growled at you yet you simply crossed your arms over your chest and shot a brow up your forehead.

“Unfortunately for you, Jihoon, you wasted my time last week and therefore, you’ll be paying for it,” you replied as he furrowed his eyebrows at your approaching figure. “You will be accompanying me on a charity event next week.”

“What? Oh hell no.”

You narrowed your eyes at him; your irritation still boiling underneath your skin as you seized the collar of his shirt and gazed directly at his chocolate brown orbs.

“Oh hell yes.”

If Seungcheol wasn’t there keeping an eye on him, Jihoon would’ve trashed their hideout with his anger. But instead, here he was; slumped on his arm chair with a glare that could kill a whole army as his friends tried to do something about the tension in the air.

“Why is everyone so jittery?” Chan, the youngest in the group asked as he just got from practice with Myungho.

“Jihoon is in a mood since this afternoon,” Seungkwan supplemented as he sat beside Chan. “Looks like he won’t be spending time with us at all for the whole summer.”

“I heard Y/N forced him to do a performance next week,” Soonyoung, who had seen Seungkwan and Chan whispering, came up behind them.

“Y/N? That girl who’s really good with the piano?” Chan asked for confirmation as Soonyoung nodded.

“But Jihoon was once really good with it too, right?” Seungkwan questioned too as he looked at Soonyoung behind him.

“Well, yeah…but he doesn’t really play anymore,” Soonyoung answered as he scratched the back of his neck. “It would take forever to convince him to.”

“Then, how the hell did Y/N managed to convince him?” Chan asked disbelievingly.

“He must have ran out of excuses not to…or, he must have gained a reason to,” Seungkwan speculated yet Joshua who was just fiddling with his guitar earlier were signaling them to stop talking with a look of panic.

Realizing that something must have gone wrong, the three of them glanced back to Jihoon who was already looking at them with dangerous glances.

“Alright, guys. We better run.”

Jihoon gazed silently at the sea during a walk later that night. The breeze was humid and sticky against his skin yet he didn’t care as he was contemplating on what he was going to do.

“Wow. I think you might be in love, man,” Soonyoung remarked as he approached Jihoon’s contemplative figure who was leaning against the metal railing.

“And I think you’ve become a genius,” Jihoon straight up said to Soonyoung’s face that the other lit up.

“Really? I’m right?”

A look of exasperation. “Oh sorry. I thought we’re exchanging impossible shit here.”

“I’m fucking serious, man!” Soonyoung whined but the other boy simply scoffed and turned back to the sea. “If you weren’t in love, how could Y/N possibly make you play when you swore you wouldn’t play again?”

“Mrs. Kim wouldn’t save my fucking ass again if I don’t follow what Y/N says,” Jihoon replied but Soonyoung wouldn’t have it—possibly because he was one of the only few who knew about Jihoon’s past.

“I know you, man. You would find a way not to play even if you would have to fight for it. You’re stubborn as fuck.”

“Fuck you,” Jihoon cursed as he grasped on the railing tightly. “Y/N just happens to make me feel things.”

“And that sir, is what you call love.”

“It’s not love, you shit head,” Jihoon rolled his eyes and watched the waves crash against the bare cliffs. “Her parents are alive but it’s like they’re dead. She’s lonely in that huge house and it got me thinking how I don’t really have anything but I have you guys by my side.”

“Awww. I’m touched, Jihoonie. C’mon let me hug you, man,” Soonyoung cooed as he opened his arms wide at Jihoon who looked mortified than ever.

“Don’t touch me or I’ll break your knee,” the smaller man threatened and Soonyoung immediately back away, knowing that Jihoon was definitely serious.

“Anyway, I understand if you’re feeling that way. I’m just surprised you’re showing concern for other people,” Soonyoung became more pensive this time around as he continued.

Jihoon heaved a long sigh. “I could see myself in her…we’re similar. And I don’t want to ignore her loneliness because I know how it could suck out your soul.”

Soonyoung said nothing as Jihoon continued to talk against the dark clear skies of summer.

“But I’m afraid that being with her will also open up things I don’t want to go back to. All this time, I keep on burying them so I won’t have to feel anything.”

“Oh, so that’s why you were in a bad mood earlier. You want to help her but you’ll probably end up getting hurt too.”

“I’m getting soft. I don’t usually do self-sacrificing shit for people.”

“You’re just in love, Jihoon.”

“One more and I’ll throw you off the railing.”

“Sorry. But seriously, you can’t run from your past forever. You have to face it eventually.”

“I know. I’ll just count on you guys to bring me back.”

Violin Concerto in D major, Op.25 by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

“It’s transcribed for piano and violin,” you told Jihoon when he showed up the next morning on your front door. Now he was seated in front of the piano with a score on his hands.

“I didn’t know you were also good with the violin,” he muttered as he checked the score. “There’s even a solo here.”

“I played the violin first before the piano, you know,”

“Why’d you switch?” he asked, gazing up your standing form who was holding your violin’s bow on one hand and greasing it with rosin with the other.

“Childhood battles. I hated a kid so bad I swore I’ll beat the little shit in a piano competition,” you laughed fondly at your memories as Jihoon smirked, realizing that you can be as feisty as fuck. So she actually swears.

“Well, did you?”

“I didn’t. That little punk was so good, but then a lot happened and I couldn’t compete for two years. Next thing I knew, he moved somewhere, probably Europe,” you answered him and then moved to get your violin, tapping the music sheets he was holding with your bow as you continued to talk. “Familiarize yourself with piece, it’s not very hard but it’s challenging for you at your level.”

“Hm. I can do it. Don’t worry about me,” Jihoon confidently replied and placed the score in front of him.

For the whole morning that day, the two of you were just practicing intently—you on your violin and him on the piano. Both of you were so serious that you didn’t realize that night time had finally approached; darkening the road in front of your house and illuminating the stars on the sky.

“Jihoon, aren’t you going to go home?” you asked as you took a break; leaning on the wall as you stretched your arm.

“Later. I can’t seem to get this passage to flow better,” he replied to you with a mulish tone as if he wasn’t going to be deterred from practicing.

“Looks like someone’s going to eat dinner here,” you told yourself with a small amused smile as you stalked away from the room.

The following days continued like this with him practicing night and day on your piano that sometimes, he was already staying over the night. You were worried of course, someone must be taking care of him somehow and he still hasn’t returned home for almost three days—just an occasional trip out where he brought some change of clothes. So when a tall boy with adorably puffy cheeks rang your doorbell on Thursday, you didn’t need to wonder who he was looking for.

“You’re Y/N,” he simply said as you nodded awkwardly with your bow still in your hands. His wild dark blue hair and ripped jeans screamed delinquency but his face was full of boyish innocence.

“Let me guess, you’re looking for Jihoon?” you started as you saw the boy smile and then nod. “He’s inside and still practicing.”

You welcomed him in and escorted him to your studio where Jihoon could still be heard rehearsing a measure over and over again.

“Jihoon talks about you a lot,” the guest told you as you quirked an eyebrow at him, your hand on the door knob of the studio.

“Probably curses me a lot too,” you chuckled and led him to the studio. “Jihoon, you have a visitor.”

Jihoon, who was obviously getting pissed at how he wasn’t getting the passage, simply ignored you and just continued playing. So you tried louder and called for him yet there wasn’t even a single grunt of acknowledgement.

“Jihoonie, I came to see if you’re still alive!” the other boy shouted over the fortissimo notes of the piano cheerfully. You realized things were getting really loud in your studio.

“Y/N, tell Soonyoung to go fucking home and disturb me later,” Jihoon simply said as he crouched to see the miniature notes printed on the music sheet while you glanced at the ignored guest with a blank stare.

“So you’re Soonyoung. Nice to meet you,” you simply said as you gave a weak smile. “Are you really just going to go home?”

Soonyoung grinned at you as if he wasn’t really affected by Jihoon’s harsh words. “Well, yeah. It’s not like I could get anything from that guy other than a broken bone.”

Silently, you walked him back to your front door and when it was time to close the door, Soonyoung held your wrist suddenly.

“Jihoon is blunt and harsh but he’s a nice guy,” he told you with a bright grin which turned his eyes into small slits. “Please take care of him.”

You gazed at Soonyoung for a few moments and nodded with a serene smile on your lips. “I know and I will.”

“Thank you,” Soonyoung replied as he backed away from your front door. “Oh, and I heard you’re one hell of a grill master, mind if we barge in later? We’re twelve people, by the way.”

You raised an eye brow at him as he skipped down the cobbled road backwards. “Sure. Give me your best shot.”

To say the least, Jihoon was surprised to see his friends waiting around the long glass dining table you had in the back yard garden. To say the most, he was eternally grateful that they hadn’t broken a single expensive vase. Yet.

He could see Seokmin, Soonyoung and Mingyu playing football on your manicured summer garden while Seungkwan and Hansol were discussing the weird bulbous-headed statue you had in your fountain. The others simply looked around and gazed at the expensive interior of your home or sat on the metal chairs littered around the garden. Jihoon found you beyond the smoke smoldering from your barbecue grill, preparing dish after dish of barbecued meat.

“Y/N. Explain to me why they’re here,” Jihoon demanded in a low hiss as you turned a corn cob to prevent it from being burnt thoroughly.

“Soonyoung said I can invite everyone for dinner,” you replied with an inclined tone in your voice. “It’s my house so I don’t need to explain to you.”

“Don’t blame me if they destroy something,” he told you with a huff as he sat on the steel garden chair beside the grill.

“Don’t be so tense tonight, Jihoon. You’ve been practicing for almost a week straight. Learn to relax for a bit,” you told him but your words suddenly made you realize something. “You’re weirdly hard-working for a delinquent who’s been forced into this.”

Jihoon flinched at your question and averted his gaze to the peach dahlias you had on a celadon pot as if it had caught his attention. Silence eventually filled the space between the two of you with you focusing on your grilling while he concentrated on saying nothing so that you wouldn’t press on any further. But you did anyway.

“You began to like playing, didn’t you?” you asked with a teasing grin on your lips as he threw you a hell of a glare. “You sometimes give out yourself, you know.”

“So what? I like it and it doesn’t mean anything,” he replied to you with a mean expression but you simply shrugged at him and placed a new batch of steak to grill.

“It does. Just like how it doesn’t involve you into any more fights,” you told him yet Jihoon remained silent and simply scratched on the grass with his shoe. “Why do you even fight in the first place?”

“It takes the edge off. I have to blow off some steam or I’ll probably go nuts.”

Dinner immediately started as your table filled with every kind of grilled meat, vegetable and fruit. As soon as everything was in order, thirteen hungry mouths dived into the banquet until every stomach was filled and everything was cleaned to the bone. There was loud laughter, jokes thrown from here to there as you watched Jihoon relax in the presence of his close friends. However, as you were observing Jihoon, you noticed a pair of eagle eyes staring at you with a judging gaze. You turned and saw that it was Seungcheol—the oldest member of the gang and you were definitely aware that his gaze was not of happiness but of suspicion. Your thoughts were confirmed when he approached you after the table was cleared and everyone was taking a break.

“So you’re Y/N.”

A deep voice interrupted your conversation with Jihoon as a young man approached the two of you with a scrutinizing gaze. His bleached grey hair reflected the brilliance of the moonlight as if it was made of silver while his stance immediately made the tension in the atmosphere rise to discernable heights.

“Fuck off, Cheol,” Jihoon growled as he stood up in front of you; shielding you from the intimidating presence of their leader, Seungcheol.

“Hey, hey. Relax will you. You know I don’t hurt girls,” Seungcheol defended himself as he backed away from the two of you which made Jihoon finally unguard himself with a grunt.

“And you are?” You asked behind Jihoon as you wheedled him away from your view of the other man.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he told you without going for a handshake, not like you expected any formalities. “You forcing Jihoon to be a model student like you?”

He meant no physical harm but that doesn’t mean he won’t engage in psychological warfare; you thought.

“This is only a mandatory punishment. He can go back to fucking up his life after if he wants to,” you replied with an equally dominant tone, much to Seungcheol’s surprise who raised an eyebrow at you.

“You don’t seem to know a lot about Jihoon,” he told you bluntly though his words lodged sharply into your chest.

He’s right. I don’t know anything about Jihoon.

The pain which the truth came with translated into anger.

“Oh yes, I don’t. But you do and you won’t even stop him from fighting. In fact, you’re actually encouraging him to,” you hissed at him.

“Don’t talk as if you—”

“Shut up…the two of you,” a low voice came between you and Seungcheol in a tone which indicated that he was straining the rage seeping into his words.

“Jihoon, you ain’t coming back here. She’ll just fuck your head up,” Seungcheol demanded yet you knew that was something Jihoon wouldn’t have welcome.

It wasn’t that surprising that Jihoon abruptly slammed his fist on Seungcheol’s cheek and a huge fight broke out. Punches and kicks flew as both boys were being separated by their friends who were also as anxious as you were. When they successfully pulled Jihoon and Seungcheol away from killing one another, the others simply had to go and left with small goodbyes as Mingyu dragged Seungcheol away.

On the other hand, Soonyoung voluntarily stayed with Jihoon and watched as you took your first aid kit and cleaned the bruises the dark-haired boy had incurred.

“C’mon man, you can’t just fucking beat up Cheol like that,” Soonyoung reasoned out as he sat on your sleek white sofa with on leg pressed on his chest; moving back and forth restlessly.

“He’s being a dick,” Jihoon replied as you applied ointment on the gash he had on his cheek. “He fucking dared talk about me as if I wasn’t there. No, actually, it was the both of you.”

Jihoon gave you a look of recrimination yet you gave him a small apology as you placed a band-aid on his cheek—probably considering your treatment as your way to recompense.

“Anyway, I have to go back practicing,” he declared as he stood up, ignoring your calls about you not being done yet.

“That guy…his knuckles are still bleeding,” you said almost to yourself.

In a blink of an eye, you and Jihoon were already facing the front doors of the building where the charity event will take place. He looked confident but you knew he was apprehensive deep inside since he kept on checking the music sheet he was holding.

“So, an orphanage?” he asked you and you nodded.

Beyond the steel gates lie a large brick compound which was surrounded by carefully maintained hedges and trees. Rose vines crawled on to the crumbling eastern wall which made everything look straight from a fairytale book as the late morning sunlight poured into the colorful windows of what looked like a dormitory.

“When I was a bit younger, Dad would leave me here when he knew he would be gone for a long time and then pick me up once he’s back,” you told Jihoon who gave you one of his most confused and mortified expression.

“Who the fuck would do that to his daughter? Shouldn’t he just let you go with him?” he asked with a tone of disbelief yet you simply shrugged at him.

“He said it’s hard to work with children around,” you replied nonchalantly and silently walked pass the gate with Jihoon following behind.

“Anyway, I began visiting this place after I was legal enough to stay by myself at home and those visits turned into small charity events. But honestly though, I just play with the children,” you said as you gave a tiny laugh which made Jihoon curve up a little smile.

He didn’t really question how you could possibly organize a charity event judging from how wealthy you were. Upon entering the main building, Jihoon watched you talk to the person in charge who then kindly led you to a wide room.

It was more of a large classroom littered with children’s toys and covered in a foam carpet with animals and letters on it, as he later observed. Yet what he first witnessed when the both of you entered the room was a flock of kids who simply tackled you down to the floor—all eager to greet you.

The image of you surrounded by children of various heights made Jihoon all soft and warm as he watched from the side of the door with a little grin plastered on his face. It looked really nice. You look really nice.

“By the way, today, I brought someone with me!” you said as Jihoon continued to stare at you; completely mesmerized. “Jihoon, come here please!”

As soon as he heard his name, Jihoon flinched in surprise and swayed his head from left to right in panic—an absolute indication that he didn’t want to interact with the kids.

“C’mon! Don’t be like that!” you said as you stood up and dragged him towards the circle of children.

He was incredibly worried about what to say or do since he was completely awkward with children and prayed to the higher beings to just cut him some slack. However, you were really persistent in making him participate that he simply gave up refusing and sat beside you with a less than obvious pout.

“He’s cute!” a little girl with pigtails beside you suddenly said as she pointed her fingers at Jihoon, which made you chuckle; seeing Jihoon’s scowl. “Is he your boyfriend?”

You smiled at her innocence. “He’s Jihoon and yes, he’s cute but he’s not my boyfriend. Say hi to Jihoon.”

“Hi, Jihoon!” the girl mimicked as he simply nodded at her bashfully; his ears stained red.

After the girl waved at him, the other kids also greeted him with equal enthusiasm while Jihoon gave timid replies and sheepish smiles. Deep inside though, he was in a state of turmoil since you didn’t even gave him any premise that he would be talking to children today.

“Jihoon can also play the piano too, you know?” you told everybody and the children who were curiously playing with Jihoon’s accessorized t-shirt. “That’s why I’ll be playing the violin today!”

The kids gave eager looks at you as they all became noisy—all talking about how you didn’t play the violin for them for such a long time. You gave a look at Jihoon who instantly knew that the performance cue was up and stood up to approach the upright piano displayed by the large stained glass windows.

“What’chu gonna play?” a boy who looked not more than seven and with sun-kissed skin asked Jihoon who silently sat on the piano stool, waiting for you.

“Er…it’s called violin concerto in D. Not a really fun title, huh?” Jihoon replied with a grin as the boy shrugged.

“Sounds boring,” he said as Jihoon chuckled.

“The title is fucking boring but the real stuff isn’t,” Jihoon replied with a proud smile yet when he caught your glare, his smile instantly transformed into a frown.

“Don’t you dare curse in front of the kids,” you scolded him in a low voice, getting your violin out of the case.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just start,” he told you with a jaded look which you returned with a roll on your eyes.

The children were already seated neatly beside the piano; a proof that this was something you regularly did and the children knew what to do. So Jihoon patiently waited for you to prepare yourself and when you gazed back at him, he already had is fingers hovering on top of the keys.

So with a little nod from you, Jihoon began.

Violin Concerto in D major

Allegro moderato—like the indicated tempo, the piece wasn’t very fast but only considerably so. It started with an intro from the piano and followed by a solo violin which is the actual highlight of the whole piece. It was a beautiful selection and though he loved the sound of the piano, he knew that this piece would’ve sounded much greater if it was being played with the orchestra. He imagined the strings playing in the background together with the sound of your violin going higher and higher and then moving to a grandiose orchestra section which became a moment for you to rest and get ready for another round of continuous playing—however, this time, it was him and the piano who was accompanying you with staccatos and arpeggios.

Jihoon’s part was actually filled with a lot of resting sections that he actually took the time to watch you play the violin. He watched as you glided your hand down the violin’s bridge and reaching such high notes which sounded almost silent at how high it was. He watched as your face often contorted into a smile or a nose scrunch when the solo dips into one of its difficult parts. He watched everything you did—how your back arched as you played or how your hair swayed as you moved to and fro.

Again, he was enthralled, just like how he was when he first witnessed you playing in that studio. Your being, so entrenched into the music you were creating made his heart leap with every beat of the concerto as his eyes were glued to your figure with fingers dancing on top of the four metal strings of the violin.

It was crazy. He was beginning to go crazy.

With just your sound, he was instantly amazed. It was so perplexing that it was the only thing he thought of as the first movement proceeded into its conclusion; as his own fingers pressed on the keys so passionately that he was becoming worried the piano might break. But it was pushed at the back of his mind as you glanced at him with a playful smile so sweet that he just had to give one of his own. Jihoon wasn’t even looking into the black and white keys anymore, but to you who made his cheeks unconsciously warm as the piece ended with a chord.

Jihoon couldn’t even hear the rambunctious cheers of the children or how they were flocked before him and pressed a few keys on the piano. He didn’t care.

His vision was only focused on you who was already asking him why he was staring. Your question broke his trance and simply looked away as he felt his cheeks rush with blood.

“I’m—yeah, I’m fine. That was really cool.”

Yeah, I’m fine.

The sky was already painted with washes of orange and purple when the both of you walked your way back home. It had been a fun day as Jihoon slowly warmed up to the children though he was still awkward for a few times. You were glad he didn’t run away or anything and stayed with you until it was already almost dark.

“You were great earlier,” you told him with your hands on your back as the two of you strode down the hilly streets. “Who knew you could play like that?”

“Nah, it wasn’t such a big deal. You were better,” Jihoon said shyly; gazing at the asphalt since both of you left the orphanage.

“Thank you,” you replied with a giggle.

Silence again envelops you and Jihoon. At that time you were already deciding something in your head and wouldn’t have even uttered it if not for your complete amazement of Jihoon’s talents.

“But hey, if you’re interested…only if you’re interested…” your words trailed off which immediately made him avert his gaze towards you.

“Would you like to play in a concert? With me?”

Lee Jihoon suddenly didn’t know if he still hated summer.

-Admin Hyeri

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen woozi #woozi #lee jihoon

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therealvagabird · 8 years ago

Text

A Squire’s Journey

The tale of a girl in search of glory, by C. Christiansen.

Oh, gentle mother, righteous protector

Steady my hands, kindle my heart

Let me see my fate through your eyes

Reassured of its inevitable purity

Susannah prostrated herself before the shrine, alone, murmuring her prayer to herself. In the light of the young hours, the multi-colored walls of the chapel took on pale, pastel hues, their mosaic beauty washed out in the blue light. It was cold, but Susannah didn’t care. She could feel the warm embrace of the Goddess stilling her heart, shielding her body. Just as well, as she was dressed in little more than her nightgown, and her legs just protected from the hard, stone floor by a prayer mat she’d taken the time to lay out. Her pale, blonde hair cascaded down around her arms as she bowed, arms outstretched before the altar—her own shades; golden hair, rosy skin, sky-blue gown, now also washed to paleness in the morning light. The point to which she prayed was the sole aspect of the temple lacking in intricate décor. No idol could capture Her Holiness’ beauty, and so her prayers were directed at a simple effigy of wood, carved in the shape of an elegant tree trunk, whose outstretched branches cradled the holy text which it supported—the Vag’Yahmi, thick-bound and adorned with little more than the gold lettering that told its name, written in the holy tongue. Upon the front of the carven trunk was set a hand-sized disk of brass, which was polished so bright as to almost carry a warm sunlight of its own, reflecting those cold, ambient rays that filtered in through the narrow-slit windows of the chapel’s fortress walls. An unfortunate side effect of Castle Sarie’s nature as a martial base meant that the Order’s temple had to do without the elaborate stained glass of the inland cathedrals. Susannah didn’t mind. As a knight—well, aspiring knight—her faith was not founded on trappings of gold and silk. She could feel the light of the Goddess in any place under her loving gaze.

The warrior heard the creak of heavy doors, and concluded her final prayer, sitting back up to have one final look at the altar. She was ready.

“Ah, mademoiselle Deschamps.” The servant confirmed with faint relief in his voice, turning his head back around the door, “As I said she would be.”

The elder man was followed in by someone Susannah knew to be his younger, but looked all the world more worn. Knight-Katib Bellamy, one warrior whose face bore the injuries of administration as much as they did the scars of battle; the horrors of the battlefields of war, and of mountainous paperwork.

Susannah rose at once, placing her hand over her heart in respect for the master knight, the standard salute of the Empire of New Yahmi. She was somewhat embarrassed that her prayer had taken so much longer than she’d anticipated—she would have never kept her superiors waiting, and now here she was, dressed in her nightgown with her hair undone, stood in front of the shadow-faced Bellamy in his full regalia.

“Good to see you’re already up and… well, ready in mind, if not in dress.” The katib’s voice was soft even though his face was as stern as always. Composure was a high virtue within their Order, though it was never supported by sour moods—the countryside that birthed the stock of Sarie was far too golden to give rise to foul tempers.

Susannah nodded, “I was just preparing with morning worship, m’lord. I thought the hour was earlier than it was, I’m sorry to have thrown you off.” Though she was clad in casual wear, her stance was as rigid as would be expected of a soldier.

His wave was unconcerned, the gold trim on his cuffs ever so glinting, and his cream-white suit sharp and austere, as suited his office. “It was no issue. Many warriors will seek a morning prayer before a long mission.”

Her eyes lit up, “Is it time, then?”

He nodded, “You’ve been selected as our emissary and champion. Bureaucracy and unwarranted secrecy has done nothing to expedite the process, but the Order on Sarie is never hesitant to jump at the call of duty.” He looked her over, “If you would prepare yourself, I shall see you in the chambers of the Lord-Paladin, where you might learn of the details of your assigned task.”

Susannah held up both of her hands and crossed them over her chest. “Thank you, Knight-Katib. I shall prepare at once. I apologize again for my absentmindedness.”

“You’ve no need for apology, I tell you.” Bellamy almost smiled as he turned back to the door where his assistant waited, “Action. Action shall see you stand in glory when all is said and done. Leave apologies to me and the myriad bleating souls I must write to.”

With his biting sarcasm concluded, the katib left, and Susannah Deschamps breathed a sigh of exhilaration and relief. She rolled up her prayer mat, and gave one final bow to the alter, before walking at as brisk a pace as was decent back to her room, gate swift and unyielding.

At the age of twenty-one years, the time of the prodigal squire’s accolade was no doubt imminent. Under all of her tutors Susannah had excelled—swordplay, riding, athletics, all fields of etiquette. The nickname of “Statue Susannah” that had been bestowed upon her by her fellow squires betrayed little of the fire that burned inside of her in the name of improvement.

So it was that the day when her mentor, Knight Clement, had told her of an impending opportunity to prove herself worthy of knighting, she’d been crippled by her inability to think of anything else for the past month. In truth, as many of her morning prayers had been dedicated to tempering her own excitement as there were towards simple blessings, lest she make a nuisance of herself and destroy her chances.

“You know; you might think of what kind of tea you’re drinking on the day-to-day.” Squire Richemond had approached her one day during form-practice in the yard, when they’d concluded with a rigorous fencing session. She’d been puzzled at the statement.

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes—you look fit to kill somebody just practicing. Your face is like a relief, while your eyes dart around like fire. Maybe try a more herbal tea, less sweet?” she couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not, “Less energy?”

“I’m fine!” She’d assured, perhaps with a hypocritical amount of force. “Just focusing, staying attentive.” He hadn’t seemed convinced.

She hurried back to her cell, which was no great distance from the chapel—in the same wing of the fortress, in fact, and threw on her proper attire; one of her nicer traveling sets, in beige and ultramarine, with black leather affects. Hose, boots, a tunic, and protective shawl long enough to wrap around her head in the most inclement weather was the total outfit, with Hair was done up in a tight ponytail, to her liking. Her main bag was already packed with what clothes she could manage, along with her own Vag’Yahmi and Guide Chevalerie, while leaving room for whatever the quartermaster saw fit to send her off with. Her sword was her own, though, the sabre’s austere hilt gleaming from the top of its black-leather sheath. Strapping the blade to her hip, and content that she had everything she could take, Susannah sped down to the courtyard with as much haste as she could muster. Perhaps she was overzealous; preparations for any travel, especially long-distance, required a wait of a good day or so just for the affairs of the fort to be seen to—supplies to be issued, rolls to be exempt—but she would much rather seem over-prepared at the very start, than prove herself wanting.

The day was beautiful, now that the rising sun had cut through the morning fog, and the castle had begun to come alive with the morning awakening. She hoped her peers wouldn’t think less of her for not appearing at morning worship, but she figured they’d realize the importance of her duty once they noticed she was gone from the whole of the fort. She wished them well on their own trials; it wasn’t ignoble to remain a squire—her times serving by Clement had been among the most glorious memories she had made—but the life was not for her, not when the chance of Knighthood rose ahead. Perhaps even (dare she abandon humility for the thought?) the title of Paladin?

Her boots plodded across the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard. Those knights who slept in the wings apart from the squires nodded to her as they passed en route to the chapel, and she saluted in turn. So early, most of the traffic was servants prepping for the day—preparing provisions for morning meal, tending horses, and the like. Some of weaker gut and limb might’ve found the smell of the castle courtyard in the morning unpleasant, but Susannah relished it—the fresh wind off the near sea, the smell of horses (their musk—the stable-hands were quite diligent in cleaning up after the beasts), and the smoke of the great fires in the common rooms and kitchens being stoked to new life. People donned the rich blue of the Order on Sarie on myriad parts of their clothing, complemented by cream, gold, and other vibrant hues of the morning. She waved across to the smith, the farrier out and working the bellows to get the forge ready for the day. The faint smell of baking bread also emanated from the bakery hut, though Susannah’s nose had to pine for the wisps of sweet perfume under the earthy scents of the rest of the castle—perhaps she should have left time to get breakfast first as well; it would be unseemly to have her stomach growl while conversing with the lord of the Order.

Its pale stone height illuminated by the rising sun, the tower of the lord-paladin rose from the sea-side walls of the fortress. Its doors were flanked by banners bearing the coat of Sarie—be-antlered hippogriffs flanking a stylized ship upon an azure sea under a golden plain. From the tops of the poles holding up the banners hung the heads of threshing-flails, carved for ceremony rather than actual use.

A polite knock on the door and a moment later a meek young girl saw her in—Giselle, who had the odd privilege of almost always working within the high tower despite nary speaking a word to anyone. The stairs to the lord’s office spiraled upwards at the side of the room, tucked away in their own well. The ground floor of the tower was little more than a waystation along the wall, but still decorated with all the trappings befitting her nobleness’ dwelling, or in fact any house of the holy. The Empire was not one to shirk on ornamentation when there were exalted deeds to be praised.

Giselle just nodded to the steps with a faint smile. It was difficult not to envy the office of the lord-paladin, for its view alone! Status was one thing, but the vantage also made speeches easy to give, and provided a point of overseeing in times of siege—though Susannah had never once seen the fort beset by attackers in all her years of training. The only structures higher than the tower of the Lord-Paladin were the topping spire of the chapel, which was but ornamentation, and the aviary, which reeked of messenger birds.

Susannah focused on remaining calm as she clipped up the spiral steps, making sure along the way that her clothes were neat and her hair ruly. She adopted the stone-faced demeanor of respect and reverence she had spent so long cultivating, so as to be fully prepared. What if there was a change of plans at the very last minute? She fretted through knitted brow. Impossible; the Knights of Sarie did not go back on their word once given, and would not cease a task once it had been assigned. In the year 1007 of the current age, it was said that three warriors of the Order had travelled all the way to Sibahl, in the far east, on a private crusade of avengeance even when the foes who had slighted them had already been slain at the hands of another kingdom. Susannah kept faith that this would be her moment.

The stairwell let out onto a small terrace that held some additional finery of station upon a separating wall; the lord having a room, as well as a floor, all to her own.

Taking a deep breath, the squire knocked.

“Enter.” A woman’s voice came—the resounding timbre of Lord-Paladin Imogene. Susannah pushed open the heavy pine doors, so thick and deep-lacquered that the girl had to put in a bit of extra effort to get in the room, lacking the momentum to swing the dark hinges inward. As she stepped inside, the squire looked every bit like a stone sculpture given life through fine paintwork, so stoic she became in determination to maintain dignity, though perhaps a faint amount of sweat on her forehead might have given away the effort and imbalance of pushing in that blasted door.

“Susannah.” Knight Clement nodded, his face matching the stolid composure of his apprentice’s, though his eyes were wrinkled into a hidden smile—he was by far the least decorated thing in the whole room, as his status as a senior warrior and friend of the paladin granted him the leniencies of a wild crop of hair, and plainclothes dress. Katib Bellamy sat apart at his own desk, laden high with scrolls and letters, sitting with the attentive stance to be expected of his station. The whole of the office was bedecked in sigils of the Order, the Empire, and small trinkets, mounted scrolls, and the like marked with the coats of kingdoms and factions those upon Sarie had helped in the past.

And dominating the room in terms of sheer presence was Imogene Soucia, Lord-Paladin of the Order on Sarie. She was an older woman, but far from her dwindling years, as her sharp face was still rosy and comported into the most elegant of defaulted expressions, so graceful one might think it would be a great exertion of her’s to keep it so. She was dressed in a deep navy-blue dress of simple cut—for warriors, not nobles—though laced with gold thread and turquois, while her black hair was held back into twin-tails that joined into one braid at a brass ringlet. Were it not for Susannah’s deep and long-built faith in her leader’s legacy of compassion, she would have made for a terrific and intimidating sight. And perhaps she still did, for the sheer grandeur she gathered around herself.

“Ah, mademoiselle Deschamps.” She smiled through thin and smirking lips, “Wonderful, wonderful.” Susannah counted a small victory in her head when she saw one of the Paladin’s hands close a small book and place it to the side, knowing her Lordship hadn’t just been waiting, staring at the door in impatience for her arrival.

“Lord-Paladin.” Susannah crossed her arms over her chest with military vigor, “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Thank you for rising to the occasion. Sit.” Imogene instructed, offering the chair across from her massive desk. As the young girl seated herself, the Paladin took a long sip from a copper-colored cup, from which the faint tinge of cold, sweet tea could be caught.

“To it, then?” Clement asked, at a might too high a volume. Despite looking nary over forty, Susannah’s mentor was more battered than he appeared, and had the dubious honor of being the sole member yet living in the Order to have fought in the Crusade of 1266, where he had been (though he would never acquiesce the fact) deafened in part by the booming guns on the fel war-machines of Kostchya.

“No sense in delaying any further than our allies have, I suppose?” Imogene chuffed, “Very well. Squire Susannah Deschamps of—” she snapped her fingers.

“Normère.” The squire finished with a nod. The river-crossed village was not far at all from the cliffs of Sarie.

“And you are, as of last winter, twenty-one years of age now, correct?” she clarified, though there was little doubt—it was inked in the pristine records of the katib.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Lord-Paladin smiled wide, breaking her stern face, but none of her confidence. “And I’m told by dear Clement that you’re something of a prodigy. Indeed, I’ve seen your attentiveness in matters around the fort, and your piousness is respectable, though I’ve not had the fortune of seeing your performance in the field.” With every statement she finished, a slight flick of her fingers cued Susannah that she was allowed to speak.

“I was shield-bearer for Knight Clement at the Battle of Saltfort, and I held the line with him on the fields of Brod. Among other battles.”

“Brod?” Clement plucked up, “Ah, yes. Cut down many a traitor swine. As did she!” he pointed to Susannah, holding his trembling hand still, “Fantastic display! I think at one point she stuck two Norse barbarians upon one spear!”

Imogene cocked an eyebrow, “Impressive—”

Susannah coughed, brow furrowed with discomfort and cheeks red with flattery, “Not to, uh, discredit my mentor, but there was only one Norseman at that battle. I did once spear two men on one pole, though. More of an accident, truly.”

“I do not believe in accidents.” Imogene pursed, before smiling, “Perhaps this is a good precedent, that the Goddess favors you so?”

“Maybe, ma’am?” she didn’t know if it was a joke, compliment, or serious consideration. She hoped in her heart of hearts that it was the latter.

“Needless to say, you’re a prime candidate for an early knighting, and it would be a great boon to all upon Sarie.” Susannah sat up even straighter than her already pole-backed stance, “And the time has come for your trial.” The squire suppressed sweating further, “No knight of this order has risen to their station without a solitary test of their mettle and virtue. And after much deliberation—perhaps unneeded, we have just such a test for you to prove yourself on.”

Susannah placed her hand over her heart again, but was unable to make eye contact with the paladin, “Thank you, m’lady. I will uphold the honor of the Order.”

Imogene continued, not perturbed at all by the interruption, “We have received word from across the sea, from the lands of Naeng, from the Academy of Gishornas.” Susannah could not know at the time the horrendous Naegnish spelling of the shibboleth “gee-horn”. The squire couldn’t say she knew anything of the academy in question, though Sarie had maintained fair relations with the northern islands for many years. “One of their senior magisters was abducted—taken whilst away on research upon the northern coasts of the Empire. The Kelgal barbarians are suspected of the crime, though the information we’ve been allotted is unsure.”

Now this was where Susannah was thrown; she was to fetch a mage? She had nothing against mages, they were of great import and usefulness in the New Yahmian Empire—even those suspect ones from the libertarian colleges of Naeng—but they were odd folk, and their presence upon a mission or battlefield heralded confusion and bizarre happenings. Furthermore, she was expected to travel to the lands of the Norse for this rescue—the rescue of a magician worthy of the title of Magister, but unable to withstand the might of this particular party of raiders? She did not envy the encounter, though she likewise would not allow fear to seep into her heart.

“Ah, yes.” Clement interjected again, craning his head in a knowing gesture towards Imogene, “It has been an unfortunately long wait, for having such a man’s life on the line. I’d lay the blame on the academy itself, however—word is they only asked for aid once they were certain there was no easy retrieval of the scholar in secret. Then there was the usual scramble of alliances amongst the orders nearest to Naeng. It is a shame so many of our calling do not seem to share the dedication of Sarie—once we heeded the call, there was no more argument to be had.” He smiled, “First to glory.” He recited the latter half of the Order’s holy motto.

“Am I to go alone?” Susannah asked, more as a way of determining what assistance she would have, “There were no Naegish orders to answer the call? Sarie is some ways south—is the Academy lacking for allies?”

“Oh no, there were many who leapt at the mission, though I’d dare say it was simply us who were the most determined.” Clement boasted, “The Naegish holds found the threat of raiders so bold to be fair cause to hole up and defend their lands from further attack. Those of the mainland, I’m sad to say, became embroiled in politics. No such trivialities for the Castle upon Sarie! Though you follow my mind, Susannah, the absence of ready defenders of an academy, a northern one… it is suspect.”

“How fortunate then that we have someone as pure of purpose as our squire here, then?” Imogene remarked, “Fulfil your duty and return with haste, and all will be well, that is what matters in the here and now. But to answer your question: yes, the Count of Gishornas has seen fit to send a prime warrior from among her court, foremost to accompany the mage who will also be upon this endeavor.”

“A mage?” Susannah leaned in, “Of what kind?” she didn’t know what else to ask. She’d never met a true mage—Sarie was so rural and agrarian, there was little even in the ways of mystic medicine through the lands of the steep coast.

“The foremost apprentice of Magister Crewe, the missing man in question.” Imogene clarified, as Susannah became more and more interested in the arrangement. It appears the mages had as firm a belief in holy vengeance as any, “Their names are not listed upon the missive, save for the surname of the warrior; ‘Sidheach’—I believe that is ‘shay-hawk’—no, pardon… ‘shaw-hawk’.” Imogene shook her head, “Neagish consonants; enough to make a dame sweat.”

“Very well then!” Clement clapped his weathered hands, “A perfect quest, I’d say! Noble goals, a chance to experience the folk of the sister-kingdom, and a tempering in the cold crucible of the north! So cold—” his voice withered, as if remembering his own trials; though Clement had known the misfortune of fighting in the Drained Lands, further east, rather than the true home of the Norse. His memories were no doubt more bitter for it.

“I’m ready for any adversity.” Susannah saluted once more, “I could never not accept. I promise I will return victorious, and bring the Goddess’ wrath upon the trespassers.”

“As I’m sure you will.” Imogene smiled, though her eyes were as ice, “Carry the warmth and fair winds of Sarie with you, and the good word of the Vag’Yahmi. Bellamy!” she pointed to her subordinate, “You can show her where to sign on the ship ticket, and give her a token for the quartermaster.” The Katib nodded one mechanical nod.

“You’ll do us proud.” Knight Clement grinned like a joyous father, “And then perhaps I’ll have to find some other strong-armed youth to heft my shield? Ah, what a shame, what a lost squire. Return safe so that I might at least have the privilege of fighting by your side. Goddess bless.”

Susannah stood and took his hands in hers, “If I’ll remember your stories of battle, then I won’t need to rely on blessings alone.”

“Hear no evil.” He said with a wink.

Though the next day or so would see Susannah consumed with preparations, her soul fluttered within a disciplined chest the whole while, thinking down to the ship that waited below and beyond the cliffs to the shoreline, floating on the same waves—though here touched by the golden sun of the mainland—that lapped at the frozen shores of her destination, the place to prove her honor.

But first, some breakfast.

#fantasy #short story #story #medieval #knight #a squires journey

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zippdementia · 7 years ago

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Part 21 Alignment May Vary: Weave a Song for Me

This is the second part of my group’s Celaenos adventure, which began with them uncovering a conspiracy amongst the knights of the monastery to support a slave ring made up of the servants of the Monastery, the sisters of Celaenos.

Here’s what the players know: the Abbot, Mordekai, seems to be legitimately unaware of what's going on in his monastery. He is debating what the group has told him and plans to contact them in three days.

Meanwhile, The Seneschal, the Abbot's second in command, has been pretty conclusively implicated. In addition, there is a "special delivery" supposed to be scheduled for him in three days. Probably this delivery is the players themselves! Karina intuits that the Seneschal, upon hearing of Mordekai's three day window, is planning to strike before this and thus end the Abbot's suspicions by getting rid of those who have awoken those suspicions.

The players have retired for the night, thinking on the dark plots unfolding around them, yet feeling they have a handle on things to come.

The Night is Full of Terror

No! Let me go! I don’t belong here! I am not supposed to die here!

Karina wakes from her dream with a start, feeling for a brief moment that she is still onboard the Red Hand’s ghost ship (now Twyin’s Vengeance), with the hands of the villagers pulling her down to the deck while the ship is engulfed in flames around her. But no... she is in a room at the inn on Celaenos, the cool breeze coming in from the sea a blessing on this late summer eve.

Cool breeze? She hadn’t left the window open.

Karina rolls to the side and ungracefully off the bed as two knives plunge into the pillow. The screams of her assailants are otherworldly, their language incomprehensible, but their intentions all too clear. The shades standing over her bed turn to her and her skin gets clammy and cold. One of them is Rose, the madame whom they stopped back in Ottoman’s dock. But it is not a Rose who still walks among the living. The shade floating in front of her is wrapped in a black guaze that hangs and sways in a fierce wind unfelt in this dimension. The face is deathly pale and the hands that reach out for her are opaque, through them can be seen the woman’s skeleton.

Karina tries to back away, but the skeletal hand latches onto her shoulder and she feels her strength sapped away. She desperately cries out for help, but even her voice cannot keep its strength and her call withers on her lips.

These Shadows are an excellent example of why you cannot treat CRs as an exact science as a GM. They are 1/2 of a CR, a supposedly easy fight for a party of any size (let alone three level 5 characters). But their Strength draining attack has the potential to no-save-kill Karina in two hits (indeed, I roll a 3 and a 4 on my first two strength hits against her, dropping her Strength score to ONE). In addition, they have them in a bad spot, blocking the door to Karina’s room and getting a critical hit on poor sleeping Tyrion, almost knocking him unconscious in a single blow. Oh, and none of them have had a chance to get on their armor.

It serves as a good reminder of how you can breath new life into lower CR encounters by simply adjusting the situation. Surprise attacks at night by Assassins, Kobolds that lay traps in narrow caverns as they flee, Goblins who inhabit a volcano filled with pitfalls into lava, Werewolves who attack a fesitval where the crowd becomes a moving panicking blockade.

In this case, the Shadows also have a barrier themselves—they have been instructed not to attack Abenthy. Because of a lot of bad rolls on my part, Karina is able to survive long enough to get Abenthy awake and into the fight. Abenthy rolls a couple critical hits and manages to dispatch the Shadows, noting, like Karina, that Rose’s presence here means that she has been killed since their last meeting. By whom? Unknown.

The fight is vicious. Karina and Tyrion both almost lose their lives and take the next day to rest. While they are resting, Abenthy is sent a visitor by the Abbott. The charismatic white-haired Berthold is a knight very loyal to the Abbott and he informs Abenthy that he and the Abbott discovered an object used in a Dark Ritual, one they think was meant to summon the dead and turn them to dark deeds... like killing pesky adventurers who ask too many questions. Berthold says that it was the evidence the Abbott needed to be convinced of the conspiracy.

Abenthy, after a few insight rolls, feels that Berthold is uncomfortable and knows more than he is letting on. He decides to press him for more information, and slips in that he knows the Seneschal is the one leading the plot. This seems to do the trick: Berthold becomes silent and pensive.

“I am sorry for keeping silent on this matter. We had our suspicions but... well, you do not want to believe your brothers in arms have turned on you, but the seneschal is a man named Athos. He has long been a member of the Monastery. He is the librarian there, the Keeper of Secrets, they call him. He and Dickon—you met him I believe?—they are also in charge of the sisters of Celaenos. Gods, it all comes together.”

And with this, the plan is formed. The Abbott will set up Dickon to be on watch by himself, then will smuggle the players in through a back door. They will corner and silently kill Dickon, then head to the library to wait for Athos to come “tend to his secrets.” There they will kill him and end the slave ring. The Abbott and Berthold will work on a way to free the sisters.

Well Intended

“Alright, I think we are ready,” Abenthy said, nodding to the slender young woman in front of him. She was attractively non-descript, a girl who would strike you as pretty if you saw her, but whose face you would not be able to recall later. Her hair was corded in the fashion of the sisters of Celaenos and on her arms she wore the tell-a-tale bracers that had first alerted them to the conspiracy going on here. Karina hadn’t bothered to name her disguise, she honestly hoped that she wouldn’t be seen at all. But it was a good precaution.

Karina (or rather the skinny sister of Celaenos that she had crafted to hide her appearance) nodded and looked over their group. Tyrion stood out in his bright bard colors, his fingers twitching in the air as if he yearned to play his lute even in their need for silence. Near him Verrick lurked like a misplaced shadow, his black eyes revealing none of his thoughts. Two mercenaries they had picked up in the desert oasis had joined them, a pair she found intensely dislikable: two half-elf brothers, one with a myriad of scars and tattoos defining the hard lines of his face and muscles, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth suggesting a lifetime of grimacing and smirking rather than smiles and laughter; the other silent but burly and menacing, half of his badly burned face hidden behind a wooden mask painted as monotone and neutral as his personality. A rag-tag band, to be sure. And leading it was Abenthy, a half-angel with a crazed vengeance that scared her, a half-demon, more and more often.

The plan goes awry almost at once. Karina botches her very first stealth roll, so she opens the door directly into the face of Athos, Keeper of Secrets, a white haired older knight dressed more like a monk than a warrior, yet if rumors are to be believed he is also the master of the slave ring being run here. Thankfully, Karina’s disguise and a decent bluff roll convinces Athos that she is naught but a lost sister, and he lets her go without much concern.

The group makes its way to Dickon’s tower and here is where things really fall apart. The group gangs up on him almost immediately, earning his distrust. Only Abenthy’s use of the Command spell and Karina’s arm around his throat keep him from crying the alarum. The problem comes from the fact that the group is torn on what to do here: Tyrion is all for killing him and moving on with the mission. Karina wants him to tell them more of the plot. And Abenthy wants to get him to confess to the Abbott and let the knights deal with this... he doesn’t want more blood on his hands if he can avoid it.

But this is all turned on its head when, after casting a truth spell on the young knight, Abenthy tells Dickon that they know of his plot with Athos, the Seneschal. Dickon replies:

“The Seneschal is not Athos. The Seneschal is Berthold.”

The hairs on the back of Abenthy’s neck stand up as he hears this, and realizes that Berthold may, at this very moment, be moving to assassinate the Abbott. He says they must go to the Abbott at once! He is so eager to get there that he even agrees to leave his weapons in the tower (the rest of the party obliges as well). Dickon, no longer sure who to trust, agrees to lead them to the Abbott. Clearly, Abenthy thinks, this was a plot to get rid of Dickon, Athos, and the Abbott, probably the only opposition Berthold has.

Sing me a Song, Bard

“Abbott, we have reason to believe your life is in immediate danger.”

Abenthy, breathing heavily from their hurried journey to the Abbott’s chambers, watched the black haired man casually settle himself behind a large desk.

“Dickon, go fetch Berthold,” Mordekai, Abbott of Celaenos, seemed infuriatingly calm in the face of the danger that faced him. “We will work out this matter right now.”

Dickon left, and Mordekai indicated that the others should sit.

“You’ve brought quite the army,” he said, indicating Verrick and the two half-elves.

“We thought we could use them,” Karrina said. Mordekai nodded. He had clearly been preparing for sleep and was only wearing a simple shirt and breeches, though he had wrapped a dark cloak around his shoulders to ward off the evening cold.

“Sing me a song, Bard,” he said. Tyrion obliged, beginning to play a jaunty tune, but Mordekai stopped him. “Something quieter, more somber. Do you know the Rains of Castamere?”

As the doleful melody began to play, Abenthy caught sight of something on Mordekai’s desk: a framed photo of a woman, strikingly beautiful and instantly recognizable. Another chill went up Abenthy’s spine.

“Let me tell you a story,” he said slowly. “It involves a woman who thought to keep slaves, in a port town called Ottoman’s dock. What she used the slaves for, outside of basic chores, was unknown, but through magical means she kept their minds enslaved, kept their free will in check. Rumor had it someone else was involved in helping her with this task, and that sometimes the slaves would disappear, go to this other person.

“Eventually this woman’s hubris cost her her business. Her plot was discovered, her slavery ended. She fled, maybe to this other person, maybe to somewhere else across the sea. Regardless, she showed up in my rooms last night, or her spirit did. I wonder how such a thing could come to be.”

Mordekai picked up the photograph and ran a loving finger over it. “She was beautiful, was she not?” he said. “Poor Rose. To think that she let you three get the better of her in Ottoman’s dock, well, we couldn’t allow that failure to stand, could we? Such a waste, cutting her throat.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Berthold entered, led in by Dickon.

“Ah, Berthold,” Mordekai said. “Let’s dispense with pretenses, shall we?”

Without a word, Berthold stabbed two daggers through Dickon’s neck. The young knight’s eyes went wide and then they rolled back in their sockets. Blood flecked his lips as he gave a single cough and expired. Berthold led him to the floor, then drew two new blades as Mordekai stood, pulling a mace and a dagger from under the desk. Darkness billowed out from his cape. He removed a ring from his finger and the sudden sensation of an evil presence washed over Abenthy.

“Now, let us begin,” Mordekai said, as darkness swallowed his form.

Next week we will see if the players survive this deadly encounter, and I’ll talk a little bit about how a GM can successfully navigate a difficult “living” set up like the Monastery of Celaenos, where many NPCs with different motivations reside and are interacting with each other and the players. It is a scenario that comes up often in 5th Edition modules, so it is good to talk about!

#playthrough #tomb of haggemoth #dnd 5e #epic #Dungeons and Dragons #Journey Log #Wizards of the Coast #fantasy #RPG

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