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hufferysnuffery · 3 years

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Hermes the Messenger Cat (He/Him)

Appearance:

•He’s a black, longhair oriental with spooky greyish-blue eyes.

•He’s super tall compared to other cats (being about 6’5” in a human AU) but he’s built like a beanpole. Meaning, he isn’t super strong but he’s incredibly fast and flexible.

•He’s pretty young! If he were human, I’d place him around 23-24??

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Backstory:

•Hermes was never too sure where he came from. All he knows is that he was found as a kitten on the banks of the Thames, lucky to even be alive.

•He was found by old Laetorius, an elderly tom who belonged to the local Postman & took it upon himself to be the messenger between the many tribes of cats, as a neutral figure between them all. He’s known by everyone as Old Laet the Messenger Cat.

•Feeling bad for this clearly shaken and half-alive kitten, Laetorius took him in to be an apprentice to him. Though, didn’t anticipate becoming so attached to the kid. They very much began to act like a father and son.

•The kitten couldn’t remember a thing about his real family or how he ended up in the Thames but he did remember his name after a little while, Hermes…ironic, huh. Laetorius always called it fate, it did seem like it.

•At first, Hermes was very stoic and guarded, a little hot-headed too, but as time went on, he began to open up, and by the end of his first year with Laetorius, he had become a much more open, confident and happier young tom.

•Now mentoring the young tom, Laetorius took Hermes along on errands with him, showing him the ropes. This went on for quite some time; Though, when old age resulted in him getting slower and eventually retiring, he passed the torch onto the mischievous lad.

•Laetorius was very much a serious, respectful postman-type figure- while Hermes’ approach is VERY different in his presentation. He acts much more like a trickster-y messenger rather than the local postman vibes of his mentor. While his dad is friends with Old Deuteronomy, Skimbleshanks, Gus and Jennyanydots; Hermes very much gets along with cats like Mungojerrie, Rumpleteazer, Rum Tum Tugger and has even seen being quite friendly with some of Macavity’s henchcats.

•He isn’t a Jellicle, nor is he a henchcat. He bounces between groups of cats, sometimes delivering messages, sometimes just wanting a little excitement.

•He’s absolutely the kind to complain about others to get on the good side of others. He’s very self-serving; being with the Jellicles going “Oh, I have to tolerate Macavity’s lot. They’re far too rough for my taste.” & then being with the henchcats the next day going “Oh, waaaay too uptight! They’re no fun over there~”. (He’s a little shit, I love him).

•Despite his love of being cheeky and mischievous, he remembers his lessons from Laetorius and is always respectful around the Jellicle leader, the protector and any of his elders.

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Personality:

•Hermes is a fun-loving, rebellious, wise-cracking, and mischievous trickster who likes to just be himself. He is quick to smile and laugh, often using humour to deflect any conflict.

•He’s also pretty selfless, strong-willed, independent. He is also friendly and willing to help strangers, especially if they are injured or lost. Despite being loud and charming when on the job, he knows when to quieten down and be respectful.

•He’s pretty chilled out, wise, partial to his fair amount of mischief but never oversteps (though he definitely gets on some nerves). He rarely gets angry, rather trying to laugh everything off but when angry he will use his scary height to his advantage; being silent and suuuper off putting. Those ghostly eyes really do come in handy sometimes.

•He’s really good at reading people, like reeeeeaaaaly good at reading people. If something’s off, he’ll know, it’s a rare occurrence for something to go unnoticed by him. He is highly aware of his surroundings, and it is very uncommon for anything to sneak past his keen eyes.

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Random Stuff!

• Theme songs:

- Green Grass (Live in Fingringhoe Wick) by Cosmo Sheldrake: I just have a visual of him singing to himself in the early morning and I shjdjdjsjjs-

- The Devil Never Sleeps by Iron & Wine: Just- Hermes vibes, y’know??

- arrow by half•alive: Again, some good good vibes

-Scrawny by Wallows

•He has a light cockney accent, picked up from Laetorius’ EXTREMELY strong cockney accent.

•He has sticky fingers, if he sees a trinket he likes he will not hesitate to swipe it up.

•Fashion Sense: If he were in a human au, I feel he’d be one of those people who wears a different style every day. He’d be difficult to place; one day he’s wearing some super suave street fashion, and the next he’s wearing the ugliest pattered shirt you’ve ever seen. He’s a raffle!

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If you’ve made it this far- what are you doing??? But also thank you so much skdjakkakaa ;w;

I hope you enjoyed reading up on my new lad! Also, sorry about any bad grammar- ;-;

#Hermes the Messenger Cat #jellicle oc #cats the musical #jelliclesona #cats oc

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

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I just wanted to make you smile again; 10th Doctor x child reader

*Author’s note*

Okay to the anon who requested this fic THANK YOU FOR BEING SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO PATIENT WITH ME!!!! To those anons and users who have sent me requests literally since last year I thank you all for your patience, I AM GETTING THEM DONE SLOWLY BUT SURELY. I’m already in process of doing another DW fic w/13th doctor (one of the first requests I got when I opened them last year) so I hope you all enjoy this fic.

This takes place after the episode Journey’s end so to those that haven’t seen the episode yet SPOILERS AHEAD!!! Angst and fluff is what this fic is. Enjoy my lovelies and until next time ;)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@platawnic

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Things have been—tough. The Daleks, one of my daddy’s biggest enemies nearly had us and almost succeeded in destroying all of life and matter as we know it. But thanks to some fast thinking and with the help of a clone of my dad, we managed to stop Davros as well as the rest of the Daleks.

But honestly that was the easy part. The hardest was saying goodbye to all of our friends. Rose and her mum went back to the parallel world with the meta-human clone of my daddy, Captain Jack took Martha and Mickey off on another adventure, Sarah Jane (an old friend of my dad’s long before I was born) went back home, and Donna—oh poor, poor Donna.

Daddy said that in order to help stop the Daleks, Donna, who had touched the severed hand of my dad when he first became this new version of himself, gained so much knowledge of the Timelords and of our home that it could overwhelm her brain and eventually kill her. So my dad had to absorb all memory of Timelord knowledge, including all the times she spent with us.

After taking her back home, daddy told her father that it was too dangerous for her to remember anything. If there was a glimpse of her recovering her memories, she would die. So my dad and I left her and her family and he never went back.

Since that day, almost seven months later, he still carries that guilt. And what’s worse is that he hasn’t been the same. He doesn’t smile as much as he used to before. I think out of everything that I love about my daddy, it’s his smile that always made me feel happy and safe.

I stepped out of my room to see him where he usually was, standing at the controls with that dazed but intense look on his face. I looked down at paper butterfly and cautiously walked towards my dad. It’s always a touch and go of how he’ll react whenever he’s in that deep haze. One time he actually shouted at me and I was scared to even go near him for an entire week till he apologized to me with some Turkish delights.

“Daddy.” I said softly. “Umm…uhh daddy?” he snapped out of his daze and looked down at me.

“Oh (Y/n). Sorry I was just—I was just trying to find….nothing. What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Well I—finished my paper butterfly and I-wanted to give it to you.” I held it out to him and he looked down at me. He knelt down and took the butterfly from my hands and I saw his eyes grow soft.

“It’s beautiful love. Thank you.” he gently ruffled my hair and placed my butterfly right along the controls. It didn’t work.

I had hoped that my paper butterfly would get him to smile. He always smiled whenever I made him little trinkets of my own design, or beautiful art projects that I’ve seen on Earth. I thought that by doing an art project, he’d smile again but it didn’t work.

I was currently in my room reading some books written back in the 20th century. I’ve always found that time period to be rather splendid. It was a simpler time (if you don’t count the 2 World wars, the Great depression, and every war after that. You know why must humans always start wars?)

Anyways, the start of the 20th century is always my favorite place. It’s quiet, tranquil, and peaceful. A nice place, especially out in the countryside. People can have picnics, host carnivals, and yeah the grown men partake in Foxhunt but I think it’s a barbaric sport and yet they call it tradition.

Maybe if—maybe if we stayed there for a while, daddy could get better and smile once again. I think the more time we stay in the TARDIS and just keep going through space and time, the more unhappy daddy’s gonna get, like I said he always gets lost in his head and the more bad things that happen around him, the more he keeps it bottled up inside and the more sadder he gets.

The only question now was this—how was I gonna get there? I don’t know how to drive the TARDIS cause daddy always told me to keep my grabby little paws off of it. Oh wait that’s it! I raced over to my drawer and pulled out the middle one and dug through it till I found what I was looking for.

A special teleportation watch gifted to me by Uncle Jack when my dad was in his previous form (just shortly after we first met him). I placed the watch on my wrist and I set the time and date that I wanted to go to. Once the coordinates were typed in, I pressed the center of the watch and I disappeared from my room and went to go set up my surprise for daddy.

*10th Doctor’s POV*

I was fiddling around with the controls when I turned and looked up at my daughter’s butterfly. For months now she’s been making these little trinkets and art projects for me, and I really haven’t been fair to her. A lot has happened to us, especially with what happened to Donna, and I hate to admit this to myself but I’ve been neglecting my little butterfly.

Maybe she would like it if I took her to see her favorite constellation, or maybe Barcelona (she always did like Barcelona). Oh! No wait! The Music of the Spheres! Yes brilliant! She and I could use some music in our life, the sound of the universe singing to us.

“Hey (Y/n)! Can you come out here for a second?” I called out to her. No response. Okay I know it usually takes her a bit of time to come down from her room but usually she’d be right here by now. “(Y/n)? (Y/n) I said can you come here please?” bah she must be listening to that loud music again, that lass I tell you what.

I left the console room and headed on over to her room and saw that her door was shut which was surprising cause she usually keeps her door open. I knocked on it and said.

“Poppet, are you okay? You’re not—upset or anything are you?” I still didn’t hear anything from her. “Look I—I know we’ve been through a lot the past several months, and I have no excuse for not speaking to you. I’m sorry. So—can you please open the door so we can talk?” still nothing.

Alright I know she has a right to be upset but she can’t give me the silent treatment forever. I opened up the door and snapped.

“Alright little madam you listen here I—” it was then I saw that she wasn’t in her room. “(Y/n)?” I looked around her room to see if she was hiding in her closet again (she always takes every advantage to jump out and scare me) but when I saw that she wasn’t there, that’s when I began to get worried.

As I left her room and began to look all around the TARDIS from the backroom pool, to the library I still couldn’t find her.

“C’mon poppet don’t do this to me.” I searched high and low, near and far and every crack in between but she still wasn’t around. “No, no, no, no, no love don’t do this to me! (Y/n)!”

I raced back towards the console and went over to the computer monitor and I quickly typed in her lifeform energy. Since she was the only Timelord in existence (well next to me), I knew that she could be pinpoint at any time in any era she might be in. I only hope that I can get to her before—no! NO DON’T THINK LIKE THAT!! You WON’T lose her like you lost Donna!

“C’mon you blasted thing LOAD!!!” I screamed at the computer before finally I got a hit. London, England 1908. Of course, she always said the start of the 20th century was her favorite time period. I punched in the coordinates and flipped the switch and soon the TARDIS started back up and I was sailing back in time over 100 years into the past.

Once I arrived, I peeked out of the TARDIS and found myself adjacent to a large park. It was pretty peaceful, families were out and about doing their normal human interactions. I shut the doors to the TARDIS and I quickly raced over to the park and searched for (Y/n).

This was where her last known readings were at. At this exact spot so where could that little troublemaker be at? I walked up to a couple and said.

“Hi sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you have found a little girl around 5 years old with (h/l) (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes? She’s my daughter and she’s wondered off again.”

“No sorry. We haven’t seen any little girls fitting that description.” Said the man as he and his wife continued on their walk. I then found another couple who seemed a more upper-class couple due to the diamond necklace around the woman’s neck.

“Excuse me could you both please help me I’m looking for my daughter have either of you……”

“We don’t have time to look for lost children, that’s what the servants are for.” Said the man.

“And who loses their child anyway? Such irresponsibility.” The woman snide. I looked at them offendedly and said.

“At least I don’t dump my child on anyone else! I’m surprised that people like you could even have children.” They looked at me appalled before huffing and walking away from me.

I grunted and adjusted my jacket trying to compose myself when a small Cockney accent said.

“You said you were looking for (Y/n)?” I turned around and there was a young ginger haired boy with freckles speckled all over his face. His bright blue eyes staring up at me and he wore a paper boy’s uniform.

“Yeah that’s my daughter’s name. Do you know where she is?”

“Course I do Gov. Just got done talking with her before I started my work sir. She’s right by the lake.”

“The Lake! Oh thank you lad. Thank you so much.”

“No problem, good luck governor.” I raced off towards the lake and when I got there, I soon saw my daughter sitting right by the lake surrounded by flowers and in her lap it looked like she was in the process of making a flower crown.

The important thing was that she was safe, but that little missy is sooo going to get it now.

I trudged my way towards her and exclaimed.

“(Y/n)!” she stopped her work and turned around. Her big (e/c) eyes staring up at me and a smile spread across her face. She stood up and ran towards me and hugged around my legs.

“Daddy you came!”

“Yes I did.” I knelt down and began to check to see if she was hurt or worst case scenario been replaced by a Graske. “Are you hurt?”

“No I’m perfectly fine.”

“Answer me this then. Who was the first companion that we had together?”

“Rose Tyler.” Okay this was my baby girl. I immediately hugged her and whispered to her as I rest my head on top of hers.

“I thought I had lost you.” I then separated from her before scolding her vert sternly, “Do you have any idea how worried I was!? You leave your room with no note! How on earth did you leave the TARDIS without my knowledge?!”

“Uncle Jack’s time jump watch.” She said nervously as she held out her wrist. I looked down and right there was the time teleport watch that Jack had given her shortly after we met him for the first time in my previous state.

“That figures. Remind me to never let him give you anymore teleportation gifts without my permission.” I muttered to myself. “Bottom line is that you left the TARDIS without my permission and had me scared to death! What if something happened to you hmm? Did it ever cross your mind about how that would make me feel!?”

Yes I know my voice was steadily getting angrier and angrier but she should’ve realized that my one rule for her is to never, ever, ever leave the TARDIS without my permission or knowledge and she broke that rule.

“I—I’m sorry daddy. I just……thought that if I brought you here, you would be happy.” My anger quickly vanished and confusion now took its place.

“What?” I asked her.

“Ever since—” she deeply sighed. “After what happened with Donna you never smile anymore. No matter what I’ve done, I could never get you to smile. Your real smile, the smile that always made me feel loved and protected. I thought that maybe we could—stay here for a while till you were happy again.” She looked down with regret.

I rubbed my hand over my face and through my hair before looking back down at her. I cupped my hands over her face and I said to her.

“What would I ever do without you my little butterfly?” she smiled softly.

“So we can stay?” she asked.

“For now.” I answered her. She squealed happily and immediately hugged me around my neck repeatedly telling me thank you. I smiled and embraced my baby girl back and kissed the top of her head as I rocked her back and forth.

This little madam truly does have me wrapped around her little finger, and she seems to know it as well. But she was right. Staying in one area made you stop and admire what’s around you, and not stay trapped inside your head letting your demons torment you.

We stayed in 1908 for about five months just enjoying each other’s company. Going to the park every day, having picnics and tea parties out in the garden of our rented little cottage, and stargazing every night teaching her more about the galaxy and the stars.

For the first time ever, I felt—peaceful, no regrets, no painful reminders of what I had to do to Donna, it was just me and my daughter.

#doctor who #doctor who fandom #doctor who fanfic #doctor who x reader #doctor who imagine #doctor who imagines #doctor who fanfiction #10th doctor #10th doctor fanfic #10th doctor fanfiction #10th doctor imagine #10th doctor imagines #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x child reader #david tennant

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scullysexual · 4 years

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A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight [Reposted. Anniversary]

Jewel is one year old! In order to celebrate what is probably my greatest achievement in fic I’ve decided to re-release all the chapters. Not much has changed in terms of story but I’ve gone through and edited/fixed any typos and weird sentences that have popped up now and then. Me and my blog have both grown so much since writing this that I’m sure there’s many of you who have yet to have read or seen this before. So here you have it…my lil baby.

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Chapter One

A cloud of heavy smoke rises from the four vapers, covering the clear sky above and littering it with stuffy grey puffs. People scramble about up and down the dock, trying to keep family members together as they rush to get through the gates. Others stand there gawking at the ship. For those not boarding it’s simply a day out; The greatest ship ever built, they call it and those who live nearby wasn’t about to miss out on such a historic day as this.

Mulder stares at it, surprised at just how wonderstruck he is with it. He never put much stock in the rumours when it was being built believing that she was just going to turn out as all those before her had. That the rumours were just that.

But he was wrong. Never in his life had he seen a ship as large as the one that towers over him.

He turns to Phoebe, reaching out for her hand as she climbs out of the cab.

“What do you think, dear?” Mulder asks as he helps his fiancé down. “Are you impressed?”

To no one’s surprise, Phoebe only scoffs at the ship, its presence not changing her mood in the slightest.

“It’s not as grand as the Mauretania.”

Bill Mulder chuckles behind them, handing their luggage to his man-servant, Krycek as the boy passes them onto a baggage handler.

“It’s much bigger than the Mauretania,” he says, ready to quote every fact he had memorised from the London Herald about the ship. “And much more luxurious,” he adds.

Phoebe only huffs, clearly becoming uninterested in their current conversation.

“Careful Fox,” his father warns him. “Hard one to please, that one.” Mulder only manages an uncomfortable laugh already well aware at the difficulties that come attached to Phoebe Green.

With time running out, they begin to make their way towards the ship, weaving their way through the crowds, Phoebe turning her nose up at every person not dressed to the nines, going as far as to dramatically balk and cover her nose as a lower-class foreigner runs across their path.

“Filthy immigrant,” Phoebe scorns at the innocent man. Mulder tries not to let his disgust show at Phoebe’s words, they’re excused after all and Mulder rolls his eyes at the clear disrespect his people show towards those less fortunate.

“He’s just trying to get to the ship, Phoebe.”

“Yes, well, maybe he should hurry to a bath instead.”

Mulder ignores her words, instead guiding her through the swarming crowds.

“Honestly Bill,” Mulder’s mother pipes up. “We couldn’t have gotten here earlier rather than scurrying around the docks like rats?”

“I was all packed and ready to go,” Bill says and indicates to the pair in front of him. “It was those two who weren’t.”

Mulder sighs. If anything, it was Phoebe who they had been waiting for.

“We did try to hurry, Mother. Phoebe couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Phoebe scoffs once more. “It’s not my fault that you told me to change.”

“I just thought you would get too warm wearing black all day.”

“I’m in mourning Fox,” Phoebe cries. “The weather doesn’t change that.”

Mulder resists sighing again. Phoebe had been mourning for weeks now. The loss of their baby had brought on this spontaneous trip. Phoebe, done with London and “wanting to get away from all the bad memories” all but demanded that they leave for America as soon as possible. A chance for a new start, she told him afterwards. They could get married here and start again. Next thing Mulder knew, he was packing his bag and going back to a country he hadn’t seen since childhood.

He felt trapped somehow, and it had nothing to do with the swarms of crowds. This was inside him. A cage or a hole he’d put himself in. One he wasn’t going to get out of any time soon.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s been sitting on this bench for what feels like hours now. The stuffy bar overcrowded with sight-seers only now they’ve done the sight-seeing and want to do some drink-beering.

She was told ten minutes. Ten minutes and they’d be looking for a ferry to take them back to Ireland. Dana was done with the place. Southampton was the same as everywhere else in England they’d been- the same people, the same scorning looks they’d get no matter where they go, the same rejections. It’s only a number of times a person can hear ‘no’ before they never want to hear the word again.

Her brother, however, had other ideas. They only came into the bar to ask if there were any ferries available to take them home and somehow Charlie had managed to be roped into a game of poker by a bunch of Norwegians who barely spoke any English between them.

The game had currently been going on for a lot longer than the ‘few minutes’ she was promised.

Dana sighs, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. She’d order a drink if Charlie wasn’t currently gambling away their last penny.

“You lonely, luv?” Dana turns towards the speaker. His cockney accent thickened by the slurring of his words. “Ye want sum comp’ny?”

He stumbles towards her, catching himself on the rickety table and smiles at his clumsiness. Dana attempts to shuffle further back into the bench, failing.

“I’m fine,” she says turning away and hoping the man would take the hint.

But he presses on.

“Are ye sure?”

“Aye. I’m sure.” She gets up before the man can say anything else, and heads over to Charlie’s table.

The boy is in full concentration mode. Lip caught between his teeth, eyes scanning his cards and the card laying down on the table. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Countless of times Dana has watched him play, never learning from the mistakes he’s made in previous games. This gambling addiction he’s seemed to have developed has cost them a lot in the finance department, a cost that Dana is not too happy about.

She taps him on the shoulder.

“Charlie, I want to go.”

“Hold on a second…”

His tongue replacing his lip, Charlie gives one nervous glance around at his fellow players.

“Charlie, we need to go.” She tries not to sound like she’s whining, he’s her younger brother for God’s sake, a child, she shouldn’t have to whine.

Charlie ignores her, a smile breaking out across his face.

“I’m sorry, lads.” He places his cards on the table, his smile turning cocky as he reaches over to take his earnings. Dana doesn’t miss the two pieces of paper lying on top of the money.

A large hand grasps Charlie’s. His grin falls as he stares in fear at the man.

“He cheat!” The man yells. With his hand still firmly wrapped around Charlie’s arm, he yanks him forward across the table, his other hand a fist that falls down and smashes straight into his face.

“Charlie!” Dana screams as his body falls slump against the oak. The man backs off as the bar grows quiet, ignoring the winnings that fall onto the floor.

With all concern for her brother, Dana rushes to his side, her hand falling on the boy’s face, wiping away the blood that drips down from his wound. You feckin’ idiot…she thinks.

Charlie’s eyes open slowly, despite the pain with smile it back.

“I won, Dana,” he tells her. “We’re going to America.”

Dana frowns, bewildered for the moment at what Charlie could possibly be talking about until her eyes fall to the two pieces of paper that lay on the ground. Realisation sets in and she reaches down to pick them up, turning them over to read.

The words White Star Line stare back at her. She looks from the paper in her hand to the ship outside and back to Charlie.

“You’re…you’re not serious?” she asks, full astonishment.

“Yep. Fecker put his ticket down as payment,” Charlie all but shouts.

Dana stares back at the ticket. She was really about to go to America and board the Titanic to get there.

“You’re gonna wanna be quick,” a fella beside them tells them. He points to his clock on the wall. “Boat leaves in ten minutes.”

At that, Charlie hauls himself off the table as the two siblings begin pushing what money remains on the table into their only bag, not caring for the coins that had fallen onto the floor.

“Hurry up!” Charlie urges her as Dana ties up the bag. “Come on, come on.” He takes the bag throwing it over his shoulder and grabs his sister’s hand, all but dragging her out of the bar.

They weave their way through the people, Charlie up front and Dana falling slightly behind. She fists her skirt in her palms, pulling it up so as not to trip over it, keeping her eye on Charlie ahead of her and praying she doesn’t lose him.

They almost collide with everything; people, a cart selling vegetables, a horse and carriage until finally they make it, out of breath and clutching at their tickets.

“Right, give me your tickets,” the crewman orders, his fingers making a grabby motion. They hand them over and the man all but snatches it out of their hands. His nose turns up when he reads the names.

“Leif and Ingrid Brevik?” he asks, sceptically.

Dana looks nervously at Charlie, worried that they had just ran all this way, got excited for a new future, just to be turned away at the doors once more.

“Aye, we’re Americans.” Charlie tells him doing nothing to mask his thick Irish accent.

The crewman gives once last glance at the ticket and them. Sighing and probably done dealing with steerage who’s English is minimal he accepts the tickets.

“Get in before I change my mind.”

Relieved, the pair rush in just as the crewman shuts the door.

They make their way down the crowded corridor. People stand looking at the various signs that point in directions of rooms, bathrooms, and general communal areas. They argue, an overload of different words muddled together to make one distorted language.

Dana isn’t paying attention, however. Her eyes switch from the number written down on the ticket to the numbers written on the doors either side of them. Charlie had gotten distracted, eyeing up every pretty lass that they walked past and Dana had ripped the paper out of his hands. If he wasn’t going to find their room, she will.

She finds it eventually. 23, near the end of the corridor. Charlie eyes up Room 24.

“Reckon a lass lives in there?” he asks.

Dana focuses on unlocking the door, a sly grin appearing on her face.

“I hope it’s a fat old man with a foot infection.” She looks up only to see the look of disgust appear across her brother’s face.

The door opens to their room. A single bunkbed, a desk and chair with a lamp set upon it, and a chest of drawers are the only furniture that occupy the room.

Charlie shares her sentiments exactly.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry.” He throws the bag onto the chair and proceeds to climb to the top bunk.

She stops him before he can claim it.

“Piss off, I get top bunk.” She grips the back of his shirt, yanking him off the ladder.

“Careful!” Charlie cries. “I’m already injured.”

“So move out the way before I injured you even more.”

He does as he’s told, not without pulling a face beforehand, and throws himself on the bottom bunk.

Dana lies down, thankful to be in a bed that actually feels like a bed and not a brick.

“Hey, Dee?” Charlie calls after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Are you worried?”

Dana thinks for a second, curious as to what Charlie thinks she should be worried about.

“About what?” she asks.

Silence passes and she waits for an answer.

“Nothing,” the boys says. “It’s nothing. We got nothing to be worried about.”

Frowning and profoundly confused, Dana decides to leave it.

Another bout of silence passes and perhaps Charlie’s fallen asleep, at least she thinks that until she hears his voice again.

“Hey, Dee?”

“What?”

“Do you still have that first-aid kit in the bag? My face is throbbing.”

#a jewel beneath the moonlight #chapter 1 #updated #anniversary repost #i write

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formerlyrunephoenix6769 · 5 years

Text

A Heroes Welcome.

Summary.

Who is there after the bullets have stopped and the cameras are no longer rolling?

Companion piece to Shattered. Occurs before the events of Reflections.

---- x- --

She’s the poster child for Overwatch, just about everyone knows her name or her face. Over the years, public opinion had slowly turned against the organisation, giving way to protests that on occasion had turned violent and eventually the PETRAS act. It had been a few years, give or take a few months since the fateful day Watchpoint Switzerland had been reduced to a crater. Since then new information had come to light about corruption and the legacy Overwatch had left behind was far from unsullied. For days headlines dominated the big screens in Piccadily Circus, now it had given way to holopad news sites on the subway, people often discussing, over coffee or on their daily commute, some new thing Overwatch had done or one of the agents had said. Others sat in pubs watching the wide screen telly, vocally passing harsh judgements and nasty comments, much like they had done when Dr Angela Zieglar, ashen faced and with black circles under her eyes from exhaustion, as the most senior living member of the team, had been forced to give evidence in a tribunal about Overwatch’s dealings, televised from The Hague. Now the ex-Overwatch agents were scattered all over the world. Some had taken strides to move forward, to attempt to rid themselves of Overwatch’s far reaching shadows. Others, such as Winston and Lena, had not been so lucky. Being the name and face of the once respected peace keeping force, had its draw backs. .

One such day, Tracer and her girlfriend, Emily are nestled in a high backed booth at the King's Head trying to have a spot of lunch and a pint. A group of drunken punters, in football jerseys were waiting for the match to start, only for a fresh news bulletin to come through, the sombre BBC news anchor and a political 'expert' are debating whether oversight of Overwatch should have happened sooner. A collective groan rings out and the group began to rowdily debate how useless or oppressive they had been. The war is over, don't you know? They are a relic of an old time, who did they think they were pontificating about right and wrong when all along they had been corrupt to the very core?

The footage of Numbani plays over, of Tracer flickering in and out of existence.

A guy barks with laughter, not knowing that within ear shot sits Overwatch's chipper mascot.

"The silly cunt got what she deserved!"

The barman's eyes dart over to land on Emily.

"Leave it out, Trevor."

One bloke fakes a high pitched girly scream, whilst another attempts a roar beating his chest like King Kong.

"I bet you, she fucks the gorilla."

"That's enough!" The barman shouts, his eyes once more flickering in Emily's direction. "I wont have that sort of talk in here. It's a family establishment."

Tracer’s knife and fork hovers in mid-air at their cruel words, they don't know or maybe they just don't care that good agents risked their lives for the peace they take for granted and that some of those agents didn’t return. And as her cutlery hovers, her face falters a little. Emily reaches out, with a soft hand on Lena's trembling one.

“Dont listen to them.”

Tracer flashes a weak smile, nodding,

“I know, I shouldn’t." Carefully placing her knife and fork on her makeshift napkin, she slides out of the booth. "...... I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

In the bathroom, she splashes water on her face and tries to dab it dry with a paper towel, her gaze lands on newspaper and magazine cut outs, stuck to the wall, of her and her team mates with lewd comments attached, or defaced with devils horns, eyeballs scratched out and bulls-eyes over their foreheads.

“Whore!” ‘Death to Ow!’

It takes all her strength not to cry on her way back to the booth. She tells Emily about the graffiti, who tries to make her laugh by showing her one she found on the subway of a flying overlord Mercy, with ridiculously large knockers, shooting lasers out of her eyes, incinerating teeny tiny stick figures who were gripped in chaotic panic.

“I’m going to send it to her.”

Lena giggles,

“You would never!”

“I’mma gonna do it.” Emily playfully threatens.. Pressing the button, she proudly grins. “Sent!”

Slipping the phone in her pocket, they prepare to leave. Emily goes to pay the check and the group of punters are still griping about Overwatch except this time their conversation has taken on a blue hue, discussing loudly who they would and wouldn't fuck. As Emily accepts her change from the server, she sees Lena waiting by the side door, cheeks aflame, her head hunkered down into her shoulders like a turtle in an attempt to make her already tinyself as small as possible.

This woman, who was sweet and kind and goofy, this woman who didn’t think twice about throwing on her jacket and guns the first second she heard on the police band radio that people might be in trouble. Who wouldn’t think for a second not to blink through a burning building. Who wilfully stopped muggers on the street and believed that there was good inside people, even if it needed a little coaxing. This woman couldn’t sit down in the home city she had saved on numerous occasions, to a nice plate of fish and chips in peace?

Collecting her change, she walked past the punters only to hear one of them loudly exclaim,

“I’d bend that Tracer over, and I’d Slipstream something into her.” The rest of the group broke into gales of laughter as he gestured with a thrust of his hips

Incensed, Emily whirled round, only for Lena to grab and gently tug her sleeve,

“It’s alright, Em....”

“But, Lena.. It’s not.”

“Leave it off... No point making a fuss. Just a bunch of lads having a laugh. No harm done, eh?” Once again she flashed that altogether too bright and brittle smile..”It’s part of the job, innit? Being famous an all that!” She gave a toss of her head in an attempt to dislodge a lock of hair out of her face.” I’m used to it.”

At that, something inside Emily broke.

“Lets go home.”

As they stepped out onto the overcast streets of London, she slipped her arm through Lena’s in a bid to get closer and glean some of her warmth. Maybe it was the chronal accelerator or maybe it was just Lena, but she somehow always seemed toasty, and Emily was often left wondering how the ex-pilot could run about in leggings and a blue zip up hoodie. Lena walked with her hands shoved in her pockets, and her head bowed in her blue hood. As they meandered down the street, Emily’s phone pinged. Fishing it out of her pocket, she quickly swiped right, reading the message she giggled, bringing Lena out of her morose mood,

“What?”

“It’s Angela.”

Lena’s eyes lit up slightly,

“Lemme have a look.”

It was a photo of a disapproving Angela, a goofy Fareeha, bent double, laughing in the background with the caption.

‘I know at least 6 ways to kill a man, undetected. They won’t find your body for days.’

As if sent by vengeful gods, the heavens burst, huge globular raindrops battering the pavement, the sort that if one hit you it would drench you to your skin. With a squeal, the two girls dashed to a nearby doorway, taking refuge in the wide awning of what used to be a bank. A small girl clutching her mother’s hand, blinked and gasped. Her eyes going wide at the sight of Tracer.

“Mummy!” The little girl excitedly tugged on her mother’s hand. “Mummy, look!”

The mother distractedly engrossed in her phone, replied,

“What is it darling?”

“Mummy, look it’s Tracer!”

“Dont be silly dear”

“It is!” The little girl pulled a little harder.

The mother looking up from her phone, glanced at Emily and Lena before doing a double take.

“Cheers love,” Tracer saluted cheerfully, “The cavalry’s here.”

The little girl squealed in delight, vibrating, like she had her own mini chronal accelerator. Lena crouched down so they could both be eye height,

“What’s you name?”

“Poppy.”

“That’s a really pretty name. And what do you want to be when you grow up.”

“Just like you.” She grinned a gap toothed smile. “Mummy can we have a picture?”

“No, dont bother the lady.”

Looking up from her crouched position, Lena smiled,

“It’s no trouble at all.”

Pulling her daughter a little closer, the mother tersely replied,

“I’d rather not.”

“But Mummy!” Came the high pitched, upset whine.

Lena turned her attention back to the little girl. Straightening her lapels, she said in mock seriousness,

“Dont ever forget, the world could always use more heroes.”

She winked.

The little girl puffed out her little chest, nodding, attempting a little salute of her own.

“Come along Poppy.”

“But Mummy!” The little girl began to protest.

“Be a good girl, Poppy," Lena encouraged in her bright cockney accent, "And listen to your Mum, kay!”

The mother began down the street while the small girl reluctantly followed, waving goodbye enthusiastically to Lena, who returned the gesture. She remained crouched down, in the darkening early winter evening, on the grey busy streets of London, head bowed. Emily reached out a hand to rub her back, when Lena whipped round in a flurry,clinging to Emily for dear life, body racking with sobs. Wrapping her arms around her, she pulled Lena in close as she could, rubbing soothing patterns on her back.

“Oh Lena.” she sadly murmured.

She held her, in that doorway, in a city that wouldn’t be standing if not for Overwatch’s intervention.

“I’m sorry, Em.” Lena pulled back wiping furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, “It’s just....”

Emily held her close, one hand stroking Lena’s cheek,

“Shush, it’s ok. I know. I know.”

“It’s just...” Lena started, before trailing off. “I...”

Emily took in the crestfallen look, her red rimmed, big brown eyes. Lena sucked in a sniff. Emily pressed a gentle, chaste kiss against her lips.

“It’s ok.”

She pulled her back into a hug, one hand cradling the back of Lena’s head as she sank back into her, hiding her face in the crook of Emily’s neck and green scarf. She held her, in that city bustling with people who had no idea of the sacrifice the woman in her arms had given so freely and with little expectation of anything in return. The two of them in their own personal bubble as the oblivious and often callous world continued around them.

(saved from my old blog. All ow fanfiction tagged. Feel free to like / comment/ share.

#formerlyrunephoenix6769 ow fanfiction #tracer #lena oxton #emily overwatch #tracily #overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #widowmaker #fluff #angst #widowtracer

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invokingbees · 6 years

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THE 30 DAY MONSTER CHALLENGE HAS RISEN FROM THE GRAVE

10. Favorite goblin/orc

Well, here I go again showing off just how much of a cretin I am by having little to no real answer. I feel like I should be much more familiar with orcs and goblins than I am, but alas, I am not. Three orcs/gobbos come to mind and so without absolutely any other research, here I go.

1. Goblins from Dragon's Dogma

Weak to ice and fire both, the goblins of Dragon's Dogma are not especially original or anything, in fact they seem to embody an archetype, a thing Dragon's Dogma does a lot, since that game is at once a celebration of fantasy and also played completely straight. The goblins of Gransys can talk (according to the fantastic DD wiki they have their own language), have little goofy British accents (SCHTYOOPID HYOOMANZ), have makeshift weaponry and armour, attack in little packs and are often lead by a bigger, meaner goblin. But, like much of its fantasy archetypes, DD does introduce its own little flavour - the goblins of this world are, according to a little lore note, tree spirits. They appear vaguely humanoid, maybe even slightly apelike. The horns you see on their heads grow into crown-like growths. They're able to capture and sort of control or at least direct Cyclopes during their raids. We actually get to talk to a goblin, too, during a Wyrm Hunt quest, we corner the leader attacking a major fortress and it tells us that the Dragon's come, goblins are gonna eat, kill, sleep, Fortnite, repeat. Doesn't matter to them. The Dragon later on even confirms their nature - simple, without a care in the world. They're kind of nihilists, really. Just doing it all because that's their nature and they embrace it. Goblins come in bigger sizes, too. There's you're average, maybe 1 meter tall goblin, reddish coloured, but then you get the darker Hobgoblins, the mich larger Grimgoblins and finally, on Bitterblack Isle, the Greater Goblins, which I suppose would be akin to this game's Orcs.

Also their warcry is 'WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?'

2. Moria Orcs

Specifically from the Fellowship of the Ring movie, those spooky little crawly critters in the chitinous, spiky armour. Other orcs are, of course, all great and their unique designs have a lot of personality, but those nasty, morlock-y lads in Moria are my favourite, twisted down in that deep darkness, skittering down along walls and pillars. The word 'orc' in my mind conjures the image of a diminutive, creepy, vile thing, all swiry and vicious, not the hulking brutes of later fiction, and Weta Workshop pretty much gave me that image. Orcs in Tolkien are great, too, wretched, but interesting creatures. From some, uh, five or so minutes reading on Tolkiengateway.net, the orcs were formed either from subterranean 'heat and black slime' by Melkor, or as was later suggested, are descended from tortured and mutilated elves. Something deep in their fundamental being was twisted to create a race of subservient, vicious entities. They come in a few kinds, too, and all sorts of scattered tribes which accounts for different physical appearances. And I like, too, that it's suggested the orcs are not inherently evil. Although they may come from it, have been formed by it, the concept of a good orc is not entirely out of the question. I hope, after the War of the Ring, some orcs found themselves in good company.

3. Orks from Warhammer 40K

I have a love/hate relationship with these mad fungal boyos, because on the one hand, I don't think they're really that neat, but on the other hand, they're kind of lovable goobers. The Orks (and that IS with a K) in 40K are essentially living weapons, genetically engineered by the mysterious Old Ones who seeded the galaxy with life. They resemble big fuckin green things with massive tusks and broad, heavy bodies meant for violence. They don't function as weapons anymore, but now go out and fight for the sake of it, true Aesthetes. They just love battle and will do anything to attain it. The most interesting about the Orks, though, is the WAAAGH (or however many A's you want), their sort of collective shared psychic energy force that allows them to do kind of anything. In 40K, belief and emotion equals psychic power, and the Orks absolutely embodies this. Ork weapons, vehicles, even space ships only function because the Orks believe they should function. If you dismantled a piece of Ork tech, it would make no sense. But it works, because the Orks think it should. They paint their vehicles red because red is a fast colour, and will therefore make their bikes faster. And it absolutely works. Some Orks, called Weirdboyz, are able to consiously manipulate psychic energies to do more traditional psychic wizard stuff. Orks also do exist in Warhammer Fantasy, but they're more serious there, and I don't think they have the cockney accents. If they do, then I am sorry.

#30 day monster challenge

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itsudemoyoshiwara · 7 years

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[RP Log 7/27/2017] FFXIV | Fiore Brunelli

Fiore - Quell - Cedrick

Ala Mhigan Quarter

Quell Tyrbrandr mouth would open to let out a yawn, the two had wandered the small city for a few hours now and would seem to be resting their legs for the moment. Quell looked over to the horned woman, his gold hues inspecting her and then looking upward "...What will you do when you find your emerald dragon slayer?"

Fiore Brunelli looks over to her apparent companion with a start. She'd been staring at the arch at the top of the stairs, filled with dread. As much as she liked being out and about, the atmosphere was... not with good intent. "One would think that an ill placed question for one they'd just met normally, I'd think. Unless you're genuinely curious, miqo'te." Fiore spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact with Quell. He hadn't come off as too friendly on their journey here.

"What if he no longer breathes? Such is the fate of most whom slay the dragons. What if your quest was for naught? Will you pick yourself up and continue on or will you give in on this life?" he asked sounding slightly concerned for the woman whom hired him.

Fiore Brunelli narrows her eyes at Quell. No longer breathes? That man? Nonsense. But even so... "I am not so foolish as to relenquish myself to the earth merely for a man, life-debt or no." She shakes her head, either annoyed or anxious. Possibly both. "The verdant dragoon gave me purpose, aye, but tis not my purpose simply to find him. Hydaelyn is far larger than Eorzea and I recognize that." Fiore Brunelli turns her gaze downward. While he had not been more than a catalyst, she would prefer to think him alive rather than dead. The miqo'te's words stung. She started up the stairs and beckoned to the man behind her. "No man shall be found should we stay here all day. Come."

Quell Tyrbrandr follows quietly! hiding his eyes from the bright sun with his hat

Fiore Brunelli eyes Quell suspiciously. Had she been too harsh? Despite the concern in the man's tone, he had come off as what she was taught to be too forward... "No quips, Quell?"

"Pray, let me remind you that you hired me. The sooner we find this man the faster I can get back to my bottle of ales." he replied quietly, his eyes looking around at the hustle and bustle of the recaptured city and then to Fiore, his eyes locking into hers "Though I cannot say that I have not enjoyed this trip...these lands remind me of my home near the Sangoli Desert."

Fiore Brunelli flinches, a small squeak escaping her lips at Quell's initial response. Maybe she had been to hasty in enlisting his help. She had been wary to hire him in the first place, feeling that he had wanted more worth-while assignments. Her stomach knotted as his eyes found hers, but found herself taking an audiable, deep breath when he spoke again. "And here I thought you one not to speak much of yourself. Curious, that." She continued forward, eyes darting from face to face anxiously.

Quell Tyrbrandr stares at Fiore as she remarked on his thoughts of his makeshift home, he said nothing more and carried onward, a few men bumping into the man as they hurried along telling him to watch where he was going. Quell quietly said nothing and kept following his companion.

Fiore Brunelli took a deep breath to calm herself. The combination of Quell's lack of response and the sheer number of faces within such close distance were overwhelming. Any of these could be that dragoon--her dragoon. She forced Quell's earlier words from her mind and bit her lip. Fiore could not allow herself to be discouraged. "Was that all you had to say?" she asked, shakily.

Quell Tyrbrandr looked at her worry, his face forming a slight frown, he would then annouce loudly "Attention Ala Mhigan people. I am looking for a man, Ala Mhigan, bores emerald armor and a spear. A slayer of Dragons. Would anyone here know of such a man or possible men that have come onto the service of the resistance?" he asked the workers

Fiore Brunelli turns to face her companion, eyes wide with fear. She rushes to his side, grabbing onto his sleeve hurridly. "Are you mad, miqo'te?!" Her eyes dart from face to face, her grip tightening on Quell's attire.

Cedrick Highwind sat here in relative dryness, looking over documents of relative insignificance. Upon hearing the miqo'te speak up loudly, he tried to ignore it before promptly hearing the words 'green armour' and 'dragon slayer'. Huh. He glanced over, looking at them both from over the rims of his reading glasses. A Miqo'te and a... Xaela? That was a rare sight outside the Azim Steppes. He did, however, keep silent. He would just watch them with the stealthiness of a goobbue in a Hingan porcelain shoppe.

"You want your answers you're not going to find them hiding behind a box, in order to garner your goals you must make headway on them." he said as he was tugged by the sleeve, freeing himself and then annoucing loudly again "I ask for a few moments of your time if you feel the need to give information, I am willing to part with some coin as a reward." Quell said no more and would make his way back a bit

Fiore Brunelli felt her stomach drop twenty leagues as Quell continued to raise his voice. She looked around as people turned to stare, her heart rate spiking. The miqo'te had taken the stability of himself physically away from her and she began to panic. "Q-quell... wait!" Fiore squeaked out. Barely. She scrambled behind him, biting her lip. "There are more sublte ways we can handle this, one would think..." The Xaela woman felt much smaller than normal, suddenly, and hiring Quell was beginning to seem more and more liked an ill concieved idea.

Cedrick Highwind took a deep breath before speaking up. "How much coin're we talkin' 'bout, lad?" came the deep tones of Cedrick's cockney accent, raising his hand so they knew exactly whom it was that spoke, while at the same time motioning for them to come closer.

Quell Tyrbrandr as he walked with Fiore having a small meltdown behind him would stop in his tracks "Son i'm a lot older then I look and enough for a meal and possible bed for the night rather then sleeping outside. Ala Mhigo and her citizens have seen enough of that." he's replied to the red haired male that has asked

Fiore Brunelli whipped her head around hard enough to give the poor woman whiplash at the sound of their respondant's voice. Her eyes immediately searched the crowd for the sound, resting on a large hand in the mess. The panic she had felt merely two moments before intensified with a mixture of excitement. Her stomach churned. Fiore Brunelli looked up at Quell, then back to the hand in the crowd and did not wait to push through the mass of workers. As she burst forward, the small Xaela woman stopped not a fulm away. "I'll pay you whatever you want!" The words shot out from her mouth before she could stop herself and suddenly, she felt very conscious of her volume.

Cedrick Highwind cocked his brow, "Calm yer breeches, lass and quieten down. Cum wit me." he stood up, storing the papers he was holding just mere moments ago somewhere on his body. If a glance upon them was cast, you might recognise the Ishgardian seal on it. He turned and made his way over to... a table further back, with three seats, "Hav' a seat, y'two."

Quell Tyrbrandr followed the red haired man to the back where it seemed less loud and out in the open, he was generally curious about what he had to say and what information he had to provide

Fiore Brunelli felt her eyes dart from place to place across this man's large, but familiar back as she followed very hastily behind him. If she bit her lip any harder, she might have drawn blood. He sat and she immediately took a seat at the table across from him, shooting Quell a quick, wide-eyed look full panic and anticipation.

Fiore Brunelli 's eyes fell to her lap after that, and she began to play with the hem of her skirt. A moment passed before she thought to apologize for her previous outburst, but recognized that the moment had passed and sat quietly, waiting for the man to continue.

Cedrick Highwind just glanced between them both, taking off his reading glasses and placing them on the table before them. "I take it yer not jes' lookin' fer a run o' th'mill dragon slayer. Not many o' 'em clad in green." he started, leaning forward, "B'fore I part wit me knowledge, I need ask; Whot is i' ye wont wit 'im?"

"She wants the man. I am just hired to help sniff him out. I'll let her explain rather than I..." he said adjusting himself int to the chair and allowing his sore legs to rest for the moment.

Cedrick Highwind glanced over to the Xaela since the ivory-haired Miqo'te gave his statement.

Fiore Brunelli felt her face redden as she felt the Highlander's gaze upon her. "W-well..." she started, her voice small, "I was looking for a man to whom I owe my life, as to repay him for doing so." The Xaela woman gripped her skirt tightly. "Twas that man who helped me leave the Azim Steppe and see the world, and by association he has given me so many things. As such, I feel a deep need to repay him... So--"

Fiore Brunelli stopped abruptly, finally looking up from her lap and into the face of the man before her. "I had not seen his face, but I will remember his gesture for the rest of my being. I would appreciate it greatly if you could lead me to him... Please."

Fiore Brunelli swallowed hard, feeling too awkward to keep eye contact. She let her eyes fall back to her lap.

Cedrick Highwind leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and raising a hand to his cheek in quiet contemplation. "Azim Steppes, aye? 'Tis quite th' distance fer a smol thing such as yerself." he muttered mostly to himself. Opening his eyes and letting his green eyes settle upon them both, he spoke up with certain conviction, "I knoe nought of a... verdant dragoon, y'might say, that ain't me seeing as that's whot me comrades in arms call me." he paused, shrugging.

Cedrick Highwind "Sorry fer me deception, y'need understand 'tis tumultuos times in me homeland, aye?"

Quell Tyrbrandr "Then this quest hath come to an end. Your prize awaits." he said looking over to Fiore offering a faint smile before standing himself up and giving the two some space

Fiore Brunelli continued to stare silently at her lap, unsure how to process the information provided to her. Had she heard him correctly? She flinched as Quell left his seat and became extremely conscious of the privacy he had provided the two of them. She lifted her eyes to look upon the man--the verdant dragoon that she had left home for--and bit her lip again. Despite thinking of this moment for quite some time, Fiore was at a loss for words.

Fiore Brunelli turned her gaze to Quell's back, hoping he wouldn't leave her here for long.

Cedrick Highwind just stared at Fiore, who seemed quite... unwilling to do anything but sit there. Cedrick stood up with a sigh and walked over to Quell, "Keep yer coin. Make a random beggar's day wit it." He said to him before starting to leave.

"Ye would leave this woman whom has spent many moons under my watch and guide like chaff in the wind? Nay sir. You will talk with her. She holds you to much accord and respect, she hath done not but sing into thine ear about your deeds and praises. Else i'll put in arrow in your arse lad." he growled as what appeared to look like Cedrick fleeing the scene.

Fiore Brunelli felt the slight pop of her teeth breaking skin as she watched the Dragoon stand from his seat and leave, wordlessly. "Ah--!" She too, stood and pressed her hand to her mouth. He had made his way to Quell, who seemed more agitated than she'd seen him on their journey here. This had gone not at all according to plan. Her stomach lurched again. Fiore was gonna puke. Or pass out. One.

Cedrick Highwind smirked. He cared not for the man's threat. "Sure. I'll listen while I'm doing me paperwork." is all he said as he made his way back to the table, taking out the papers from before as well as putting his glasses back on. He propped some ink and a quill out as well and started writing, "G'on then lass."

Quell Tyrbrandr looked agitated at Cedrick as he sat back down, he shook his head a bit and wandered a bit more away so that they could talk privately, he removed his hat for the moment and sighed.

Fiore Brunelli watched Cedrick as he sat back down, and once again back to Quell as he walked further away. Hopefully he wouldn't go much farther than he had? She turned her attention back to Cedrick after being addressed and sheepishly motioned to the hand she'd used to cover her mouth. "I hope you'll pardon me, uhm... Sir, but I've hurt myself," Fiore managed, her words muffled. "Though I will have to apologize, I'm not sure what to do now that I'm here..."

Cedrick Highwind took a deep breath, placing the paperwork on the table next to the ink and quill, before standing up. He approached the Xaela, and just took her hand and moved it away from her mouth, leaning in closer to inspect it. "Yegads, lass, why'd'ye do this?" he muttered with certain incredulity. He poked it with a finger, a soft wave of curative magicks flowing through to her to mend the skin. "Learned me sum conjury back during me time in Gridania." he explained. "So, whot's this about a debt?" Cedrick Highwind "Who are ye again? S'been like... wot, ten - twenty years since I've been in th' Azim Steppes?" it probably was less.

Fiore Brunelli flinched as Cedrick stood, steeling herself when he drew close. She wasn't sure what made her face burn more, the careless way he moved her hand away or when he touched her lips. Though, nothing about it was much to be worked up over, she had to remind herself. He was simply doing what you ought to have done, had you not been so stupid. By the twelve, his hands were rather large though...

Fiore Brunelli shook her head slightly, and returned her hand to her lips, touching the spot he had healed. "Ah, thank you," she muttered. Her gaze fell downward to nowhere in particular. "I would not expect to you to remember, but you saved my life once. As is per your, uhm... Profession, you slayed a dragon that I had encountered near my home."

Fiore Brunelli took a deep breath and continued, "Although, the sight of you... I had not seen any but my own kind. It inspired me to leave and see everything. For that, I owe you much more than just my physical form."

Cedrick Highwind cocked a brow, "... Are ye tryin'a bed me?" he grunted, going back to his seat to return to his paperwork, "No' that yer no' attractive but, not int'rested." he concluded, pushing his glasses back up, "Glad I could inspire ye though, I guess."

Fiore Brunelli visibly flinched at the mention of... intimacy? Her eyes grew wide and her face much hotter than before. "B-bed you? I beg your pardon? I--" She fanned herself slightly with one hand and cast a quick glance at Quell, who seemed to have dozed off or something. Fiore was more or less alone on this one.

Fiore Brunelli took a deep breath to compose herself and sat herself once more across from Cedrick. "I had not come here with impure intentions, I assure you. I merely wish to provide my servitude to you, should you take it. I could at least do that much, for as much as you have given me in my life since our encounter--though unintentionally."

Cedrick Highwind glanced up from below the rims of his glasses, "Err, look lass. Much as I'd like t'have me a sl--" he caught himself there, "a /servant/ pretty as yerself, I dun' think I did that much. I jes' killed a dragon, aye?"

Fiore Brunelli shook her head with enthusiasm. "Tis not all you did, I promise you! Because of you, I--" her words became more frantic, excited. "I have seen and done so much! I have known many places and people that I never would have, had you not saved me that day. Tis not a matter of simply saving my life, but also giving me one. Tis not an easy debt to repay. It has weighed heavily on me for some many moons, sir."

Cedrick Highwind sighed, "Well, if'n y'insist..." he grumbled, "Jes'... how good are ye at fightin'?" he asked, "Might've sum use for ye in me platoon."

Fiore Brunelli opened her mouth to continue, but stopped herself. Fighting? Mountain-dweller or no, she wasn't of great strength. "I have come a great deal to learn curative magicks myself, sir, but I am not so great in strength. Would your platoon have need of an experienced healer?" She swung her legs uncomfortably against the chair. While prepared to give her life for this man, who's name she still did not know, she would much hate to disappoint.

Cedrick Highwind gave a soft nod, "It'll doe. Chirurgeons are gud but, y'knoe, understaffed. Always good t' have a healer on hand." he paused, glancing at her, "Beg pardon but I dun see a cane or rod on ye?" never heard of scholars, fuck boy?

Fiore Brunelli beamed with delight at Cedrick's ignorance. She herself had felt that feeling a great many times and relished in the chance to educate someone as she had been educated. "You see, sir, I have studied the ways of Nymian scholars. As such, my healing magics are related to, euhm..." She pauses for a moment. "Faeries. I use a tome." Fiore pats the leather bound codex, secured at the small of her back. Fiore Brunelli continues, "I assure you, providing succor to your wounded is no issue."

Cedrick Highwind glanced over, "Ah. One o' them scholars. Rarely see yer kind in Ishgard. We see more o' them Astrowhatsits." he coughed lightly, a certain awkward silence washing over them before he spoke up again, "... Tell me, y'got a place t' live? Otherwise I've got a flat y'can stay in fer the time being." seeing as she's his sla- servant. :V

Fiore Brunelli bit her lip once more, but more to stifle a giggle than anything. "Ah, yes. Astrologians. Theirs are a Sharlyan based study. I had a fond time looking into that during my time in Ishgard as well." Cedrick's... blatant lack of either understanding or caring--Fiore couldn't tell which--was rather endearing. "As for my living arrangements, I am currently here on behalf of the Maelstrom for the... Euhm... 'Effort." Fiore Brunelli cleared her throat, "But if you should wish it, sir, I can change those arrangements. My loyalty to you is second to none."

Cedrick Highwind shook his head, "Nah. I'm here fer th' same thing, after all. S'not only cuz this is me home land, aye? M'still a Dragoon bound t' Ishgard. I was jes' wondering n'general."

Fiore Brunelli nodded in response. "As I would suspect. You /are/ Ala Mhigan, after all." With nothing else to say, she gave Cedrick a once over and waited for him to say anything in particular. She kinda wished she had gotten to see his appearance back at the Azim Steppe. She would have left much earlier than she had, if so. Fiore stifled another giggle and cleared her throat, her inspection of Cedrick, likely blatant.

Cedrick Highwind just kinda cocked his brow at Fiore, "... So..." he scratched the nape of his neck, "Whot's yer name, then?" is all he asked, the processing of what is actually happening just sinking down, "Wait." he blinked, "Y'would ditch yer entire life jes' fer m- Thal's balls lass."

#ffxiv rp #ffxiv #excalibur #fiore brunelli ffxiv #quell #cedrick

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scullysexual · 5 years

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titanic au | multichapter-au | au | multiple parts | historical au | msr | mature | ao3 | wc: 2,060 | 1/13 |

For Mulder, a wealthy English-bred socialite who's had everything given to him since birth, the Titanic is shipping him off to a prison, a life he no longer wishes for or wants. For Scully, an Irish stranger from the lower class, it offers a new life, a future she can truly envision in America. What if the universe put them on the same path to achieve those dreams at the cost of life?

@today-in-fic

- - -

Chapter One.

A cloud of heavy smoke rises from the four vapers, covering the clear sky above and littering it with stuffy grey puffs. People scramble about down the dock, trying to keep family members together as they rush to get through the gates. Others stand there gawking at the ship. For those not boarding it’s simply a day out; The greatest ship ever built, they call it and those who live nearby wasn’t about to miss out on such a historic day as this.

Mulder stares at it, surprised at just how taken away with it he is. He never put much stock in the rumours when it was being built believing that she was just going to turn out as all those before her had.

But he was wrong. Never in his life had he seen a ship as large as the one that towers over him.

He turns to Phoebe, reaching out for her hand as she climbs out of the cab.

“What do you think, dear?” Mulder asks as he helps his fiancé down. “Are you impressed?”

To no one’s surprise, Phoebe only scoffs at the ship, it’s presence not changing her mood in the slightest.

“It’s not as grand as the Mauretania.”

Bill Mulder chuckles behind them, handing their luggage to his man-servant, Krychek as the boy passes them onto baggage handler.

“It’s much bigger than the Mauretania,” he says, ready to quote every fact he had memorised from the London Herald about the ship. “And much more luxurious,” he adds.

Phoebe only huffs, clearly becoming uninterested in their current conversation.

“Careful Fox,” his father warns him. “Hard one to please, that one.” Mulder only manages an uncomfortable laugh already well aware at the difficulties that come attached to Phoebe Green.

“He’s just trying to get to the ship, Phoebe.”

“Yes, well, maybe he should hurry to a bath instead.”

Mulder ignores her words, instead guiding her through the swarming crowds.

“Honestly Bill,” Mulder’s mother pipes up. “We couldn’t have gotten here earlier rather than scurrying around the docks like rats?”

“I was all packed and ready to go,” Bill says and indicates to the pair in front of him. “It was those two who weren’t.”

Mulder sighs. If anything, it was Phoebe who they had been waiting for.

“We did try to hurry, Mother. Phoebe couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Phoebe scoffs once more. “It’s not my fault that you told me to change.”

“I just thought you would get to warm wearing black all day.”

“I’m in mourning Fox,” Phoebe cries. “The weather doesn’t change that.”

Mulder resists sighing again. Phoebe had been mourning for weeks now. The loss of their baby had brought on this spontaneous trip. Phoebe, done with London and “wanting to get away from all the bad memories” all but demanded that they leave for America as soon as possible. A change for a new start, she told him afterwards. They could get married here and start again. Next thing Mulder knew, he was packing his bag and going back to a country he hadn’t seen since childhood.

He felt trapped somehow, and it had nothing to do with the swarms of crowds. This was inside him. A cage or a hole he’d put himself in. One he wasn’t going to get out of any time soon.

She’s been sitting on this bench for what feels like hours now. The stuffy bar overcrowded with sight-seers only now they’ve done the sight-seeing and want to do some drink-beering.

The game had currently been going on for a lot longer than the ‘few minutes’ she was promised.

Dana sighs, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. She’d order a drink if Charlie wasn’t currently gambling away their last penny.

“You lonely, luv?” Dana turns towards the speaker. His cockney accent thickened by the slurring of his words. “Ye want sum comp’ny?”

He stumbles towards her, catching himself on the rickety table and smiles at his clumsiness. Dana attempts to shuffle further back into the bench, failing.

“I’m fine,” she says turning away and hoping the man would take the hint.

But he presses on.

“Are ye sure?”

“Aye. I’m sure.” She gets up before the man can say anything else, and heads over to Charlie’s table.

The boy is in full concentration mode. Lip caught between his teeth, eyes scanning his cards and the hard laying down on the table. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Countless of times Dana has watched him play, never learning from the mistakes he’s made in previous games. This gambling addiction he’s seemed to have developed has cost them a lot in the finance department, a cost that Dana is not too happy about.

She taps him on the shoulder.

“Charlie, I want to go.”

“Hold on a second…”

His tongue replacing his lip, Charlie gives one nervous glance around at his fellow players.

“Charlie, we need to go.” She tries not to sound like she’s whining, he’s her younger brother for God’s sake, a child, she shouldn’t have to whine.

Charlie ignores her, a smile breaking out across his face.

“I’m sorry, lads.” He places his cards on the table, his smile turning cocky as he reaches over to take his earnings. Dana doesn’t miss the two pieces of paper lying on top of the money.

A large hand grasps Charlie’s. His grin falls as he stares in fear at the man.

“Charlie!” Dana screams as his body falls slump against the oak. The man backs off as the bar grows quiet, ignoring the winnings that fall onto the floor.

With all concern for her brother, Dana rushes to his side, her hand falling on the boy’s face, wiping away the blood that drips down from his wound. You feckin’ idiot…she thinks.

Charlie’s eyes open slowly, despite the pain with smile it back.

“I won, Dana,” he tells her. “We’re going to America.”

The words White Star Line stare back at her. She looks from the paper in her hand to the ship outside and back to Charlie.

“You’re…you’re not serious?” she asks, full astonishment.

“Yep. Fecker put his ticket down as payment,” Charlie all but shouts.

Dana stares back at the ticket. She was really about to go to America and board the Titanic to get there.

“You’re gonna wanna be quick,” a fella beside them tells them. He points to his clock on the wall. “Boat leaves in ten minutes.”

At that, Charlie hauls himself off the table as the two siblings begin pushing what money remained on the table into their only bag, not caring for the coins that had fallen onto the floor.

“Hurry up!” Charlie urges her as Dana ties up the bag. “Come on, come on.” He takes the bag throwing it over his shoulder and grabs his sister’s hand, all but dragging her out of the bar.

They almost collide with everything; people, a cart selling vegetables, a horse and carriage until finally they make it, out of breath and clutching at their tickets.

“Leif and Ingrid Brevik?” he asks, sceptically.

Dana looks nervously at Charlie, worried that they had just ran all this way, got excited for a new future, just to be turned away at the doors once more.

“Aye, we’re Americans.” Charlie tells him doing nothing to mask the already thick Irish accent.

The crewman gives once last glance at the ticket and them. Sighing and probably done dealing with steerage who’s English is minimal he accepts the tickets.

“Get in before I change my mind.”

Relieved, the pair rush in just as the crewman shuts the door.

They make their way down the crowded corridor. People stand looking at the various signs that point in directions of rooms, bathrooms, and general gathering areas. They argue, an overload of different words muddled together to make one distorted language.

She finds it eventually. 23, near the end of the corridor. Charlie eyes up Room 24.

“Reckon a lass lives in there?” he asks.

Dana focuses on unlocking the door, a sly grin appearing on her face.

“I hope it’s a fat old man with a foot infection.” She looks up only to see the look of disgust appear across her brother’s face.

The door opens to their room. A single bunkbed, a desk and chair with a lamp seated upon it, and a chest of drawers are the only furniture that occupy the room.

Charlie shares her sentiments exactly.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry.” He throws the bag onto the chair and proceeds to climb to the top bunk.

She stops him before he can claim it.

“Piss off, I get top bunk.” She grips the back of his shirt, yanking him off the ladder.

“Careful!” Charlie cries. “I’m already injured.”

“So move out the way before I injured you even more.”

He does as he’s told, not without pulling a face beforehand, and throws himself on the bottom bunk.

Dana lies down, thankful to be in a bed that actually feels like a bed and not a brick.

“Hey, Dee?” Charlie calls after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Are you worried?”

Dana thinks for a second, curious as to what Charlie thinks she should be worried about.

“About what?” she asks.

Silence passes and she waits for an answer.

“Nothing,” the boys says. “It’s nothing. We got nothing to be worried about.”

Frowning and profoundly confused, Dana decides to leave it.

Another bout of silence passes and perhaps Charlie’s fallen asleep, at least she thinks that until she hears his voice again.

“Hey, Dee?”

“What?”

“Do you still have that first-aid kit in the bag? My face is throbbing.”

#txf #titanic au #heh heh #i am actually scared #um...pls read cause i need validation #and this needs to get out of my head #and im really liking writing it #and i cant write for myself #so pls like it #pls #goodbye

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