#I just had the idea of Molly bundled up in his coat but did not want to draw anyone of them in their winter gear lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taleasnewastime · 4 years

Text

The village

Summary: When Min Yoongi turns up in your village you battle with whether you should tell him you know who he is. But when you start to hang out with him, and you can start calling him your friend, things get even more complicated.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff

Word count: 11.1k

Authors Note: Buckle in, that is not a typo this indeed 11,100 words! It has taken me a while to write but I really enjoyed it, so I hope you enjoy reading it too. This isn’t going to be the new normal, but I do have some ideas for some other longer stories. Let me know if you like the length or whether you think I should just stick to shorter fics, would love to hear your thoughts. Anyway, this is a fluffly story about Yoongi having a vacation in a small village.

Cup on tea in hand you look out through the window. Winter was fully setting in and rain fell gently against the window causing drops to slowly run downwards. With the café you were currently in being at the top of the hill your window seat provided a good view of the village. With the rain constantly pouring down not many people were walking through the village, so instead of your normal people watching you look at the rain drops fall down the window.

Taking another sip of your drink, you look down and notice that you can nearly see the bottom of the mug. Glancing out the window again you consider ordering another drink just to avoid going outside for another few minutes. These thoughts are long forgotten when you remember that you promised you would meet Molly to help her lock up the shop. She had asked you yesterday when she found out that Matt, her only store assistant, couldn’t help her.

You look across the café to see the time, you still had 10 minutes until you had to be at the shop. Not enough time to order another drink. Instead you nurse your current drink, eyes going back to the beads of water on the glass.

You down the last dregs of your drink, setting the mug back on the table, you start to shrug your coat on. Heading for the door, you pick up your still sodden umbrella, shaking it slightly out of habit.

“See you soon, Fiona,” you call across the café to the woman sat behind the counter, signifying your departure.

“Lovely to see you dear, come back soon,” the lady shouts back at you, giving a gentle wave.

With that you open up the door, taking a small step out before immediately opening your umbrella. Hood up, umbrella as close to your head as possible, you shuffle down the road towards Mollys shop.

The rain was almost horizontally lashing at you, so to avoid the majority of the drops getting on you, you have to place the umbrella almost as a shield. Though this works in stopping you basically having an outdoor shower, it does prohibit your vision. There should, therefore, have been no surprise when you collide with a solid mass. What you don’t expect is for that solid mass to start talking.

“You should watch where you’re walking,” a gruff voice sounds out barely audible over the rain.

Raising your umbrella so that it is above your head and you can finally see, you take in the person in front of you. Having lived in the village for almost all of your life, and with the village being as small as it is, you know everyone there. No one seemed to leave and hardly anyone ever seemed to enter. The person currently standing in front of you however is someone you have never seen in your life. He wears a hat tightly pulled over his head, a few dark strands of hair poking out, a big coat that swallows up his body, and big black boots on his feet. His face is round, and his cheeks puff out slightly from under his hat.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise, your voice so soft you worry that it won’t be heard over the wind and rain. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” the man scoffs.

Rain continuing to lash down on you, and the coldness of the air starting to hit you, you are not up for listening to some stranger's moodiness. Instead you give another quick, blunt apology and start walking off again in the direction you were heading.

When you finally reach the shop, you stomp on arrival. Attempting to get some water off yourself and umbrella was pointless, but the stomping was at least getting rid of some of the annoyance that had risen up within you from the rude man on the street.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” comes a call from the back of the shop.

“It’s just me Mol,” you shout back, hearing a few crashes in return.

The crashes die down when you hear some footsteps which turns into the appearance of Molly. “What has you stomping around? Don’t think I’ve ever heard you that loud in my life.”

You roll your eyes at her, “I’m not being that loud, just trying to get some water off me,” you say. Dumping your umbrella in a pile at the door you peel your hood back before taking your coat off entirely. Feeling more human now you are somewhat dry and not bundled in a mass of clothes you head over to the till where Molly is stood.

“Thanks for volunteering to help me,” Molly says.

“I don’t know if I would use the word volunteer, more like black mailed?” Molly rolls her eyes at you. “And anyway, you know I’m always free to help.”

“You may not want to offer that service, I’d have you here every night if I could,” she says. “Right, down to business, all I need you to do is stack that last box ready for tomorrow. I’ll start counting up the money and then we can both do a final sweep of the floors.”

“Perfect,” you reply, already heading to the box in question.

You plonk yourself down on the floor by the box and slowly unload its contents, occasionally reading the labels of the miscellaneous tins. The job was a tad mind numbing even if it was just the single box you needed to unload, though you did find it somewhat therapeutic, allowing your mind to tune out to the world. A hum starts to leave your mouth without much realisation.

“Is that ABBA?”

You almost drop the tin that was in your hand, not realising anyone but Molly was in the shop. The deep voice that had just sounded out was definitely not Molly. Slowly turning your head and from your seat on the floor, you notice the big black boots first. That alone was enough for you to guess who was stood in front of you, but you continue to move your eyes up his stature. As if you had any doubt your guess was confirmed when you met the eyes of the rude man you had previously met in the street.

“Yeah,” you answer his question, eyes going back to the tin in your hand as you feel annoyance start to rise up within you again. “Mamma Mia,” you say the name of the song as you place yet another tin on the shelf.

“I’m more of a Dancing Queen man myself,” your eyes shoot up to him, his eyes now on the shelf in front of him, a small smile threatening to escape his lips.

You roll your eyes at the man, focus once again returning to the stacking of the shelf. “If you really want to get into superior ABBA tracks then we all know it’s Voulez-Vous,” you say deadpan, not sure if he was mocking you with his earlier comment.

He simply hums in agreement letting out a simple “good choice,” as he over analyses the writing on a packet of rice.

Your face heats up slightly, still unsure if he was mocking you or simply complementing your taste in music. A few more moments pass in silence, just the light tapping of tins going onto the shelf. The man however doesn’t leave his spot, towering over you.

“So, do you work here?” He finally speaks out. He means it to come out casual, but instead it comes out awkward and stilted, and you can’t help the small smile that comes to your face.

“No. Just helping a friend,” you say. “I do it from time to time when she’s desperate.”

“So, you live here?” He asks. “I mean, you live in the village?”

You finally look back up at him to find his eyes already on you. “Yeah, live towards the bottom of the hill. Are you passing through?”

“I guess you could say I’m on a holiday of sorts.”

“You’re staying here?” Your eyes almost bulge out of your head in shock.

“Is there a problem with that?” He gives a slight chuckle at your reaction, though it does unnerve him slightly, was there some sort of problem with this village he’d stumbled upon?

“No, no,” you are quick to reassure him. “It’s just that people never really come to this village.”

“Should I be worried? Maybe take my holiday somewhere else?”

“Depends,” you say. “If your idea of a good time is talking to old people all day, only being able to visit a small café and convivence store, and taking long meaningful walks around some woods, then I would say this is the perfect place for you.”

“Well when you put it like that,” he smiles.

Before your conversation can go any further Mollys head pops out from the end of the isle, “5 minutes until the store closes,” she announces, disappearing back to where she came from just as quickly.

Having jumped slightly at the interruption your focus goes back on your work, realising you still have half the box to unpack and not much time left to do it. Though you were helping Molly out and she was your best friend, she did ever so slightly scare you and you did not want to be on the receiving end if she finds out you’ve been talking rather than doing your ‘job’.

The man next to you has also somewhat livened at the announcement. Hands grabbing a few items off the shelf, bundling them into his arms as he makes his way to the till.

Just before he fully rounds the corner he stops and turns to look at you. “I’m Yoongi by the way, should maybe have said that earlier,” you look to see a light blush covering his cheeks.

He remains stood there as you stare at him, smile on your face, a tin in hand half way to the shelf. “Y/N,” you reply. He gives a curt nod before walking off, disappearing behind the shelf completely.

“Do you know who that was?” The words shoot at you like bullets, an almost franticness to them. As you head towards Molly with your now empty box you can see that the words are not the only thing frantic about her in that moment, her whole body almost shaking. You stop dead in your tracks taking her in.

“Yoongi?” You mind whirling with thoughts about what could have gotten her in that state, was he some ex-lover? Maybe even just an old friend? Someone she’d seen on the street before, maybe he had treated her the same way he had treated you when outside. Maybe she wasn’t even talking about Yoongi, maybe someone else had come into the shop without you seeing. All these thoughts and not one of them was what actually came out of Mollys mouth.

“Yes Yoongi, or SUGA,” your face still blank she continues. “From BTS?” She's almost desperate at this point.

“BTS, that’s a boyband, right?”

“Jesus Y/N. Yes, BTS is a boyband, it’s the biggest boyband in the world,” if there wasn’t a table between the two of you, Molly would have tried to shake some sense into you.

“Oh right, well good for him I guess,” you try to feign being cool, and though you still weren’t entirely sure who Yoongi really was, you couldn’t pretend to not know who BTS were. Heat started to rise to your face as you think about how you spoke to some famous pop star and didn’t even realise. How people would have killed to be in your earlier position and there you were getting slightly annoyed that he may have been mocking you about humming an ABBA tune.

Taking the empty box, you head towards the recycling, Molly hot on your tails.

“Are you not even the slightest bit curious about why Min Yoongi was in my shop?” Molly almost bounces off the walls as she follows you.

“He said he was taking a holiday,” you shrug.

“A holiday? Here?” Molly says it as if it’s the least appealing thing she has ever heard.

“Maybe he likes talking to old people,” you reference one of the selling points you’d told Yoongi earlier.

“Well, he’s probably long gone by now,” Molly finally settles down, bouncing turning more into a small bob. “Maybe I should have asked for a picture when I had the chance.”

“I say let’s just sweep the floors and head home,” you take one of the brooms that was resting against the wall and shove it in her arms.

“Let a girl have some fun,” she pouts at you.

You didn’t give Yoongi much more thought that night, nor the following morning. Like Molly had said, he was probably long gone now. Instead you go about your daily life, wake up, make a tea, and then head to your mini studio. You’d wanted to be an artist for as long as you could remember, and you were lucky that you earned enough money, from commissions and putting some work in galleries, that it supported you enough to live. Though you didn’t live an exuberant life, you were happy enough in your cosy two-bedroom house. Having converted the second bedroom into your studio also meant that you could cut costs on having to rent a separate space.

Flowers were your thing. Though not drawn realistically in all your works, you always drew inspiration from them. Whether that be their colours, their shape or simply their place within a space. Flowers were definitely your thing, and that was no more evident than in your studio. Flower pressings littered the walls, pictures of flowers you had taken on walks joining them, there were even some fake flowers in some pots on shelves and in corners. That was all before you had taken in your actual works. Your studio was basically just one big headache of colour, and you loved every inch of it.

The rain from yesterday was still lashing down outside, and you sit on a stall by the window with your mug for a second, watching the beads run down the window just as you had done in the café. Before you get too carried away you kick yourself into action and start to do some actual work.

You could normally work a full day, especially when you had a few commissions or pieces that were needed for galleries. Today was one of those days, two commission pieces underway you didn’t find it hard to get stuck in and paint the day away.

Trying to stick to a traditional 8 hour working day was hard when you were your own boss. You found you would get to the end of your day and still have stuff to do and as it was your business, you would want to stay and get everything done. This had resulted in late nights and early mornings in the past, essentially eliminating any chance of a social life, which was pretty non-existent anyway. However, it is still what drove you to start being stricter with more formatted days.

So, as it neared stopping time, and although you still had things to do, you diligently put your paints and brushes away, clearing up for the day. You could always fit in an extra hour in the evening if you felt like it. Otherwise everything would still be where you’d left it tomorrow. You had also found that coming back to a painting with fresh eyes always helped. The secret to painting was knowing when to stop.

Looking out the window confirmed that the rain was still falling. With Molly still having a few more hours to work at the shop, and wanting to get out of the house you decided the only option was to go back to the café. A coffee right now sounded ideal anyway.

So, you head up the hill. Coat back on, umbrella over your head, you try to avoid as much rain as you could. When you finally make it, you dump your umbrella in a wet heap by the door. Ordering a coffee, you give a smile and hello to the other customers as you head over to your normal seat by the window.

Taking in the world outside, your mind tunes into some of the other conversations around you. Much like the small village, the coffee shop was never that busy and always full of old people. Your ears flick between the only two conversations going on, one about the troubles their grandchildren were having with potty training, the other about how they had seen another villager walking around with a green hat on, apparently it was scandalous.

You try to disguise the giggle that rises within you by taking a sip of your drink. However, what definitely kills the giggle is the words spoken by a deep voice.

“Thought I recognised the umbrella by the door.”

You almost spill your drink as you turn from the window to the man stood beside you. Heat immediately rises to your face, heart rate increases tenfold, as you look at Yoongi. He simply stands looking at you with a small closed mouth smile on his face, mug of coffee in his hands.

“Oh, hi,” are the only words you managed to splutter out at him. He remains stood looking at you, and you’re not sure what comes over you when you offer him to sit with you. He accepts and you watch as he places his mug down and takes the seat opposite you. Hair now out of the hat he was wearing yesterday, you take in his dark, almost black, locks that fall just long enough that they touch his eyes, but don’t cover them. His skin is clear and light, puffing out slightly into squishable cheeks that are lightly pink from the storm blowing outside. His lips are plump, and the perfect shade of pink, a shade that you wish you could replicate in your studio. Then you meet his eyes. A deep dark coffee colour, the colour almost blending into his pupil.

“You stayed,” you dumbly state.

“Well you did such a good job of selling the place, I didn’t think I could leave,” he smiles.

Your heart rate still high, you do everything to avoid his eye contact. Your eyes look around the room and notice that all other eyes in the cafe are on the two of you, surely curious about the man sat opposite you that they had never seen before. The village rumour mill must already be whirling. Your eyes finally land on your coffee, deciding that’s the safest place to look.

Though you would like to think that the only reason you were being so awkward was because you now knew he was famous, in reality you would be like this around any good-looking guy. What with the small village filled with old people, hot guys were a very infrequent occurrence. However, the fact you now knew he was a member of BTS definitely made the situation worse.

“What have you done today then?” You manage to ask.

“Not much, just settled into the house I’m staying in. Unpacked and went to get some more food,” he says. “What about you?”

Your eyes dare to look up at him and find that maybe he isn’t as scary as you initially thought, though you are still unable to hold eye contact for more than a second. “Just worked,” you answer.

“And what do you work as?”

“I’m an artist. I paint,” you add to clarify your point.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, a reaction that you were used to by now. “What do you paint?”

“Flowers,” you say, a small smile coming to your lips as you start to think about your art and how much you love it. “Of sorts. They’re all abstract so you wouldn’t necessarily think they are flowers. But it’s where I draw inspiration.”

He smiles at you, watching as you seem to almost glow when you talk about your work. You cringe under his stare, looking out the window you gather the courage to ask, “what do you do for work?” curious to see what his answer would be.

“I make music,” he says simply.

You raise your eyebrows, mocking surprise. “Anything I would know?” Again, curious as to whether he would admit who he was.

“If ABBA is your idea of good music then I doubt you would have heard any of my songs,” his lips pull back showing off a gummy smile.

You roll your eyes and pout your lips slightly. “Must not be that good then,” you mock annoyance and you hear a chuckle leave his lips.

“I’m glad I managed to bump into you again actually,” he says and you raise your eyebrows in genuine shock this time.

“In this village I think it would harder to avoid someone then bump into them,” you say.

“Noted,” he smiles. “Anyway, I wanted to ask about those woodland walks you mentioned yesterday.”

“Oh right,” you say, feeling a bit disappointed though you are unsure why. “They are literally at the bottom of this hill. Just walk down the road and you can’t miss it. Theres a map at the start so you shouldn’t get lost.”

“Great. Thank you,” he says.

“You going to go in the rain?” You nod your head to the window to emphasise your point.

His eyes turn to the bleak day outside. “Maybe I’ll wait to see if it’s drier tomorrow,” his face turns back to you. “Fancy joining?”

Your heart almost stops beating at the offer and you manage to stutter out a “urm.”

He gives you a small smirk, “you don’t have to if you’re busy.”

“I mean, I guess it would be nice to go on a walk. I could go around midday?”

“Thank god, because I definitely would have got lost,” you laugh at his comment, his words making you feel more at ease.

He takes a final sip of his coffee, finishing it off, and then slowly pushes his chair back from the table. Standing up he shrugs his coat on and then puts his hand in his pocket, pulling out his phone. A few clicks on it and then he is holding it out to you. Sensing your confusion he simply says, “for your phone number,” and then quickly adds, “if that’s OK?”

You reach out taking the phone from him, smiling at the blush that has taken over his cheeks. “Very smooth Yoongi,” you say, causing the shade of his blush to deepen.

Handing him back the phone he does a few more taps, causing your phone to ping. “Now you can text me your address too,” he doesn’t let you reply to that, but you can see a wide gummy smile take over his face. Grabbing his bag as he heads for the door. “See you at midday tomorrow.”

“YOU ARE GOING ON A DATE WITH MIN YOONGI?” Molly screams in your face after you tell her about your previous café encounter.

You groan, placing your head in your hands. You had weighed whether it was worth telling Molly or not, but ultimately had decided that she would find out eventually and if it didn’t come from you she may just kill you. However, as you sit in your living room, Molly screaming in your face, you almost regret telling her anything.

“It’s not a date,” you reply.

“You are going on a walk alone with Yoongi, he has your phone number, hell he even has your address. Mate, you are going on a date.”

“He just doesn’t want to get lost and knows I’m local,” you try to reason.

“Literally nothing you say is going to change my mind.”

“Ok, but nothing you say is going to change mine,” you say just as stubbornly as Molly had. “Can we just not make a big deal of this, I’m am just going on a walk with someone that happens to be a man, no big issue.”

“Alright, alright,” Molly subsides. She knows your track record with men and, even if it wasn’t a date, going for a walk with a man was a massive step for you. So, if it made you feel better about the situation, she would stop teasing you. “But you still have to tell me every detail about it.”

“I promise,” you sigh, already knowing she would want a full blow by blow.

You almost pour liquid caffeine down your throat the next morning. Having had broken sleep due to the anxiety caused by a certain man, you needed anything you could get to help you stay awake. Opting instead for a strong coffee you head up to your studio to at least attempt to get a few hours of work done.

As expected, work is the last thing your mind can focus on. Worrying instead about what you should wear later, and how long you should give yourself to get ready, you didn’t want to go covered in paint. Then your mind would try to reason, what does it matter what I wear it’s just a walk, you wouldn’t dress up for a walk with Molly. But you are going on a walk with Min Yoongi, this is completely different.

As all these thoughts whirl through your brain, the morning actually flies by. Though not much work was achieved, you manage to look semi presentable by midday. Though the rain had stopped it was still cold so you had opted for a hoody under a jacket, with some well fitted black jeans and boots. Not dressy at all, but compared to what you would normally wear it was positively Met Gala worthy.

Even though you are stood waiting, the doorbell still makes you jump when it rings out. You take small steps to the door in an attempt to not look too eager. Opening the door, you see Yoongi leaning against the front garden wall. All in black, he looked like a model pulled out of a magazine, and you have to try and push the thought away that says he basically is just that.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“Hey,” he stands up straighter, eyes taking you in. “Ready to go?”

“Yep, let me just grab my keys,” you duck into the house quickly grabbing your keys, before going back out and locking up your house.

“After you,” Yoongi points his arms to the front gate as a gesture for you to go first. “You are my guide after all.”

You smile as you walk past him. Taking a right towards the woods, Yoongi quickly falls into step with you.

“Did you manage to get any work done today?” Yoongi asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“A bit,” you lie, then follow it up with some truths. “I have two commissions on at the moment so just trying to get those finished before I start anything else.”

“Do you get many commissions?”

“Enough to get me by. Obviously, I would love more, who doesn’t aspire for me, but I am just happy that I make enough to support it as a career. I can’t really complain.”

“Being an artist is hard,” you hum in agreement at his words. “How do people hear about you? I guess I mean how did you become an artist?”

“Just the standard art college, university. Kind of got lucky I guess, a lot of people I studied with couldn’t support themselves enough to make it their job,” you downplay your achievements, always one to be modest.

“Shows you must be good,” he says, which you shrug at, unsure how to reply.

“This is the turning,” you are thankful for an excuse to try and change the topic. You stop by the map of the woods, a few different coloured lines make loops showing the different trails on offer, each varying in distance. “How far do you want to go?”

“The short one looks good,” you nod in approval starting to head in the right direction. “As you have work to do this afternoon, would hate to be the reason you get nothing done.

If only he knew, you think. “And what about you? Working on any music currently.”

“No,” he says it sharply and you worry that you said the wrong thing. Realising his mistake, he sighs. “I’m on holiday to try and clear my mind,” he explains.

“We all need some time away sometimes,” you say softly.

“And what better place to be,” he widens his arms at the trees around you and you laugh at him.

“Hawaii would be nice,” you joke.

“Not all it's cracked up to be,” he plays along.

“At least there’s sun there.”

“Again, not all it’s cracked up to be,” a big gummy smile takes over his face at these words.

“Are you some sort of vampire or something?”

“Maybe,” he laughs. “This seems like a very Edward and Bella location.”

“A Twilight fan?” You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Oh, come on. Who hasn’t seen Twilight? You’d have to be living in a cave to avoid it,” he rolls his eyes at you.

For the proceeding few minutes you discuss whether you are team Edward or Jacob. Have an intellectual conversation about whether the books or films are better. And talk about the following careers of several of the actors. It takes you almost by surprise to realise how easy it is conversation to have a conversation with Yoongi. Fully settled into it, you don’t even think about who he is or the fact that he is wildly attractive, you are just engrossed in the light and funny conversation.

In no time you are back outside your gate. Nervously you swing the gate lightly in your hand.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” Yoongi says.

“It was a nice break from work, thanks for letting me tag along,” you smile.

“I hope you have a productive afternoon. Maybe I’ll bump into you around the village,” he says, turning with a slight wave and all too soon he’s gone.

“I need details,” Mollys voice sounds out through the phone that evening.

“It was nice,” you reply. “It was normal.”

“What did you talk about?”

“A bit about work, a lot about Twilight, I don’t know just a range of topics that naturally came up.”

“And are you meeting again?”

“No plans, he just left it saying that he’d maybe bump into me.”

“You should text him,” she says it rushed, as if it’s an amazing idea that she’ll forget if she doesn’t get it out.

“What?” Slight panic in your voice.

“You have his number right? You should ask him to do something with you.”

“Do what? There is nothing to do here,” you are trying to get out of it but your words are also true. You’d both already hit all the main attractions of the village together.

“Invite him round to yours,” you hear the excitement in her voice at her idea. “You can say you’ll cook him dinner.”

“I hardly know the guy, do you not think inviting him to my house is a bit forward?”

“Invite him out for a meal somewhere then. You could drive to el forno,” she suggests your favourite restaurant which is a few minutes drive from the village.

“I don’t know, sounds even more like a date than inviting him for food at mine,” you stress.

“Jesus Y/N. Just don’t overthink it. Ask him to go on another walk with you. Or even just text him to say that you enjoyed today. As long as you text him something.”

You hum, still not sure. “I guess a text to say I enjoyed our walk wouldn’t be so bad,” you reason.

“That’s it then. Do it now. And let me know what he replies,” and with a quick goodbye the phone line is dead, Molly gone.

Before you can overthink it you take Mollys advice and open up your messages with Yoongi. So far the only messages being his ‘hi’ and you giving him your address. A deep breath to settle your nerves and you type out a message.

Just wanted to say thanks again for today. It was nice to go round the woods with company for a change.

You read over the message several times, scrutinising every word. When finally your finger hovers over the send button, tapping down. Delivered. All you could do now is wait.

Trying to ignore your phone was easier said then done. You felt like some silly school girl checking your phone every minute to see if he had replied or even read your message. After a good 10 minutes of this you decide that you needed to leave your phone completely so head up for a bit of late night painting in an attempt to take your mind off it.

This works up until you hear the distant ding of your phone. You almost chuck your paint brush at the wall in an attempt to get to your phone quicker. Picking it up and opening the message you don’t care if you come across keen.

I enjoyed the company too. We should do it again sometime.

So he does want to see you again. The smile that spread across your face at that news was possibly the biggest smile you’d ever had. Typing out a reply you don’t hesitate in pressing send this time.

I’d love that.

As soon as it’s delivered it appears as being read showing he had your chat open. Dots appear showing he way typing.

Tomorrow too soon?

Again your typing is fast.

I can do lunch time again?

His reply just reads,

I’ll meet you outside yours again.

You manage to sleep better that night, and are actually productive in the morning. Compared to your first meeting you have your nerves under control. And when Yoongi arrives you find that you both fall into easy conversation. And when you finish your walk, Yoongi outside your house he suggests it becomes a regular occurrence and you happily agree to continue your lunch time walks.

It’s on one of these walks a few days later that he says, “I would love to see your art one day.” He says it so offhandedly that you aren’t expecting it and struggle to respond. “You always sound so passionate about it whenever it comes up in conversation. I guess I’m intrigued,” he smiles down at you.

“Yeah, sure, I guess you can come and see my art,” you say.

“Whenever you are ready,” he says, not wanting to push you into anything.

“I’ve actually nearly finished my commissioned pieces, so maybe when they’re done,” you suggest. “Then you can see something that’s fully finished.”

“Perfect,” he replies.

“So if you’re seeing my art, does this mean I get to hear some of your songs?”

He chuckles at your question. “I’ve actually been working on some new stuff recently.”

“I thought you said you don’t like to work on holiday?” You say shocked.

“I guess inspiration struck,” he shrugs.

“Well, I would love to hear it.”

“We will have to see,” he mumbles before changing the topic of conversation.

You are sat with your legs crossed on one of the counters in Mollys shop, chocolate bar in hand as you watch her stood by the till. You’d been discussing, amongst other things, your lunch time walks with Yoongi.

“I still think you should invite him round,” Molly says.

“I’m going to,” you say it with such confidence that Molly almost chokes on her own spit.

“You are?” She says in disbelief.

“I finished my commission pieces the other day and I said that he could come and see them. I just need to actually invite him.”

“Please don’t chicken out of it this time.”

As she finishes her sentence the door to the shop opens and in walks the man in question. Molly widens her eyes and shouts out a greeting, Yoongi gives a small wave before disappearing behind a row of shelves in search of something.

“Perfect timing,” Molly mumbles under her breath, jabbing her head to where Yoongi was stood for emphasis.

You shoot her daggers a warning to not embarrass you. And when Yoongi rounds the corner with some tins in his hands you both have to scramble to look normal.

“Hey Min,” you cringe as the words come out of your mouth, never having called him that before. “You’ve met Molly before right?” You try to recover.

He gives her a small smile, placing his tins down on the counter by the till. “I believe I bought some rice off you once,” he says extending his hand for her to shake. “Yoongi,” he introduces himself. “Or Min, it seems,” he glances at you giving a cheeky smile.

Your eyes dart to the floor, heat rising to your face.

“Well it’s nice to properly meet you,” Molly saves you, scanning through his items. “Are you enjoying your stay in the village?”

“It’s great. I’m used to a much faster pace of life so I am appreciating the laid back feeling here.”

“Laid back, slow, boring. It’s thanks to all the old people,” Molly jokes.

“You can’t hate it that much if you live here,” he hands over some cash for his items.

“I guess I’ve gotten used to it, don’t really know much else,” she explains handing him back his change.

“Well I think it’s great here,” he says and Molly hums in acknowledgment. Picking up his items he turns to the door saying, “see you guys around.”

His back to you Molly gives you a hard nudge, widening her eyes at you. Before you can think you shout out his name causing him to stop just before the door, turning to look at you. “I finished my paintings if you still want to come and see them?”

“Of course I do,” a smile breaks out on his face.

“Tomorrow evening work?” You ask, glancing down at Molly for reassurance before you say, “you can stay for some food too?”

The smile on his face remains as he accepts your invitation. He says “see you tomorrow,” before turning and leaving the shop.

“He is smitten,” Molly turns to you once he is gone.

“He just wants to see my art, I talk about it all the time, he’s curious.”

“And he could have just asked to see a picture. He didn’t need to come to your house to see it, he didn’t need to accept a dinner invitation to see it.”

“He’s being nice,” you sigh, unwilling to believe her words. “Can you just help me decide what to wear and cook?”

She rolls her eyes at how oblivious you were being, but agrees to help you out. Both of you spending your evening contemplating different outfits as well as brain storming meal Ideas.

Due to the fact he was coming to yours that evening you call off your lunch time walk, and instead text him a time to come to yours. You spend your day wisely, doing work but also preparing food and cleaning up you house a bit. By the time you hear the distinctive tone of your door bell, there is a nice smell of food in your house and the place looks clean.

You have to stifle a gasp that threatened to leave your lips when you opened the door. Stood in black jeans, a well fitted shirt with the top few buttons undone and a jacket, he looked effortlessly perfect. You couldn’t help but check him out as he walks past you into your house and takes his jacket off. Nearly catching you, you manage to peel your eyes away as he turns to look at you.

“I bought some wine,” he says holding up a hand with a bottle in it.

“Thanks,” you say as you take it off him and head to the kitchen.

“Something smells amazing,” he says leaning against the door frame.

“I hope you like lasagne?” You scold yourself for not checking he liked it sooner, but the worries are instantly gone when Yoongi confirms he does indeed love lasagne. You pour out two glasses of wine and head over to Yoongi handing him one.

“Do you want to see my art now, or after food?” You ask, taking a sip of your wine to try and calm your nerves.

Taking a sip of his wine Yoongi looks you in the eye before saying, “now?”

You give a bashful smile before nodding and heading off in the direction of your studio, hoping he got the clue to follow. Your heart rate is impossibly high as you head up the stairs, thoughts of him not liking your work going through your head. Your art was such a personal thing to you, something you pour your heart into, the thought of the man currently walking behind you not liking it would shatter your heart.

You pause at the door, hand on the handle. It’s almost as if you are pausing for a more dramatic effect but it’s purely due to you wondering whether this was such a good idea. Yoongi being ever patient just stands waiting, allowing you the time you need. You finally manage to kick yourself into action, deciding you were being stupid and that if he really wanted to he’d be able to google your art and find it in galleries.

Swinging open the door you step inside and make room for Yoongi to come in next to you. You avoid looking at his face not wanting to see his reaction in fear there will be disgust there. If you had looked though you would have seen his eyes full of wonder, lips popped open.

The silence is deafening to you and it only increases your worry as you still avoid looking at Yoongis reaction. “It’s not everyone's cup of tea,” you panic feeling the need to fill the silence. “The bright colours don’t agree with everyone I guess. And flowers are quite -”

Yoongi cuts you off by placing a hand on your shoulder and getting you to look at him. “It’s amazing,” he says. Looking at you he can see the worry and insecurities written all over your face so he continues. “Seriously, I think they are beautiful. I would actually like to see more of your work, see how all the pieces differ.”

“I have pictures,” you pull your phone out and open up the album with all your art work in. Handing your phone to Yoongi you let him scroll through. You watch as he takes in your work, humming out at times, fingers pinching the screen to zoom in on certain works.

“I’d actually love to buy one,” he says when he’s finished looking through them.

Never in a million years would you have expected him to say those words, and you are anything but professional when you stutter out a, “you don’t have to.” Thinking he was just trying to be kind.

“I’m being serious when I say I really like your work, Y/N,” he says. “I wouldn’t say I want to buy a piece if I didn’t genuinely want one.”

“I mean I guess I could give you some form of discount,” you mumble out.

“I don’t want any favours or discounts. I just want to be a normal customer, pay the normal price, go through the normal steps, and get an amazing painting at the end of it.”

“Ok,” you give him a bashful smile. “I guess I could fit you in,” you open up the calendar on your phone. “I normally sit down with someone who’s commissioned a piece so we can discuss what we both want to achieve, make sure that we are both happy with what’s going on. So when’s best for you?”

“I’m actually heading home for a few days this weekend, but I will be back next week,” he says.

Up until this point you’d not really thought about the fact that this was just a holiday for Yoongi, that he had a life outside this village. Obviously you knew that he did, but you hadn’t thought about the inevitable day when he would leave. So when those words leave his lips it suddenly hits you that he won’t be around forever, that one day your life will go back to how it used to be, Yoongi free.

“Tuesday morning?” You ask.

“I’ll be here,” he replies.

“Great,” you say as you tap the appointment into your phone. “Food?”

“Yes please, I am starving.”

Yoongi settles onto the small table in your kitchen as you expertly slice the lasagne, taking the two plates to the table you sit down opposite him. He pours some more wine into your near empty glass, and you both tuck in.

“What are you doing when you go back home?” You dare to ask.

“Just have some work stuff to go to,” he replies and you hum out in response. “Some of it is actually about those new songs I’ve been working on,” he says casually and your interest is piqued.

“Oh yeah?” You fully focus on him rather than your food.

“Yeah. I think some of them are actually quite good so I need to talk to my management about them.”

“That’s great,” you give a genuine smile. “And then you’re coming back?”

“Just for another week,” he looks you in the eye when he says this and you feel your heart crack slightly at the words but try to not let it show on your face.

“Two weeks in this village? You must really like it,” you try to joke.

“There are some pretty sights,” he shrugs still looking directly into your eyes. “Plus I still have some of the woodland walks left to do.”

“Don’t forget about the café. I’ve heard you are Fionas new favourite customer,” you reference the fact you’d heard people constantly talking about Yoongi around the village. You’d had so many questions yourself, was he your boyfriend? Why was he here? How long was he staying for? All of these you’d tried your best to shrug off.

“That’s just because I compliment her cakes every time I go,” he explains.

“Hum, I’m sure it’s more to do with the fact you’re a young attractive man.”

“You think I’m attractive?”

“Fiona thinks your attractive,” you say though your face still heats up. He hums, clearly not convinced. “Anyway, you should do more than just walk around the woods. I can send you some suggestions, there's a place not too far away with more exciting shops for example.”

“Yeah sure, that would be nice thanks,” he says.

The evening flows nicely, the easy flow of conversation you two had mastered causing it to become late quickly. By the time Yoongi is stood at your door, coat now on, you feel slightly tipsy with all the wine you had drunk.

“I guess I won’t see you until next Tuesday?” You say.

“Yeah, no lunch time wood walks together over the weekend.”

“Good luck with your work stuff, can’t wait to hear how it goes with your manager.”

“Thanks,” he says, not making any attempt to turn and leave.

Maybe it was a need to do something to fill the silence, or maybe it was the wine you had consumed that caused you to step forward and wrap your arms around Yoongi into a hug. There is a moment where he doesn’t return the gesture, remaining stiff, and you worry about what you have just done. But then his arms wrap around you, pulling you slightly closer to him. Nose against his chest you breathe in his scent slightly and wish you could somehow turn it into a candle to make your whole house smell of him. Before it becomes awkward you step away from him.

“I’ll see you next week,” you whisper, slowly closing the door on him. You hear a faint goodbye before he disappears from view.

You would never have guessed that you would miss Yoongi, but over the few days he is gone he occupies all your thoughts. It gets to the point on Saturday night where you decide to google him. Sat on your sofa, you are surprised it has taken you this long to google him.

The first thing that comes up when you press enter are news articles about BTS performing at the MAMAs in Japan. So that’s the work commitment he was talking about you think. A casual weekend in Japan, performing in front of thousands if not millions of people, no big deal. As you go through the news articles you feel the weight of who the man you had been hanging out with weigh down on you.

You flick instead to his Wikipedia page. You read briefly over the section about his early life and how he got signed to Big Hit Entertainment. Scrolling down the page you see the personal life section, seeing that it talks about him buying luxury apartments. Again you start to grow slightly anxious at the words, it all adding to you wondering why he has been bothering to do things with you, or even stay in this village.

Again you move on from the Wikipedia page, this time to Spotify where you type in BTS. Here you feel slightly more comfortable, feeling less prying. You spend your evening listening to some of their songs, after a while flicking into his solo projects.

By the time Tuesday rolls around you had listened to almost all of his discography and it almost made you feel like you were on an even footing with him, he had after all seen your art, it was only fair that you got to listen his.

When Yoongi knocked on your door you greeted him and took him to your studio where you had set up a small table and two chairs. You wanted to act as professional as possible. Though you were dying to ask him about his weekend, at this moment he was a paying customer and therefore questions about his weekend could wait.

The session went well, you showing him more in-depth photos of your work, giving some insight to them. You got him to pick the paintings he liked the most, asked what he liked most about them, asked him about the colours he would like included, the size of the canvas, all questions you would normally ask to gage the style of painting the person wanted.

What surprised you was that he came prepared too, half way through the meeting he whipped out his phone and pulled up some photos of flowers. He flicked through them and asked whether you would be able to somehow use them. Of course, you agreed, it was his painting after all, and you could use the images for inspiration on texture and colour.

Overall the meeting went smoothly and you told him that you would send him updates throughout the process. Again, just as you would any other customer.

Once over, and as you head down the stairs, you ask whether he wants to stay for a coffee, the perfect opportunity to ask how his weekend went. So, as you settled onto the couch with your mugs you did just that.

“How was the meeting with your manager?”

“Yeah, great. He liked the songs, which is always great.”

“So when do I get an exclusive listen?”

“You can listen when everyone else gets to hear them,” he smiles at you.

“Which will be...” you continue to dig.

“You will just have to be patient,” he laughs.

“And here was me thinking that painting for you would mean I get some sort of perk.”

“Is this how you treat all your paying customers?”

“Just the ones I think I can get something out of,” you joke.

“And you think my music is that something?”

“Well you haven’t let me listen to any of it yet, so I can’t be sure,” you act as best you can. “Anyway, how was the rest of your weekend? Your other work stuff go ok?”

“Yeah, nothing too exciting,” he says.

“Really?” You are surprised, not hiding it from your voice, remembering that you had read he had been at the MAMAs performing, surely that was exciting.

“You’re not very subtle, love” a smile graces his face as you look at him dumbfounded. “I know you know who I am.”

“What do you mean?” You play dumb.

“Always asking about my music?”

“I’m interested in what you do,” you cut in.

“You called me Min even though I’d never told you my last name,” he carries on.

“A lucky guess?” You croak out, feeling that you are losing some sort of battle.

“Your friend Molly also definitely knew who I was when I first went to her shop, so I suspected she’d tell you.”

“If it helps, I still don’t really know who you are.”

“You don’t know who SUGA is. I think we’ve hung out enough for you to have a good idea who I am,” he corrects you.

You start to grow awkward at his words, feeling almost trapped by him admitting he’s somewhat caught you out.

“I liked the fact you treated me as a normal person,” he senses your unease and tries to reassure you. “And I thought it was cute when you acted like you didn’t know who I was even though you clearly did.”

Heat rises to your face, nerves causing you to almost shake. Yoongi reaches out to take your hand in his, thumb gently stroking your palm in an attempt to get you calm down.

“I really enjoy spending time with you,” his voice has dropped, both his hands now holding your one hand, playing with your fingers.

Both of you have your eyes on your entangled hands, watching as Yoongis fingers gently stroke yours. The tension in the room is thick, the silence only making it worse.

“I’ve really liked being with you too,” you whisper out.

You dare to look into his eyes, his pupils dilated so big there is almost no coffee coloured iris left. He drops your hand, instead reaching out for your face, thumb now caressing your cheek. Your eyes close at the feeling, heart pounding so hard you’re worried it might escape your chest. Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes again, eyes flicking between Yoongis to his lips.

He leans in impossibly slow, forehead resting against yours, then nose brushing yours, before finally his lips touch yours. Lips move together slowly, acting as if they were made for each other, as if they had never tasted anything so sweet.

All too quickly Yoongi pulls away, light puffs of air leaving his lips as he rests his forehead against yours.

“I really like you,” his gummy smile comes out and you wish you could stay like this forever.

You lean in to kiss him again, this time the kiss is more heated, more desperation behind it. When you feel his tongue poke your lips you moan out and he uses the opportunity access to your mouth. His tongue explores your mouth before dancing together with yours.

When you pull away this time, heavy pants leave both of your lips, as if you had just finished running a marathon.

“Wow,” you breathe. “Can’t believe I just kissed the Min Yoongi,” you joke and a big laugh leaves him, head falling backwards and you get a glimpse of your favourite teeth.

“If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to do it again,” you hum as he pecks your lips a few times before fully pulling away.

Sitting back he takes you in. Lips now slightly red, hair ruffled, eyes wide. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so beautiful.

“So, when did you figure out I knew who you were?” You ask.

“Let’s see,” he has a broad smile on his face as he pretends to think back. “As soon as I left the shop after first meeting you. I wasn’t sure you knew who I was when I was first talking to you but as soon as I was served by Molly I knew if you didn’t already know, you soon would.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for her I would still have no idea who you are,” you say it almost as a defence. “And like I said, I still don’t really know who you are. Though, I did listen to some of your songs this weekend,” you decide to come clean.

“You did?” He seems a bit surprised, though you’re not sure why, who wouldn’t nose about on the internet after discovering someone they met is a celebrity? “What did you think?”

“You were right, nowhere near as good as ABBA,” he laughs hard at your comment. “I liked them, there was some really beautiful lyrics. I can see why you have such a big following.”

He smiles at your words, growing a tad shy receiving your compliments.

“So now it’s all in the open, and you know, that I know, that you’re a multi-millionaire pop star, does this mean I can charge you double for my painting?” If you thought the laugh he gave earlier was big, it was nothing in comparison to the one he gave now. Leaning forward he tackles you so that your back falls against the sofa, him leaning over you, pinning you in place.

“Careful love,” he says before kissing you again.

The remaining week that Yoongi stayed in the village felt like you were living another life. Your lunch time walks continue, but on top of that he comes round to yours for dinner most nights, and also occasionally sits in your studio while you work. He brings his work along to the ‘studio dates’, as Yoongi dubbed it, and though you ask he still won’t allow you to listen to his new music. And towards the end of the week, he even starts sleeping over at yours.

That’s how you wake on his final day, in his arms. Feeling a light kiss to the top of your head you groan as you realise that this would be the last day that you wake up like this. Though it had only been a few days, and you still didn’t fully know the guy, you aren’t sure how you are going to cope when he finally leaves.

You both try to spend your remaining day in blissful unawareness, ignoring the fact that this will be your last day together for who knows how long. Seoul wasn’t far away, but it wouldn’t be as easy to see him after today.

It’s when he packs his bag into his car and pulls you into a hug that your barriers break. All the emotions you’d been keeping at bay that day come crashing out and you cry in his arms. He holds you slightly tighter, hand stroking your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“It won’t be long until we see each other again,” he whispers into your ear. “And we can call and text all the time.”

“I know, I’m just being stupid,” you blubber at him. ”I’m just going to miss you so much.”

He pulls your head away from his chest, gently run his thumb under your eyes to rid you of tears. “Firstly, you aren’t being stupid. Secondly, I’m going to miss you too. I’m going to miss our lunch time walks, coming to yours for dinner, watching you work. I’m going to miss waking up to you in the mornings. I’ll miss all of it.” He places a light kiss to your lips after the words and you melt into him.

Foreheads resting against each other, he whispers out, “I should probably get going.”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly nod your head. A light kiss is placed on your lips before he fully pulls away. You watch as he gets into the driver's seat and then drives off into the distance.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

“Why don’t you just move to Seoul?” Molly says after witnessing a week of you moping around.

“Because I like it here,” you reply.

“Don’t be dumb, no one likes it here.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“I own a shop here.”

“Well I own a house with an art studio in it,” you pout.

“You can move that art studio anywhere,” she rolls her eyes at you.

“Oh yeah? You want to explain how I would be able to afford the prices in Seoul?”

“I’m sure Yoongi would help you.”

“I don’t want him to help me. It’s not his responsibility to help me.”

“Would you at least just look into it? I’ll come with you to look at places. Please. I have never seen you as happy as you were when he was here. I want you to always be that happy, and moving house should be a small price to pay for that happiness.”

“It’s not just moving house though. He doesn’t live in Seoul. He travels around the world, he is busy, he doesn’t have time for me.”

“Doesn’t have time for you? Then how do you explain the texts he sends you almost every second, how do you explain the fact he has already tried to get dates to see you? You are making excuses for this to not work. You need to stop worrying and jump straight in. You won’t know if it will work or not until you actually give it a go.”

You hum at her, unsure how to respond to her words. They rung true in your head, maybe you were pulling away from Yoongi, as much as you liked him you had insecurities and his life style really brought those out in you. But you also did want to try and see where it could go, you didn’t want to let your insecurities get in the way of something you had never felt before.

“Let’s just look. You aren’t committing to anything, you are just looking,” Molly says.

After a small pause you agree.

You’d had a full day of looking at different spaces around Seoul. Ranging from flats that could house you and a studio space, to flats that didn’t, to separate studio spaces altogether. To say you were exhausted was an understatement, but as you hugged Molly goodbye and she got in her car to drive home, you made the trip to Yoongis apartment.

On arrival you were swept into hugs and kisses. It was a welcome you could get used to.

“I missed you,” Yoongi says between kisses, slowly dragging you into the house, eventually finding his sofa.

“I missed you too,” you say in your new position, which was basically being pinned down by Yoongi.

After some catching up physically, Yoongi eventually lets you move enough to sit up. He quizzes you on the places you had visited today, commenting on locations, asking for pictures of the places. You could tell he was excited by the prospect of you moving closer to him, and though you had told him that you’d been thinking of making the move way before meeting him, saying it would help further your art career, you knew that he knew the real reason behind the move, him.

You asked about his day, listened when he told you about his early start, his dance practice and an interview he did. Thinking you’d had a long tiring day now sounded like a whiney excuse.

“And,” he pauses for dramatic effect.

“What?” You start to grow worried at the suspense.

“I got you a present,” he smiles, slowly standing up.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” you grow a tad embarrassed.

He leaves the room and then renters just as quickly, hands now behind his back.

“Close your eyes,” he states and when you don’t comply he repeats it with a small pout and whine so that you do it. “Now, hold out your hands,” his voice is now much closer.

You feel something solid but light press down on your hands, and your heart rate picks up as you sense what it might be.

“Now, open your eyes,” his voice comes out as a whisper this time.

You slowly peel your eyes open, and they widen in shock at what is in your hands. You shake slightly as you grip the CD tighter in your grasp eyes flicking over every inch. You slowly peel off the note that is attached and read it.

An exclusive for my biggest fan. Sorry it’s not more like ABBA.

“You used my art?” Tears prick at your eyes instantly at the sight of the painting you did for him on the front of the album.

“It’s kind of why I commissioned it,” he says. “I thought a piece of art by the person that inspired all the songs would be very fitting.”

“You what?” Words fail to commute in your head as you take in what he says.

“I came to your village for a break. I was struggling to get inspired to write music and the company decided that they could free up some time and I could go away and try and get back on track I guess. I wasn’t necessarily intending to stay in the village for that long, but the place interested me. You interested me. And the more I spoke to you the more I found myself being able to write songs.”

“You wrote songs about me?” It still was struggling to make sense to you.

“I probably wrote enough songs about you to fill five albums, not one,” he chuckles lightly.

You look back down at the CD in your hand, tears still falling down your face.

“This is the nicest, sweetest thing anyone has ever done,” you drop the album onto sofa next to you and instead pull Yoongi into your arms.

Yoongis arms encompass you into a tight yet soft hug. And in that moment you know that the decision to move to Seoul was right. That you wanted to try as hard as you could to be with Yoongi. That although it would be hard, it was a journey you were willing to take. Because even if it didn’t work out, any minute you got to spend with the man would be worth a lifetime.

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spoiler1001 · 3 years

Text

Molly woke up the first morning after getting back his memories. The fireplace was warm, the blankets were soft, he was purring, and Caleb was snoring. Molly watched him sleep, half tempted to play with his now clean reddish-brown hair.

Caleb looked peaceful, the stress of recent times a distant thought. There was a new scar on his neck. The scar tissue was smooth, cared for, but it was easy to see that this was a deep cut. Lucien ran a finger over it. It was even with the rest of the skin. Some freckles were cut in half at it. Without immediate magic, this would have been a killing blow. Caleb took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered open.

"Find something that interests you?" Caleb asked, resting his hand over Molly's.

"Who did this to you?" Molly asked.

"A follower of my teacher, someone who didn't break under the final lesson." Caleb looked up to the ceiling. The fire died down, making the room uncomfortably cold.

"What was the final lesson?" Molly asked, whispering.

"The end goal of my teacher was to craft people, children, into assassins, loyal to the empire. To do that more easily, connections like family needed to be severed." Caleb answered, not looking at Molly.

"Oh." Molly nuzzled his head under Caleb's chin. "That isn't on you."

"I was a different person then." Caleb wrapped his arms around Molly. "The Nein saved me."

"Like they saved me." Molly nodded.

"What about the transporter stones," Caleb asked.

"My teachers don't like the idea of this floating city. So we-I have to get rid of the things that will let it come back." Molly answered, sitting up. "Speaking of, we need to go." Molly got out of bed to get dressed

The group was dressed in their winter clothes. They had the gems and were ready to go. Caleb was ready to go. Molly carried himself differently. The rest of the Tombtakers were anxious to be without Cree but they trusted their leader.

----------------------------

The ruins of Aoer were cold. The group had to bundle together to stay warm. Lucien grabbed Celeb's hand and squeezed. The Magic let fondness show through.

Now that he was prepared for it, the magic was comforting. It was less of a threat of possession, more of an oath of not fighting alone. It was a blessing, just as it was promised. Molly smiled as there was no panic.

The ice surrounding the group was shaking. Molly kept his eye on the sharp ice above. "We need to keep moving."

"I wasn't planning on just standing around," Caleb smirked. Molly fought back a smile. The group made it to the edge of a solid ice slide. Caleb set down orbs of light just to see what was on the bottom. Nothing it was a flat area, with a single exit to the next room. The nonhuman tombtakers went first, barring Molly, followed one by one by the Mighty Nein. Molly felt something twinge in his chest. He swallowed a scream and turned around to see the human tombtaker, sliding down with a path made from her own blood.

Molly gasped, calling out to her. Jester grabbed one of the diamonds and began chanting. Molly grabbed the dead woman's hand. A moment passed. Color returned to her face and she gasped.

"Who did this to you? Where is Caleb?" Molly asked. The woman blinked.

"Cree, I think, and he's still up there." She rasped. Molly handed her over to Jester. He pulled out his swords and began climbing his way back up.

-----------------------------------

Caleb watched them slide away. He went to take a step forward, but the woman by his side gasped and fell forward. Blood went everywhere. A furry hand wrapped around his mouth and yanked him back.

His back slammed into the ice, causing icicles to fall from the ceiling and stab into Caleb's shoulder. He yelled and felt something flair up in his chest, through the spell.

"You've taken the nonagon from his rightful place." Cree hissed in Caleb's face. He just looked at the ice in his arm, rendering it useless. Red soaked into it. He should be passing out by now but he was still lucid. Hooray for the blessing.

"Let me tell you a secret, Mr. Widogast, you're just a toy to him. The cheap magic trick to keep your blood warm…" Cree smiled, waving her hand and the spell faded. His connection to Molly was gone and pain filled his system. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his heart was thundering in his ears. His legs gave out. She pulled out a small blade and knelt next to Caleb. "He'll move on to the next plaything soon."

Caleb glared at her, blood dripping out of his mouth.

"Go to hell." He rasped. Cree smiled and took the blade and aimed it right above the center of his chest pushing the blade in slowly. The pain made his vision swarm. The air left his lungs, but there was a low growl in the air. Cree let go of the knife as she was lifted into the air. Caleb pulled it out, the wound bleeding. Molly stood there a dark expression on his face, his magical eye tattoos glowing.

"Don't. Touch. Him." He hissed, his hand only forming a first. Cree went limp. Caleb blinked, his vision still blurry. His strength was fading from the blood loss and the pain. The cold was getting to feel like a numbing sensation. His head was getting heavy and his tongue was getting thick in his mouth. His eyes were slowly closing as a purple figure reached out to him.

Molly watched Caleb wake up, his head on Caduceus' lap.

"Hey, firefly, how are you feeling?" Molly asked, voice soft.

"Drained and tired. Everyone back up. I'm putting up the tower and going to bed." Caleb wobbled on his feet but continued to cast his spell. Molly took a step towards him. Caleb just smiled and opened the door for him.

Caleb took off the coat as soon as he entered the room and prepared himself for a bath to wash the blood off. His bedroom door opened soon after he was in the tub.

"Mollymauk, you sure know how to make an entrance," Caleb spoke calmly, not looking up.

The tiefling watched him with careful eyes. "I found out you were under attack; I had to stop it."

"You say it like it's an obvious thing. Caleb finally looked up. Molly was sitting at the edge of the tub, just watching him.

"Something seems to bother you," Caleb noted.

"I heard what Cree said-" Molly helped wipe a bit of blood from his face.

"Don't- I loved you months ago knowing that you may only stay for a bit. You taught me that now is more important than woulds and coulds. I'm not worried about it." Caleb smiled.

"I loved you too. You were bright and clever and so full of life, I couldn't not." Molly grabbed his hand. "Our conversation at A5 showed me that your spark was still so pulling to me."

"You were pushing some old button's Mr. Mollymauk."

"It made you light up. It kept you here. And you made me whole again." Molly grinned.

Caleb couldn't help it. He kissed Mollymauk. "You are a troublemaker."

"That's how you know it's me." Molly stuck his tongue out.

#critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #widomauk #lucien critical role #cr spoilers #did the cree ambush!

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agent-ccarter · 5 years

Text

home for christmas. bill weasley.

Request from @ourquicksilvered

Request: I have an imagine idea if you're up for it :) The reader is Charlie Weasley's American friend and coworker that also works with him in Romania. Since she couldn't afford to go back home for the holidays, she comes back home w/ him and his brothers (especially Bill) develop a crush on her. She's outgoing, confident, and totally into grunge (it IS the 90s). Appearance-wise (it'd be so dope if she could be black) she wears band tees, ripped jeans/shorts, flannels, and has hidden tattoos. Thanks!

Warnings: none!

A/N: Yes, I KNOW its September. I KNOW its far too early to talk about Christmas. But it’s not really that christmassy, the request says holidays and I bloody LOVE christmas, OK! No judgement here!

“Charlie, this still feels rude!” You stopped, kicking your pumps into the cobblestone street, leaving them even more scuffed up then they were before.

The red-head grinned at your fear, “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t be at home on Christmas, Y/N! Plus, mum won’t care, she has this incredible ability to treat anyone who steps foot into her home as a member of the family.”

You chuckled slightly, “She sounds like a lovely woman.”

“She is, and she will love you. Ginny could do with another girl in the house too. You aren't;t intruding in the slightest, now hurry up we need to leave!”

“One second,” you stopped dead in the road, spotting a small shop nearby, “I may be broke, but I can't turn up empty-handed.” Charlie groaned as you walked quickly towards the shop, avoiding the odd patch of ice on the ground, and as you entered the threshold, the warm scent of cinnamon and cloves welcoming you like a warm hug. The walls were covered with wreaths of holly and ivy, elves re-stocking the shelves with vials and jars of herbs and spices. You had barely pulled the gloves from your hands when you saw Charlie pick up a glass bottle from a shelf.

“What’s this?” He asked; your status as a muggle-born meant you often had to explain muggle objects to the boy. Sure, it was a wizarding store, but the village was a mixture of both.

You studied the table, using your little knowledge of the Romanian language to translate it.

“Mulled wine,” you said, grabbing a bundle of cinnamon from a jar and taking the bottle from Charlie, “and it’s delicious.” You took it to the counter before he could protest, and you pulled the few gold coins you had in your bag out, counting them in your hand. You were about to pass them to the woman, but she waved her hands, smiling and telling you it was a gift in her broken English.

You could’ve cried there and then; not only from her saving you from spending the last of your money but also for her saving you the embarrassment of turning up to the Weasley Household empty-handed.

The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, seeing Charlie dramatically leaning against the wall, his large cardigan ( from last Christmas, worn mainly in an effort to appease Molly) slouching over his shoulders and attracting frost from the brick wall. You scooped up some of the snow from the side of the road, throwing it straight at the red-heads face. He gasped in horror, wiping it off himself and searching the ground for the snow to reciprocate the attack.

“Stop!” You shouted, “We are going to be late, Charlie. Ceasefire.”

He huffed angrily, “Fine.” You smiled softly at him giving in so easily, and before you knew it, he had grabbed you dark hand in his calloused one, and you had apparated away.

****

England was far snowier then Romania had been, and the Burrow looked like the front of a muggle Christmas card. A short lady wearing a large cardigan, big fluffy slippers and gloves was stood in the doorway, and you quickly assumed it was Molly by the way she shouted Charlie’s name.

“Stay their mum,” he shouted, noting her preparing to run out into the snow, “you’ll catch your death.” She smiled widely, and as soon as he got to the doorway she practically leapt into his arms.

“Charlie,” she said between kissing both of his cheeks, “it’s so good to see you. And you must be y/n!” You were slightly taken aback when she pulled you into a hug.

“Charlie, why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a guest! I’ll have to set another seat at the table, that's no bother though. Come in, you must be freezing.” Charlie motioned for you to enter first, showing gentleman-ly qualities that were clearly an effort to impress his mother.

“This is for you, I know it’s only small but it’s just to say thank you for having me.” You passed Molly the bottle, who looked as if she might burst into tears there and then.

“You didn't need to do that dear! No one needs to be alone at Christmas.” She motioned for Charlie to take your bags upstairs, telling you that you’d have to share with Ginny, which you, of course, didn't object to. She began to give you the tour, and you were particularly captivated by the clock on the wall.

You heard a mix of voices coming downstairs, and you looked up the middle of the staircase to see multiple red-haired heads peeking over.

“Who’s that?”

“Is that Y/N!”

“Yes!”

“She looks even better than-”

“Shut up George!” You heard Charlie’s familiar voice shout.

“What? I didn’t-”

“Mum, did you need any help with- oh, hello, you must be-”

“Y/N, yes, hello.” You stuttered over your words, somewhat flustered.

“I’m Bill, well, my real name is- just, call me Bill.” He stuttered over his words, pink rising quickly up to his cheeks. He looked you up and down, taking in your curled hair, red flannel shirt peeking out under a leather jacket, ripped jeans and converse.

“Is Bill trying to flirt?” The boys face grew even redder at the shout from a voice you believed to be Fred’s; luckily for you, Charlie had told you all about his brothers so you weren’t particularly surprised by their forward personalities. Footsteps came pounding down the staircase, and you quickly realised how much you stood out. The family all wore various knitted garments, and the number of items that were either far too big or too small clearly indicated that they were hand me downs; if only Charlie wore what he usually did you wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.

“Food! ” Molly shouted from the kitchen, and Charlie pointed you towards the table that all of his siblings scrambled towards, muttering an apology for the behavior of his siblings (not that he needed to, because you couldn’t deny that Bill was rather attractive.)

****

As the month of December continued on, you found yourself loving the Weasley family even more. The snow fell so heavily that yourself and Bill could hide in the snow and enchant snowball’s to hit Percy whenever he left to go to work, sniggering as he angrily turned round to see no one there.

Your wage came in too, but you couldn’t say that you wanted to leave, so you decided to stay; Charlie knew, of course, but didn’t bring it up, seeing that you were having a great time, and he loved getting to spend so much time with his good friend, even if you were far more interested in his older brother.

“Y/N, hurry up!” Ginny shouted from downstairs, wrapped up in her big scarf and jacket, “all the shops will be closed!”

“I’m coming!” You shouted back, making your way down the staircase in a pair of weather-appropriate non-ripped jeans and a large flannel coat, paired with large black boots. Bill and Ginny stood at the door, Bill practically having to hold his sister back from running.

The small village 10 minutes away from The Burrow was all decked out for Christmas, and before you knew it, Ginny had dragged you into a small jewelry shop to look for gifts for her school friends and Bill had wandered off looking at books. You found small gifts for the whole Weasley family, and larger ones to send home to your own family. Ginny, meanwhile, spent an awfully long time examing necklaces.

“Y/N,” you turned to see Bill, clutching a small bag in his hand, “Can I borrow you for a second?” You smiled and nodded, telling Ginny you were just stepping outside for a second and followed after the much taller boy.

“I got this for a girl I like a lot, and I just wanted to know if you think she’ll like it.” You opened up the bag, taking out a small back box which contained a gold necklace, initialed with what happened to be the first letter of your name.

“I think she is a very lucky girl. She’ll love it.”

“Good,” he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “because, it’s for you. If you’ll have it, that is, because if not that’s fine too-”

“Bill,” you stopped him, both of you with red cheeks from the cold and awkwardness, “I love it. Thank you.” And before you knew it, your lips were pressed against his cold ones, hand resting on his long red hair.

You only stopped when Ginny walked out of the shop, muttering “About bloody time.”

**** Hope you like lovely!!

#harry potter imagine #bill weasley #bill Weasley x reader #bill Weasley x y/n #Charlie Weasley x y/n #harry potter #golden trio era #the weasleys #domnhall gleeson #marauders #bill weasley imagine

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Text

Second Chances - Ch. 21

The Ghost of Lagras

Warnings: swearing, blood

Word count: ~7000

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You wake in the morning to find the bed empty. After dressing, you search the camp. You run into Javier and Strauss, who had been with him last night, but not Arthur. Javier’s playing his guitar for Karen and Tilly. You approach him and ask where Arthur is.

“Think he stayed in town, said he had some jobs to do,” he answers. You nod and recall the letter he’d received from the mayor. For the next little while, you do your chores around camp, making sure Grimshaw has no reason to attack you.

Pearson approaches you at midday, grinning widely beneath his thick mustache.

“Y/N!” he says.

“Hello, Pearson.”

“You busy?”

“Not any more than usual,” you say, rubbing your hands on your jeans from scrubbing dishes.

“Good. Listen, I could use some help with something. I’d ask one of the boys, but most of them are busy.”

“What is it?”

“Crawfish!”

“Crawfish?” you repeat. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, crawfish! Come on, I’ll teach you how to get ‘em. We are in God’s pantry after all.”

“That ain’t what I’d call this place,” you say, following him over to the boathouse. He unties a small boat from the pier and gestures for you to get in. You do so with some hesitancy, painfully aware of what lurks beneath the water. He seems to sense it.

“Come on, Y/N. Nothings gonna happen to you. Besides, out there are some of the best ingredients a cook could ask for.”

“And monsters,” you say, sitting at the front of the boat while Pearson begins to row down the river.

“Oh come on. I keep on hearin’ around the camp how you’re one of the toughest girls. You tellin’ me they’re wrong?”

“When it comes to gators, yes!”

Pearson chortles and pulls up to one of the islands dotting the river bank. He takes a look around and nods approvingly.

“This is the perfect place. Nice mucky places like this are crawfish palaces. Let’s go see if we can find some.”

He hops out of the boat, wading through the green water. You follow him, making sure to touch the water as little as possible. You’ve no idea what to look for when it comes to crawfish, but Pearson finds a hole on the bank.

“Ah, yes. There should be a few down here.” He kneels down and reaches into the hole nearly up to his shoulder. He twists his arm for a few seconds before he laughs and pulls up, a brown crawfish in his hands. You’ve seen plenty of crawfish in the lake near Blackwater, but this one seems to be a larger species with dark dots lining down its light brown body. Pearson places it into his satchel and gestures at the hole. “You’re turn. Just repeat what I did.”

You take a deep breath and kneel down, trying to ignore the unpleasant squishing under your knee. Reaching into the hole, you pray you don’t get pinched as you twist your arm. Pearson encourages you and you suddenly feel your fingers brush against something hard and smooth. Wrapping your fingers around it, a sharp pain hits your pinky finger. You squeal and shoot your hand out, a crawfish latched onto your pinky.

Pearson laughs and bends down, wrenching the claws open and putting the crawfish into his satchel.

“Happens to everyone on their first try,” he says, chuckling.

“Thanks for tellin’ me!” you massage the pink spot on your finger.

“If I told you, you’d never have done it. Now come on, one more.”

“No thank you, Pearson. You want crawfish for dinner, catch ‘em yourself.” You stand up, still massaging your finger. Pearson waves a hand at you and goes back to the hole, reaching in and pulling another one out.

“That should do it,” he says. He looks around, his eyes narrowed. He turns back to you with a sly smile. “There’s one more thing we could go for. Bit risky, but the reward is worth it.” “Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling, Pearson?”

He chuckles and pats your arm. “Gator eggs!”

“What the hell, Pearson?” you screech. “Crawfish are one thing, but fuckin’ gator eggs?! I guess you don’t care if you lose your foot.”

“Oh don’t worry, nothing like that will happen. I’ll do the hard work. Now come on, let’s see if we can find some.”

You groan and follow him through the muck until he stops and hunches down, waving his hands at you.

“See that? Females guarding their nests. Okay, I’ll draw them away, you sneak in and raid the nests.”

Before you have a chance to debate, he runs towards the gators and starts hollering at them. The gators growl loudly but don’t move. Pearson takes a few steps closer, only yards away from a 12 foot gator. She growls again as he gets closer. He hollers at her and takes another step. He grunts loudly as the three gators suddenly get up and give chase. As they leave the area, you suck in a deep breath and run to the three nests, grabbing the eggs as quickly as you can.

Just as you’re finishing looting the last nest, you hear Pearson yelling at you. You look up and see the three gators slowly making their way back. Shrieking, you run off as quickly as you can through the muck and make your way over to the boat, which Pearson is already in. He laughs as you sit down, wiping your brow.

“You get a good bundle?” he asks, rowing back to the dock.

“I think so. Why’d you want them anyways?”

“These are some of the best ingredients I could ask for!”

“After all that effort, why not just go the extra mile and raise one of them?”

“There’s an idea,” he says excitedly as you hand him one of the eggs. “A new friend! To replace Micah, I suppose, although I’m not sure we can handle more than one reptile.”

You laugh and pat him on the back, making your way back to the house. Once inside, you spot Molly sitting in the corner of the room, her head in one of her hands, looking miserable. An empty rum bottle sits next to her.

“Hello, Ms. O’Shea,” you say.

She looks up at you with bloodshot eyes. “Oh not you too!” She gets up and marches out of the house, wobbling slightly.

Mary-Beth enters the room, sitting down on the couch with a heavy sigh. She greets you, a hint of sadness in her voice.

“Hey Mary-Beth, you know what’s going on with Molly?”

She sighs again. “Guess she and Dutch had another fight this mornin’. He’s been, well, he’s been strange with her. Almost like he don’t want her around no more.”

You nod, watching Molly wander farther away from the house. “I wish we could help her. But seems like she doesn’t want nothing from us.”

Mary-Beth just nods and opens her book. Outside, you hear Hosea greeting Arthur. You dash out to meet him and find him looking slightly riled.

“Arthur!” you greet, walking up to him.

He smiles when he sees you and waves. Approaching him, you can see he’s coated in sweat, although his face is clean shaven.

“What happened to you? Everything okay? You didn’t come home last night.”

“I know, darlin’.” He drapes an arm over your shoulder and walks with you towards the back of the house where it’s more secluded. He tells you about the river boat; you sigh when he gets to the part about the shootout.

“After that, I went to go meet the charmin’ mayor,” he says. He leads you to the porch of the boathouse and you both sit down on old wooden chairs. He pulls out his knife and a strip of jerky, cutting a piece for you.

“How was he?” you ask.

“Real odd feller. Seems to have figured out who I really am. Threatened me into doin’ a job for him, just scarin’ some local art critic to lie about some forgeries.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Lemieux. He had some small, stringy feller named Jean Marc. Anyways, I suspect he’ll call on me again, scare somebody else.”

“Well at least he didn’t ask you to kill someone.”

“I guess. I just wonder if it's only a matter of time before that happens. Feller like him must have plenty of enemies,” he says, his face hidden by his hat.

You study his clean-shaven face, noticing his hard jaw line. “How come you shaved?”

He looks up at you, caught off guard by the question. The scars on his chin are more prominent than ever. “Huh?”

You reach over and touch his cheek, running your thumb across his jaw. “How come you shaved? I ain’t never seen you without stubble.”

“Oh, that,” he straightens up, running a hand over his chin. “Trelawney wanted us to look the part for that boat job. Put me in some fancy suit and told me no rich men have beards like mine, so I had to shave. It’ll be back in a day or two.”

Smiling, you bend over and kiss his jawline. “Hmm, I don’t mind it. Still handsome as ever.”

He chuckles and puts an arm around you. “And you’re still too good for me.” He pulls you close, your head drifting down to his shoulder. His lips brush your forehead and you can feel he’s smiling. You stare off into the swamp. An egret lands on a branch above the water, an alligator’s head protruding from the water beneath.

“So how come you came back lookin’ like you ran a race?” you ask.

“Oh. Met that Brother Dorkins again, introduced me to a sister. Can’t remember her name, but one of them damn urchin boys stole her cross. When I got it back, I, uh, bumped into that Downes widow.”

“Who?”

Arthur reminds you of the debt he was supposed to get when he found you after the Murfree attack, and how he had to threaten the man’s widow after the bank heist in Valentine. You vaguely recall them.

“What about her?” you say.

“Well, she and her son are in Saint Denis, and she’s… well, she didn’t seem to be doin’ too well. Guess I scared her real bad first time we met, she panicked and set the law on me. Chased me out of town.”

“Jesus, Arthur, how badly you threaten her to make her do that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “When she accused me of havin’ a hand in her husband’s death, I threatened to kill her son.”

“Wait, how did you have a hand in her husband’s death? If I remember correctly, Micah beat him for the debt.”

“He did, but she said since I was workin’ for Strauss, I was just as responsible. And like I said, I threatened to kill her son. That and I took what little money they seemed to have left for the debt.”

You take his hand, not really knowing what to say. Arthur wouldn’t have done that had Strauss not twisted his arm, but everyone knows Arthur’s good at scaring people. He hates it, you know he does.

Quick footsteps suddenly march over to you and you straighten up from Arthur’s shoulder. Dutch approaches quickly, his face smiling. “Think it’s time, my boy!”

“Time for what, Dutch?” Arthur takes his arm from your shoulders.

“The trolley station! Lenny says he’ll do it with us, we should head to town soon and do it.”

“Now, Dutch? I just got back to camp.”

“Time doesn’t wait for anyone, Arthur, and we need money.”

“I know, Dutch. What’s happened to you? Couple days in this swamp and you turnin’ into some city boy, livin’ by your watch.”

Dutch puts his hands on his hips and furrows his brows. “I just want us to get out of here, Arthur. Thought you did, too.”

“I do. We all do, Dutch, but you really think it’s smart doin’ this so soon after that river boat?”

“No one’s going to connect them, Arthur.” Dutch throws you a quick glare but then he sighs. “Fine. We won’t go today, but first thing in the morning, we’re going to town.”

Arthur waves at him with two fingers as Dutch walks away.

“Somethin’ don’t feel right about this,” he says.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Bronte was just so smug about it. Maybe I just don’t trust anythin’ that comes out of that snake’s mouth.”

You sigh and stand up, offering your hand. “You’re right not to, but come on, cowboy. I gotta finish my chores so Grimshaw doesn’t flay me alive. Keep me company?”

He smiles and takes your hand, standing up.

The next morning, you’re cuddled in bed with Arthur, your naked body drawn close to him. You open your eyes and shift slightly against his chest. His hand twitches on your side. Looking up, you see him awake. He smiles at you and kisses your nose.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says.

You sigh and bury your nose into his neck. “Ain’t the word I’d use for me, Arthur.”

“Well, it’s the word I’m gonna use for ya.”

“You’re sweet. A liar, but sweet.”

“Hey,” he says, his hand sliding up to your shoulder. He begins tracing your scar. “I may have lied a lot in the past, but never to you. Especially not with what I think about ya.”

You lean up on your elbow, looking him in the face. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you find me beautiful, Arthur? You’re the only person who’s ever called me that, so either you’re lying or-”

“Or maybe no one else has taken the time to see what I see, darlin’. You wanna know somethin’?”

“What?”

He smiles, his thumb running across your shoulder. “When I first picked up your bounty poster in Blackwater, I was sure they’d gotten your picture wrong. I’ve taken in a few women bounties before. Most of the pretty ones were wanted for robbery or somethin’ along those lines. The ones who were wanted for murder tended to be, well, not so pretty. So when I saw your photo, I said they must have gotten somethin’ wrong. Sheriff confirmed you killed your family.”

He pauses and you lay back down, nuzzling into his neck. “When I found ya by Aurora, I remember thinkin’ how pretty you was. That’s why I asked you that night if you really killed your family. That and the fact you didn’t fight me much.”

You let out a small chuckle. “I remember that. I… wasn’t very happy.”

“I know. My point is that I’ve thought you were beautiful since I first met ya. Now I see you’re beautiful outside and in. That’s why I love ya.”

He pauses, his thumb tracing your scar again. He sighs. “Y’know, Mary was pretty. Real pretty. But she knew how to play me, always wanted somethin’ from me. I ain’t too sure why I felt anythin’ for her, all she did was take. When I had nothin’ else to offer, she threw me out like a badly behaved dog. But with you, all you do is give.”

“Arthur, I take a lot from you.”

“Not as much as you might think, darlin’. And you never take what isn’t offered first. I mean, I see how much you care, sweetheart. You’re always helpin’ people in camp, helpin’ me. How many jobs you been on with me by now? More than I’d like, always worryin’ about you.” You both laugh. “Point is I see how good a person you are. It’s society who’s ugly, not you, and I can’t imagine livin’ my life without ya..”

“Yeah, you’re definitely too good for me,” you smile into his neck, your hand gliding up to his shoulder. He kisses your head as a small laugh rumbles through him.

Someone knocks on the door. “Arthur, let’s go!” Dutch says loudly through the door.

“Hold on, Dutch. I’ll be down in a minute.” You hear Dutch walk away quickly. Arthur sighs. “Sorry, darlin’.”

“It’s okay. Like you say, we need money. Who knows? Maybe Bronte isn’t pulling your leg.”

“I ain’t gonna hold my breath.” He gets up and dresses. After he puts on his hat, he bends down to kiss you. “Don’t work too hard, sweetheart.”

You giggle against his lips. “Try not to get shot at this time.”

After he leaves, you dress yourself and go outside to begin your chores. You start working at Pearson’s wagon and spot Micah sitting alone at the round table. Charles passes, giving you a small wave, which you return.

“Hey redskin,” Micah says to him. “Fetch me something to eat.”

Charles stops and turns to him. “Excuse me?”

“I said,” Micah gets up and takes a few steps towards him. “Go fetch me something to eat.”

Charles grabs him by the collar and throws him on the ground. “Eat that!” he shouts and walks away. You try not to laugh, it’s rare to see Charles lose his temper, but you’re not surprised.

Micah rubs his chin and sees you standing at the barrel, scrubbing dishes. “What you lookin’ at?”

“Something that got put in its place.”

He stands up, brushing off his arms. “That’s a lot comin’ from you, whore.”

“Shut up, Micah. I already got enough reason to slit your damn throat.”

He grins and laughs, approaching you. You stop scrubbing and put your hand on your knife blade; he doesn’t miss the movement.

“You know, I bet you think Morgan’s a real catch, but I have it on good authority that he was seein’ that Mary the other night.”

“Shut up, Micah.”

“I’ve seen her before, she’s real pretty. I can see why Morgan likes her. Hell, if I was him, I’d pick her too.”

“I said shut up, Micah!”

“Why? Because you know I’m sayin’ the truth? He’s not the good man you think he is.”

“Why would I believe you?” you snap.

“Believe me, don’t believe me. I’m just telling you what I know.”

“And how would you know he saw Mary? You were here in camp being useless.”

He grins at you. “Javier told me. Said after they left the riverboat, Morgan had some unfinished business to attend to. What else could he mean besides his old flare?”

You march up to him and shove him. “I’ve had enough of your damn lip, Micah. Now unless you want my blade in your throat, I suggest you get away from me.”

He chuckles, knowing he’s striking a chord. “Ah, but I can see why Morgan’s taken a liking to you. All that fire! So he’s got Mary, the pretty one and you, the quick draw. The best of both worlds. But I bet he knows which one is better in bed.”

You whip out your knife but Hosea intervenes before you can attack Micah. He stands between you, glaring at him. “Get out of here and do some damn work, Micah! You ain’t helpin’ by antagonizing everybody.”

Micah lifts up his hands in a mock surrender. “Sorry, ol’ man. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You come near her again, Micah,” Hosea says. “I’ll defend her for butcherin’ you.”

Micah chuckles and walks away, a small cough escaping his lips.

“Thanks, Hosea,” you say, sheathing your knife.

He sighs. “He’s starting to be a problem. Been tryin’ to get in Dutch’s ear more since that mess with the O’Driscolls.”

“I know. I just hope it doesn’t become a problem in the future.”

“I doubt it will. Dutch is at least smart enough to not listen to him.”

Midday comes and you’re grooming Rannoch near the bridge. The horses have undoubtedly been taken care of less since Kieran’s death. You pat his neck affectionately when you hear a wagon rolling down the path. Looking over, you see Dutch and Lenny sitting on a wagon, Arthur riding behind them on Artemis looking irritated. Dutch rubs his head as Lenny pulls the wagon to a stop.

Hosea joins your side. “What happened?” he says.

“Damn job was a setup,” Arthur replies, dismounting. “That trolley station had hardly any money. Not only that, Bronte set the entire police force on us!”

Lenny gets down from the wagon while Dutch rubs his head again, looking disoriented.

“I honestly would have been surprised if it wasn’t a setup, Dutch,” Hosea says. “I told you-”

“I know,” Dutch snaps. “I realize what you said was true. We just need to come up with a plan.” He gets down, stumbling a bit. “We will find a way to get back at that Italian snake.”

“Dutch, now ain’t the time to be planning on revenge, we got enough going on,” Hosea says, approaching Dutch.

“So what? We just let that man make a fool of us? How long before he figures out we made it out and finds a new way to get us killed?”

“Come on, Dutch. Let’s not worry about that right now.” Hosea helps him walk back over to the house. Arthur approaches your side.

“Dutch okay?”

“Yeah, he just got a bash on the head. I just hope he doesn’t let this idea of revenge get into his head too much. That ain’t a luxury we can afford.”

“No. Still though, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind seeing that man get what he deserves.”

“Me too. Well, we’ll see what Dutch decides.” He takes your hand and walks up to the house.

The next couple of days, you remain by the house to appease Grimshaw while Arthur hops in and out of camp. He tells you about the last job with the mayor, scaring a man named Hector Fellows into funding the library for him and how the mayor tried to get him to kill his right hand man. Dutch has remained subdued, spending most of his time in his room or on the balcony. His temper is shorter than usual; he and Molly have a huge fight.

You head back from the river towards the house, holding an orchid you found hanging from one of the trees. Arthur sits on a log near the fire, talking to Hosea. As soon as you get close, they become suspiciously quiet.

“What you talkin’ about?” you ask.

“Oh, nothin’, darlin’,” Arthur says, holding his arm out. You take his gesture and sit next to him. You show him the orchid and he takes it, studying it. Hosea gets up and walks to the house, coughing a little.

“Hold it there, darlin’.” He takes out his journal and begins drawing it. You fondly watch his delicate strokes bring the drawing to life. He inspects it when he’s done, adding a few more lines of shading.

“Here,” you say, placing the flower in his journal. He thanks you and shuts the journal with the flower inside.

“Arthur! Get up here!” Dutch hollers from the balcony.

“It never ends,” Arthur sighs. He grabs your hand and stands up, bringing you along to the house. He heads up the stairs towards Dutch’s room and you stop him.

“You sure I should be coming along?” you ask. “I don’t know if I should be part of this.”

“I want you to be, darlin’. I don’t care what it is, I want you there.” He gives you an odd smile and continues on, meeting Dutch and Hosea on the balcony.

“Arthur, you get the deciding vote,” Dutch says, leaning on the fence.

“About what?”

“We take insult and scurry off like cockroaches or deal with business.”

“We don’t need to take revenge, we hardly know the guy,” Hosea snaps from his chair.

“This ain’t about revenge, this is about the fact that we’re about to rob a bank in his town. A bank he no doubt protects. Before we can do that, we need to put him down.”

Dutch and Hosea argue briefly over the matter of killing Bronte as Arthur paces. You lean against the doorframe.

“This don’t feel good, Dutch,” Hosea says as Arthur sits down in a chair.

“Think about it, Hosea,” Dutch replies. “This is the last job we’re ever gonna pull. Before the year’s out, we’re gonna be harvesting mangoes in Tahiti!”

“Forgive me if I don’t think about the mango harvest!” Hosea stands up.

“Arthur!” Dutch turns to him. “Think about it.”

Arthur stands quietly. “If it’s business, well then, business is business.”

Dutch smiles proudly at Hosea. “Angelo Bronte stand between us and our future.”

“You’ll damn us all.”

Dutch glares at him before walking into the house, gesturing for Arthur to follow. You’re about to sit down with Hosea when Arthur grabs your hand. “Come on, darlin’.”

“Why’s she comin’?” Dutch shoots back at him as he heads down the stairs.

“Well, we killin’ Bronte now?”

“No. Need to figure out a way to get into his mansion, I figure the swamp’s our best bet. We’re going to meet a contact I made, he might now a way in. But I ask again, why’s she comin’?”

“Arthur, maybe I shouldn’t-” you begin.

“No, no. I want her to come, Dutch, because she could be useful. More pairs of eyes, see?”

“No I don’t but have it your way. Let’s just get this done with.”

The three of you mount up on your horses and canter down the path, heading northeast.

“Thank you for havin’ my back there,” Dutch hollers back at Arthur.

“You better be right about this one,” he replies.

“Quit doubtin’, Arthur, it does no favors.” Dutch pauses. “Just feels like Hosea’s lost his spine.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want you wasting your time on revenge, Dutch,” you say.

“I already explained it, this ain’t about revenge! This man’s been in our path for too long, set us up with that damn trolley and, lest we forget, took young Jack? We need to hit that bank and Bronte has the entire city in his pocket.”

“We just got a lot of pots boilin’, Dutch,” Arthur says.

“You all seem to have forgotten how money is made! It takes a lot to support twenty people and even more to move them overseas.”

“Is this Tahiti plan really gonna work, Dutch?”

“You tell me, Arthur. Is it? Have some goddamn faith! When did you become so small-minded? If you’d rather we break this up, go our separate ways, just tell me.”

“Ain’t no one sayin’ that, Dutch!”

“Either we’re in this together and we get out together, or we’re not! I feel like I’m going in circles with all of you. Micah is the only one left with any loyalty!”

“Now that ain’t fair, Dutch,” you call up to him. “We’re all doing our share. Maybe this is less of us having forgotten about how money’s made and more about you being rash.”

“Stay out of this, Y/N!” Dutch snarls. “You been with us for only a few months, you don’t get a say in this.”

“Easy, Dutch,” Arthur says. “That ain’t fair.”

“You’re both sounding more like John. I swear that woman’s poisoning him against me. She ain’t the only one spreading poison.”

You feel as though the jab was directed at you and are just about to respond when Arthur speaks up.

“It ain’t like that, Dutch!”

“If Micah were by my side, you think he’d question killing Bronte? No, he’d say ‘let’s go!’”

“We’re here, ain’t we?” Arthur snaps. “I been at your side for twenty years!”

“I know, I… I’m sorry, son. Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s just the endless debating is wearing me down. Everyone else I can take, but when you’re not beside me, Arthur, it hurts.”

“I’m behind ya, Dutch. We’re all behind ya.”

“I promise, none of the past will be in vain. Especially not them that fell.”

By this point, you’ve ridden deep into the swamps and upon a small, rickety town set along the path. A sign barely hanging from its hinges marks it as Lagras. Dutch leads you to one of the houses and stops, warning you both to let him do the talking. He leads you to the porch of the house where a tall, thin black man sits on a rocking chair, twining a fishing lure. Dutch greets him.

“Hello, Mr. Dutch,” he gets up, shaking his hand and smiling through several missing teeth.

“Thomas, have you met Arthur and his girl Y/N?” You both greet him and he nods under his floppy fisherman’s hat. You notice one of his eyes is sunken in. “Thomas is quite the fisherman,” Dutch explains. We had quite the adventure the other night.” He leans against the fence and looks to Thomas. “Can I call in that favor?”

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Need to make a social call. You heard of Angelo Bronte?” Thomas spits over the railing. “Exactly. We were hoping you could row us in one evening around the back of his house.”

“If anyone can, I can,” Thomas says. Arthur lights a cigarette and leans against the fence; you do the same.

“We’ll pay for the trouble,” Dutch goes on.

“If you’re bringin’ him trouble, won’t be no trouble for me. Now my business partner, Jules. He’s out with the skiff, I’ll need to check with him. Plus gotta check the traps. You folks mind helpin’ real quick? Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Course not. Arthur, Y/N, come on.”

You follow Arthur and the others down the stairs as Thomas hands you lanterns. Arthur tosses his cigarette and offers you his hand. He knows you don’t like the swamp, mostly because the alligators. You take it and walk close to him as Thomas goes from the house and the horses and towards the wide, shallow lake.

“Be lively,” Thomas warns. “Lot of gators, big ones. Uncommon number.”

“Great,” you reply.

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Dutch says. “Surely it would take more than a prehistoric reptile to scare you.”

“Maybe we just wanna see you meet your match when it comes to an ancient predator with a big mouth, Dutch,” Arthur says, squeezing your hand.

“Arthur here is something of a comedian, Thomas,” Dutch explains as you’re lead further into soggier ground. “More of a jester than a gunslinger.”

“If you say so, Mr. Dutch. Follow me.”

You go further into the swamp, the thick mist clings to the trees and bats flitter above. The smell of moss, algae and standing water nearly chokes you as Thomas heads closer to the water. “Stay on the high ground,” he warns. “This is high ground?” Arthur asks. “Feels like water to me.”

“Down here we can’t be too picky, Mr. Arthur.” He points out his crawfish traps up ahead. “Mr. Arthur, gimme a hand, will ya?”

He walks into the water, beckoning the rest of you to follow. You hesitantly follow Arthur into the water, feeling the unpleasantly warm water flooding your boots. He leads you in up to your knees and stops by two wooden crates sticking out of the water. You and Dutch hold up your lanterns so they can see as they lift up the crates and search them, finding them empty. They set them back down and Arthur approaches you, grabbing your hand again.

“Come on, got a few more this way,” Thomas says.

“I don’t wanna know what just touched my leg,” Dutch announces, looking uncomfortable.

Thomas leads you deeper into the water. “Mr. Dutch, you sure you’re the right fellers to be going after Mr. Bronte?”

“He’s much more the kind of reptile I can handle.”

“Alright, now follow my line and stay close.”

Thomas leads you farther into the water. Through the darkness, you spot something long gliding across the water 10 yards to your right. You grip Arthur’s hand tighter and he squeezes back.

“I can see why swamp wading hasn’t caught on as a past time,” Dutch says.

“I love it out here,” Thomas replies. “No one out here to bother you none. ‘Cept the Night Folk sometimes.”

You recall Arthur telling you about the Night Folk, how he helped an old Cajun man reclaim his house from them. They sounded to be about as bad as the Murfrees.

You’re deeper in the swamp, the water up to your chest. You have to hold your lantern up above your shoulder, your other still gripped around Arthur. Your leg brushes up against something and you squeal, pushing up close against him.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says. “Probably just a branch or somethin’.”

“Or a gator!” you say.

“No, if it were a gator, you’d know,” Thomas says, continuing on. You follow him, keeping closer to Arthur.

“Stop where you are,” Thomas says, looking ahead. Following his eyes, you see the long body of a gator gliding through the water. It ignores you and disappears into the darkness. You hope Arthur doesn’t feel you shaking beside him. Thomas deems it safe and continues on. He leads you to a small island appearing through the black mist, pointing out more traps.

“I don’t know what’s takin’ Jules so long with that boat,” Thomas says as he and Arthur approach the traps. You and Dutch take to the island, feeling slightly more relieved to be on high ground again. Thomas begins trying to pull up a trap, but it seems intent on staying in the mud. He asks Arthur to help and the two of them pull, bringing it out with a loud squelch. The trap seems to have been smashed by something. Thomas looks surprised.

“Guess somethin’ didn’t wanna be caught,” Arthur says.

“Nah, only somethin’ huge could do this,” Thomas replies. “There’s been talk of a big ol’ bull around these parts, but people talk a lot of nonsense.”

“Great. Let’s hope it bites you first, Dutch,” Arthur says, giving you a small smile.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Dutch says beside you.

“Alright, let’s go find Jules.” Thomas leads you back into the water up to your chest again. He suddenly stops and motions for you to do the same. Three large gators swim past, almost as though they’re fleeing the wider range of the lake.

“There’s no shortage of them,” you say, feeling nervous.

“Good eatin’,” Thomas says.

“Us or them?” Dutch asks. “Exactly. Come on, Jules should be around here somewhere.” He pauses and looks to the three of you. “I reckon this’ll be faster if we split up. Take both sides of the lake.”

“Alright, Arthur, Y/N,” Dutch says. “Since you both seem so at home here, why don’t you take that side?” He gestures to the end of the lake where the three gators had fled into. You swallow heavily.

“Keep your eyes open,” Thomas warns. Arthur leads you through the water, his hand never leaving yours. You can tell he’s as nervous as you are as you approach a sliver of high ground. Arthur calls out for Jules, but no one responds.

“Think we have to go back in the water, darlin’,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, your voice shaking. You gather your courage and go back in as Arthur calls again. Through the gloom, a distant voice answers. Following it, a faint light begins to glimmer in the mist, high above the water. Getting closer, you see a lantern high up in a tree, a young man sitting next to it, looking distressed.

“What you doin’ up there?” Arthur asks.

“There’s a monster, a monster!” Jules says. You swallow, trying to calm your shaking.

“What you see?”

“A gator, biggest I ever saw! He’s out there.”

“Where’s the boat, boah?”

Jules gestures in front of him and you follow Arthur, spotting the tangled roots of a tree protruding from the water. A large black mass sits among them. You go with Arthur to it and see the boat pushed up against a large branch.

“I got the skiff!” Arthur hollers, tugging on it. The boat doesn’t move, so you and Arthur tug on a large branch until it snaps, freeing the boat. He helps you up into it and you sigh in relief, hoping you’ll never have to come into this swamp again. Arthur sits next to you, placing a hand on your trembling knee. Thomas, Dutch and Jules approach, hopping into the boat.

“Thank God,” Dutch says as Thomas begins rowing. He introduces your group to Jules.

“What was you doin’ hidin’ up in that tree, boy?” Thomas asks.

“This gator was bigger than I ever seen. Twice as angry, too.”

The boat suddenly crashes on something, causing you to jump and latch onto Arthur’s arm.

“Think we’re stuck on a stump,” Thomas says, looking into the water. “Jules, get us out.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, it won’t take a minute, boy, now go on.”

“This is a bad idea,” Jules says, jumping into the water.

“We’ll see any giant monster long before it gets here,” Thomas says jokingly. “We got a couple of crack gunslingers with us.”

“You didn’t see this thing, Thomas.”

“Neither did you, Jules, it’s just a myth.”

Jules grabs a rope attached to the front of the boat and heads out several yards, pulling on it. The boat resists and then comes free. Jules begins making his way back when he suddenly vanishes beneath the water. Thomas calls for him but he doesn’t resurface.

“Guess he weren’t jokin’,” Thomas says. “I’ll get him.”

“No, no we can’t lose the boat. Arthur will get him,” Dutch says. Arthur begins to argue with him, clearly not wanting to get back in the water, but Dutch urges him in.

“Fine,” Arthur sighs and he wades over to where Jules disappeared. 20 yards away, Jules pops up, screaming. Arthur goes to him and picks him up. You see blood trailing behind as Arthur makes his way back to the boat. Something huge and white emerges from the water a few yards behind Arthur, snapping and snarling. You whip out your pistol as Dutch screams at Arthur to hurry.

“Shoot at it at least to pretend you care!” Arthur hollers. You begin shooting at the beast; it snaps angrily and slows down in its pursuit.

“Don’t look behind you, Arthur!” you scream, continuing to shoot. Your heart’s pounding by the time he reaches the boat. Thomas and Dutch grab Jules and lift him up, exposing his shredded leg. You reach down and grab Arthur’s arm, helping him into the boat.

“Y/N,” Dutch says. “Help Jules, we got company!” You follow his eyes and see a massive white alligator swimming towards the boat. Arthur and Dutch open fire on it as you pull out a long bandage strip from your satchel. The gator growls and slinks beneath the water.

“Shit, that is one big gator!” Arthur says.

You begin unravelling the bandage and Arthur puts a hand on your shoulder. “Let me do it, darlin’, your hands are shakin’.”

You hand him the bandage and sit back, not denying how much you’re trembling.

“You’re gonna be okay, son,” Arthur says, wrapping Jules leg. The boy groans painfully and you look away from his bleeding leg. “Just thank your old uncle Dutch.”

“I heard that,” Dutch replies. Arthur ties off the bandage and applies pressure to the wound. Jules closes his eyes and falls limp, but he’s still breathing. Thomas begins rowing the boat again.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding. Think he’ll be okay if he don’t get a fever.”

“We can bring down a fever,” Thomas says.

“A fever’s the least of our worries,” Dutch says, looking out across the water. The white snout of the monster gator rises up as it swims towards the boat.

“Put everything we have in this monster!” Dutch hollers. The three of you take out your pistols and shoot at it. You can hear it snarling over the gunfire and it disappears again. Arthur sighs in relief once it becomes apparent that the beast is gone and sits down next to Jules, clapping him on the shoulder. Jules startles awake, grunting in pain.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid,” Arthur consoles him as Thomas continues to row.

“Sorry, Jules,” Thomas says. “Guess all them stories was true. Usually the little ones is angry, big ones is lazy.”

“Guess this one never outgrew his anger,” Dutch says. “Kind of reminds me of you, Arthur.”

Arthur sneers at Dutch. “I don’t think I ever seen you squeal before, Dutch.”

“I weren’t the one squealing,” he snaps. “Besides, you shoulda seen your girl shakin’ like a leaf. Still don’t know why you brought her.”

“Hey, I helped didn’t I?” you retort.

“Yeah, and you weren’t the one in the water with that monster,” Arthur says. “Besides, this poor boy was nearly dinner.”

Thomas pulls up to the dock in Lagras and calls for help. A man and a woman rush out and pull Jules out as Thomas instructs to feed him garlic and tend his wounds. He turns to Dutch and thanks him for the help. Arthur grabs your hands and leads you down the dock as Thomas and Dutch discuss the future in regards to Bronte. Dutch marches up as you mount Rannoch.

“Alright, I’m gonna go back to camp, try and placate the irritable Ms. O’Shea, who’s causing more trouble.”

You’re about to say something to Dutch to try and make him see reason with Molly, but Arthur shakes his head at you. Dutch kicks the Count into a canter, leading the three of you in silence back to Shady Belle. The ride is relatively quiet, but you can tell Dutch’s mind is turning.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #van der linde gang #R* Games #rockstar games #I'm awkward #second chances

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vanderlindemangofarm · 5 years

Note

Can I request one where the gang reacts to the reader bringing a cat and a bunch of kittens back to camp? This is my favourite blog 🤩

Thank you so much, you’re lovely!

This turned out super long haha, as a cat lover I adore this scenario!

Gang Reactions - reader brings home a cat and her kittens

You don’t know why you convinced yourself you could sneak a full-grown, very vocal mama cat and three tiny kittens back into camp without anyone noticing, but there you were, holding a gently wriggling bundle which you tried to hide under your shirt.

Hosea raises his eyebrow as you walk past. “You appear to have an over-active stomach today, Y/N.”

When one of the kittens starts mewing profusely, his eyes widen. You freeze on the spot.

It’s only a matter of seconds before his frostiest stare makes you confess everything. Soon you’re in his tent, spilling the felines onto his cot in an ungainly heap. Hosea scratches his chin, simply uttering a thoughtful “…huh.”

The kittens topple over one another whilst the mother grooms them, tiny mews and purrs breaking the unbearable silence in the tent.

“Dare I ask where you found them?” Hosea queries, rubbing the bridge of his nose. When you explain that you found them under the floorboards of a barn you were looting for supplies, he nods slowly.

Dutch appears at the entrance to the tent as if summoned by forces unknown. He looks agog as his gaze shifts between you, Hosea and the kittens.

Naturally, he’s furious that you didn’t consult him first before bringing them home.

“Did you not think we don’t already have enough trouble around here? That we don’t have enough mouths to feed without…these?” he thunders, his voice cracking as he points at the kittens. You can’t help but feel a bit teary then.

“Look how skinny they are, I couldn’t just leave them! I thought you of all people would understand that, Dutch van der Linde.” you sniffle, the adrenaline rush you felt when bringing them home suddenly crashing spectacularly as you break down into quiet sobs. Dutch lets out a long sigh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders comfortingly.

“Alright, alright.” he grumbles, patting you. “We’ll see what happens. But if they cause any trouble, they’re out. Understood?”

You nod tearfully, not noticing the crowd that had gathered outside the tent, wondering what all the commotion was about.

“Oh my word, look at those sweet kittens!” Mary-Beth squeals, making her way to the front of the group, her hand cupped in front of her mouth.

“Kittens, is it? Ain’t no good thing ever come from kittens. They grow into cats, and everyone knows you should never trust a cat.” slurs Uncle, raising his bottle for effect. Everyone shakes their heads, deciding to ignore his wisdom of the day.

The next few minutes can only be described as euphoric chaos. Every gang member is trying to get into Hosea’s tent to get a good look at the new arrivals. Mary-Beth has gathered up the mama cat in her arms and is cooing softly at her, Jack is begging you to let him name one, Bill is declaring loudly to anyone who’ll listen that he hates cats.

Eventually, Dutch barks at everyone to go back to their business. He sternly instructs you to take the cat and kittens back to your tent, where they are to stay. They’re your responsibility.

Jack follows you, almost tripping over his own feet with excitement. He’s never seen kittens before.

Abigail fetches an old blanket from her own tent which she arranges artfully into a nest at the foot of your cot. Mama cat immediately takes a shine to it, settling herself in the centre whilst the kittens crowd around her.

Javier, Arthur and Charles all stick their heads around the tent at different intervals, asking if you and your companions are alright. You highly suspect they just wanted to sneak a look at the kittens.

Pearson gruffly arrives with a shallow dish of milk, which he offers to Mama cat. She laps it up frantically, confirming your theory of them being close to starvation. Pearson watches, looking pleased that he could help.

“Y’know, we always had a cat on the ship when I was in the Navy. Kept the rats away. Maybe our lady here could do the same around camp.” he muses.

As the days go by, Mama cat gets stronger, her coat thickens up and gets shiny again. The kittens don’t seem phased by their new surroundings, though they aren’t quite bold enough to leave the tent without their mother yet.

Mary-Beth spends most of her time with you, fussing over the kittens. She’s forever finding little bits of ribbon for them to play with, her face lighting up when they reach for it with their tiny paws.

Micah is far less impressed. He’s irritated that camp life has been shifted to accommodate some goddamn cats. But, he declares, at least they’re a step up from Cain.

He avoids the kittens like the plague, but Mama cat takes a shine to him. To his horror, he finds her sleeping inside his hat one morning when he wakes up.

He tries to shoo her away, but she simply purrs and winds around his legs.

Before long, the pair are inseparable. Micah calls her Lady Bell. Naturally, the others are in surprised hysterics.

“Aw, Micah! The kittens have a new daddy!”, “I’ll cut you so deep your daddy’ll feel it, Morgan.”

Arthur likes spending time with the kittens after a long day out of camp. He smiles widely as he tickles them under their little chins.

Lenny is beside himself, too. You’re sure you’ve overheard him referring to one of the kittens as Lenny Junior.

Of course, the kittens have multiple names as everyone has their own ideas on what they should be called. You do let Jack name one in the end of course, a tiny grey tabby who he calls Merlin.

Susan fusses and scolds away as you’d expect, especially when the kittens use various items as a toilet (an empty cooking pot, some freshly washed linen, Strauss’s ledger, Bill’s hat, ect.)

But she has such a soft spot for cats, and can often be found scooping them up and cooing at them when she thinks no one can see her.

Karen and Tilly think they’re cute and all, but most of their time is spent trying to convince Mary-Beth not to go out and get more pets.

Molly finds the kittens very therapeutic and comforting, much like Arthur. She gently pets them, letting them sleep on her shawls. When she’s feeling especially low, she’ll often end up weeping gently into their fur. They don’t seem to mind.

Despite the use of his ledger as a makeshift toilet, Strauss also betrays his love of cats by always coming home from his errands with various treats from the local butchers. The gang can’t believe how often he smiles these days.

Mama cat often curls up on Swanson’s lap when he’s passed out from drinking. It’s almost like she’s protecting him.

Sadie decides that as long as the kittens grow up to be able to hunt for themselves, she’s got no quarrel with them. She feels a certain solidarity with Mama cat.

John, Bill and Sean are decidedly not cat people whatsoever. Sean is actually petrified of cats and it takes Karen gently placing one of the kittens on his knee (he was sweating from the pressure) and guiding his hand to pet it to get him to calm down.

John sees cats as pointless - “at least dogs can work!” - but the joy they bring to Jack and Abigail softens his view somewhat.

One of the kittens, the only male, has an unusual fur pattern, with a tiny smudge of black just under his nose that looks a lot like a moustache. Of course, you name him Dutch.

#anonymous #request #headcanon #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #long post

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thepetulantpen · 5 years

Text

Flowers/Sun&Moon

(I said I’d get these done and I did...a few days late. Here’s day 8 of @widomauk-week , it was so fun to participate!)

Under the sun, Molly and Caleb lay on their backs in the grass, soaking in the sunshine.

Molly has taken off his coat and his boots, letting the blades of grass tickle in between his toes. Caleb has taken off his coat and bandages, even carefully setting aside his book holsters in an effort to keep himself from overheating.

They lay there for a while, hands intertwined, talking about nothing and laughing about everything.

Molly’s eyes blaze with warmth, radiating happiness just as the sun exudes heat. Caleb’s hair fans out around his head on the grass, fire running through the color like rays off of the sun.

Caleb brings a hand up to shade his eyes, trying not to show how much the glaring sunlight is bothering him, not wanting to ruin this afternoon with Molly.

“Are Zemnians allergic to sunlight?” Molly giggles and sits up, leaning over Caleb to block out the sun with his head, “Is that why you’re so pale?”

Caleb smiles like the sun peeking out from the clouds, a bright patch that seems inordinately small compared to Molly’s full strength smile, sunny in a way that’s just shy of too much.

“Mm, yes. It’s why we rely on... other sources for vitamin D.”

Molly freezes above him and for a silent moment Caleb wonders if he somehow didn’t get the joke.

“...did you just make a dick joke? Are you possessed?” Molly puts his hand against Caleb’s forehead, “Are you sick?”

“A little lovesick, perhaps.”

Then Molly laughs and doesn’t stop laughing, falling backwards and cackling as if Caleb had done something much funnier than make a mediocre pun. He laughs and he looks at Caleb like he’s made of gold, like every joke he makes could change the world and every smile could save lives.

It’s flattering, it’s ill-advised, it’s Molly.

Caleb can’t say he feels the same about himself, can’t even say he’s completely comfortable with how highly Molly thinks of him, but right now they’re sitting in the sun and laughing and it all just feels too good to question.

Still, there are darker, colder thoughts lurking at the edges of his mind and interrupting logistics at the forefront.

“The others are probably wondering where we are,” Caleb props himself up on his elbows, “We should probably head back.”

“They can wait a little longer,” Molly grins mischievously and, before Caleb can protest further, stands up, “Stay here for a second.”

He’s tempted to look behind him and spy on what Molly’s doing but the sun is making him warm and lazy, he realizes he doesn’t want to leave or follow his own suggestion at all. He’d rather just sit here and wait for Molly to get back with whatever shenanigans he’s come up with this time.

Caleb doesn’t hear or see Molly sit back down behind him, but he does feel Molly’s fingers combing through his hair without warning or explanation.

“Molly, what-“

“Shh, it’s a surprise.”

It can’t be much of a surprise since he can feel the tugging on his hair that tells him Molly is braiding it, but Caleb appreciates the sentiment anyway. He closes his eyes and just feels for a while, the repetitive motion of Molly’s fingers against his scalp soothing him and erasing any more thoughts of leaving or being responsible. It takes longer than he would’ve thought, Molly must do something especially complicated to make the most of Caleb’s fairly short hair.

It’s nearly nightfall when Molly leads Caleb back to the inn, turning him around in front of a mirror to show off his handiwork: a complicated web of braids interspersed with tiny wildflowers. The sight of it takes Caleb’s breath away- he has no idea how Molly managed to weave such little, fragile things into his hair and make them stay there.

“Where did you learn how to do this?”

Molly sits cross legged on the bed behind him, tail waving excitedly as he grins at Caleb.

“I used to braid Yasha’s hair, when we were in the circus together. It’s pretty good, right?”

Caleb smiles at himself in the mirror for the first time in years, letting himself see what Molly sees for a moment: a man with a brilliant, soft smile and little flowers in his hair.

“It’s beautiful.”

...

Under the moon, Molly and Caleb sit on a rock ledge a little apart from the party, shivering in the cool night air.

Molly has draped his tapestry over his coat, though the thin material and sequins do little to warm him. Caleb is bundled up in his coat and a few layers beneath it, appropriately dressed for the cold now that he can afford it.

“Are you sure you don’t want my coat?”

Molly smiles and shakes his head, trying for nonchalance even when Caleb can see his teeth chattering. “I suffer for my art, darling. No offense, but I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something so dull and brown.”

“I’ll have you know this is high Zemnian fashion.”

“Mm, I’m sure Dirty-Chic is all the rage there.”

Caleb huffs and pulls on a mock offended scowl but moves closer to Molly, sharing his body heat in a cuddle. Usually, Molly is the warm one but this weather has taken a toll on him and Caleb can feel him shaking against him, shivers and laughter moving through his chest.

They sit like that for a while until Molly stops shaking so much and regains some of that hot-blooded warmth Caleb is used to.

In the meantime, they’re on lookout, or supposed to be on lookout. Caleb would be watching carefully, making sure there aren’t any threats on the horizon, but this road leads to the middle of nowhere and has had no monsters of any sort for days so he feels comfortable becoming entirely transfixed by the flowers growing all around them.

They’re glowing, casting dim light over the road and meadow in an array of fluorescent greens and blues. In the daytime, they were just patches of wildflowers, basically weeds, but at night they’ve come to life, dotting the landscape with brilliant light shows,

It’s breathtaking and it gives Caleb an idea.

“Here, hold this,” Caleb pulls off his coat and drapes it over Molly’s shoulders, ignoring the noise of protest, “I’ll be right back.”

Molly is tempted to bring the coat back, or at least yell after Caleb, but he stays put instead, curious to see what Caleb’s planning. He pulls on the coat because it’s freezing tonight and looks firmly at the ground, determined not to peek and spoil the surprise.

Caleb returns a minute later, settling on the grass behind Molly. There’s more rustling noises and a few huffs of frustration as Caleb struggles to work with whatever he’s collected. At the noise, and because the suspense is killing him, Molly turns his head a little and Caleb immediately stiffens, curling around whatever he’s working on.

“Turn around! It’s a surprise.”

Molly complies, only barely reigning in his energy for the next few minutes before Caleb speaks again.

“Ok, now close your eyes.”

Caleb’s fingers ruffle Molly’s hair, moving it as he puts something in it. He’s pretty sure he can guess what it is, based on the combination of sharp points and soft spots, but he keeps his eyes closed, preserving this idea of surprise that Caleb seems intent on.

“Scheisse.”

Caleb’s fingers fumble around his horns and Molly finally opens his eyes, looking up at Caleb’s face. He’s concentrating on adjusting his gift around the obstacle of Molly’s horns, face screwed up and tongue poking out one side of his mouth in a determined pout.

He notices Molly looking and fidgets with more fervor. “I can fix it, just wait.”

He ends up having to disconnect and retie the flower crown at multiple points, shuffling around Molly to perfect parts all around his head so it fits perfectly at the base of his horns.

Caleb sits back and smiles at Molly, looking more proud of himself than Molly has ever seen him. The smile is a gift in itself, Molly would give anything to see Caleb that happy with himself every day.

“Can I look now?”

“Of course.”

Caleb fumbles with his bag, presumably trying to find something reflective, but Molly unsheathes Summer’s Dance, adjusting it to get the best of his narrow reflection on the gold surface.

The flowers, with their wonderful glow, are truly stunning, lighting his face with an ethereal shine. The crown itself is meticulously crafted, the twisted bonds of twigs between the flowers seem sturdy, like Molly could dance or fight with them in his hair and not lose a single flower.

Caleb stifles a yawn next to him. The moon seems to sag in the sky, as tired as they are. Molly will have to test his theories later, when he’s not dead on his feet.

“Do you like it?”

It’s hard to read Caleb’s face in these moments, where darkness and perpetual uncertainty obscure most of his real intentions, but Molly doesn’t think it particularly matters, he knows his answer.

“I love it, Caleb. I’m never taking it off.”

Molly’s smile shines like a crescent moon breaking out of a twilight sky and Caleb’s eyes twinkle like bright stars in an endless void.

They spend the rest of their watch curled in each other’s arms, bathed in the light of flowers and their own glowing, powerful love.

#widomaukweek2019 #widomauk #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #soft bois for the last day #caleb just invented vitamin d because i wanted a cheap dick joke

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ashnadir · 4 years

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take a ride, pt 1 || ciara & iann

[ Iann and Ciara spend an evening at the Fall Festival Carnival, enjoying the rides and each other. Revelations on their relationship are made. ]

@thatwhichbindsus

This rendezvous was planned, with Iann having done a survey of the carnival itself one night just to scope it out, and then it occurred to him that he could return and actually do the rides themselves, with another potentially interested party. Which was how he found himself texting Ciara to ask if she'd meet him at the carnival, for 'an evening together'. Calling it a 'date' still seemed odd, even though Ciara had gotten that ball rolling for them. Iann still wasn't sure he could be as definitive as Ciara. Regardless, he waited for her at the entrance, which was a gate enclosure in the novelty shape of a mime's open maw. Freaky and apt, in and of itself.

Ciara wrapped her jacket more tightly around herself as she walked up to Iann. There was no menagerie tonight. Molly, Eva and Yarrow were all home; last she’d seen then, they’d all been curled up together on Molly’s bed, the two gitturns burrow in her soft fur. She waved as she spotted Iann, and as there were so few people around, when she reached him, she curled both hands in his coat, grabbed him and pulled him down, into a hard, pressing kiss, full of urgency and passion. She held him there for a moment, and when she leant back she was panting. “Hey.”

Well that was a promising start, Iann believed, when Ciara tugged him into a firm, sturdy kiss as her greeting. He was more than willing to return the kiss, calm but highly enthused, hands staying in his jacket pockets. When she pulled away, Iann drew in a long breath as well, letting it out in his own, "Hola. You're looking piquey tonight," he said, leaning down again just to steal one more brief, quick kiss from her open mouth. She was well-bundled, it seemed, and even more important, she was completely alone. "No entourage?" he asked, looking about her shoulders, where the gitturns enjoyed snuggling the most.

Ciara let him steal another kiss, grinning up at him. "I have no idea what you mean, but I'll take it," She told him, leaning her chest against him. "No entourage. They've had an exciting week, so I decided I wanted some me time. With you." She slipped her arms around his waist, and looked over at the nightmarish mime thingy. "So why are we here?"

"Bouncy, you know, electric," Iann tried to describe, but he was grinning already, moving on from one thought to imagine just how much exploration and excitement the gitturns had received in the carnival. And in addition to that, the idea that Ciara had visited the carnival, several times. She was having fun, enjoying her life, she'd told him. It bolstered his own ideas. "I'm betting you didn't really do rides with a dog and two tiny gitturns, sooo..." With Ciara secured beside him (or rather she secured him next to her), he strolled them into the maw, and within the carnival. "...I figure we could start with the Rougarou Roller coaster, the classic haunted pirate ship, the fairy swings, the fae ferris, the Glyph Mountain Drop, the Spinning Siren...and finish it off with --" Iann motioned to the centre of the carnival, where centaurs frolicked in a merry-go-round. "Because y'know. We collectively don't have enough excitement and risk of injury in our lives."

"I don't think that's what it means, but I'm happy you think that. I feel... good." Worried about Miguel, but good. Free. Electrified. He was bright too, warm and happy, grinning back at Ciara. There was a playful glint to his eyes. "No, I definitely did not. Not even the haunted house." He pulled her along into the bright lights and loud music. Where mime fairies performed in the corners and candy floss was spun into incredible artworks by sugar nymphs. "We definitely don't," Ciara agreed drily, still smiling. "Sounds like a plan, but I'm blaming you if the next apocalypse starts." She squeezed him close. "Lead the way, mi alma."

“First one to back out owes the other," Iann said, always willing to place a bet in which there was technically no losers. They joined the line for the roller coaster - a rickety, wooden contraption that seemed to defy gravity purely held together by magic and chewing gum - and Iann listed the conditions. "First one who gets sick, or too scared..." Iann laughed at that idea, because he believed the mere mention of 'fear' to Ciara would only serve to coat her steel spine in admantium. So cheekily, he added, "But don't worry baby, if things get too rough, I got you."

Ciara mimed fainting into his arms. "I'm so lucky I have such a strong man to look after me." She snorted, and stood back up with ease as they quickly progressed along the line. "So what will you owe me by the end of tonight?" She teased, as they reached the front of the queue, just a short metal barrier between them and what looked like it could have once been a torture device.

"The strongest," Iann boasted, and he couldn't help but half-swing Ciara in his arms, before she set herself right again. They'd gotten to the front of the line then, and Iann elbowed Ciara, nodding and semi-pointing towards the riders disembarking the coaster - some were holding their teeth, others were groaning and staggering, and yet some of those same complainers just got right back into the line. "Oh ho ho, I knew you were cocky, but before we've even gone on our first ride! Is that supposed to intimidate me, bonita?" The metal bar screeched open, allowing them a choice of where to sit - Iann of course opted for the front, and he figured Ciara would be gunning for it as well. She was never one to shy away from a challenge. The roller coaster itself looked like a long Chinese-style sculpted dragon; when they sat down, it felt like their scaly seats were breathing...and warm. "Ahhh---" Iann said, a glimpse of his usual wariness showing as the bone-like bar crossed down over them, the bored teenaged carny rattling off the rules. Keep hands inside the carriage, no standing up on the ride, and most important of all, do not mention the word 'G-O-L-D ' out loud. Iann looked over at Ciara. "What've I gotten us into, nena."

"I don't know, is it intimidating you?" Ciara replied, following him to the front. She glanced around. There were some spatters of blood, but it was so old it was decayed, ad it took her a long moment to realise it was just rabbit. Even Soapberry had attraction safety laws. The bar slid over then and Ciara's heart spiked with the familiar adrenaline of a safe fright. "Don't get scared now," she teased, squeezing his hand on the bar. Click, click, click, started the carriage along the track, which creaked and groaned as it slowly ascended the first part of the ride. They were at the front, so when they reached the top, they were still slow as they started rolling over the tip. "Don't worry. If you fall, I'll catch you." She teased, as the weight of the carriage peaked too, and with a whoosh they were hurtling down the rickety slope, Ciara wooping as she kept Iann's hand in hers.

"Nope. Nope, no one's intimidated here, lady," Iann confirmed, but as he sat and surveyed everything, he had his usual suspicions. A glance over at Ciara though - her relaxed expression, her teasing words and her hand squeezing his - was all it took for Iann to relax. This was fine, they were okay. He thought of they way Ciara called him her 'alma' as they ascended, the feeling of rising coinciding with the warmth of her recently chosen term of endearment. She assured him she'd catch him, and as they reached the peak, Iann stole another quick kiss, pressed cold and dry against Ciara's cheek before they descended at a rocketing pace. The dragon screamed and breathed 'fire' (it was all an illusion) and Iann yelled along with it, one hand tightening around Ciara's and the other cautiously raising in the air. "Keep 'em up!" he yelled to Ciara, daring her to raise her hands up as well - the ride of course was over in a minute or two, and Iann managed to come out of it with bruised knees hitting against the bone-restraint, and a bitten lip.

Ciara nodded after a woop as they went over a smaller crest, and raised her hands in the air, squeezing his as they jerked around rapid turns, pushing her up against his thigh and hip. When the brakes caught them, she jerked hard enough to just slightly bruise her lips. The bar clicked and slowly rolled up, and Ciara stretched over to kiss Iann's bruised lip, breathing magic to heal his skin. Even as she kissed him, she couldn't hide the giant grin on her face, as they were quickly herded off the ride. "I can't remember the last time I rode a rollercoaster."

Iann: kissed back breathlessly, eagerly because he knew what was coming and he wanted it. His hands were cold from the ride but his lips swelled with warmth, then the pain was gone. There was something more sexual about that kiss, the mix of pain and pleasure, than Iann usually got from their occasional (public) kisses. He fell out of the coaster, unable to let go of Ciara's hand. For balance, of course. "Usually I skip rollercoasters!" he half-yelled, still exhilarated. "They're almost too much. But you made me braver so be warned, Ciara. I'm bolstered by your fearlessness."

"That's good, isn't it, considering it can only get scarier" Ciara said, as she tugged him by the hand to their next ride. It was a walk around thing, which was likely good in terms of their little bet. Plenty of time for the stomach to settle before they moved onto the next rapid thing. They walked to the haunted pirate ship line next, and Ciara felt a little giddy as she swung her arm around his waist. "This was next on your list, right?"

"Yes ma'am it was next on the list... Look at that thing." Iann paused with Ciara to stare up at the swinging pirate ship, his arm slinging around her shoulder. He hovered it first, gauging how she'd feel, and if it would be okay just in case she had any injuries marring her shoulders. Her arm felt secure around him, fitting easy and strong. They were together. They were together in public, and Iann intended to appreciate every minute of this. Ghosts swirled around it, and pirates seemed to traverse the swinging ship, brandishing their scimitars at the riders. The rides screamed and yelped in fun terror. "Ohhhh, this looks scaaary," Iann tickled the back of Ciara's neck as the ride slowed, and they were able to board it. "I get this feeling this ride is just gonna make you laugh, querida."

Ciara stalled a second and rolled her shoulders up to his arm, inviting his arm down onto her. She was fearless in more than one way tonight. The pirate ship held enough people that the queue moved quickly, and soon they were clambering onto the thing, and her fearless demeanor shifted, just sightly. "These are real ghosts," Ciara murmured, as a woman wailed in her face. They joined their seats, looking through the pale apparitions as others filtered in. "Hey, I love you."

Some fear was good, healthy. Some fear could even be fun, like these rides tonight. And some fear, when overcome, could take a person's breath away. Iann had to sit down in the pew-like bench, before he felt air filling his lungs again. "Real - real ghosts? Not like the ghosts who were..." Iann said, slightly alarmed at the thought that they'd been shoved backwards, to the blight pockets and the ghosts that appeared with it. He tensed, until Ciara pulled his attention away from the floating spectres, towards her. She only had eyes for him, and Iann's own focus closed completely onto Ciara. "You know I - DOOOooOOOoOOO!!! HA ha har yarrrr--" Iann's voice was replaced by that of some growly pirate, Iann's own face superimposed as a ghost shove its way into him and protruded its bulbous bearded features over Iann's own face. Iann swatted, slapping at his own face. "Hey!! Get outta there, that's my body! Damn ghosts."

"You always got the cure what ails me, don't you," Iann murmured, watching Ciara when she pressed the pouch against his skin. He had no idea what was in it but she was a witch; this was what she did. He watched the ghost float away, as the pirate ship started to swing back and forth slowly, gaining height with every swing. The pirates burst out then, and Iann was distracted by a peg-legged parrot for a moment (and clinging to the bench) when Ciara caught his attention again - or rather, the pirate with the curved sword at her neck. At close inspection, the sword clearly looked wooden, nothing harmful. The pirate - a buxom, gap-toothed woman - gave Ciara a wolfish grin. "Ayyyy, she looks like fine booty fer a pirate like me." Iann contained his grin, giving Ciara a glance. He countered, "Lady, you couldn't handle a woman like her. Hell - I only barely can..." Iann looked at Ciara again, unabashedly adoring in his excitement of the ghost, the pouch, the ride. "And only because somehow she lets me." The lady pirate seemed to love this answer, delivering a bright laugh and flourishing a bow to Ciara. The ride got super high now, the ghosts popping up to try and jumpscare the riders.

Ciara winked at the pirate appreciatively, cocking her head playfully as the reached the top of this arc in the ship's swing, and began to plumet back down. The wooden sword pressed into her throat as the swung back down, the pirate standing upright on magic alone. She rolled her eyes at Iann's reply, and waved bye to the pirate just before they started falling backwards again. Ciara found Iann's hand again, squeezing it tight as they rose to the peak of the ride. "Hey I-" Ciara was cut off as a head burst out of her chest. "Arrr, laddie. Have you seen a shark in these waters? One's got me leg and he hasn't given it back in a hundred and three years!"

Iann looked up as Ciara was about to say something, but then a pirate ghost protruded from Ciara's chest and Iann threw up a hand. "Jeez louise you guys sure are dedicated to the job, huh? What'd'you even get paid for this gig? You're a ghost! Go on, get outta there--" Iann swept his fingers back and forth along Ciara's chest, as the cackling pirate both dissipated and remained quite in character. Who knew - maybe he was actually always like that. The ride slowed though, after one final swing where they were practically sideways, but somehow stayed on the benches from the force of gravity. Iann tumbled off with Ciara, headed towards the fairy swings. "You good? You need a drink or anything after getting both threatened and hit on simultaneously? Those pirates, un-fucking-believable..." It was almost as if Iann's joking led to what happened next, a voice, high and fluting, a few paces away from them: "Ciara!" It was Jessica, the witch who'd stood her up for the Horned God date. Jessica made her way over, her smile big and apologetic.

“I don’t know, she was cute. Maybe I should get her number.” Ciara teased, but was cut off as Jess waved at her. She’d grown her hair out since Ciara had last seen her, turned a black bob into waist length beach curls, blonde as a wheat field. Ciara smiled in return, letting go of Iann’s hand as she would in anyone else’s. “Jessica,” she greeted. “You never returned my text.”

”I am so sorry to have left you hanging like that! I went down with the absolute worst case of scale skin, and I couldn’t pick up my phone. I totally didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that. Hi Iann.” Jess said, having to breath after how quickly she’d spoken.

”Don’t worry, I had a good night anyway. I’m sure I’ll catch you around, Jess.” Ciara said, with an air of dismissal.

"Ghost date," Iann proclaimed, like it was a title of the newest Halloween movie in theatres. "I --" But he was cut off by someone else calling Ciara's name; and he instinctively gripped her hand tighter, tensing slightly even as Ciara pulled her hand away from his grip. She seemed relaxed, so he relaxed, and noticed that Jessica...something witch. He couldn't remember her last name, just that she had made arrangements a few months back for some members of her coven visiting Soapberry to book some suites at Stonefruit. "Yo..." Iann said, but had no intention of occupying the conversation, falling back easily to watch the two women. Or really, to watch Ciara. Jess just smiled breezily at Ciara's farewell and wiggled her fingers in goodbye.

"I'm sure you will," Jess said with a meaningful smile. "I'll text you soon..." With a big flip of her long blond hair, she turned and bounced back to her coven-sisters waiting by the churro stand.

“Goodbye, Jess,” Ciara said with a more genuine smile as she watched the younger witch leave. She watched the coven with a lingering gaze for a couple more seconds before she turned back to Iann, looking at him affectionately. “So, what did we decide? Drink, or straight on to the fairy swings?”

Iann moved forward without a blink. "Hot ice cream," Iann said, careening forward into the crowd. He turned intermittently to elaborate to Ciara, using his hands to describe his words. "It's the new thing this festival, apparently. Apparently 'iced hot chocolate' was a big thing in New York for humans, so some fairies came up with a way to make hot ice cream in Soapberry. It's ice creamy, but it's warm." Iann paused for a moment, realizing he was barreling ahead, giving time for Ciara to catch up through the throngs of people. She did slip through easily, like one of her gitturns. "Not that I'm really into ice cream. Do you like ice cream? Sweet things aren't really for me...but maybe they'll have a salty ice cream. Oh - or like a sour one. Lime. I do like lime."

Hot... ice cream? Ciara had to squirm and push her way to keep up, as the crowd closed behind Iann faster than she could keep up. He paused and she reached him. “Who made the hot ice cream? I didn’t hear you over the... screaming child.” She brushed her hand down his arm to catch his hand. “Sour warm and creamy sounds like quite the combination,” she murmured, looking him in the eye. “Why so fast?”

“Fairies – fairies designed the hot ice cream…” Iann frowned and when Ciara took his hand, he stood still. “Now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t be so eager to trust fairies designed a new treat. They own that ice cream parlour in the Crowne, ahhh…’Sugar and Ice’? I’ve never been there myself, but…” He couldn’t help but smile though, when she pointed out how incredibly unappealing that texture/flavour combination sounded. “Okay well, when you put it /that/ way. Maybe we should’ve stuck to the churros. Where your – the – Jessica’s friends were.”

Ciara tilted her head at him, trying to get a read on his expression, what that frown meant, the fast chatter that rambled more than normal. When he did smile, she smiled back, and half turned back to the way they had come. “Do you... want to get churros? Or find somewhere that Jessica’s coven isn’t?”

Iann squinted at her, pulling his bottom lip inwards and against his teeth. "I suppose I'd take churros over sour warm and creamy..." Iann speculated, as Ciara started to turn back. As they headed back, Iann piped up, "So I wanna ask questions without it sounding as if I'm thinking something that I'm not. How do I do that?"

Ciara squeezed his hand tightly as they turned back, leaning into his warmth as they began to push their way through the crowd, together. “Well,” Ciara considered, “You could start by explaining what you are thinking. Or you could trust that I won’t jump to assumptions too fast, and just ask.”

Iann raised her hand and his arm, so that he could loop it around her shoulders. Carefully, in case she was still ailing. She was a heat-seeker, despite running hot herself, and Iann responded well to it. "It's the old standard - I'm curious! About Jessica, she of the Rapunzel-esque hair flip. But I'm not sure if it's okay to ask about your friends, without it sounding like I'm being intrusive or like...demanding you answer me, I guess."

“It’s okay to ask about my friends,” Ciara confirmed. They stopped abruptly for a line of clown to walk past them, but were quickly reaching the churro shop. “If you ask an intrusive or demanding question, I will simply not answer.”

Iann She was defaulting into formality, which Iann had noticed Ciara did from time to time; then again, maybe he was, as she often pointed out, reading too much into it. Blithely he went on, “She’s buddy of yours? That’s good…” Iann figured striking up friendships with other covens was a positive sign, given how tenuous Ciara’s position was with her Witch Killer’s mark. He glared at one of the clowns, who duly glared back. “So many clowns! You guys better be for Halloween and not trying to entertain kids.”

“I think that’s putting it strongly,” Ciara lifted up his hand to quickly kiss his knuckles as they joined the queue for the churros, which wasn’t too long. It was just long enough to ensure the churros they’d get were fresh and hot. “I don’t know anyone else in her coven either.” As they reapproached the group Ciara nodded at Jess’s little wave. “Or they’re for tying magical animal balloon hats.”

"Oh of course, be all logical about it," Iann said in a joking way, as was the roll of his eyes. It seemed one of the clowns liked that Ciara offered that option, and put a balloon-gitturn on her shoulder before the clown cavorted off. "Oh, I see..." Iann said, but didn't really know how to ask follow-up questions about Jess. It was out of his purview of social queries; and Iann really did have a strong sense of not asking after people's inter-personal interactions. And this felt /personal/, moreso than a transactional. So he just ordered churros, a pack of five. "We can fight over the last one." They waited to the side for the fresh churros, and Iann scratched at his cheek and just decided to jump past the whole asking process. Neither of them were stupid, and Iann didn't feel like pretending he was. If he was wrong, he was wrong; he didn't mind that either. "I've never...I mean I wonder what it's like. Dating multiple people at the same time." Iann truly did wonder, trying to imagine it. "Seems intensive."

Ciara plucked the plastic gitturn of her shoulder with a small frown, staring at it. Despite being bright purple, somehow it looked just like Eva. “I think that’s the creepiest thing of the day,” she commented idly, and set it back on her shoulder before looking back up at Iann. They were surrounded by the smell of sizzling dough. Her face scrunched right up, as she tried to work out what just to unpack there first. “No, I’m definitely not dating Jess. Fucking her, yes. Dating, no.” Not that she was sure she would call her and Iann dating either.

"I know...how is it /staying/ on your shoulder?" Iann marveled at the thing for a moment before he turned his attention back to Ciara, just in time to see her doing that cute face-scrunchy thing. God, it was hard not to find her adorable, and he was trying to be serious (because for most people serious = respectful) but he couldn't help but smile. "That seems even /more/ intense! Or does it? Now I don't know. Maybe just intense for me. Not intense to people who...like and want to be...doing sex and...ha -" Iann reached out for his packet of churros, and gave Ciara the cup of hot melted chocolate for dipping. "Hot."

“It’s definitely less intense. No feelings, just fun and relief when it suits us. She’s great, but I wouldn’t have deep conversations about life with her.” She took the hot sauce gingerly between her fingertips, to minimise the contact area. In this heat, it would quickly cool, so she took a churro from his packet and dipped the tip in the sauce. “Mm, yes please. But the sex thing, it’s just about convenience. Nothing else.”

"Mmmhm..." Iann nodded, listening as Ciara described what it was like for her. This was all new information. Not new as in Iann hadn't heard of or didn't know about 'fuck buddies' or 'fwb' or 'casual sex' all the other catchy terms used to define and box and categorize. New as in he believed despite these catch-all terms, only the individual person could describe what the arrangement meant, to and for them. He took a churro too, giving it a couple quick blows before he took a bite - without the chocolate. He just wanted to taste fried dough and cinnamon, and he wasn't disappointed. "I swear to god. If I could live off tacos, elotes and churros, I would. I'm so fucking stereotypical sometimes..." He watched to see if she'd enjoy it too, and then asked, "So I gotta know - y'think this would in theory be something that another person might get jealous of? Or like upset or anything? Insecure, I don't know... I only ask, because TV shows."

Churros were a texture profile made in heaven. The silky dipping chocolate, the brief crunch of the outer shell before the soft doughy centre. “We have to make tacos again soon. We haven’t had dinner in a while.” Ciara raised an eyebrow at him, but had promised not to assume. “It is the kind of thing people get jealous about. If they do, then what happens next depends on how close we are.”

"I'll come over," Iann agreed. "We can make pernil and use it for tacos, instead of al pastor, hm? It'll feel all cultural and shit..." Iann said with a grin. He got the feeling that even more than Miguel, that Ciara understood that weird connection-but-distance from one's heritage that Iann often felt about his own. That he was technically /something/ but that 'something' often felt like an outsider, a wannabe. He grunted as he consumed one of the churros, then gave Ciara a cinnamonny kiss on her cheek. "Sometimes I believe there are things I should feel jealous about, but I'm not. It's apparently a trait that I've fallen short on, in the past." Iann paused and waved his hafl-churro around. "Not that I'm comparing this to anything in my past. Whatever is going on, it's like nothing I've ever experienced, ever. It's all new to me. I'm guessing this is normal for you though, hence why I'm just looking for some guidance. A how-to, I suppose."

Ciara chuckled. “Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. “I’ve never made pernil so you’ll have to teach me.” She knew what he meant. Trying to connect to something that felt so intangible. Food was the easy part, but you couldn’t have culture without connections. “Is it something you want to feel jealous about?” Ciara asked instead, facing him more fully, even as she bit into her churro. “Do you want exclusivity?”

"I'll find a recipe...Or y'know what? My Aunt Hibiscus is from PR, maybe I can wheedle her secret recipe..." Iann laughed, clearly recollecting from some old memory that he'd forgotten. he focused back on Ciara and nodded. "Hopefully Aunt Poppy still keeps in contact with her." Iann pulled out his second churro, torn between wanting to eat it quickly while it still was warm, and slowing down to enjoy it. He dipped this one in the chocolate, pleased when it wasn't too sweet. Almost a bit hot, like it had chili pepper in it. Even better. "Mm," Iann said to stall as he thought about Ciara's question. "Not really, displaying jealousy seems more trouble than it's worth. Besides, I'm sure you don't do well with others getting jealous over you, huh?" Iann said with a grin. And as for exclusivity, he was surprised Ciara asked but at the same time, he appreciated how forthright she was. It was such a relief for him. "No, I don't think so. I might be more...it's more about knowing than anything else. I like hearing about what you get up to. Magic-wise, people-wise, just...anything and everything. I guess for me, the idea of 'loving' is similar to 'sharing'." He paused, then decided to argue with himself. "Granted, I love Freddie, and Bellamy, and other people and I don't really need to know everything about them. I do like knowing about you, though. Is that weird?" Maybe it was. Iann was prepared to be in the minority on his perceptions, knowing he didn't always fit the mould. "Is it...unnatural?"

"I don't like people feeling jealous, no, but there are things that can be done to alleviate it. I'd rather know than not," Ciara said softly, watching as the thoughts churned through his mind. Iann was always thinking. Always arguing and debating when he could, even with himself. "It's not weird, nor unnatural. Not to my knowledge. If you want a log of every person and every time, I might have to disappoint you, I don't really keep track of things. But I'm not intending for it to be secret. I like including you. I like how you care about the every day of me." She kissed him, sugar, chocolate cinammon and blood all in one. "I don't know about telling you everything about me though. How will I maintain my air of mystery?"

Everything Ciara was saying to him made so much sense. Was it perhaps not the ideal time to be talking out such serious, real topics? Maybe; but on the other hand, maybe this impromptu sorting out was perfect for the both of them. It certainly felt good to Iann, and hardly out of place. He liked the spontaneity and things as they came. And it was a delight to see that Ciara seemed to adjust in the same way. "Okay, that sounds like a plan. If I do ever get jelly, I'll be sure to tell you. And y'know, just saying you can tell me whenever - I mean /if/ ever you get a little green-eyed monster yourself...I am something of a catch," he said, laughing at himself immediately, but pulling Ciara in close as she kissed him. It felt luxurious, that kiss. What with them being outside, and the lovely mingling warm taste of her. She liked including him. That sentiment shot a thrill down Iann's spine; one could tell from the way his eyes lit up as she said it. "It's true, I love that whole hard-boiled film noir aura you exude, querida." Teh last churro, he broke in half, giving the bigger piece to Ciara.

Ciara curled her hands in his clothes, grinning her cheshire cat smile up at him. "I don't get jealous," She murmured deeply, and pulled him right up to her, "But I can get very possessive." She stretched up and nipped at his throat. Not even hard enough to leave teeth marks, just the gentlest scrape. She stepped back just to take the last bit of churro and scraped up as much chocolate as she could. "I work hard on it, I appreciate getting the recognition." His eyes lit up, and he was beautiful, so incredibly bright. Stars in the night sky. "You know, I've been thinking on what you said, and I don't think dating is the right word for us here."

Churro break complete, Iann slung his arm around Ciara again to meander them towards the fairy swings. This wasn't a challenging ride at least - a little break between the exciting ones to just sit on little swings and 'fly' in the air, in a circle. No chance of the churros getting upchucked on that ride, so it was the perfect time to grab a snack. And, Iann couldn't help but think (as he idly rubbed along his neck like he was trying to massage the feeling of Ciara's teeth on his skin deeper), apparently the perfect time for discussing their...stuff. He was elated, it was true; and the way Ciara walked next to him, her head held high, only added to his elation. "Oh yeah?" he asked, voice just /slightly/ shaky, as he was still contemplating her statement. She could get very possessive. His voice was wobbled in an entirely good way. "What're you thinking?"

"Yeah," Ciara replied, her voice steady enough for the both of them, and it took a terrible amount of self control not to pin him behind a nearby stall and have her way with him. Later, maybe. She still had a bet to win. The swings were slowing and people were undoing their buckles. She didn't want to get on just yet, not while they were on this strand of thinking, so she pulled them right out of the queue, to the side so they could talk a moment longer. "I'm not sure. Dating makes it all sound rather superfluous. This is something else, something deeper. I'm not sure I want to keep dancing around this. If you do, that's okay too."

Iann looked at Ciara, the intent, quiet expression on her face. He couldn't help cupping it, waiting for Ciara's hands to cover his own as he held onto her, cradled her as if she were delicate. Sometimes, she could be delicate; he'd never point it out, but he felt like this was one of those moments, amidst the scent of sugar and the giggling screams of children. "No, you're right, I agree," Iann said, nuzzling at her face. She'd pulled them into an isolated little spot, and Iann took advantage of their solitude. "I love dancing /with/ you, nena." Not around, but with. "I love it so much."

The insides of his hand were hot against Ciara’s cheek as he cradled her face. They were plenty secluded right now, the voices of children passing in and out. Squeaks and squeals of people enjoying the rides and the food and eachother. Iann nuzzled against her, and she opened her lips to mouth at his skin hungrily. She wrapped her hands around the back of her neck, and curled her fingers in his hair. She swayed a little, although the carnival music had no rhythm to sway to. "I love dancing with you too. I want you, mi alma."

"Te quiero..." Iann said, and he wanted to say more. He wanted her in his life, for a long time. He wanted to stand by her side for things like holding hands, or going to see a thing together, or making decisions about things, life things. Plans, like Hawaii - or maybe nothing that wide a scope, not yet. Small plans for now then, like...well. Like they were doing right now. Making an evening together, solidifying what they were together. Iann swayed against her. "Together. You lead, and I'll follow," Iann kissed the words against Ciara's hair, only he took up one of her hands and put his arm around her waist in the leading position, his actions mild and contrary to his words.

"Te quiero," Ciara echoed, nuzzling against his skin as he pressed his words into her hair. Her heart was pumping against his, as he took her hand and her waist in his. All she did was sway, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Together. But querido, sometimes I like you to lead too. Back and forth, right?" And here she lead them, into the waltz they'd been forced to learn by nymphs trying to fix a broken marriage. They danced to a carousel tune as the swings spun not far away. "I like meeting your wants too."

Iann didn't exactly forget everyone else around him, so much as he merely funneled all of his focus on Ciara, and Ciara alone as she took them into a spin, the steps familiar and memorized so well - so intently - that now Iann could only laugh from the exhilaration of being free. Free from nymphs trying to run him through a game, free of blight pockets triny got swallow him up, free of Annie, free of concerns and worries. Just for a moment, that last bit. One could never be completely free of concerns and worries; but in Ciara's arms as they stepped over tarp and trampled grass and discarded corndog sticks, it was was the closest Iann came to it. "Back and forth," Iann said, giving her a twirl and bringing her back against him. Iann held her closer this time. "I love the sound of that." Iann kissed her hand, cupping her palm against his face. "I want a lot more time like this, you and me. We can be slow about it, I don't mind. Whatever pace you need." And that request was even negotiable as far as Iann was concerned. But it felt good knowing he could voice it without the risk of pushing her away for saying it.

Ciara twirled and danced and swayed to the beat of their heartbeat. Back and forth, he said, and the switch between them was perfect, Iann effortlessly guiding her around him. "I like the sound of it too," she agreed, as he manipulated her hand, and brought it close to him. She brushed her thumb over his five o'clock shadow. "I want that too. Maybe not dancing with a plastic toy on my shoulder, but yes, I'd like that too. Time away from all of that," she gestured, out into the world, and its gods and demons and dead dogs. "Time for you and me." She wasn't afraid anymore. Not of the things which haunted her, or the fear of using him. This was how they fit, as far as she was concerned. "You're so incredibly beautiful."

She touched Iann with a graceful ease, like she felt comfortable and relaxed even as her touch quickened his heartbeat and his breathing, spreading warmth throughout him. It was a sublime juxtaposition, broken only when Ciara reminded Iann about the little balloon gitturn on her shoulder, and he exploded a small laugh into her palm. "Yeah. Time away but also time to sort things out...when we talked in the gazebo? The topics weren't pleasant, but I did like listening to you. And I liked talking to you and venting as well. I like how you listen to me. I want to do that with you, all the good and bad stuff." Iann knew he could handle it, and he knew Ciara could handle it too. She wouldn't shut down and he wouldn't overload. "Only you would call me beautiful, amor." He looked up at the fairy swings soaring above them, one person to a swing, a distance apart. But they were so close now, and Iann didn't want to let her go. "Y'know if we go on that ride, I'm gonna have to swing it so that I can grab a hold of your hand."

Ciara laughed along with him, but it quickly stilled at what he said next. "Yeah. It was good to talk. And I liked listening to you, and help you. I just don't know that I can promise all the good and all the bad. But as much as possible." She kissed him quickly in apology, his lips and then his cheek. "Then I'm the only one who sees you right." She followed his gaze up to the swings, and squeezed Iann tight. "Or we could just not. We could stay together. Ride things where we can hold eachother, or, you know, go somewhere else for a fun ride."

"As much as possible," Iann agreed, his tone soft and private. All Iann had to do, really, was consider just how much things had changed for Ciara over the course of her time in Soapberry. He knew he was only a small piece of her puzzle, that she had to very slowly and carefully construct for herself. With no guiding reference of what the end picture of Ciara's life would look like. He had no idea what to say to her definitive statement, about seeing him /right/. He just blushed, and cleared his throat, and looked around. "Ahhh...ferris wheel? We don't have to do them in order. Plus we can get a carriage all to ourselves." And hell yes, Iann was planning to bribe the carny to keep them up at the top of the wheel for a good five, ten minutes.

"Ferris wheel," Ciara agreed, basking in the heat of his cheeks. He didn't blush often enough, Ciara thought, and she needed to make it her personal mission to fix that. She stole one last kiss, for good measure, and tucked her arm through the crook of his as they returned from their secluded area. A couple of people gave them dirty looks, but their guesses couldn't have been further from the truth. They had kissed, and danced, but nothing else. Unaware of his devious plan, Ciara walked with him (and right now, neither was pulling the other along) to the ferris. The queue was very short for this one, and it was only seconds before they were climbing into their carriage, alone.

Iann made sure to grease the carny's palm - he was sure most couples who came here tried to do the same, so Iann decided he'd be extravagant about his own bribe, and subtle about it too. Not to hide from Ciara per se, but just from the other people lined up. He gave Ciara a wink as they climbed in, and as the slowly started to move up to let people fill the other carriages, Iann kissed Ciara, full and deep. "I don't know what it is about you. Everything we do, it feels so different and new to me. Just kissing you, like...its like I'm fired up but also so calm, at the same time? It's indescribable, nena." He chuckled. "Or maybe it's just nonsensical."

His kiss was like fireworks, the build up of every other kiss of the evening culminating in this. They were just one of several other couples, so even if people could see them, they weren't too identifiable. When he broke away, it was a small whine from deep in her throat, but her eyes grew big as he talked. "Like laser focus," Ciara agreed. "Right now it's amazing to make you my whole world." As they rose up over the canopy of the tents, the wind picked up, so Ciara enchanted imperviousness into both their bloods. "You have no idea how good you are to me," she breathed, and leant in until their knees interlock, and kissed him hard. Like there were words she couldn't yet say except like this.

"Gosh golly, sure is nice dating - I mean - being with a witch," Iann hummed, feeling the comfortable temperature settle in his system, despite the cool breezy air around him. He could feel it and he knew it was cool, it just didn't bother him. It occurred to him then though, that they didn't actually put a name to their...situation. It wasn't dating, it was something else. But neither of them had really bothered to identify what word (or words?) to describe that something else. Togetherness seemed good enough for Iann, he decided when Ciara told him in different terms, how much he meant to her. It was a beautiful thing to say, and it was indicative of their togetherness. "Yeah, I like that," Iann approved. Of what Ciara said, of the 'togetherness' in his mind, and of the way she turned into him, fitting herself against him as he did the same with her. Her kiss was transformative - all of her kisses were. The little quick peppered ones, the sultry ones full of promise, the sad ones, and then these ones that felt like milestones. Milestone kisses, he thought as he kissed her back. Soon, he'd name all of her kisses, for his own private personal pleasurable collection. When he opened his eyes, they were at the top of the Ferris wheel, and Iann's hand slid down Ciara's body, along the inside of her thigh. "Soooo, how healed up are you, these days?"

#ciara #and it's very sweet and smooooshy

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sockablock · 6 years

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Chapter 10: A Technicolor Sunset

“They’re asleep right now,” Jester murmured when she opened the front door. “And they smell really bad, but that’s because we found them in the trash.”

“Ah,” Molly said knowingly. “They must be one of Beau’s relatives.”

Beau glowered at him from over Jester’s shoulder. “I would kick your ass for that, Tealeaf, but we’ve got more important things to deal with.”

“If she is avoiding violence,” Caleb nodded, “then it must be urgent. What exactly did you find?”

Jester moved aside so they could walk in. “See for yourself,” she said. “And take your boots and coats off, all of you are covered in snow.”

They entered the living room, unsure of what to expect. They stopped short in front of the couch. Three pairs of eyes went wide.

“Tolle,” Caleb breathed. “Is that…?”

“They’re kind of cute,” Jester murmured. “But I’m a little worried. They didn’t wake up when I put them down, or when I turned the space heater on.”

“Or when I sprayed them with air freshener,” Beau added. “And I’m not really sure how to check for a pulse on…on…whatever these are.”

Molly and Nott only stood and stared at the bundle huddled against the cushions, but Caleb crouched down to get a better look. Right there in front of him, snuggled tightly within a pile of blankets that smelled like a tropical sunset, was a tiny, ruffled, little black-feathered kenku.

It was breathing faintly. But it was breathing.

He turned back toward the others. “Do you have any more heaters?” he asked quietly. “Or any more blankets?”

“I think there’s an extra quilt in my closet,” Beau nodded, and ran off to fetch it.

In the waiting silence that followed, Nott leaned over and tugged on Jester’s sleeve. “What, um, what are we going to do when they wake up?”

Jester glanced hopefully towards Caleb and Molly. “I’m not sure, yet. I was kind of wondering if you guys had any ideas?”

Molly took a seat on the coffee table and sighed. “Let’s just wait and see what they say to us,” he tried. “Then I guess we…wing it?”

Caleb snorted. “Oh, wing it,” he chuckled, and shook his head. “Good, that is funny.”

Molly blinked a few times. Then realization hit and he grinned, nodded, his horn charms jingling brightly. “Ha! I didn’t even realize, myself. Well do—”

“Look, look!” Nott hissed, cutting them off suddenly and pointing frantically at the couch. “Look, it’s moving.”

The bundle on the cushions quivered. It trembled. It shook slightly, and a pair of bright yellow eyes slowly peeked open.

Then they immediately snapped shut and the kenku chirped in terror, frantically trying to hide itself under the blankets.

“Wait, wait,” Jester cried, “don’t—don’t be afraid, this is just my couch!”

This was met with another scared squawk, and more flinching.

Caleb leaned forward carefully and said, as softly as he could, “We do not want to hurt you. We are…well, we want to be friends.”

It seemed to react to that, and paused. “Friends?” it echoed back in a perfect imitation of Caleb’s voice.

The group exchanged surprised glances. Jester was the first to recover.

She nodded and said, gentle as could be, “Yes. And we want to help. Could you let us help you?”

Its face re-emerged. At a closer glance, it sort of looked like an enormous raven, but with a smaller beak and much larger, golden eyes set in more human-than-bird-like proportions. And as the group stared, the kenku returned with its own intense, searching gaze.

“Help you?” it echoed.

“Yes, help. We found you outside, are…are you okay?”

It considered this for a moment. “Okay?” it responded.

And then Beau rounded the corner with a tall stack of blankets in her arms. “Alright, guys, I’ve got the—”

She stopped at the entrance to the living room. She looked around in mild panic at this new development.

“Hey, Beau!” Jester called. She, on the other hand, was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Say ‘hi’ to our new friend!”

Beau carefully moved closer, not taking her eyes away from the kenku. “Uh…hi, there?”

“Hi, there?”

She dropped the blankets onto the rug. She sat down.

“Well, then…alright. Sure. Talking bird. That’s definitely not the weirdest thing to happen to me today.”

“Don’t be rude,” Jester admonished, then turned to the kenku. “Ignore her, she’s not good at being nice. What’s your name?”

It opened its beak to respond, but nothing came out. It seemed frustrated by this, trying a few more times to speak before giving up and looking frantically around the room. After a moment, its gaze fell on the coffee table, where on of Jester’s discarded magazines lay. It pointed at them meaningfully.

“Your name is Iva?” Nott gasped. “Oh my gods, are you the writer of the column?”

Molly rolled his eyes. “Obviously they want paper to write on, you little gremlin.”

“Hey! I’m a goblin—”

“Hang on, hang on,” and Jester grabbed her backpack off the ground. She rummaged around, then produced a notebook and a pen.

Caleb’s eyebrow went up. “Isn’t that your chem—”

“Dooon’t worry about that.” Then Jester turned again to the kenku and added, “Feel free to write all over that, little birdy! Or, wait…are you little?” She tapped her chin. “Are you a grown-up, or are you a kid?”

“A kid,” came the echo.

Nott’s wary expression immediately melted. Jester’s heart had already turned to mush hours ago, but she still found room for her eyes to soften further. Even Molly was starting to look mildly sympathetic.

The kenku held up the notebook. Scrawled across a page in surprisingly tidy handwriting were the words:

Thank you.

“Oh,” Jester squealed, brining her hands up to her cheeks, “oh, you are welcome! How old are you, what’s your name?”

“What are you?” Nott chimed in. “A girl, or a boy, or…or just a bird?”

A few moments of silence, as the scritch-scratching of the pen dominated the conversation. Then the words:

Four. Kiri. I am a girl.

“Aw,” Nott murmured, and Jester nodded excitedly.

“Kiri, you are four years old? That’s so wonderful!”

A happy trill answered that, Kiri seemingly brightening at the sound of her own name. She looked considerably more settled now, and had even let the nest of blankets fall apart around her. Her feathers rose and fell under the waves coming off the space heater, and her eyes glittered almost as vibrantly as Nott’s.

“What were you doing in the dumpster?” Molly asked, leaning forward. “And why were you in that alley, in the first place?”

“Do you live around here?” Jester added.

Kiri shook her head. She picked up the pen again.

Family going west. Escaping east mountains. Father said valley-folk fighting.

Caleb nodded slowly. “There were reports of skirmishes along the borders,” he muttered. “Our dear empire is not a very friendly neighbor.”

“Have you been travelling far?” Beau tried, and Kiri just shrugged.

“Where…where is your family now?” Jester asked tentatively.

Kiri lifted the pen as if she were about to write something, then paused and lowered her head. She made sad sort of hum.

“Oh, no,” Jester said. “Oh, no, no, no…are…are your momma and dad okay?”

Kiri helplessly shrugged again. Caleb felt his stomach sink.

“You don’t know where they are?” Jester asked. “How did you get separated?”

After a few moments, Kiri flipped the notebook around:

Came to the city by accident. Lights too bright, we got lost. People outside started to chase us, so we ran to not be taken. Ran for a long time. I fell off the wall into a box, top got stuck, family could not get me out. Couldn’t risk sisters or selves. So kept going.

“No,” Nott breathed, eyes going wide.

“Oh, no,” Jester murmured, “oh, Kiri…”

Stuck there for a while. Not their fault. Don’t want them to die for my carelessness.

In the silence that followed, Kiri closed the book and handed it back to Jester. She accepted it with a trembling hand, then turned towards the others.

“We have to get her back to her family,” she said softly. “Guys…we have to find her parents.”

Nott nodded emphatically, though Caleb’s expression did not change and Molly only looked weary.

“Do you know where they were heading?” the tiefling asked. “Do you know where to go?”

Kiri gave a trill that suggested she did not.

“How many sisters do you have?” Jester tried. “Are they older, or—”

Then there was a noise at the front door, a muffled swear and the sound of a key being fumbled into the lock. After a moment, Fjord’s voice rang out through the wood.

“Are y’all good? I’m off work now, I took the subway over since Molly stole my car. Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes!’ Jester answered. “Yes, definitely!” She turned back to Kiri and said, calmly, “hang on one second! Someone else is coming, his name is Fjord and he’s also a friend. Don’t mind his teeny tusks, he’s growing them back in.”

Then the door opened and Fjord appeared, wrapped tightly in a thick winter jacket and covered in a fine dusting of snow. His pink knitted scarf had been frozen solid, and he looked grateful for the apartment’s heavy warmth.

“So, what was it that y’all found?” he asked as he shrugged his shoes off. “You sounded real frantic in the—”

He looked up, and paused. He stared at the enormous bird sitting on the living room couch.

“Oh,” he said. “Uh…hello, there?”

“Don’t mind his teeny tusks,” Kiri said.

In the bewildered silence that followed, Caleb sighed and shook his head. “I think I should make us some tea. Jester and Beau, if you do not mind…?”

“Nah, uh, go for it.”

Jester nodded distractedly, caught between delight and a sudden, sheepish guilt.

Caleb stood wearily. “Fjord?” He turned to the half-orc, and gestured at the couch. “This is Kiri. Kiri, meet Fjord. I will be back with some warm drinks.”

Molly got up to follow him. “I’ll help you, dear. After all, tea’s my middle name! More or less.”

•

By the time they returned with seven steaming mugs of oolong tea, Fjord had been filled in on the situation and Kiri, being more-or-less four years old, was beginning to look exhausted. Her eyes would occasionally flutter closed, and she had to ruffle her feathers and shake her head to open them back up.

“One thing’s for sure, she should stay here tonight.” Beau said as Molly passed her the last cup. “It’s fucking cold out, and it’s probably too late to go around and ask the neighbors if they know anything.”

“You should try putting word out online,” Molly suggested. “See if anyone’s seen a family of…what was it, again?”

“Kenku,” Caleb supplied, plopping down into the nearest armchair. “Bird people. But I doubt the internet would be helpful in this case. I do not want to ask strangers about a child, and I do not think her family would be on social media searching for her. Kenku societies are not well-known, or…technologically advanced, according to what I remember. Is, er, is that true?” he added with a searching glance at Kiri.

She blinked back at him. She pecked at the mug between her feathery hands.

“I’m inclined to believe that,” Molly sighed.

“We’ll look after you!” Jester said confidently. “Don’t worry!”

“I’d be down,” Beau shrugged. “Birdseed isn’t so expensive, right? Er…do you eat birdseed?”

“Do you eat birdseed?”

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“She can’t stay forever though, right?” Fjord asked slowly, glancing between Jester and Beau. “I mean…yeah, sure, it’s fine for now, but…you two can’t take care of her forever. Plus there’s gonna be a whole roommate-apartment-rearrange in a few weeks.”

Jester bit her lip. “I know, I know…this is just a for now solution.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out by then,” Beau shrugged. “Don’t worry so much.”

Fjord did not seem entirely convinced, but he nodded, and went back to his tea.

“Maybe if Caleb makes a bunch of more money from tutoring, she could come stay with us!” Nott suggested. “I don’t have a job, so I could stay home and watch her!”

“Er…as exciting as that sounds,” Caleb said weakly, “I am not sure that is the best plan. Our house is not exactly the most conducive to raising a child. A…bird, child. And also I do not think either of us are qualified.”

“I would have to opt out of long-term bird-kid care too,” Molly nodded. “But hey, like I said, we’ll figure it out! I’ll…put something up on Craigslist just in case. I’m already looking for a roommate there, as is.”

“I am not giving Kiri up to a Craigslist responder!” Jester snapped.

“That website is pretty sketchy,” Beau agreed. “I mean, who even is Craig?”

“He’s a gnome,” Nott supplied. “They say he’s trustworthy.”

“I think we definitely should avoid that plan,” Fjord sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s…just take the Mollymauk Approach, for now. We ignore the big problem, and focus on what we can solve.”

“It’s a tried and tested method,” Molly grinned. “I do it all the time.”

“Right,” Fjord nodded. “For now, Kiri stays here. For now.”

“Great!” Jester grinned. “Oh, I am so excited for you to be a part of our family!”

“Our family?”

“Yeah, sure,” Beau said. “What the hell.”

Caleb glanced around at the group assembled, and nodded. “If that is the case, then, I think perhaps Nott and I should head home. I have work tomorrow morning, and the snow will only be making the roads worse and worse.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Molly said immediately. “Here, let me drive you back. Or, uh, Fjord, you can do it if you want…?”

The half-orc shook his head, instead turned Jester and Beau. “Actually, uh, if it’s alright, could I stay the night? I can help make sure Kiri’s alright. I, uh, I feel a bit bad for coming so late.”

“I don’t really think we need help,” Beau muttered, “but feel free, yeah.”

Jester had an eyebrow raised, but she didn’t argue. “I’m definitely not going to say no to your company, silly.”

Fjord cracked a smile. “Great,” he said, and started patting down his pockets. “In that case, where are…”

Molly held up a hand, a ring of keys jingled in his grasp. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ve got them.”

Fjord sighed. “You know, I’m not even surprised.”

Nott, Caleb, and Molly all stood, giving one last glance to the ever-sleepier Kiri.

“It was nice to meet you,” Caleb said softly. “We will see you at some point, I am sure.”

“Hey, you could come to movie night!” Nott said excitedly. “You’d love it, I bet!” She glanced hopefully at the rest of the group. “Wouldn’t that be cool, guys?”

Jester nodded immediately. “That would be awesome! And Nott’s right, Kiri you’d have so much fun!”

“So much fun!”

“Exactly!” Nott beamed. “Please, Caleb?”

He gave her an amused smile. “Er…sure,” he said. “Ja, that sounds fine.”

“Well then,” Molly said, “in that case, I suppose I will see you tomorrow, small bird.”

Aforementioned avian gave him a tired nod with half-closed eyes.

“Alright, alright, it’s bedtime for Kiri now,” Nott said decisively. “Tomorrow we’ll talk more! Welcome to the gang, Kiri! We’re going to be the best of friends.”

“The best of friends,” she agreed sleepily. “Welcome to the gang.”

Caleb nodded to the rest. “See all of you tomorrow, then. I will…buy birdseed, I suppose.”

“Get the kind with peanuts, that’s the good shit,” Beau said.

There was a moment where they all processed the implications of that statement. Then Beau’s expression hardened, and they all immediately moved on.

“Good night, dears.”

“Gute nacht.”

“See you!”

And with that, they collected their coats and scarves, slipped on their boots, and made their way out of the apartment and into the night.

•

“Mollymauk, that was a red light.”

“What? Oh, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Nott’s shrill voice rang out from the back. “You weren’t what?”

The station wagon, a dark blue monstrosity that Fjord had acquired at some point in the distant past, rattled on ominously as Molly swerved through the streets. Its windshield wipers frantically cleared snow from the front of the vehicle, and its tires ground hard against the slowly-forming ice. Caleb was in the front passenger’s seat, safely buckled in and looking only mildly terrified. Nott, by herself at the back, being flung around the faded leather seats, had already begun to text Jester her last will and testament.

Molly seemed perfectly at ease.

“Don’t worry so much, I’m an excellent driver,” he grinned, and tilted the wheel so that the car suddenly jerked left. “I’ve been driving for…for…well, for as long as I can remember.”

“That is a strange way to phrase it,” Caleb remarked. “Have you been driving since you were an infant, then?”

Molly snorted. “Nobody remembers when they were a baby, that’s just science. Try again, smart one.”

Caleb managed to crack a smile at that, though it immediately faded when they barreled through a crosswalk without stopping to check for pedestrians. He settled for sighing, and tightening his grip on the door handle. Maybe he should prep a Mage Armor, just in—

“How long do you think that little bird is going to last with us?” Molly asked. “A few days, maybe?”

Nott frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “Kiri is going to stay as long as she needs to. Until we figure out what to do with her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Molly sighed, “I know that’s the plan, but do you really expect it to happen like that? I mean, I love Jester and I suppose Beau is alright, but they certainly don’t know how to raise a child. None of us do. What…what are you even supposed to feed her? Does she need to go to school? What kind of clothes do you put on a bird?”

“Jester can knit,” Nott countered. “Not…not super-well, but I’m sure she could do it. And school is for losers.”

“I went to school,” Caleb said absent-mindedly.

“Oh, sorry—”

“No, no, it is alright. I was quite a loser.”

Molly laughed, and pulled the car up against the curb outside Caleb’s apartment. The tires made a suspiciously agonizing groan as they scraped against the concrete, but otherwise didn’t seem to take any damage.

“You don’t have to take that question seriously,” he shrugged. “I was just thinking out loud. Now,” he added with a grin, “get out of my car.”

“This is Fjord’s car,” Nott said, sticking her tongue out. “Also, you shouldn’t be allowed to drive.”

“Do not be so rude,” Caleb chastised, though his tone suggested that he might be inclined to agree. “Mollymauk was kind enough to take us home, and that is already quite good.”

“Anything for you, Mister Caleb,” Molly chuckled. “Though next time, I wouldn’t mind if you decided to keep a certain little green menace at home.”

Nott glared at him through the rear-view mirror, unbuckled her seatbelt, and was out of the car in a flash. Caleb followed quickly, but just as he was about to open the door, he turned and glanced back at Molly with a faint smile.

“I do mean it, Mister Mollymauk. Thank you.”

Molly fought to keep a neutral expression. “Of course,” he nodded. See you tomorrow for movies?”

“And Thursday for some coffee,” Caleb added softly. “Er…gute Nacht.”

And with that, he nudged the door shut, and vanished into the night with Nott at his side.

Molly put the car back into drive. He flipped the windshield wipers back on, and headed home with the snow twirling down onto the streets around him.

•

Jester flopped onto the mattress and hummed softly to herself as she waited for Fjord to finish getting ready for the night. He had spent the last few hours standing awkwardly off to the side, watching Jester and Beau convince Kiri to take a bath; watching them figure out that cereal and day-old fruit were acceptable foods for four-year-old kenkus; watching them butcher a t-shirt’s sleeves to fit a pair of wings; then finally watching them summarize Tusk Love without the nasty bits to try and lull her to sleep.

Now it was late, and Beau was passed out on the couch, Kiri securely tucked into her bed.

Fjord glanced at his reflection in Jester’s mirror and ran a hand through his hair.

“You don’t have to try and be handsome tonight, Oskar,” Jester supplied helpfully. “I’m way too tired to have sex after all of that.”

He immediately spluttered, spun around blushing furiously. “I-I wasn’t—Jes, that’s not why I asked to stay the night!”

Jester sat up, crossed her hands over her stomach. “Oh, well, in that case, what’s up?”

Fjord sighed and rested his elbows in his knees, chin in his palms. “I, uh, actually, I just wanted to…talk.”

“Talk?” She cocked her head to one side. “What about?”

Fjord sighed again, rubbed his temples. “Ugh, it’s…I don’t, I mean…I’m really not sure how to say this…right.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Say what, Fjord?”

He hesitated, which only made her expression even more concerned. “Fjord?” she prompted gently. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know.” Then he took a deep breath and asked:

“Jester? Do you really want to move in together?”

She blinked. She leaned forward, a puzzled smile across her face. “Um…of course?” she said. “What kind of question is that, silly? What…do you think that I don’t?”

He swiftly backpedaled. “No, no! I…I know you do, I knew you did, it’s just…I dunno, I feel like maybe I’m the only one…taking it seriously? I mean, I know you’re busy, gods, I feel like a jerk even bringing it up, but…I’ve sort of been doing all the paperwork, and getting the furniture together, and fixin’ up the rooms by myself? And I kind of don’t…like…I’m afraid you’re not doing anything because you don’t want to actually live together? Oh, gods, that sounded so bad, that’s not what I mean, you’ve got a ton on your plate, I mean—”

“Fjord,” she said gently. “It’s okay. Just finish the thought.”

He exhaled slowly, and nodded. “It’s just…there’s that, and also…a few things have happened lately that make me a little worried about the future. I’ve, uh, I’ve learned a bit more about my magic, I think, and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. And…I’ve also thought a bit about what you told me, about the Traveler and how he’s given you powers, and I’m not really sure what that means either. And then there’s…there’s other things, too.”

“Other things?”

“…yeah. Like, findin’ Kiri, and what we’re gonna do with her. I mean, I know I said it before, but you really do understand that we can’t keep her around forever, right? We’re both crazy busy, and, and not ready for that kind of responsibility.”

Jester leaned back against the headboard. She stared at the mattress. “Yeah…yeah, I know,” she murmured. “But it’s so sad what happened to her, Fjord! I just want to keep helping her, forever. And, and isn’t it a little exciting to be able to help someone and to take care of someone who needs you?” She looked up hopefully. “It makes me feel really good, like I’m a good person that can make a difference! And that makes me kind of super-happy.”

“Jester?”

“Yes?”

“…do you want kids?”

There was a very long pause.

“…maybe?”

Fjord threw his hands up into the air. “That’s what I mean,” he sighed. “There’s…there’s so much stuff that we really haven’t talked about. And so many things that I still don’t know. And this…this moving in thing, I’m really happy we’re doing it, and I, I’m thrilled that you’re willing to take this step with me, but it’s a huge step. What if…what if we’re not ready? What if some…what if something comes along to ruin it for us?”

“Are you…worried that the Traveler isn’t going to like us moving in?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I dunno. And I dunno if the Traveler is the only one who’s got a stake in this.”

Jester was quiet for a moment. Then she gestured to the empty space on the bed next to her, and gave Fjord a meaningful look.

He came over, sat down. She gently guided him down until his cheek was lying against her thigh.

She put a hand in his hair, and sighed.

“I love you, Fjord.”

“I love you too, Jes.”

She nodded, and started stroking his hair gently. “You know…” she murmured, “you know…sometimes, things happen. Sometimes you make a bad choice. I made a bad choice once, and had to leave my home, remember? But then I met you. And then I met Beau, and Yasha, and Molly, and Caleb and Nott. And I think, even though it hurt when it happened, and even though I’m still sad that I can’t go back and visit my Momma, I think it was worth it.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Fjord. And I don’t want you to be sad, but I think that maybe…maybe even if it’s not the best choice, we should still try to do this thing together. Because…because in the end, no matter what happens, I think it will be worth it.”

Fjord felt her lean down, and kiss the top of his head. A hard knot, stuck deep in his chest for the last few days, began to unwind.

He smiled faintly. “I think it’ll be worth it too, Jes.”

“I’ll prove to you that I mean it,” she said softly. “I’m sorry you had to be worried that I wasn’t serious about this.”

He quickly shook his head. “No, no, I…I was just gettin’ into my own head, there, I didn’t—”

She shushed him gently. “I’ll prove it,” she insisted. “I haven’t done as much for the apartment—”

“—I mean—”

“—it’s true. I…I didn’t realize, but you’re really it’s true, Fjord. I should be helping you. What’s something that you haven’t finished yet that I can do?”

He considered this for a moment. “I…I guess we still need to paint the bedroom?”

She grinned widely at that. “Oh, painting? Oh, I can do that! What color?”

A faint smile crept across Fjord’s face. “You’re the expert, Jes. What color do you want?”

She brought her hands to her face and squealed. “Oh my gosh, any color?”

“Er…hang on, will I regret this decision?”

Jester laughed. “Do you trust me, Oskar?”

He chuckled as well. “Of course I do, Guinevere.”

“You’re going to love it, I promise you, oh I know exactly what to do!”

Fjord reached up a hand, and she took it. He tilted his head to meet her gaze.

“I’d love whatever you painted, Jes. I’m sure it’ll be perfect.”

She leaned down. “I’m happy you think that.”

After she pulled back, they lay there in the warm silence for a few soft moments. Then Fjord glanced at the clock and swore.

“Gods, we’ve got classes tomorrow, don’t we?”

“Actually, I’ve got a final exam.”

“You what?”

Jester grinned. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’ve got this. But I think maybe we should go to bed.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

He got up, waited for Jester to pull the blankets over herself and get comfortable before he slipped underneath as well.

He leaned in for one last kiss. And, giggling, she obliged.

•

Today 12:03AM

Mollymauk Tealeaf sent a photo Mollymauk Tealeaf sent a photo Mollymauk Tealeaf sent a photo

Molly Tealeaf: let it be known Molly Tealeaf: that on this day, the 14th of horisal Molly Tealeaf: YOU texted ME first, asking ME to get coffee with YOU Molly Tealeaf: PROVED by these screenshots Molly Tealeaf: look at that initiative! youre blowing me away, dear Molly Tealeaf: admittedly you did it through Nott Molly Tealeaf: and technically I guess it happened yesterday now Molly Tealeaf: but it still happened!! Molly Tealeaf: and it’s the thought that counts Molly Tealeaf: gods im only just realizing now how creepy this is Molly Tealeaf: I hope you don’t mind oh jeez Molly Tealeaf: but hey, at least you’ll never read this Molly Tealeaf: ive gotten so used to using this chat as a weird sort of diary Molly Tealeaf: plus this was such a rare moment, I couldn’t resist! Molly Tealeaf: anyways, thank you for listening so well as always Molly Tealeaf: and feel free to ask me to steal fjord’s car whenever you need Molly Tealeaf: good night, dear, and sleep tight Molly Tealeaf: don’t let the goblins bite!

•

It was Wednesday morning, and Beau, Nott, and Kiri stood at the mouth of Woolbridge Street, one of the biggest shopping districts in the city. Strings of colorful fabric and blinking lights hung across the sky, and dozens and dozens of people were out and about this morning, likely getting a head-start on holiday shopping. These stores weren’t known for being as fancy as the Tri-Spires’ various boutiques, or as renowned as the Pentamarket’s, but they were definitely cheaper, way more entertaining, and most of the owners here were willing to adjust their clothing for the…less conventional body-types that lurked on the outskirts of society. It was here that Nott had once gotten a pair of gloves made to mimic human hands, for instance, with the perks of no questions asked.

“Sooo,” Beau said, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of choices, “where…uh…where do you think we should start?”

From somewhere around her left knee, Nott spoke up. “I think I remember one place with a blue door that was for kids…maybe?” Then she paused. “Actually, it might’ve just been for gnomes and halflings. I don’t know, the whole time I was here I was mostly just sort of panicking.”

“Just sort of panicking,” came the echo from Beau’s right knee. “The whole time,” Kiri added emphatically.

Beau sighed, and rubbed her face. “Okay, okay, we can just try ‘em all. One is bound to have clothes that’ll work.”

“It probably won’t be too hard,” Nott agreed, trying to be optimistic. “Jester gave us plenty of money, we just have to find stuff that Kiri likes!”

“That Kiri likes!”

Beau nodded. She squeezed Nott’s oddly-textured grip with one hand, and Kiri’s thin, claw-like grasp with the other. “Alright, gang,” she said. “Let’s…fuckin’ do some shopping.”

•

Caleb glanced at Frumpkin, who was staring back at him expectantly from atop the refrigerator.

“Do you have any advice for me?” he asked.

The cat meowed, which was not unexpected.

He set his mop aside and took a seat on one of the kitchen chairs. “My fortunes are turning, Frumpkin,” he sighed. “Nott and I have more money than we know what to do with. I have so much paper, I could make a thousand little cranes and not feel guilty. We even tried that new kind of food that has no meat in it! Which Nott absolutely hated, though in retrospect I suppose I should have thought of that in advance.”

Then Caleb put his forehead against the table. “I also have friends now, Frumpkin. Friends that I care deeply about. I would do anything to see them happy. And…and there is one of them who, who keeps trying to talk to me, and be nice to me, and spend time with me. And just the other day, I reciprocated. And it felt good. And then it felt so, so wrong.”

Caleb peeked one eye up at his cat. “Now…now I don’t want to lose these people,” he said quietly. “Since meeting them, since meeting Nott, really, I have not thought about my old goals. I cannot. But…but that is wrong. Am I not betraying my parents? Am I not betraying everything I used to love, in favor of those I love now? What…what am I supposed to do?”

Frumpkin meowed again.

Caleb scoffed. “I am sure they would want me to be happy too,” he muttered darkly. “But I also wanted them to be happy. And they were, until I ruined it. Now, with this…this new family, I do not think I deserve to be happy.”

Frumpkin blinked those large golden eyes, and Caleb hesitated.

“But—”

Frumpkin meowed again. Caleb looked down, and considered this for a moment.

“I…I suppose you are right,” he murmured quietly. “I suppose they do.”

•

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 4:17PM

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* sent a photo

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: ISNT SHE SO ADORABLE (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: LOOK AT THAT LITTLE DRESS, AND THAT LITTLE GREEN CAPE? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: OH ITS PRECIOUS Drunkmonk: oh yeah I think we did pretty good NottSoBrave: we did AMAZING Lavender Thunder: oh yes very cute Seaman: nice job gals NottSoBrave: gals Seaman: is there something wrong with my word choice nott? NottSoBrave: nott at all Seaman: oh great Seaman: and also Jes, how’d your exam go? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: oh it was totally good! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: im a math master thanks to Caleb (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: Nott tell Caleb that he’s the best NottSoBrave: I will let him know

•

Mollymauk, illuminated in the darkness by his computer screen, glanced up from the living room sofa as Fjord walked in with a frown.

“Molly?” the half-orc said. “Why’re you still in your pajamas?”

Molly tugged his earbuds out and raised an eyebrow. “They’re comfortable, dear. And perfect for lounging.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Getty ready? For what?”

Fjord took a seat on the armrest and gestured to the windows. A technicolor sunset splashed across the sky, leaving trails of bright pink, fading yellow, and the faintest hints of purple hanging over the city.

“We’re heading over to Caleb’s in an hour,” he said. “Aren’t you usually on makeup at this point?”

Molly swore, immediately pushed his laptop onto the couch cushion beside him. “Gods, I completely lost track of time!” he groaned, and headed for his bedroom with a curious Fjord at his heels. “I just got so absorbed by these videos! They’re ridiculously addicting.”

“Videos?” Fjord echoed. “What sort of videos?”

Mollymauk sat down at his bureau and began amassing a series of colorful bottles and tiny brushes.

“They were mostly makeup tutorials,” he said. “A few on fashion too, actually.”

“Tutorials?” Now Fjord had a huge grin creeping across his face. “What, the great Mollymauk Tealeaf needs advice?”

Molly scoffed, and opened up a little jar of…of something. “You wound me,” he said indignantly, “I do not need advice. I was watching those videos and critiquing them. Most of those people couldn’t apply eyeliner to save their lives. And most of the information is, is completely useless! I mean, I suppose if you’re a human or an elf it’s alright, but there’s nothing for the rest of us! Those people wouldn’t last a day at the Moondrop. One look at Bosun, or me, or, hah! One look at Kylre, and they would’ve dropped dead.”

“Statistically speaking, I suppose so,” Fjord muttered, and Molly shot him a glare.

“I’m just saying,” the tiefling sighed, “I feel awful for the colorful little teenagers looking for advice online, and not being able to find a lick of it.”

Fjord leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “So why don’t you make one?” he asked. “You love talking, and being showy, and you know plenty about makeup and stuff.”

Molly laughed. “Sure, dear, but I don’t know a thing about, about recording, and uploading videos or whatever. It took me long enough to work out how to use that laptop, gods, and I never want to ask Beau for help again.”

“So ask Jester,” Fjord said. “She knows plenty, I’m sure she’d help.”

Molly hesitated, lowered his…brush, or something, Fjord wasn’t sure. “Do you really think she’d help me?” he asked.

“Yeah, Mol, of course! Jester loves this kind of thing. She has her hands full with, with classes and the big move and a bird-kid, right now, but she’d definitely get you started.”

Molly considered this for a moment. He glanced into the mirror, and stared at his reflection. “I…well, I’d need…hmm.”

Then he picked his brush up again. and leaned forwards.

“I’ll think about it,” he said slowly. “But you know, Fjord Tough, I think you might have just earned yourself some producer credits.”

Fjord blinked. “Uh…is that a good thing?” he asked.

Molly grinned. “It’s great. And if you decide to guest star when I need a half-orc model, I’ll be sure to give you, hmmm, 12% of the profits.”

Fjord stood there in silence for a few beats, before sighing and throwing his arms up into the air. “Sure, I guess?” he tried. “Uh, anyways, I’m gonna go look over my notes for a bit. I’ll just…er…see you later, then?”

Molly waved a hand lazily behind him as Fjord left. “Call me when we’re leaving,” he said. “I need to finish this, and get a few things together.”

•

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 6:49PM

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: whooooooooos excited for moooovies??!!!!! Lavender Thunder: im pretty excited NottSoBrave: IM SO EXCITED NottSoBrave: is kiri coming?? Seaman: Beau is trying to convince her to get into the car right now Seaman: it sounds like she’s almost there (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: SHES IN!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: WE’RE COMIN

•

“Okay!” Jester declared, plopping down onto Caleb’s tattered sofa with Kiri in her lap. “Because we have a child present, watching Tusk Love again is completely out of the question.”

“Oh, thank god,” Beau breathed, and set a twelve-pack of soda cans onto the coffee table. “I swear, if I have to see Guinevere gush over Oskar one more time, I’m going to literally die. Yasha isn’t even here to fuckin’ distract me from their godawful dialogue.”

As Jester slapped a hand to her chest and gaped in horror and astonishment, Molly shook his head and reached for a soda. “I miss her too, dear, but that sort of thing is uncalled for, don’t you think?”

“It’s a modern masterpiece,” Nott agreed. She was perched on the back of the armchair, enjoying this moment of being tall.

“It’s alright,” Fjord shrugged, and collapsed onto the couch next to Jester. “There are definitely worse movies.”

“Oh yeah?” Beau asked. “Name one.”

“Feathered Leather.”

“…okay, yeah, alright.”

“Anyways,” Jester said, waving her hand to call their attention, “I brought a bunch of different movies to try out! I found them in the kids section at the library, and I figured we could choose between them.”

“Oh, Jester,” Beau groaned, “we have to watch a kid’s movie?”

“We have to watch a kid’s movie?” Kiri echoed.

Molly grinned. “See, the bird has the right idea. And besides, I’m sure she could handle a bit of mature content.”

Said bird nodded. “She could handle a bit.”

“No way,” Jester said firmly. “I’m not risking the innocence of this precious angel. At least, not yet. And besides, some of these movies seem really interesting! There’s one about raccoons, or one about a crazy break-in heist, and one about some kids that go to a jungle, I think?”

Nott glanced over her shoulder, and pointed to a DVD case with a faint honeycomb pattern on it. “What about this one?” she asked. “I like the way it looks.”

“What’s the old saying?” Molly quipped, “don’t judge a movie by its cover?”

Nott stuck her tongue out, and Jester laughed. “I think it’s okay to judge just this once! Caleb, it’s your house, want to do the honors?”

“Ja, of course.”

As the television screen began to fizzle and the DVD player began to whirr, Caleb returned to his spot on the couch and the others dove into the pizzas and snacks. Beau had already opened a can of beer, was clinking it against Fjord’s as Jester made a face between them.

Then he felt a finger poke him in the shoulder. He turned to see Molly holding out a paper plates with a slice of pepperoni pizza. He wore a contented grin, and a raised eyebrow as he gestured for Caleb to take it. “You’ve got to eat too, right?” he said. “Here you are, dear.”

Caleb smiled back faintly, and reached out to take it. Then he felt his heartbeat skyrocket as his hand brushed against Molly’s, their skin making contact. He immediately pulled away, yanked back just quickly enough to scatter crumbs into both of their laps. His escalating panic got worse.

“Scheiss, sorry, sorry,” he yelped. “Your pants—”

Molly reached for a napkin and laughed. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, gods know I’ve had worse on them before.”

“Oh, ah…indeed?”

“Indeed, Mister Caleb,” he snorted, and started clearing his lap. “Believe me.”

“I am sorry, though,” he repeated in a strained sort of tone. “I meant it.”

Molly looked up. In the low light, Caleb’s couldn’t see the redness of his cheeks, and those pupil-less eyes hid the way his gaze flickered back and forth in nervousness.

“I mean it too,” Molly whispered. “There really is no worry, I’m not upset. Now let’s watch this children’s movie, eh?”

“Stop talking so much!” Beau hissed from Caleb’s left. “This is actually really good so far.”

Nott had a worried expression across her face. “Should these bears be swearing so much?” she asked. “Is that okay for Kiri to watch?”

“I…uh…I think it should be fine,” Jester said distractedly. “And it’s really it’s only mild swears so far.”

“He’s a total asshole,” Kiri piped up in a voice that sounded like an old-timey mobster’s, “but he’s really good at his work.”

Molly and Caleb exchanged glances. Both of them chuckled softly, and after another quick moment, another short breath where their eyes met, and continued to meet, they looked away.

“Guys, I’m calling it right now,” Beau muttered. “If there’s a sequel to this movie, we’re watching it next time.”

“What was this called again?” Fjord asked. “Honey, something?”

“Something like that,” Jester nodded. “I don’t remember, I’m watching—oooh, look at that! Is that a panda?”

“That’s the dumbest looking thing I’ve ever seen,” Nott said. “It’s not even scary.”

“It’s not even scary,” Kiri agreed.

Fjord grinned at Caleb and Molly. “I guess I’ll never find out,” he said. “We’ve lost them all to a kid’s movie about bears.”

“Gods above, the panda just stabbed someone,” Molly breathed, completely ignoring him. “Holy shit, was this really in the children’s section?”

“You know, I am not so sure anymore,” Jester said, and reached for more popcorn.

He nodded slowly. “I think this might be my new favorite film.”

Caleb gave Fjord a small smile. “Molly as well, now. But, I suppose…if you cannot beat them, join them?”

Fjord snorted. “And we’ve all been friends long enough to know that there’s no beatin’ them, yeah?”

Caleb’s grin widened. “Ja, definitely,” he said. “But you know, I would not have it any other way.”

And with that, they turned back towards the movie, joined the rest in cheering as the bears—and strangely, one honey badger—barreled through a city plaza and started terrorizing a crowd. And the TV screen, flickering on in the restful darkness, washed over them all with its soft and soothing light.

#critical role #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #critfic #cr2 #the mighty nein #jay writes #something new for me and you #text #long post #widomauk #fjorjester #m9 #critrole

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the-sapphiresky · 6 years

Text

Four Years Ago

“Trouble in paradise?”

John glared at his friend, too tired to snipe back in kind. Dropping his hastily-packed bag by the door, he dragged himself over to the couch and sat down, still bundled in his coat. The only grace Mary had afforded him before slamming the door on his behind.

Sherlock smirked as he deduced exactly what had led the good doctor to being kicked out of his own bedroom at this hour of the morning.

“I told you not to mention her weight gain.”

John rubbed his hand over his face. “I can’t be held responsible for what I said when I was half asleep.”

Sherlock conceded with a raised eyebrow and returned to his composition, making a note on the music sheet. “And yet, here you are, dressed in pajama shorts and a jacket. Your subconscious should have known better.”

“Oh, like you haven’t said something without thinking about it. Asleep or not,” John snapped.

Raising his bow to the violin once more, Sherlock eyed John seriously. “I know better than to mention a pregnant woman’s weight, even if it is in a socially desirable place.”

John glared at him. “What I wouldn’t give to see you dealing with a hormonal, pregnant wife,” he grumbled. “I’d bet 100 quid you’d put your foot in it, like every other man.”

Sherlock scoffed and resumed his practice, dressing gown swaying as he played, sure that he would never be so stupid.

Present Day

John snorted awake. Sniffing, he listened. Beside him, Mary was sound asleep, breathing evenly. No cries from Rosie’s room.

From downstairs he heard a muffled thump.

His mind raced and he reached for the steel bat he kept by the bedside stand. He’d go for the gun locked in the dresser, but the last time he’d investigated a strange noise, he’d nearly shot Sherlock in the knee.

Another thump, louder this time, and a hissed curse.

Sherlock.

Putting the bat back, John drew back the covers and slowly got out of bed, careful not to disturb Mary. His back cracked as he did and he cursed getting older.

Quietly, he walked downstairs and turned on the overhead light. He blinked against the sudden brightness.

“Did I wake you?”

John ruffled his sleep-mussed hair and glared at Sherlock. “No, I always get up at 2 in the morning for a walk in my shorts.”

Standing in the middle of the living room, wrapped in his dressing gown (and what looked like nothing else) and rubbing his shin from where he’d ran into the coffee table, Sherlock had the decency to look chagrined.

“Apologies. Did I wake Mary or Rosie?” He shifted back and forth on his heels.

“Not yet.”

“Good.” Sherlock nodded, looking anywhere but at John. “Good.”

John crossed his arms, a smile playing on his lips. “So...did you just fancy a visit?”

Finally looking at him, Sherlock leveled him with a glare that would have burned a lesser man. “You know exactly why I’m here. So just say it.”

“Say what?”

“I told you so!”

“I will. As soon as you tell me what it is I told you so about.”

Sherlock’s nose scrunched in annoyance but he remained tight lipped.

John refused to let it go. “You commented on Molly’s weight, didn’t you?”

“It was a compliment!” Sherlock hissed.

John shook his head, laughing to himself. “Just like every other man claims.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to refute the very idea he was average, but John cut him off and pointed at the couch. “Linens are in the closet. There’s a pair of my pajamas in the dryer; they might be a bit short, but they’ll do in a pinch. And the flower shoppe’s number is on the fridge.”

With grudging gratitude, Sherlock nodded. “Thank you.”

John slapped him on the shoulder in camaraderie and turned to head back to bed. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped and looked back.

“Sherlock?”

The detective looked up.

John smirked.

“I told you so.”

#sherlolly #warstan #parent!lock #sherlock puts his foot in it #so does john #these two idiots #mary lives

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unkindnessofone · 6 years

Text

Keep Up

It’s been awhile since I’ve written these little families. Just sat down and wrote what came to mind. I hope you like it.

Even though no one was talking directly to her about it, Molly could sense things were changing. She was no longer the center of her parent's universe since she now had a sibling, a baby brother with wispy blond hairs on his head that her mother referred to exclusively as 'spun gold'. The lazy days at home in their London loft were becoming busier and the schedule had shifted from routine to packed. The afternoons where her dad would bundle her up in blue knit cardigan, Burberry as chosen by her mum, and walk with her to Regent's Park with their golden retriever had become less and less. It was something she could on happening before dinner every day and now it was a surprise, her father poking his head into her bedroom to interrupt her playing with the offer. He used to do it to give her mom a break, leave her alone with Connor or to nap, but now he was doing it for his own gain. He wanted private time with Molly, yearning for closeness, as their quiet life was headed to an end.

Fashion Week in London was a few months away and it collided with the album release for Ashton's band, the first record they had put out in years, the last one coming out right after Emmeline was born. He was going to be occupied with press before embarking on an exhausting tour while his wife was tending to her own new collection. Molly didn't know what changes were coming or what her life was supposed to be, she could just sense a shift in the apartment. The fact that many of their things were being packed up and her parents were always having their own conversations right above her frizzy head of hair was giving it away.

She was laying on her belly, legs folded in the air behind her, and playing with a container of plastic fish toys on the floor of Simone's home office. Molly had no interest in gemstones and shiny objects. She liked to create make believe worlds inside jungles and underneath seas. She always wanted to feel the texture of things whether slimy, rough, or smooth. Molly was not a pristine porcelain doll of a little girl. She was a concoction of her mother's focus and poise and her father's curiosity and edge. The only thing they both gifted her with was creativity which she had coursing through her veins constantly, even when she slept. As she played on the floor, giving the fish voices under her breath, her mother was clicking around on her laptop, deep in her work.

“Your mum's on her way.” Ashton appeared in the doorway, shaking his phone face first towards his wife. Simone's mother had texted them both, but Ashton knew that Simone would be concentrating on work too much to notice any buzzing or beeping from her phone by her side. She could tune out anything except the high pitch screams of her newborn.

“Great.” Simone said automatically before glancing at the time. “She's early. We weren't going to-” She peeled her eyes off of the e-mail she was proofreading and brought them to Ashton with alarm.

“I know.” Coyly, he admitted and then pointed out Molly on the floor between them with a cock of his head. “I wanted a little more time.” He was leaving in a few days, off to California to start press ahead of the first single's release. When he first found himself falling in love and finding more in his life that held promise outside of parties, music, and models, Ashton started to find it hard to go back to his hectic life as a rockstar. When Molly was first born, she was raised by a village of crew and band members, it was simple to stuff her in a Baby Bjorn and wander around the world. Now, he had a firm family and Simone wasn't taking any time off, Ashton felt like he was tearing in two. He was going back to his first love, music, that he had taken a needed rest from, but he was also leaving part of himself behind.

Molly was three and talking to her toy fish, unaware that feet away from her, her father was breaking in two.

Understanding, Simone nodded. She pushed herself away from the glass desk and folded her hands over her lap, watching Ashton as he gazed down at Molly with heavy and evident sadness in his eyes. He was horrible at goodbyes, something that before his daughter he had been almost too good at.

“I can let my mum in. I'll handle Connor.” He was asleep, but nobody knew how long that would last. He had a set of lungs on him that Ashton was very proud of. The boy didn't keep quiet for very long for anyone, but Simone's parents.

Ashton nodded at Molly and then smacked his hands together, swinging his arms in front of him, for her attention.

“Do you want to go to the park with me?” He asked, trying to be casual and not give her any indication to how emotionally conflicted he currently was.

Feverishly, Molly nodded right away and then climbed up onto her feet. She was ready to go, a thin lipped smile spreading across her face like nutella over fresh toast.

“Put your toys away, okay?” Out of habit, his hand wrestled softly through his mess of hair. “I'll be at the door with your boots and jacket.” He told her without letting her go, his large hand still over the top her head.

“You, me, and dad. We're going to have a little date after, okay?” Simone informed her from her desk, rolling the chair close to the edge again. “So, after the park you'll come back, we'll brush our teeth and hair, we'll go out.” Simone and Ashton had not had isolated time with Molly since Connor was born, but it had been Ashton's idea to do something small and special with her before he left. They were just going to go have pizza together at a little hole in the wall spot Simone loved in Maida Vale where they lived, but to Molly it was as fancy and wonderful as a five-star Grammy's after-party.

With all the excitement she could muster, Molly bounced around as she collected her toys in their proper pail. She tidied up as fast as she could and met her dad at the front door. Just as promised, he was ready to go with her little Burberry coat open in both hands and her red rubber wellies right by her mother's.

“I didn't run because Connor is sleeping.” With a finger in front of her mouth, Molly proudly whispered to her dad. Her tongue slightly tripped over her words, but she spoke well for a toddler. Ashton had to credit that all to Simone who had always spoken to Molly as if she was a petite adult even when she was first born. Ashton had been the one who rubbed his nose into her belly and spoke to her like he didn't know how to pronounce the sound of the letter 'R' or as if he had been raised around Sesame Street.

“That's very nice of you. You're a nice big sister.” He assured her as she turned around and slid her arms clumsily into her coat.

Molly ran out into the hall and carelessly for the elevator doors, Ashton staying back and locking the flat door behind him. Even though Simone was home, he was protective and didn't leave anything to chance. He had cameras in certain rooms of their place that both he and his wife could check on from their phones. It wasn't because they didn't trust one another and needed to keep tabs on their private lives, but it was out of Ashton's need to be the great protector of his family. When he was away, he hated feeling helpless. He wanted to know what was going on. It was something of a life jacket for him.

“Molly, wait!” He called at her from the door, sensing without looking that she was reaching up to stab the elevator call button. Molly was incredibly well-behaved. She had always followed the rules set out for her without any problem, but she was like any little kid when it came to elevator buttons. She just had to touch them.

Once they were leaving their guarded building, Ashton opened up his hand and Molly instinctively put hers inside of it. His own hand practically engulfed all of her fingers, but Molly didn't notice. She was too busy counting the red buses that passed them as Ashton led her down the same walk they always took. He pointed out the streets to her as they passed each block, asking her to guess. He wanted to know that if they were ever separated, Molly would be able to make her own way home. Blomfield Road came before Randolph Mews then Clarendon Gardens and then Clifton Gardens.

They arrived at the park later than usual. They didn't bring their dog to pull on them and eagerly lead the way. Ashton also paid more attention on quizzing Molly on their surroundings than he usually did on keeping her focused on walking at a regular pace. This time, they walked was as if they were both her size.

Usually, Molly charged through the gates of the park, finally allowed to let go of a parent’s hand, but this time, she squeezed Ashton's hand tighter and didn't let go. Ashton decided not to question it though and just kept strolling with her, on their way to the lake or the playground, taking in the greenery quietly.

“Daddy?” With her head tilted all the way back, Molly looked up and interrupted the soft breeze between them. She could barely feel it while it was right in Ashton's face.

“Hm?” Looking down, Ashton let her know she had his attention before looking forward down the path again.

“Why do you have to...go?” Her bottom lip made her question sound like it splattered as it came out, but Molly's eyes squinted as she asked him sincerely. Ashton thought she was sizing him up, but in reality nobody had deduced that she needed glasses yet.

Ashton was stunned silent though and let out a disappointed sigh that deflated his chest. He tightened his jaw as he wrestled with the truth. Molly was too intuitive to not pick up on what was going on. She heard all the adults around her yammering about the upcoming tour, peppering both her parents with questions about their conflicting schedules. She knew change was afoot whether or not anyone consulted with her about it.

“Well, Molls, my job involves a lot of travelling.” He decided to say, thinking it was a truth that she could comprehend. “I took a little break so I could be at home with you, and mum, and your brother, but I have to go back.”

“When do I... see... you now?” Confused, she kept interviewing.

He wanted to tell her that she could see him whenever she damn well pleased. Ashton strived to be a much better father than he had had. Even though Molly could call and Skype him whenever she wanted to, it didn't feel like enough. Ashton knew that he wasn't going to actually be there to tuck her in, answer her a hundred questions about trees, human bones, and hammerhead sharks, and he wouldn't get to see her growing like a weed right before his eyes. She wouldn't be able to crawl all over him when they were playing on the floor together and she would hear his voice only through the radio or computer now.

“Mum and I have sorted it out. You're going to come visit lots and we're going to take a trip to see Nana Anne in a little bit.” Ashton had been a nightmare for his managers, refusing to go longer than two and a half weeks without a weekend break for him and Simone to meet up, for real chunks of time to catch his breath and be more than just a drummer.

“I'll miss you.” Sounding as sad as his face looked, Molly confidently told him. She knew some things to be facts. Fish swam, birds flew, dolphins were carnivores, and she was going to miss her father.

It was a verbal nudge in the ribs for Ashton and he stopped right away. Rubbing his lips together to hold back another weighted sigh, Ashton bent down to his knees and brought Molly in with both hands, one of his over each of hers. His fingers held her in place tightly and he gave himself a few seconds to just take her in. Each time he blinked, it was a mental snapshot of her soft features. She was never going to be this little again. He wanted to tell her that he would miss her as well, that he didn't want to leave, that he wished he could fold her like a t-shirt and take her along with him, but before Ashton could sort out his words he noticed her bottom lip begin to warble and her nose squish up. She was on the verge of tears.

With both hands, he pulled her in close and then allowed her fingers to wiggle free so she could wrap them around his neck. Once Molly had the toggles of her peacoat against his sweater clad chest, she crying into his neck. Ashton held the back of her head with a firm hand and breathed her in, her organic shampoo and skin a familiar and comforting scent. He closed his eyes and listened to her cry, feeling like a forlorn jerk.

“It's okay, baby.” He assured her with voice like velvet even if his throat was tightening and beginning to feel like linen inside. He rose from the knees and carried her, letting her sob into his shoulder as he kept them going down their usual path. Molly wasn't the temper tantrum type. He knew she would calm down eventually. When he was feeling as heartbroken as he currently was, he couldn't tell her to not feel all her emotions. This was going to be something she had to learn to handle for the rest of her life. Some people had routine and solidarity, the Irwin family had distance.

#molly irwin #ashton irwin imagines #molly irwin imagines

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iputmineinhermione · 6 years

Text

I feel soooo bad (kinda) because instead of homework, I had a blurb of inspiration to work on the next chapter of This Journey With You.

It’s actually kind of fun because we’re getting Hermione and some of the Weasley women on an outing!

Here’s a sneak peak (that’ll probably get tweaked a bit):

Chapter 12:

Hermione didn't here from Fred for several days. Good. Maybe. She couldn't decide really.

The truth was she missed him, but couldn't bring herself to confront him after walking out on dinner. But, didn't he understand how she felt? If he did, he would have apologized with an owl, she reasoned.

"Hermione?" Ginny called out to her.

Hermione shook her head and blinked to clear her vision. "Sorry, Gin. I was lost in thought."

"I'll say," she frowned. "You've been distracted since we got here."

Ginny had invited Hermione to look at a venue on the West side of London with her mother and sister-in-law. Ella hadn't arrived yet though, and Hermione was glad for fear that Fred had told about their dinner. But, hopefully deciding on where to hold Ginny and Harry's reception would be distracting enough that Ella wouldn't bring up the subject.

The three women were on the terrace of No. 4 Hamilton place. Ginny was asking their tour guide about prices. Molly's forehead creased every couple of seconds as she caught wind of prices what sounded way out of her budget, though Hermione wasn't sure why for she knew both Ginny and Harry were funding most of the wedding expenses.

A chill breeze blew into Hermione's face and she shrugged up her coat. She hated that they were checking this place out in the colder months, but she supposed it would be quite delightful in the Summer. She absentmindedly walked towards the edge of the wall and glanced down in to the sea of frosted green of Hyde Park. The Royal Park had always been a favorite place to visit with her parents as a little girl. She particularly loved sunny holidays when her father took her pedal boating.

"Oh I love this place," Ginny beamed as she almost skipped- rather un-Ginny like- to where Hermione stood. "It's so beautiful up here! I don't think the space would be big enough for all of the guests, and we could do both the ceremony and the reception here," she grinned, looping her arm though her friend's.

"It is lovely," Hermione agreed, still looking out over the park. "I think Harry would like it, too, if he were here."

Molly wandered over to the girls, feigning a smile despite the concern in her eyes. "It is lovely, Ginny dear. But, what about the burrow? I thought you'd love to have a wedding in our back yard like your siblings did."

"Not really, no," the younger redhead stated. "When Bill got married, I figured I wouldn't mind if I got married at home. But, I really love this as a potential venue. Hermione does, too! Don't you?"

Hermione threw her friend a displeasing look, uncomfortable with being put between mother and daughter. "I've yet to see a a wedding done in this nice of an area. It's beautiful, I can't deny that."

"I think it's too much," Molly tutted. "I'm just not huge on big events. Especially when I barely have a hand in any of this."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Mum, you hated hosting George's wedding. You complained for several days after it was over that you wished he and Ella had gotten married at a church or something."

"That was different," Molly protested. "George had a list of friends that were quite tiring to deal with!"

"I'd have to agree," a sweet, calm voice called from behind Molly. The three of them looked over to see Ella all bundled up and making her way to them. "George is wonderful, and I love him, but he certainly had quite the rowdy bunch of friends when we got married." She smiled at Mrs. Weasley whose face was darkening from embarrassment.

"You were a lovely bride," Molly praised her daughter-in-law. "I really did love having your wedding at the burrow, despite some of the difficulties of cleaning up the mess afterwards."

"Don't worry Molly," Ella chuckled. "I know George wanted a huge bang at our wedding for whatever reason. I'm grateful you haven't written us out of your will for his ill behaviour then."

The very pregnant witch turned about, absorbing the view of the empty roof top. "This will be a lovely place to hold the reception, Ginny," she commented. "I think it will be quite fun."

Ginny smiled and let go of Hermione to link arms with Ella. "Good! I thought so, too. Let me show you around a little first and tell you what I'm thinking of doing with the decorations."

As Ella was steered away by a babbling Ginny, Mrs. Weasley smiled sheepishly at Hermione. "I do love Ella. I hate that she had to hear that, but George's wedding was much more chaotic than Bill's."

Hermione pulled at her sleeve uncomfortably. She had been invited to the wedding, but she had been unable to attend at the time. She had to hear all of the details from Ron who wrote about how wild the ceremony had been. Apparently George and Fred had come up with quite a few pyrotechnical plans and had not warned the Weasley matriarch of their plan to her dismay. She was sad that she had missed their wedding, and wondered if Fred would do the same thing at his ceremony.

A dull stab hammered her heart at the thought of being in the audience when Fred married another woman. She couldn’t help but picture that dark haired witch she had seen that day when they had all been at Rosa Lee's Teabag cafe.

"I don't mind that she wants to fund her own wedding," Mrs. Weasley sighed, dragging Hermione’s mind away from the scene in her head.

Molly watched her daughters chatting excitedly as the younger with gestured about, showing Ella where the wedding decorations would go. Hermione glanced at the plump witch who was smiling sadly. "I guess since Ginny is the only daughter I have, I was hoping to work on her wedding specifically. I do hope she has a wonderful wedding none the nonetheless.”

She wasn't sure why the older witch was telling her this, but she could sympathize with the idea of wanting to be a help in a daughter's wedding.

"Enough of my complaining," Molly looked to Hermione. "Why don't we all go get lunch? It's getting a bit too cold up here for my aging bones."

#which probably is random #but i really like it so far because I think Ginny's inner girliness would come out as she's looking at wedding stuff #this journey with you #dont be afraid to tell me if you hate this lol #fremione

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ao3porcelainstorm · 3 years

Text

poison ivy & stinging nettles 19

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Chapter 19- Willow

~~~

I used to love playing pretend when I was a boy. My sister and I would spend hours dreaming up impossible scenes to play in; dinosaurs, spacemen, anything you could imagine, we would come up with.

That’s what this has felt like- playing pretend. I don’t mind it, personally. Given all that has happened, it’s a bit nice to see my two dearest friends get on and enjoy a short break from solving crimes and dealing with Moriarty.

It’s just, unfortunately, the problem with playing pretend is that eventually your mum has to call you in for dinner and you’re thrown back into reality.

~~~

And if it was an open-shut case, I never would have known from the look on your face. Lost in your current like a priceless wine. - Willow (Taylor Swift)

~~~

“And what?” Amelia challenged a laugh on her lips, teacup in her lap and watching John in amusement. “You’re opening the present or so help me John Watson, I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson.”

The doctor lifted the bundle of perfectly wrapped boxes tentatively, giving the smallest one a shake.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he continued, and Amelia sent him a pointed look.

“I opened mine,” Sherlock commented, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair.

“You did?” John gaped at his friend in disbelief. “When?”

“A few nights ago,” Amelia waved her hand, not wanting to go into detail about her complete meltdown that first night. “And Mrs. Hudson opened hers yesterday. Just open it!”

Mrs. Hudson was gifted an all-expense paid spa trip to Bath with the three ladies she played cards with each week. The housekeeper had practically screamed with excitement, pulling Amelia into a tight hug, thanking her profusely before making phone calls to set up a date.

It was nice to have a bit of normal.

“Fine,” John grumbled, opening the first box.

All in all, he loved his gifts.

Two cashmere sweaters in navy and merlot, and an original 1st edition of Grey’s Anatomy.

He set the book aside and pulled Amelia into a hug, and even though he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes, she definitely saw them glisten.

No one mentioned the lapse in time often. Only when Sherlock was working on the case did he pepper he with questions. John talked about it even less, which was sweet, but no matter how much Amelia tried to pretend things were ok, she was still reeling from it all.

The Christmas decorations had come down after the New Year, leaving the apartment sparse when she returned, having left with it covered in lights and tinsel. The days were easing into February, while she was still waiting for January.

She’d started therapy the day before, at John’s insistence. Twice a week for the foreseeable future. The hope was that the sessions would unlock whatever secrets were hidden in her subconscious.

More than anything, though, she was tired of everyone looking at her like she was this fragile thing, waiting to shatter at the lightest touch.

She’d been home a little over a week now, and it was getting old. Amelia wasn’t one who did well with coddling.

Even her mother had become almost unbearable. Constantly calling and texting.

The only person she had the energy to deal with was Sherlock. He was careful not to overstep his boundaries, but also read her like a book when she was uncomfortable.

He’d insisted on accompanying her anywhere she wanted to go, including the shops when she decided to pick out a new winter coat.

It was nice.

Amelia had always enjoyed spending time with both John and Sherlock alone, but while John felt like an older brother, Sherlock gave her butterflies whenever he spoke.

Greg had been sweet enough to avoid calling him in unless absolutely necessary. And on the one occasion he did, Sherlock made sure Amelia was left with Molly at the hospital. Safe and secure while he and John went to the crime scene.

Otherwise, Sherlock was always at her side. But it wasn’t as smothering as anyone else. He didn’t nitpick and ask her how she was feeling or fetch her things because he pitied her. It was a natural presence, a little protective, but safe and warm.

Amelia had no problem falling back into old routines, sketching by the fire while Sherlock read and John worked through a crossword. It was what she needed.

Nighttime was the only thing that had changed drastically.

Ever since that first night in her room, Amelia and Sherlock had spent every night together, alternating between beds.

The first night in his room, Amelia had burrowed her face into his pillow, much to his amusement, trying to guess the elements of his cologne.

“I’ll never tell,” he teased when she listed a few common scents.

“I will figure it out,” she vowed.

And she did. He didn’t bother hiding the bottle and a quick google search revealed a blend of pine and light jasmine.

It certainly didn’t account for the smell of firewood, old books, and wool that seemed to be all his.

Neither of them had tried to name whatever this had turned into. There wasn’t “I love you’s” or kisses in the morning. They never had sex.

It felt like an entirely natural progression of things, granted, with the underlying context of kidnapping and memory loss. But Amelia didn’t mind. She was happy. Sherlock seemed happy. That was good enough for her.

She wasn’t so naive to assume that this would last forever, either.

They’d discussed it extensively, lying awake next to one another and dissecting potential plans that Moriarty had for the future and a grand reveal was the first idea they’d agreed upon.

It was coming. She didn’t know when or how, but it was.

Amelia just wanted to enjoy this little slice of joy that they had as long as she could. They could name things and have serious talks about the future, later on. For now, she was content in this vacation-like bliss.

~~~

“10... 9... 8...”

It was a small get together, Ruthie, Greg, Molly, and the residents of Baker Street, but it meant the world to Amelia.

John had pulled up a video of the New Year’s Eve celebrations, Mrs. Hudson had pulled out hats and noisemakers, and the plan was to count down until midnight.

“..2...1! Happy New Year!”

Laughing, kisses were peppered onto everyone’s cheeks. When Amelia passed Sherlock, he linked his finger with hers, giving her a small smile when she glanced curiously in his direction.

Turning around, she pecked a kiss on his cheek, tapping the tip of his nose with a finger, before returning to the others.

More than anything, Amelia wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him like she meant it. But they hadn’t even discussed their unspoken thing or shared the first kiss at all.

So, she held her composure and sent him smiles whenever he looked in her direction.

Greg and Molly left after Mrs. Hudson announced that she needed sleep. Ruthie was offered Amelia’s bed, but the women stayed up in the flat with John, splitting a bottle of gin and laughing next to the fire.

“Christ, I needed this,” Ruthie leaned her head back, resting up against Amelia's legs hanging from the sofa.

“No kidding,” Amelia murmured, taking the bottle from John and taking a large swallow. Making a face and handed it to Ruthie. “Gin. Awful.”

“Gets better the longer you drink it,” John voiced, sprawled over his chair.

“Tastes like a liquid pine tree,” Amelia grumbled.

“I bet you like rum or whiskey,” Ruthie held up the bottle to John.

“Bloody Americans,” John rolled his eyes. “Terrible taste in everything.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Amelia fell back, throwing a pillow over her head for effect. “Deep-fried Oreos are the shit.”

“Deep-fried... Oreos?” Ruthie poked her in the leg, the gin bottle making a return. “I love Oreos.”

“They’re like, deep-fried in pancake batter,” Amelia explained, popping back up. “It makes them all gooey and amazing.”

“Holy shit,” Ruthie paused. “We need to make some.”

“Not in my kitchen,” Sherlock threw blankets around the room, snagging the gin from Ruthie and taking a sip for himself.

“Sher...lock,” Amelia slurred, putting emphasis on the final “k”. “There are eyeballs and a human tongue in the freezer.”

“We can make Oreos,” John held up a hand.

“Deep-fried Oreos,” Amelia clarified with a wavering finger. “A very important distinction.”

“You’ll burn the flat down, no,” Sherlock countered.

“Not right now,” Amelia laughed. “Silly Sherlock. We don’t have Oreos.”

“Which is a tragedy,” Ruthie complained, stealing back the gin and finishing what was left. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders like a cocoon, tackling Amelia onto the sofa. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too,” Amelia snickered, pressing a sloppy kiss on her cousin's cheek.

“Ugh, gross, you slobbered on me,” Ruthie dropped back, wiping at her cheek in disgust.

“You got emotional, consequences,” Amelia gestured above her, hand swaying while she examined it in the air.

What Sherlock first noticed was the way Ruthie stiffened at the sight of the vicious scarring and scabbing on her cousin's wrist. The second thing he noticed was the way Amelia went quiet when her drunken focus fell on the injury.

John let out a snore and Sherlock jumped up.

“Bed,” he announced, earning a chorus of complaints from Amelia and Ruthie. “You’ve both had plenty to drink. Happy New Year, bedtime.”

“I’m not moving,” Ruthie announced, curling up on the sofa, making it as difficult as possible for Amelia to crawl over her.

“Enjoy John and his snoring,” Amelia stumbled over the edge of the rug and caught herself in the doorway between the living area and kitchen. “Mmmm goodnight!”

“Don’t be loud!” Ruthie called once Amelia and Sherlock rounded the corner to his bedroom.

Sherlock had to redirect Amelia a couple of times, helping her navigate the hallway without smashing her head or breaking anything. She dropped onto his bed with a long sigh.

“What?” he stood over her, brow quirked.

“I think you’re right,” she answered, eyes opening to look at him. “Your bed is the best.”

“I’m never wrong,” he answered, dropping next to her with a soft thud.

“So very humble,” she rolled toward him, amusement in her eyes. “You’re the humblest guy I know, Sherlock Holmes.”

He turned his head to better see her, his chest hammering once he realized how close her face was to his.

Was this the right time? They’d both had a bit to drink and he didn’t want to escalate things to an inappropriate level until they were sober and-

Amelia pressed her lips against his, her fingers threading their way through his curls.

He pulled her closer, hand cupping her cheek while he reciprocated in turn. It felt like everything the movies and books he’d read about said a kiss was supposed to be.

His brain felt like it’s erupted in fireworks, and the rest of his body-

“Oh,” he pulled away, clearing his throat. She leaned on her elbow, watching him try to adjust his pants.

“I didn’t mean to get you all fired up,” she smirked up at him. “I feel a little powerful right now.”

He turned to her, scowling at her words. Cruel. She was being mean and enjoying it.

If he half a mind- nope. Gentleman. He was a gentleman and he was going to change into his sleeping pants and go to sleep. He announced as much, stood up, and locked himself in the bathroom with a change of clothes until he pulled himself together.

He stared at his reflection, hands gripping the sides of the sink. Gentleman.

If things came to that, he’d make sure it was right.

Groaning, he threw his night clothes on and returned to the room.

Amelia was on her back, snoring loudly, having only managed to change into an oversized shirt.

Running a hand down his face, Sherlock pushed her aside and threw himself onto his side of the bed.

Amelia rolled onto him, arms snaking around his waist and her hips against his.

Gentleman.

~~~

“Mrs. Peacock, in the library with...” Amelia shuffled through her notes. “The rope!”

Sherlock lowered his hand and smirked.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the “p” and earning a fresh scowl from her.

“What do you mean, ‘nope’? You didn’t even open the packet,” she protested.

“I told you not to play him,” John mumbled, turning the page to his paper. “It never ends well.”

“It was Mrs. Peacock, and it was in the library,” he contended before flipping a card with his fingers. “But it wasn’t the rope.”

“But- you-,” Amelia scrambled through her notes and cards. “Impossible. Because then if you have the rope it had to have been the pistol.”

Sherlock handed her the envelope and with a litany of curses, sure enough, Mrs. Peacock, in the library, with the pistol.

“How did you...?” she stammered. “I didn’t... my cards...?”

“You touch the pieces you have at the beginning of the game,” he pointed out, lifting the tiny candlestick. “Unconsciously, of course, but you do. It’s an endearing tick, but sufficient to win.”

Amelia threw her cards into the game board, gaping at him in shock.

“I told you,” John sang, folding his newspaper. “You would have been better at Monopoly or Life.”

“I just...” Amelia shook her head, lifting the three cards from the envelope again. “I’ve never lost at this game before.”

“It is easier when it’s only two people,” Sherlock tried to offer but she shook her head.

“No. This is-,” she sat back into the sofa with a sigh. “I’m going to have to think about this. Restrategize.”

“It isn’t chess,” John chuckled.

“No, this is far more serious John,” she looked up at him firmly. “I’m going to beat him.”

“Good luck,” Sherlock mumbled and she whipped her head in his direction.

“I’m going to. And you’re going to eat humble pie, accepting that I, Amelia Ophelia Brenner, am better than you at something,” she announced, hopping to her feet.

“You’re better at painting than I am,” he suggested. “This is a game based on observation and deduction. You can’t win.”

“That’s why my victory will be all the sweeter,” she poked him in the chest with a grin. “Just you wait.”

“When shall I send out the wedding invitations?” John asked the pair. “I picked a lovely periwinkle card stock you’ll love.”

“I think a summer wedding would be nice,” Amelia paused. “Find a little church in the countryside. Wildflowers everywhere.”

“Allergies could be risky,” John replied. “Wouldn’t want to be sneezing on your wedding day.”

“Ah, but I assume you’ll be best man, so I would hope you’d be on hand wut Jaime antihistamines?”

“Of course,” John nodded solemnly. “Assuming Sherlock hasn’t taken them all first.”

“I would have accounted for allergies,” Sherlock piped up. “The insects would be my primary concern.”

“Bees,” Amelia pointed out in agreement. “I’m actually very allergic.”

“So we’re back to allergies,” John said.

“I know you’re allergic,” Sherlock looked at Amelia. “Which is why I renewed your epi-pen after it expired two months ago. I’ll make sure both John and myself have a backup.”

Amelia’s hand went to her chest, eyes wide, with a small “aww”.

“Clearly we’re going to have to bump the date up,” John snickered. “A nice spring wedding?”

“Rain,” both Amelia and Sherlock replied in unison.

“Also periwinkle is nice, but what about a yellow?” Amelia hummed in thought. “Or a tasteful navy with pastel pinks?”

“You just want to cover the tables in peonies,” Sherlock snorted, fishing for his phone after it chirped with a new message.

“Is that so wrong? They’re incredibly good luck for marriages,” she sighed dreamily.

Sherlock ignored the comment, reading over the short message from Mycroft a few times, just to be sure he understood it correctly.

Moriarty turned himself in.

And just like that, the fun was over.

He looked toward Amelia, who was giggling with John over fictional seating arrangements, wrapped-up in Sherlock’s robe.

This was the part he’d been dreading. The game was on, and Amelia was back on the board. This last week being so peaceful for them all. The last tease before things became messy.

Sherlock had no doubt that by the end of this Amelia would know full well what had happened, and that terrified him the most.

~~~

Now this is an open-shut case, guess I should have known from the look on your face. Every bait and switch was a work of art.

Chapter 20

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