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calmlyerratic · 2 months

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Encounters of the Future Sort

Chapter 2: The Battle of the Moldy Fruit

by @calmlyerratic

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Ch Summary: AU time travel. It's suddenly April 1st 1996, but the Marauders, Lily, and Severus don't know it yet…

chapter wc: 2.8k — rating: T — cw: none

Read Chapter 1 | full Story Summary & Chapter Index

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April 1st, 1996

"So, what should we do now?" Sirius asked, hands behind his head, strolling at a leisurely pace as if he hadn't a care in the world and exploding cauldrons was an everyday occurrence.

"I dunno…we could go swimming?" James shrugged, also effortlessly carrying this unphased energy.

Remus glanced out a passing stained-glass window. "Er—I don't think it's exactly swimming weather."

"Oh c'mon, an ice-cold squid dip is good for the psyche, Moony." James grinned. "We do it after every practice—helps with aches and pains too."

"Good for the psychotic, maybe." Remus mumbled, tracing the long scar across his nose. He had a habit of doing this when reminded of uncomfortable physical activity. "But that's not what I meant. Look outside."

James knit his brow. "What are you on about—oh." Raindrops were streaking down the stained glass in a spectrum of rainbow colors. "Strange. It was sunny just this morning…"

Sirius leaned in and pressed his forehead to the glass. The sky was dark, and rain was pouring from the clouds in biblical proportions, giving the impression it had been raining for hours.

"A bit chilly for swimming anyway," Sirius shrugged as if he were a sentient being that could snap his fingers and produce sunshine at will.

"It does seem odd…" Peter considered. "Must've come on suddenly?"

"Breaking news: the channel 5 weather report with Wormtail," Remus rolled his eyes.

"I think Moony's hungry," Sirius smirked. "He's reverted to eccentric Muggle references. We missed lunch—perhaps a trip to the kitchens?"

"Or we could go to Hogsmead," Peter squeaked, "grab a butterbeer?"

"Sorry, Pete…" Remus sighed. "Yeah, I could actually go for that right now."

"Nah," Sirius brushed away the possibility like a piece of lint on his shoulder. "As much as I enjoy seeing Moony tipsy, I hate smelling like wet dog."

"I have a bit of firewhiskey stashed away…" James eyes circled upwards, deviously.

Sirius stopped in his tracks. "You bloody git—I just asked you last week!"

"I was saving it for a special occasion," James shrugged innocently.

Sirius threw his shoulders back in pompous authority. "How dare you—I am a special occasion."

"Moony needs to blow off some steam," James clasped Remus on the shoulder. "That is a special occasion."

Sirius locked eyes with Remus. The former suppressed a grin and the latter flushed.

"Right you are, Prongs." Sirius nodded solemnly. "A special occasion indeed, let's see to it. To the dormitory!"

They were passing through a long corridor outside of the Charms classroom where a few students were gathered. A first year boy spotted them, and his jaw dropped.

"So, is it the same stuff as last time? That was delicious—"

"Hey, Prongs…" Peter whispered, noting the first year. "That kid is staring at you."

"Huh?" James' head whipped around.

The gaping first year with sandy blonde hair quickly hid his face in a book.

James, who had a head far too large for his shoulders, rather enjoyed admirers. After he'd scored 110 points in the last quidditch match against Slytherin, he'd become something of a celebrity to young, aspiring players among the houses. This fame had petered away since the new year, but he was still yearning for any opportunity that presented itself to relive this fleeting glory.

"Hello there," James approached him and grinned quite pompously.

The boy turned a deep shade of red and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Er—did you want my autograph or something?" James asked, trying not to sound hopeful. He put his hands on his hips, stoically.

The boy looked half in awe, half confusion. "Um…no. It's just—you're Harry Potter."

James blinked twice. "No, I'm James Potter." The boy knit his brow. "You know, I won that match against Slytherin last term—chaser for Gryffindor?"

"You mean seeker," the boy corrected factually. James raised an eyebrow and the boy blushed again before shoving his nose back in his book.

James turned to his friends, ego getting the best of him. "Who is this little bloke?"

"Dunno mate," Sirius shrugged, rounding on the first year and crossing his arms. "What's your name, then?"

"Sirius," Remus admonished from the sidelines. He tapped the shiny 'P' on his robes.

"I just asked his name, Moony." Sirius held intimidating eye contact with the first year. "So? Go on."

The boy seemed reluctant and quite terrified. "E-euan Abercrombie."

"Never heard of you," Sirius raised an eyebrow, as if that was the only thing that mattered. He jutted his chin up the corridor. "Get lost."

Euan Abercrombie immediately complied, slamming his book shut and scampering away.

"Little git," Sirius muttered after him.

"Sirius," Remus massaged his closed eyes. "I really can't today."

"What did I do?"

Remus met his eyes with an eyebrow slightly cocked, then gently shook his head and sighed. "Nothing…never mind." And he strode off down the corridor.

"Prongs?" Sirius asked as the other three boys followed suit.

"Huh?" James said absentmindedly, eyes dazed. "Do you really think he doesn't know me? I mean, really—a seeker?"

"We should all aspire to your level of fame, Prongs." Remus called over his shoulder. "It really does wonders for the ego—aaggghhh!"

A dungbomb had just flown out of nowhere and hit Remus square in the face. A spectral little man appeared through the wall at the end of the corridor, floating just above their reach and humming to himself.

"Potty Potter, he's a squatter!"

"Huh, that's a new one." Sirius mused, drawing his wand. "At least Peeves knows you, mate."

Remus was blinded by the dungbomb. "PEEVES! I'll call the Bloody Baron—"

"OH NO, no fun!" Peeves' grin widened. "If only he hadn't left me all by my ickle self to go and watch the Headless Hunt—ha ha HA!"

Peeves eyed the four boys mischievously before he began pelting them with dungbombs and what looked like moldy, rotting fruit. Sirius flicked his wand, but it was quickly knocked out of his hand by a flying apple, and Peter had taken shelter behind a tapestry. There was no running away from this one.

"Reinforcements!" Sirius shouted, shielding his face with his forearm.

"On it." James took off running down the corridor, yelling over his shoulder, "Stay strong, lads!"

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James

April 1st, 1996

Gryffindor Tower

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A very short while later, given his quidditch star athleticism, James arrived at the portrait hole to the Gryffindor common room.

"Fortis leo," he panted.

The fat lady simply eyed him and did not admit entrance.

James took a deep breath to compose himself and said once again, quite clearly, "Fortis leo."

"That's not the password," the fat lady said simply.

"But it was just this morning! C'mon—I'm in a hurry!"

"No password, no entrance." The fat lady said firmly.

James frantically looked around the corridor for a fellow Gryffindor, but it was empty.

"You know this is my House—just let me in!"

"Hey Harry, forgot the password?"

A boy about James' age rounded the corner. He had a round face and was holding some kind of odd, exotic potted plant.

"I actually do remember it this time, it's my grans first name—"

"Who are you and why—? Oh forget it, I'm in a hurry, need recruits—just spit it out already!" James waved his arms about impatiently.

"O-okay," the boy stammered, clutching his plant pot. "A-augusta solis."

"Finally!"

James clambered through the portrait hole and franticly scanned the common room for someone—anyone—he knew but came up blank. In fact, he'd never seen any of these people. Sure he had his moments of being self-absorbed and oblivious, but this was just strange. Then a flash of red hair caught his eye and he darted over to the fireplace.

The red head heard him coming and turned around—it wasn't Lily.

"Oh, hey Harry." She smiled, adjusting her fiery locks in a ponytail. "I thought you went to the library with Ron?"

The fire danced shadows on James' face as he stared at her speechless, an uncomfortable feeling creeping into his gut. This was the third time he'd been called Harry—why had everyone suddenly forgotten his first name?

"You know," said a very bushy haired girl seated beside the red head, "you really should be, Harry. I finished that essay days ago."

"I'm not Harry, I'm James." James said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The red head and the bushy haired girl met his eyes with shock, then noting the conviction on his face, they exchanged a worried glance.

The red head leaned over and whispered something in other girl's ear that sounded an awful lot like, "I think he's finally cracked."

The bushy haired girl bit her lip. "Er—are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"I'm not Harry," James repeated firmly. "I'm James. Now I'm in a bit of a hurry—have you seen Frank Longbottom around?"

The bushy haired girl peered around James and anxiously eyed the boy tending to his plant.

"Um…no?" she whispered, as though compelling him to lower his voice. "You saw him at St. Mungos, right?"

"St. Mungos?" James knit his brow. "No—he's a seventh year."

The girls looked very confused and increasingly concerned.

"He's Head Boy? Ringing any bells?"

They just looked up at him with very wide eyes.

James rolled his eyes in frustration. "Okay, maybe you've seen Lily Evans then? I really shouldn't ask her for another favor today, but apparently she'll do anything for our precious Remus—"

The bushy haired girl put a hand over her mouth and squeaked, while the red head gently grabbed his elbow.

"Hey, why don't you sit down—"

"I don't have time to keep explaining myself," James huffed in frustration, "poor Moony has a face full of dung as we speak, so thank you—I'll be off!"

He made to leave, but the bushy haired girl grabbed the sleeve of his robes.

"It's okay, Harry…you obviously need to talk, and Ginny and I are here for you—"

James shrugged her off. "Am I speaking in Gobbledygook or something? I need troops! The battle of moldy fruit is raging as we speak—Frank would be ideal, obviously, but Marlene also has a good arm on her, so—"

The bushy haired girl stood and rested her hand gently on his shoulder.

"I'm Hermione, remember?" she implored uncertainly. "And this," she pointed to the red head, "is Ginny."

"Well, I don't believe we've met." James admitted shortly. "Now do either of you have a stomach for dung or—what now?"

He eyed them as Ginny whispered something in Hermione's ear.

"Right," Hermione nodded. "Right—we really should…" she glanced up at James apprehensively. "Er—Harry?"

"James," he said somewhat condescendingly, accentuating the syllables.

"Er—all right then, J-james…" Hermione smiled unconvincingly, as though it pained her to say. "Why don't we go upstairs for a moment?"

Ginny stood and slid her arm firmly into his. "Yeah, we have something to show you."

"Look, I really have to get back to Sirius, Remus, and Peter." James said calmly. Maybe he wasn't being clear enough? "The Barons' gone, so Peeves is bloody unhinged right now."

Hermione looked like she'd just seen a ghost, and Ginny tightened her grip on his arm.

"Sure," Ginny said soothingly, like he was a child and they were playing make believe. "Sirius has a firework stash under his floorboards—we'll create a diversion. Peeves will love it."

"Really? How d'you know that?" James bewildered, his thick head drawing a nonsensical conclusion about Sirius and his female exploits. "And actually, that's a great idea!"

Ginny grinned, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Let's go, then!"

They hurried up the spiral stairs and into the fifth-year boy's dorm. James burst out laughing when he spotted bright orange flair hanging about one of the bedposts.

"Since when has Peter liked the Chudley Cannons?" He wiped a tear from his eye at all the posters pinned on the wall. "They're the worst team in the league! Wait…"

James slowly looked around at the rest of the dorm. It wasn't just the quidditch posters that were different, the posters beside his own bed were missing and there was a great, snowy owl perched in the window—

"Hullo," James walked over to greet the owl. Ginny was still firmly holding onto his arm as if she was afraid he might fall over. "Who are you? Have you got post for me?"

"That's Hedwig," Ginny nudged gently. "You know, your owl?" She glanced at Hermione and mouthed, "Maybe he was cursed?"

James was quite confused at the rearranged dorm, the owl that wasn't his, and these two girls he'd never seen before that thought his name was Harry...but he certainly knew he wasn't cursed.

Although, he thought, that's exactly what a cursed person would think…

His mind flashed back to the exploding cauldron that morning and what Remus had said about the scent of powerful magic, trying to fit all the pieces together. Something wasn't right.

Hermione threw back her bushy hair and began rummaging through a trunk at the foot of the bed.

"Hey—why are you going through my trunk?"

"I-I don't mean to invade, I'm sorry, I just—oh!" Hermione held up a leather-bound picture album. She sat comfortably on his bed like she'd been in his dorm countless times before and opened it. "Here, look."

James adjusted his glasses further up his nose and gaped. These were pictures of, well—him. But in these pictures, most of them anyway, he looked older. Maybe eighteen or twenty. And so did Sirius, Remus, Peter, and…Lily?

"Wait…" He narrowed his eyes. "Why do I look old and why is Evans with me?"

His eyes widened as they fell upon a picture of them kissing, with Lily dressed all in white.

"Is this supposed to be my wedding?"

Hermione and Ginny were watching him intently. James looked back and forth between them, waiting for an answer. This was too much. There had to be a rational explanation. He racked his brain, then suddenly remembered what day it was, and his face erupted into a giant grin.

"Oh, I get it. April fools—this is a joke!"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "It is April 1st…but this isn't a joke, Harry."

"Ha ha—yeah, it all makes sense now. This is one huge prank to make me think I'm forward in time, or—or in a parallel dimension, or something…"

That was it!

The pieces clicked together. His unyielding persistence of pining after Lily had become a long running joke between the Marauders, and his fruitless efforts to woo her had peaked recently. Last week, he had made quite a public spectacle of himself while asking her out. This involved riding around on his broomstick in the common room, clutching a tiger lily between his teeth that was charmed to sing "Isn't She Lily" to the tune of Isn't She Lovely by Stevie Wonder.

In response, Lily's face had turned as red as her hair and she had yelled at him:

"I wouldn't go out with you even in a parallel dimension!"

Her words echoed in his head. And today was April Fool's, of all days. Of course this was payback. He was sure of it.

Ginny frowned, watching him closely. "I think we should go to Madam Pomfrey—"

"Is Evans in on it too?" James asked hopefully. "Did she put you up to this? She's bloody brilliant so probably, no way Moony would agree to pull this without her…"

The two girls were speechless, and Hermione jumped as James snapped the photo album shut.

"I should go offer Evans my congratulations. Seriously, 'O' for effort—she nearly had me!"

His ego swelled at the thought of Lily putting so much effort into pranking him and he ran a hand through his untidy hair, smugly.

"Married to Evans. Huh." His face erupted in a smile. "Kind of cruel really, when I think about it. Definitely her idea…"

Hermione and Ginny just continued to stare at him, so he raised an eyebrow and waved a hand slowly over their faces.

"Hull-o? So…where were those fireworks again?"

"A-april Fools!" Hermione stuttered, attempting to smile.

"Yeah, almost had you!" Ginny agreed far too enthusiastically. "Forget the fireworks—let's go find, um, Lily?"

"S-she, um...wants to know if you fell for it," Hermione nodded feverishly.

James ruffled his hair again, his head becoming larger still. "She does? Okay—"

Ginny hooked arms with him and began towards the door. "Of course she does! She's this way, c'mon…"

"She really is brilliant, isn't she?" James sighed, feeling dazed.

"Maybe a love potion?" Ginny whispered.

"From his dead mother?" Hermione mouthed.

Ginny shrugged. "Stranger things have happened…" she grimaced, appearing to rethink this. "Probably?"

James was listening but paid them no mind, his thoughts still wrapped around the photo album, dreamily humming Isn't She Lovely as they made their way through the portrait hole.

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Read Chapter 3 here.

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Notes: Spoiler…Sirius, Remus, and Peter run into Harry next chapter. That's all I'll say! I'm having so much fun with this, I hope you are too. Also, fun fact—Stevie Wonder released Isn't She Lovely in 1976. Hmm…coincidence?

#marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #severus snape #hp fanfic #hp marauders #marauders #hp au #wolfstar #jily #hp fandom #hermione granger #ginny weasley

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theladyofbloodshed · 1 year

Text

Be Consumed By The Flame - Chapter 3

Thick wedges of sunlight seeped through the gaps in the busy buildings of Velaris as they returned to the city. It was cooler than the weather Nesta had enjoyed for the last two days. The skin beneath Nesta’s eyes was tinged pink and pulled tight from a morning spent in the Dawn Court followed by a day in the Summer Court. Lucien had taken her there after breakfast and they had enjoyed a day spent wading in the shallows of the ocean, feasting on sea food – which wasn’t as bad as she thought – and marvelling at Lucien catching fish with his bare hands to show off. He’d caught brightly coloured fish to show her, before letting them go again back into the waves. The waters of the Summer Court had been so crisp and clear that they were able to stand still in the shallows and fish could be seen darting near their legs in a colourful shoal.

While her own skin tingled from the kiss of the sun, Lucien’s had simply turned golden. Both of them had enjoyed strong alcohol that had been disguised with fruit juice on the beach until they had become giggly and flushed in the afternoon. They had lamented their miserable existences together, taking comfort in the fact their lives were equally abysmal. There was a sort of camaraderie in shared misery. At the first signs of sunset, Nesta conceded that she ought to return despite not really wanting to. She hadn’t missed Cassian. They rarely spent time alone anymore. Now she was shiny and healed, he did not need to ensure she didn’t fuck her way through Velaris. He could devote his time to his precious circle of friends.

Holding onto Lucien for support, they wove through the gleaming streets of the city. Already, Nesta missed the constant roll of the ocean against the shore, the towering palm trees, and the dusting of sand on the streets. The return to Velaris brought with it a sense of dread that she knew should not accompany her arrival home.

‘Are you ready to do battle, my lady?’

Nesta couldn’t help but snort. Her mind was scrambled from a day in the sun along with lots of strong smelling alcohol. ‘You take on Azriel and Mor. I’ll handle the others.’

‘Even the baby?’

‘Isn’t it disturbing that Feyre is closer in age to her son than her ancient mate?’

‘Your mate is ancient.’

‘Everybody is. Surprised you haven’t turned to dust.’

Lucien made a scorned noise. ‘I will you have know, Nesta Archeron, that I am barely two centuries old.’

She swiped at his arm. ‘Practically a baby yourself despite the fact you groan when you have to stand up.’

‘That’s not old age,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘I’m just lazy.’

Nesta gave him another swat. ‘Stop making me smile. My face hurts.’

She pressed her cool hands against her glowing cheeks, trying to flatten the smile and stop the ache from the skin being pulled taut when it already felt like it was stretched too tightly over the bones.

‘What a positively wicked thing to say. It is my personal mission to make you snort with laughter each time I see you now.’

Elain did not realise how lucky she was to have a male who was so brilliant, so uplifting, waiting for her to notice him. Lucien had made her laugh often during their two days together. He was a silver-tongued prankster who waited until Nesta’s mouth was filled with liquid before he cracked a joke so that she’d spit it out down her lap. He had even made her suck in a breath at a comment so she’d began choking on a chunk of battered squid and Lucien had needed to slap her on the back amidst his laughter.

‘Halt!’

Lucien held up a hand and Nesta staggered into him. They stood before a glass window. It was the bakery that they had visited a few days earlier. It was readying itself to close for the night, but there were still a few items that would be thrown away lingering in the window.

‘No. I couldn’t eat another bite. All you’ve done today is feed me.’

Lucien paid her words no heed as he peered around the doorway into the shop. ‘My lovely friend here will have the carrot cake and if that’s a macaron, then she will have that too.’

‘I will not. I’m too full.’

‘Ignore her. She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’

The bakery owner gave a laugh as she boxed up the items for Lucien.

‘I don’t want them.’

‘You will want them later. I know you already.’

When they arrived to the river estate, the conversation amongst the inner circle dried up. The weight of their gazes pressed upon Nesta. She could already see the disapproval seeping from Mor’s thin lips and Rhysand’s tense jaw.

Cassian’s eyes raked over her, assessing for injury, then he announced, ‘You are drunk.’

‘Well spotted,’ she snorted.

Beside her, Lucien pressed his lips together to keep from laughing – and she had to do the same. This shouldn’t have been a funny situation, so Nesta fought valiantly against the urge to burst into giggles once more. She could not look to Lucien. He would make her crack.

‘You know she’s not supposed to drink, Vanserra. What the fuck are you thinking?’

‘I explicitly told Cassian that I did not want Nesta to leave. Worse, you tricked Az into helping.’

The shadowsinger stood in the doorway with Elain peering over his arm to look at them with a pinched expression.

Lucien gave an uncaring shrug. ‘I hadn’t known Nesta was a prisoner who could not make decisions for herself.’

‘She’s not,’ Feyre said quickly.

‘Oh good, because you were not very happy when Tam wouldn’t let you leave the manor, so I’d hate for the same to be inflicted upon your elder sister. She’s already living in a house that she cannot escape from though, so I am a little uncertain on what constitutes a prisoner in the Night Court.’

‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’

If Rhysand did not have his son slumbering his arms, Nesta was sure that he would have stood after uttering those words. Nesta did not like his tone. He gave Lucien the same repulsed look that he had used on her the first time that they had met, condemning him to a life in Rhysand’s disapproval list.

‘Don’t speak to him like that,’ Nesta retorted. ‘A high lord should have more neutrality when it comes to his court. You’re all ruled by your hearts. My apologies, emissary, for the lack of manners within this court. Feel free to return to the mortal lands.’

She gave Lucien a stern nod that tried to convey to him that she could manage this lot and he didn’t need to be in the firing line any longer. Lucien had never truly been trusted by them, so she could understand exactly why he would be leaving his post. After one day in the Dawn Court, even she might contemplate a life there.

Lucien departed without fanfare. He pressed the box of cake into her hand after giving her a soft smile.

Nesta could feel their judgements of her scraping at her skin. She was a bad person. She had hurt Cassian’s feelings. Lucien had hurt Feyre’s too so by default, it was Nesta’s fault. The arguments were building on their tongues, but before Nesta could be pelted by them, she turned on her heels. ‘Well, I have ten thousand stairs to climb. Farewell.’

***

Lucien was a fool whose tongue always landed him in trouble. This time, he dreaded that it had landed Nesta in trouble too. He could not help the remark about Tamlin from leaking out. Feyre was blind if she could not see the parallels to her own situation. He had known that Nesta had had her struggles with alcohol after the war, but it was not uncommon for others to numb pain that way. The inner circle never held events without alcohol also being a guest. He had known she was not supposed to have it. If that had been the case then they were insensitive to be drinking around her. But Nesta had not been a shaking, desperate wreck who had clawed at alcohol as a crutch while they languished on the beach. Lucien had been the one to suggest it. She’d sipped her drink slowly and decided that she had drank enough before she was too inebriated. Despite everything, Nesta was capable of making her own decisions too. The Night Court did not know what was best for her.

His knee bounced as he tried to read a report from his contact in the Summer Court. Lucien’s mind was unable to forget Nesta Archeron. He worried for her. It was different to the way that he had worried for her sister in Spring; Feyre was unable to follow simple instructions designed to keep her safe in a world of faeries. It was also not the same worry he had for Elain. Lucien had worried for her thin frame and hollow eyes. Now, she was whole again, but content to hide. The worry that he had for Nesta was because she would stand her ground and bleed to prove a point. The thought of her having to weather the Night Court’s scorn – or face Cassian in an argument – because nothing she could do was right, infuriated Lucien.

What could he do?

Even if he returned to Velaris now, she might have already been sequestered into the House of Wind, with no hope of reaching her to ensure that she was well unless he could brave a dizzying ten thousand stairs.

And after he handed in his notice? What then? He wouldn’t be able to see her again.

He had made his peace with an unwanted mating bond. He would not burden Elain with his presence any longer. But maybe he needed to burden the Night Court with it to be a lifeline to Nesta.

‘Will you stop shaking your fucking leg?’ Jurian let out something like a snarl. ‘The whole table is wobbling.’

‘Sorry. I’m distracted.’

‘And drunk.’

‘I’ve sobered somewhat.’ Lucien scrubbed at his face, fingers snagging on the ribbon of scar tissue ruining his face. ‘I have a feeling I have made a monumental mistake.’

He shared details of the last two days with Jurian along with his worries that he might have put Nesta in an unfortunate position due to his attempts at lifting her mood. She had reminded him too much of his mother to leave her alone. In a strange sort of atonement for his life, Lucien had reasoned that because he could not help his mother, helping Nesta carried an equal weight. Although he hoped Cassian was not a male like Beron, Lucien had seen the general’s temper, had seen the way he spoke down to Nesta or preferred other people’s company to that of his mate. These small things might have been insignificant, but over time, they would erode her just as they had to his mother.

‘Bring her here if you’re so concerned.’

Lucien’s eyes canvassed the room, from the cracks in the off-white paint of the ceiling to the faded paper peeling from the wall. The chair that Jurian sat in creaked with every movement, the window frame was rotting, and one strong wind might blow the roof off. He could offer her nothing beyond basic safety.

‘She’s mated besides. I can’t steal her.’

‘Who says you’ll steal her? I’d be glad to leave the insufferable righteousness of the Night Court. I spent fifty years trapped with Rhysand, remember? I’ve seen his cock more than I’ve seen my own.’

Vassa, transformed for the evening, strode into the room. She took the seat beside Lucien on the couch then tucked her feet beneath her legs. ‘Whose cock are you discussing today?’

‘You make it sound like a regular thing,’ frowned Lucien.

‘It is for him,’ she replied, inclining her red head towards Jurian on the other side of the room.

He made a noise of protest. ‘No. I said Graysen engages with a pissing contest every time we meet. It wasn’t specifically about his cock.’

Ugh, Graysen. The male that Elain harboured feelings for. Lucien could not understand it. He was one of the dullest people he had the misfortunate in meeting. The male lacked ambition, expected everything to be passed to him by his father’s work, his voice was monotonous, and quite frankly he was rather plain on the eye. Still, that might have been better than a metal eye and a face full of scars on an exiled fae.

Despite the bickering that went on between his two friends that evening, Lucien’s mind was elsewhere. Beyond worrying for Nesta, he could not shake the thought of her cheerful laughter that had reminded him of sunlight. It was so glorious, so unexpected as she tossed her head back and squeezed her eyes shut. Nor could he let go of that wit that he struggled to keep pace with. They had volleyed words back and forth, the conversation more stimulating and engaging than any he had had for some time.

More than anything, Lucien looked forward to seeing Nesta again.

***

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Cassian’s hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her to him in the darkened front garden.

‘It’s ten thousand steps. I’ll fly you up.’

Before Nesta could speak, he’d hauled her roughly against him then pushed off from the stone. Her breath caught in her throat as they flew upwards, the cold air whipping her cheeks, the altitude unbalancing her.

She was unsteady when he put her down on the roof, so Nesta staggered a step forwards, colliding with Cassian’s chest.

‘You see? You’re in no fit state to walk straight, let alone go upstairs.’

‘I am fine,’ she bit out.

Cassian followed her across the roof and into the house. Both of them were warriors with neither knowing when to yield. Nesta already knew that there would be a fight that night.

‘I’ll have Lucien for letting you drink.’

Nesta pushed out a breath. ‘Lucien didn’t let me do anything because he isn’t my keeper, Cassian. I decided to enjoy a few drinks on the beach because I was having a good time. Mor constantly has a glass of wine in her hand and that is fine. You drink every time we visit them. Why can’t I enjoy a few drinks to unwind? I had a lovely time with Lucien, by the way – thank you so much for asking.’

‘Oh yeah. I’m sure you had a great time with another male. Did you fuck him?’

The question absolutely blindsided Nesta. It took her a moment to even process it. She blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

A slight blush crept up Cassian’s neck but he held her stare. ‘You heard me.’

She turned away from him to begin unpacking her bag – although she wished she could escape somewhere else. Somewhere far away. ‘Unbelievable,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I will not even dignify you with an answer.’

‘You made a habit of it before.’

Those words were worse than a slap. Cassian knew she hated that part of her history. She had told him once that she wished she had never ventured down that path, had saved her maidenhead for him because he loved her, rather than bouncing from male to male, sometimes two males a night, in her pursuit of drowning out the hatred for herself.

She was too stunned to even speak.

Nesta continued unpacking as she forced away the prickling of tears that were a common occurrence in this relationship.

A hand brushed down her arm. ‘I’m sorry. That was out of line.’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Nes,’ he continued, trying to link his fingers with hers.

‘Leave me alone.’

Her voice was hard and raw, leaving no room for negotiation. To his credit, Cassian did leave her alone. Faintly, she made out the boom of his powerful wings. Soon, her ears would be burning as he would likely spin a tail about her being cruel, not opening her legs for him after her absence, and not answering his questions about a dalliance with Lucien. If Nesta had said anything similar then she would be hung from the rafters. She was tired of constantly being pecked by them all for not being the female they decided that she ought to be.

She wished she had some plates to break. Lucien had been right when he said she had a lot to be angry about. Life had never been fair to her. Nesta was not Feyre; she could not air out all of the horrible things her mother and grandmama had done to her to make everybody feel sorry for her. It was bad enough that there had been witnesses to what happened with the Cauldron – yet even then, Elain’s experience was somehow made to be worse than Nesta’s. Feyre’s trauma at being unable to help was more important than Nesta actually going through it.

Her bag hit the ground with a bang as she tossed it there.

Feyre had forbidden her from marrying Tomas Mandray. She wondered whether her sister ought to have extended that advice to Cassian too. What did he offer her except heartache? A mating bond did not equal perfection. It provided strong offspring, nothing more.

Tears dropped onto her cheeks as Nesta tried to keep busy in the bedroom by tidying away Cassian’s messes. She could not stop the echoing voices in her head that she always tried to banish.

Not good enough. Embarrassed of your past. Second place to Mor. Shackled to me.

When her tears blurred her vision enough to make her stop, Nesta perched on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t the life she wanted. She did not want to be with a male who made her feel as if she did not deserve him, like he was doing her a favour by being with her. There was always something she did wrong, always a reason to be blamed for something. She had survived the Blood Rite that she had been forced into, but it was her fault that the Illyrians were angry. She had given up her powers to save Feyre and Nyx, but now she was defenceless when they might have needed her skill one day. She had accepted Cassian’s bond, but had been warned to be good to him.

Nesta had not stolen from the Cauldron and killed the King of Hybern to sit here and cry over a male. She was made of steel and flame, made for more than this.

In a sudden burst of passion, she re-packed her bag, ensuring that she could lift it easily onto her back without Lucien carrying it for her as he had in the Dawn Court. Hurriedly, Nesta scrawled a note to Cassian then aimed for the stairwell.

You have done this once before, she told herself. Anger had accompanied her then too, giving her feet wings.

It was better if she did not count the steps. She forced herself to go on for as long as she could before resting a while in one of the landings. It allowed her the chance to steady her heart beat. Nesta pressed her cheek to the cold wall to cool it then she was on her feet again, ready to tackle the next chunk. On. On. On. Throughout her marching, Nesta was her own support, telling herself that she deserved better, deserved more, deserved a future that filled her with joy. On. On. On.

When her legs began to tremble, Nesta did not force them to keep going. She took a rest again. There was nothing wrong with resting. The corners of her mouth ticked up as she peeled back the lid of the box containing her baked goods. Lucien had been right. She did need them. Needed that sugar to bolster her on the final way. Her tongue traced through the thick layer of icing. She wished she had a cup of tea to wash it down.

On. Nesta went on. Her fingers brushed against a wooden door that felt damp from the cold. A surge of pride built in her chest as she realised that she had managed the stairs for a second time. Her muscles might have been burning and she’d be in agony in the morning, but Nesta had done it.

Her hood was pulled up over her golden hair and pointed ears. A few streets were still busy with revellers enjoying drinks and as she passed the Boar’s Head, Nesta faintly made out the sounds of instruments seeping from the open doors. It was tempting to go inside to bask in the atmosphere that she had once coveted but it would be the first place that Cassian would think to look for her. No, Nesta had to be smart. If she headed towards the south-westerly portion of Velaris, that was where traders were permitted to enter the city. There were roads that led through the mountains towards the Day Court or there was even a quiet port where ships could rest a while. Either of those was a better option than staying here with a male who could always find fault in her.

***

Sleep had not come. Lucien tossed and turned until the sun came out, worrying over Nesta. He had gotten her in trouble then left her to fend for herself. It was wrong. Lucien had pondered and puzzled on a way to get a message to her – a way that she could let him know that she wasn’t in trouble. Then, the most obvious thought struck him and he’d wished he had thought of it earlier. He would return to Velaris and claim that he had thought that he had left an item in the bedroom of the House of Wind. It gave him a chance to enter the house, to see Nesta with his own eyes.

Lucien waited in the lounge of the crumbling manor until it was an acceptable time to call upon Feyre and Rhys. In his head, Lucien tried to sweep away his worries. Nesta was likely asleep still in the arms of her mate. They had spent a night apart for the first time in months, both had likely jumped at the chance of seeing each other again. He hoped all of his worries were foolish.

When Lucien winnowed onto the lawn of the high lord’s river front estate, the shadowsinger strode from the house followed by Morrigan. She shot him a look. ‘Where is she, Vanserra?’

A crease pressed between his brows. ‘You’ll have to run that by me again.’

‘Nesta,’ supplied Azriel.

A shiver ran down his spine.

The female had nowhere else to go. She’d told him that enough times.

‘Did you check in Windhaven with Emerie?’

‘Obviously,’ seethed Mor. ‘She is not hiding in the library either. She got out of the House of Wind.’

‘Careful, Morrigan. When you speak that way, it really does sound as if Nesta is your prisoner.’

Throwing her hands in the air, Mor stalked past him, saying she didn’t have time for Autumn Court males. It left him alone on the grass with Azriel. Memories of the Winter Solstice resurfaced. Lucien had been unsettled that night too. He had risen from the bed to retrieve a glass of water. Careful not to wake anybody, he had moved like a fox through the house then heard Rhysand berating Azriel for kissing Elain.

‘Where is she, Lucien?’

‘I am unsure why everybody is of the opinion that I should know that.’

‘You took her off the other day.’

Lucien held out his hands. ‘I left her here yesterday. I’ve only come back today because I believe I left a report on the desk up at the house.’

The lie had fallen off of his tongue smoothly, rousing no suspicion.

The shadowsinger scratched the back of his neck. The early morning summer sun was swallowed by his broad wings. ‘Nesta can’t have gone far.’

‘I’ll help you look.’

#peppering a reference to my other lucnes fic #lucien x nesta #be consumed by the flame

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killingdove · 1 year

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Elf boys request, their morning routines. Getting out of bed, shaving, getting dressed, eating etc

ishgardian trio ➳ — 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

A/N: hi anon!! since you didn’t specify which elf boys, i chose the ishgardian trio :) i hope you enjoy these headcanons as much as i enjoyed writing them!

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄

this little ray of sunshine is—to no one’s surprise—a morning bird. has no problem rolling out to start his day. after all the day is full of opportunities to seize!

is one to quickly dress to get it over with

never misses leg day and does his morning squats for 45 minutes

is on top of his facial grooming. sees to it that every dastardly hair is gone

gives himself a pep talk in the mirror

“alright haurche, today’s the day! the warrior of light will be here soon; be cool”

dorkily does the Haurchefant Thing (aka his emote) before leaving the restroom to devour a big hearty but nutritious breakfast

despite his (impressive) musculature, haurchefant has a huge appetite and fast metabolism

probably whistles the whole way to his office

𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐋

being in such a high, significant position as he is, there is no time to waste in the mornings. is up and at em’ sometimes despite the few hours of sleep he got because he was working late into the night (…again)

usually gives a big yawn (due to his lack of sleep) as he stretches while sitting upright in bed

drags himself out to take a quick cold shower and also takes the time to meticulously shave while in the shower

always drinks his coffee; 9 out of 10 times it works and he’s now a productive member of ishgardian society

always makes sure to wear his earring as he considers it a lucky charm

takes a morning jog on the rare days it’s not snowing in foundation (and is oblivious to all the eyes that openly check his lithe, beautiful physique out) if he can’t, then he does his personal exercise regime inside

returns to his quarters or goes on to don his usual full Lord Commander Attire™️

strictly sticks to the diet lucia devised for him

power naps if he didn’t sleep well enough and time permitting (like when he finishes his morning routine early)

practices his cordial, politician mask in the mirror and makes sure it doesn’t slip as he goes about his day out in the public

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

is another early riser. wasn’t one growing up but has grown accustomed to the ways of being one due to his rigorous training over the years

most likely grumpy because it’s 6AM and nidhogg’s fury is furying

sleeps commando so he makes sure his curtains are drawn the night prior when he gets out of bed

being the azure dragoon, his physicality had to remain in tip top shape so he lets his bloodlust for nidhogg and the dravanians motivate him to exercise

foregoes breakfast in favor of the eorzean equivalent of a protein drink typically because his schedule doesn’t permit enough time to cook (not that he can cook that well anyway unless squid is involved)

contrary to popular belief, he does shower and like aymeric, cleanly shaves during it

takes the time to care for his hair with the proper shampoo and conditioner and takes the time to brush it thoroughly when out of the shower

polishes his armor carefully before wearing it

makes sure his dried squid snacks are in his pockets before taking on the day (??? why is he like this)

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jfleamont · 1 year

Text

jfleamont's (pennyrigby on AO3) fic masterlist

(under the cut because it's long)

Rain - Words: 4545

Lily doesn't understand why James wants to patrol with anyone but her, and this annoys her to no end. It's not like he's ignoring her, which would be fine, by the way. She's not hurt, she's simply curious. So when James finds a distressed Lily on a particularly challenging morning, she snaps.

Do You Want To Know A Secret? - Words: 929

Sirius Black is at The Three Broomsticks to drink butterbeer and play cupid... And he's all out of butterbeer.

I Saw Her Standing There - Words: 703

A quiet moment under the moonlight. They're ready to fall in love, and it's surprisingly easy.

All My Friends Are Gonna Be Strangers - Words: 1090

Remus deals with the aftermath of Halloween 1981. It isn't pretty.

The Cake - Words: 623

It's Sirius' birthday and James and Lily are tipsy. Truly, it's not their fault, it's the cake's. Specifically, that little bit of frosting that's been sitting on James Potter's bottom lip for the last five minutes.

Put A Little Love In Your Heart - Words: 700

An unexpected announcement elicits an equally unexpected reaction, but all is well in the end.

I've Just Seen A Face - Words: 1499

James Potter is on his way to the Quidditch pitch, but when a gorgeous redhead decides to derail his path, he quickly realises he doesn't mind missing practice that much.

The Tree House - Words: 467

“James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell.”

There's a war outside, but every day is a battle even if you're in hiding.

It isn't easy being an optimist during a war.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes - Words: 337

Lily's an overthinker, but fear not, James knows exactly what to say to cheer her up.

Your Eyes The Door To Hell And All Within - Words: 6085

Lily has accepted the fact that she fancies James. Really, it's no big deal. It's not like he fancies her too, or something, because that would be impossible.

He would look good in a Muggle tuxedo, though.

At her's sister's wedding.

Preferably next to her.

She supposes she can ask him. It's not a bad idea, right?

The Love You Take - Words: 353

It's Halloween 1981, and the Potters are happy.

All The Things I Would Do - Words: 916

Lily can't stop thinking about James' hands.

Treat Me Like You Did The Night Before - Words: 433

Ticket To Ride - Words: 561

I Want To Hold Your Hand - Words: 768

The Falcon and The Squid - Words: 8269

There's a Lego Millennium Falcon that needs to be built. There's also a bet, a ring and a bike. Put it all together and what do you get?

#jily #jple #jfleamont rambles #pinned post #masterlist #it's mostly microfics and one-shots lol #i'm not very organised and i lose the will to write easily #but maybe this will motivate me to write more

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againstthegrainphoto · 2 months

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Dunner needs to heal up. They are both suffering.🥺

#no thoughts just hockey #dunnernlars #larsdunn #vince dunn #adam larsson #seattle kraken #kraken lb #nhl #hockey #practice #againstthegrainphotography #🦑🦑🦑#⚓️™️#The Favorite Squid™️#The Favorite Squid’s Favorite Squid™️#I miss them happy and giggly during practice #Dunner was not happy today #💔💔💔

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 7 months

Note

Prompt: “As beautiful as always.”

Song: Never Let Me Go – Florence and the Machine

For Reader x Tolya please?

Sup, did you miss me? In all seriousness sorry for being gone so long, my depression hit me like a truck and Baldurs Gate took over my single brain cell. But I'm back now, I think. Not at my usual pace but hopefully more consistent than I have been.

I Know All The Steps, You Still Surprised Me - Tolya Yul Bataar

Content Warnings: Fluff. Canon Compliant Threat and Discussions of Violence. Not Beta/Proof Read.

This wasn't your idea of fun. You had avoided most of Nikolai's required events until now, managing to find all and any reason for not attending. But despite every effort, you could not weasel your way out of this one.

So instead you are stood by some marble carved pillar, watching a bunch of nobility, drink and dance and try not to be too loud with their idle gossip.

You catch a glimpse of Tamar, walking arm in arm with that pretty Squaller who's name seems to just escape your memory. Nadine... Naomi... Nadia, you're convinced it must be Nadia. Tamar looks happy, talking as much with her spare hand as with her words. Her gestures all grand and her smile wide, Nadia's adoring gaze never taking flight from Tamar's face as she talks.

You let yourself smile, sharing in that happiness, moments like this, quiet and observed from afar, when love doesn't realise you're watching it bloom, those are moments that make things like the grandeur of tonight tolerable. And as much as sharing in the joy of others can bring that swelling in your chest, there is that part of you that is searching the room for your own little corner of happiness to be found in the sea of poised expressions and far too well practiced steps.

Happiness finds its way to you, before you can properly search it out, walking up behind you, a plate in hand, and dressed in more material than you've really ever seen him in. "Squid?" Tolya asks, slipping into the untaken space at your side. You gently push the plate away with a shake of the head, trying to not give away that he startled you.

But you end up taking a double glance once you see him. "Tolya," you say feigning more surprise than necessary. "You have covered your arms." You brush a hand down the fabric across his forearm. You cannot remember a time when he has worn anything to cover them.

"Something about etiquette," Tolya shrugs, "not my choice."

"Wouldn't want to deprive the room," you joke. He rolls his eyes, but the softness is there, as it always it.

"Look at you," he says, giving a single handed gesture to your equally uncharacteristic outfit.

"I look like one of them, I look..." you try to search for a word that fits. Pompous. Pretentious. Aristocratic. Hypocritical. But nothing seems to be cutting it.

"You look," Tolya says, not letting you find the words. “As beautiful as always.”

You are not sure how to respond to that exactly, so you just give him a half smile and turn your eyes back to the crowds. "We are going to get in trouble with Nikolai for not mingling."

"Not in trouble," Tolya says, "but maybe he will be disappointed."

"Like a sad puppy," you add, sighing. "I don't like this. It feels... wrong."

"I understand, you're thinking about out there, while all this is going on in here, it feels wrong to be drinking and dancing while outside is a warzone, while he is still walking around doing as he pleased," Tolya need not utter a name for you to know exactly what he means.

"Well, I am not drinking, and I am not dancing," you inform Tolya. Tolya turns his head to look at you as one of the waiters approach with two thin glasses.

"From the prince," the waiter tells you offering you one each. You can feel Nikolai watching you without even bothering to try and find him in the crowd, so you take the drink and fake a smile.

"That... he has ears everywhere," you mutter taking a sip.

"I think he is more concerned with you having a little fun," Tamar says, dropping in on the conversation, arm still linked with the Squaller. "You two do know how to have fun, don't you?"

"We know how to have fun," you say, but you hear how unconvincing it sounds. "Tolya we know how to have fun, right?"

"I think our ideas of fun are just rather different to the majority," Tolya tries to reason.

"Just dance you two, it will keep him happy and Saints, you might even enjoy it," Tamar says before turning back to Nadia, "can I have this dance my sweet?"

"It would be an honour," Nadia replies, allowing Tamar to guide them to the floor.

"Maybe we should," Tolya admits, looking at them.

"If you can find someone willing to dance with me, and not make fun and willing to risk the injuries, then fine, I will dance," you laugh, finishing your drink.

"Dance with me," Tolya offers, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like those words don't nearly still the beating of your heart in your chest.

You remind yourself to breathe. It's not like you've not danced with Tolya before. You've danced with Tolya more times than you've danced with anyone in your life. But the moments you spend dancing with Tolya, they don't feel like they exist in this life. They feel out of reality. Those quiet nights on the ships deck, following steps to a song that no music can play. Trying to keep in time when the only rhythm is the ocean waves. That feels untouchable when the sun is up, when the moon is cascading on anything except the two of you and the wood of the decking. You don't dance with Tolya in moments that feel real. If you did you would start to let yourself remember things as they are and not as ghosts of dreams and quiet whispers.

But he puts his plate down and holds out his hand anyway. "Would you do me the honour?" He asks giving the smallest of bows to pull a smile from your lips.

"Tolya I'll make an idiot of myself," you tell him.

"Then let's make ourselves both fools," he says in return. You don't know how to argue with him, and you don't truly want to. Nothing could make you feel like some fancy ball in some palace wing is a place you'd choose to be. But moments with Tolya make otherwise insufferable nights, things you cannot bring yourself to regret.

You walk with him, trying to teach your mind to stop drowning out the music and pay attention to the steps. Tolya pulls you in by the waist like he has a hundred times. But that was in the quiet. That was by moonlight. That was with no one but the ocean and the stars to bare witness.

This is here and now and real. This is with people and friends and audible music. And you feel your breath catch.

Even over the sounds, Tolya can still hear the thudding of your heartbeat. "When have I ever let you fall?" He asks.

But you're not scared of falling. Far too late for that.

He twirls you around, and it's clumsy, you're both moving to a music different to everyone else, a pace the two of you only know with a soundtrack only you both can hear. But you're laughing, and his hand is holding yours and for a brief set of moments you cannot think of anything outside of the bubble the two of you have created. The ocean in your mind is calm and his eyes are on you and you don't have it in you to be anywhere else but right here.

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #tolya yul bataar #tolya #tolya x reader #tolya my darling i adore you

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years

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Could I get kallamar x reader(who's a friend) where he learns reader is sick and blames himself but reader was just born sickly and tends to get sick super easy and it wasn't his fault?

“..and we give thanks to Darkwood for the camellia that grants us good health all year round. With petals red like fervor, this flora nourishes and strengthens us in our time of need. May our farms allow them to grow in abundance this winter season and...”

As everyone in the temple listened to Lamb’s daily sermon, Kallamar stood in the midst of the crowd, towards the back. Although he did his best to pay attention and keep his gaze strictly to the podium, every so often it would shift over to you in worry.

Much like everybody else, your arms were raised in admiration of your great leader, but your face told him a completely different story:

You seemed dazed and exhausted. Being the closest one to you, he could see how labored your breaths were. Shallow and uneven, yet you tried your hardest to keep them quiet.

Over all, you didn’t appear to be in good health whatsoever. And this made the ex-bishop gravely concerned that he had something to do with it.

Ever since he befriended you, he noticed you’ve been sick more often. Almost every other day, you were resting in the healing bay or in a shelter, unable to do much work around the cult besides leaving offerings or giving devotion at the shrines.

Because of that, you missed quite a few sermons..though Lamb didn’t seem to mind it at all. Of course, they’ve taken in sick devotees before--ones much like yourself.

But while they’ve gotten better with time and only rarely fell ill from there on, it was a daily occurrence with you.

It was..like you were cursed.

‘Were you?’ Kallamar wondered--a question that kept him up at night, yet he was too afraid to ask you about.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that when he arrived to the cult..you started showing symptoms almost immediately. Even though you had a relatively healthy bowl of food while he was being indoctrinated, you felt sick and started the friendship off on the wrong foot.

“..mar..did you hear me?”

Feeling a nudge, the squid nearly yelped in surprise as he looked to his other side, seeing Leshy tilt his head. “I said those flowers are only growing because of me.” He huffed. “This place wouldn’t even have half of them if it weren’t for my powers..”

‘He..still has his divine powers?’ Kallamar was starting to get a bad feeling.

Maybe his hunch was right. Maybe deep inside, he could still somehow have an influence over health and sickness..just like how Leshy could influence flower growth.

They’ve had these powers all along--their crowns simply amplified them and allowed them to spread an even greater influence among their followers.

Now? These abilities were more subtle. Not as widespread as they once were, but Kallamar feared that he unknowingly caused you all this suffering.

He didn’t mean to hurt you. Did you hate him for it? You surely must.

“D-Don’t speak in the middle of the sermon..” He whispered back to his younger brother. “We’ll be in trouble.”

Leshy just scoffed quietly, but otherwise stayed silent.

Kallamar had almost calmed down, though he was startled yet again as a quiet gagging noise came from you. He looked over in alarm as you sneakily ducked out of the crowd, exiting the temple in a hurry before anyone else noticed.

Feeling guilt twisting his heart, he refused to stay here anymore and followed you outside.

You were sitting near a tree that was a fair distance away from the temple, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. Fortunately, you still had this morning’s breakfast in your stomach, but you had to sit down somewhere before the nausea became too overwhelming.

“H-Hi..are you okay?”

You saw the ex-bishop standing there, looking down at you with a worried gaze.

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m alright. It’s just-”

“I-I’m so sorry..” His voice broke as he sat down, too--practically collapsing to his knees in front of you.

Tilting your head, your eyebrows furrowed upon seeing the tears sliding down his turquoise face. “Sorry for what?”

“It’s my fault you are constantly plagued with sickness. I just..I-I don’t know why or how but...I can still curse people apparently..” He sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away but failing miserably. It was useless, just like his inability to cure you.

“I didn’t mean to..y-you must forgive me-”

“Wait, did..Leader not tell you?”

“..tell me what?” Kallamar looked at you in confusion.

“I was born sickly.” You explained gently. “My immune system..never caught up to speed with the rest of my body. So I catch the flu and stuff easier than most people. It sucks but..I learn to live with it. Leader understands. They say giving devotion is enough for them, so they’re okay with it.”

“Th-That’s..that’s all?”

“Yep.” You chuckled, though you fell silent as he still frowned, and you shifted closer to him. “You could have asked me about it and save yourself the worry.”

“I didn’t want to be rude..” He muttered. “A-Are you sure it’s not my fault?”

“No. Not at all.”

“...you don’t hate me?”

“Of course not.”

At those reassurances, Kallamar felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. He was so relieved to learn the truth--though knowing it sooner could’ve spared him from so much stress and anxiety.

“Thank you..” He smiled in gratitude, before seeing you stand up. “Oh! Where are you going?”

“To pray for a better abundance of camelia this winter.” You looked at him with a smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yes..I would love to.”

#clanask #anonymous #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl kallamar #bishop kallamar #bishop follower au #sick reader #platonic

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elvisabutler · 2 years

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happy we'll be beyond the sea

summary: elvis is a selkie, just like his mama was. colonel parker has been in charge of keeping his skin safe since his mama died. the colonel uses it to have elvis do whatever he wants him to do. until one day the colonel isn't the one who has the skin. someone else is. fandom: elvis ( 2022 ) | elvis presley | austin butler pairing: elvis x reader, past elvis x priscilla rating: m for a brief smut at the end. word count: 10, 727. i don't want to talk about it. i don't wanna talk about it. warnings: death mentions. mentions of elvis's poor health. mentions of seal skin. mentions of turning into a seal. really a lot of mentions of skin, because regrettably that is the basis of a selkie myth a lot of the time. me playing fast and loose with selkie myth to suit my own needs. elvis being a himbo. threatened violence toward the reader. overall bad things involving the international. gambling. period typical-ish misogyny implied. fingering. implied/fade to black p in v sex. author's note: so, welcome to the first of four creature au's i'm writing in october in addition to kinktober. i started off with selkie elvis because the international being a trap/tomb/prison is bookended with the vampire fic i'm ending the month on. i am not expecting a lot of y'all to read this because selkie aus are not massive in fandom but i've been a part of enough that have had them that i wanted to make one with elvis. you do not have to picture austin!elvis as i left it vaguely mismash-y between him and actual elvis. but i wanted to write this so i did. next week is mermaid austin, third week is gonna be incubus elvis and then halloween is vampire elvis. enjoy! also the jumpsuit i mention is a real jumpsuit that yes has a green/blue beaded version and a red beaded version, look up the spanish flower jumpsuit if you're curious about it. the green one has a scarf. i am now a sucker for elvis giving his woman a scarf. and this is set late '73/early '74-ish. fudging dates just a little to make things work for me. also do not come at me for inaccuracies with the myth, i have enough celtic blood running through my veins that i can do whatever i so desire with the myth, thank you very much. also if you want mood music, a lot of the time i listened to the navajo version of beyond the sea it's very relaxing. no pressure but i discovered it while writing this and i love it a lot.

"I wanna give you something, 'Cilla. Something that's gonna prove to you I won't stray now that we're together." Elvis says more excited than Priscilla's ever seen him.

"Elvis- we've been together-" And you've still fooled around but she ignores it because short of Ann-Margret no one else really has held a candle to her. "What's this gift you want to give me that's so important?"

"My skin." He answers without missing a beat before his eyes widen and he realizes what he said. "My seal skin, satnin."

"Your seal skin." She repeats slowly the words sinking in. He's told her about how he isn't human on more than one occasion, warned her that there's a possibility any kids they have might be that way but to hear him talk about a skin she's never seen is strange. "It's an actual-"

"Skin. Looks like a pelt- you- darlin' you haven't seen me as a seal, mama always said I was majestic. Like ink from one of those squids or whatever." Elvis is practically bouncing on his feet, looking every bit of an excited boy and not a man over thirty. "You're my wife, it's supposed to be yours. My daddy used to keep mama's until she- died, and she kept mine while I was on the road back in the day. She thought I was gonna lose it. I-I gave it to the Colonel after she died, told him he had to keep it real safe for me, that if I ever got married- if he wanted me to be that All-American man, I needed that skin in one piece."

"To give to me." She finishes his thought, knowing that's exactly where it was going. She's- it's not that she isn't flattered, she is, but Elvis had told her those myths so long ago that she figures just maybe she might need a refresher. "Why?"

"Sailors and fisherman, they used to bind selkie women to them by stealing their skin when they took it off." He starts, rubbing at his lower lip. "Made them be their wives even if they hated it. But sometimes if they got lucky they could give their skin to the person they loved to protect it and protect them. I won't stray if you got it, baby. Wouldn't be able to."

"At all." That sounds like a dream come true, actually, an Elvis Presley completely faithful to her. "The Colonel's going to give it back to you?"

"He's- Of course he is, Cilla why wouldn't he?"

"Because he's a- he reminds me of those fisherman you talked about just now."

"Nah, he- he knows I've been waiting to give it to you. Or whoever I got married if it wasn't you. Wouldn't dream of not letting me have it back. Ain't like I won't work for him without it."

"If- Alright, baby, if you say so, I'll- I'd love to have your seal skin. Your selkie skin? Kind of want to know what it feels like now."

Hawai‘i is never really a breeding ground for his type. Something about the water being too hot and the climate being too hot for his kind to thrive. But Elvis- Elvis finds that it’s one of the few places he feels at home, one of the few places he feels safe to be himself, to swim in his own skin. Maybe that’s why the Colonel had chosen there to make it so he was fully trapped, fully under his control. His mama had always told him to watch over it like a hawk because that’s- not watching for someone stealing it had gotten her into trouble even if it had all worked out in the end with his daddy and her. They might not have been in love maybe- Elvis doesn't like wondering- but they loved each other through his daddy being in jail and up until his mama passed. He hadn't minded the Colonel keeping his skin safe, after all he was just another father figure and Elvis figured he could trust him. In hindsight maybe that was a mistake.

Honestly Elvis has lost track of the last time he's actually seen his skin. Maybe it was that ill fated Hawai‘i trip when he was gonna show Priscilla how he looked as a seal, maybe it was the glimpses that the Colonel lets him see every so often to remind him that he was under his thumb, under his control because I've got your skin, my boy. He is a grown ass man who has to ask to go places that aren't just Vegas or the tons of cities he goes to on tour, sure he can go home, but he can't go to Hawai‘i without a fight and he can't try and go overseas. He can't just have a bit of time to escape.

Elvis can tell something's going on, that something's going very wrong with his body. His mama always told him that genetically he was predisposed to quite a number of things but being a selkie was supposed to help that help keep some of them a bay for the most part. But that was the tricky part though he hasn't been in selkie form for God knows how many years at this point. His body can't keep up he can tell at the rate he's going he's not entirely sure he's going to make fifty, the fact that he's made it to as close to forty as he has is feat in and of itself.

The midnight show was a little more draining today than it has been in a while and Elvis swears getting up off the floor feels like moving through a patch of quicksand. Jerry's the first one of the Mafia to notice, rushing to his friend's assistance.

"You good, E?" He asks as Elvis leans against him breathing a little heavier than he should five minutes after the show has ended.

Elvis contemplates lying before shaking his head. Jerry knows him better than anyone other than maybe George or Billy and he knows the werewolf would call him on his lying bullshit.

"Tired." A sigh escapes his lips as he says that before he licks his lips. "Should've swam earlier. Might've helped."

Jerry frowns noting how Elvis is practically dead weight against him and shifts his position to gain more of a hold on him, making sure the other man doesn't fall over or look completely like he's out of it. "Tomorrow morning, man. We'll clear out the pool for all of us, make a morning of it, you know the Colonel won't be up till 1 after his gambling binge tonight."

The response he gets back is a slight snore as for once in a blue moon Elvis fell asleep without needing to take something to make it happen. Jerry thanked God he had his strength otherwise dragging his friend to the penthouse would have been a feat he couldn't have easily accomplished. The band, the Sweet Inspirations and the Imperials are all staring at him as they pack up and Cissy pipes up.

"He alright?" She sounds worried and Jerry doesn't even blame her.

He shrugs as he starts always away. "Yeah, just needs some rest, all of you should get some rest, we're gonna try and spend some time at the pool if some of you wanna join."

Jerry knows he should see if anyone is saying they'll want to join but he knows he needs to get Elvis to the room in one piece so he focuses on that instead. It takes longer than normal, takes longer than it would if he wasn't half dragging Elvis but eventually they arrive in one piece as Jerry lightly slaps Elvis' cheeks to get him to wake up and shower. He stays in the room until Elvis pops back up still looking exhausted and flops onto the bed, his snores filling the room as Jerry leaves.

The next morning Elvis awakes with a start, wondering where he is until he sees a note from Jerry and a bagel. It used to be a rare occurrence that he felt so exhausted after a show that his body gave out, normally Dr. Nic had to pull something from his bag of tricks to knock him out but apparently last night was one of those nights that seem to becoming his monthly norm. Elvis stretches out on the bed, joints cracking as he gets up, grabbing the bagel and his robe before going to the window to look out st the sky. It's 10AM and Elvis sees the hustle and bustle down below by the pool, remembering how in his exhaustion he mentioned going for a swim. He still think he should have done it last night but acknowledges that maybe he was in a worse state than he believed he was so Jerry probably made the right call. Right now, though? Right now he finds that all he wants to do is to hop into that pool and shed all the stress he feels in his shoulders and chest and just float.

A quick call to the concierge to call everyone else's room and one fully eaten bagel later and Elvis is leaving the building, making his way to the pool. It's a small thing, nothing like the wide oceans of Hawai‘i but it'll do in the pinch he's in right now. It's just him for right now after everyone else had been cleared out, which reminded him he had to give all those guests something nice, he didn't- they didn't ask to be pushed out of their well earned pool time by him. By the time Jerry arrives with that sounds like George, maybe Joe and what he think might be Lamar, Elvis is already well into his swimming, laying flat on his back in the pool. His body feels stronger in the water, even if the smell of chlorine has his nose scrunching up. The calm is broken by a cannonball by his younger cousin and Elvis finds himself choking on the water as his mouth fills with it at the sudden jolt.

"Goddammit Billy!" He shouts once he's actually above the water and swimming over to him, splashing a bit of water at the man. "Give a man a warning, half drowned me over there."

Billy laughs as Elvis exits the pool in a bit of a huff. "You can't drown and we all know it!"

Elvis rolls his eyes as he grabs the towel on his chair and is about to sit down when he sees a woman he doesn't recognize walking to the pool area. His eyes don't leave her form as she walks around like she owns the place. He knows she doesn't, even if the management changed from Kohn. He knows that between the boys and the hotel, no one should be coming down here unless him or one of the Mafia asked for them to come, but from the look on everyone else's faces they're as confused as he is. This won't do, no, he might have felt bad about kicking everyone out, but he's not gonna feel bad about potentially kicking this woman out. Who did she think she was?

"You know this is a private party!" He shouts, making sure he has her attention before bothering to walk over to her.

For her part, the woman has the decency to look over at him and shrug before answering with her own shout as she unwraps her robe. "I don't see a sign, Mr. Presley! So, I think I'm going to go swimming!"

Elvis's eyes narrow before he shakes his head, walking over to her in large strides, taking advantage of every bit of his height. It only takes him a minute to reach the end of the pool she's at and when he does, he just looks at her as he stands between her and the pool. "Not without my permission you're not."

There's something about her, something about her air or in the air between them that makes his hair stand on end. It makes him think about the first time he met Priscilla or the first time he met Ann Margret or the stories his mama told him about the first time she met his daddy. Almost like he was supposed to meet her for some reason, for a good reason, not the shudder that had erupted from him when he met the Colonel for the first time. He doesn't take his eyes off of you.

Your eyes drift up and down his form, taking in wet body, noting the chest hair, the muscles and how he seems large, but not necessarily in a way that's pure fat. Just that all parts of him appeared larger than life. Your mind drifts back to the item you have in your hotel room, hidden to where no one but you can find and you wonder. A hum escapes your lips. "You're not my daddy, Mr. Presley. I don't need yours or any other man's permission to swim in a pool when I'm a paying guest, same as you. And I gamble, something I know you don't usually. Too busy shaking those hips on stage and kissing your audience silly. Someone has to keep this place in business when you're not here. It's mostly me."

"A woman with a gambling problem." He says, tone flat as he moves to touch your shoulder. "Now I definitely know you don't need to be swimmin' unless you ask nicely." He pauses. "You seen my show?"

"I was in the audience for the one where you got a little drunk, Presley." Your hand moves on top of his hand and grabs it to push it away. "I'm not that easily charmed after that."

It's not that Elvis isn't used to women turning down an advance or a touch from him, but coming from you his heart twists a little. Strange since he's just met you but he's thinking it's just from you mentioning that night. He frowns, looking away and off to the side. "Not- ya should come to another. That was a-"

"Special circumstance, Presley?" Not mister, almost like you're trying to test the waters.

"Somethin' like that. Found out some interesting news that night was all. Passed out before the show even." Elvis stops talking for a moment, seeming to realize that he is telling you things he wouldn't dream of telling a stranger all to defend his actions to you. It almost reminds him of how he was around Dixie back in the day. "All I'm sayin' is ya can't be judgin' after one bad show. Come t' tonight's. 8PM or 12AM."

You raise an eyebrow. "That's my prime time to win. Why would I-"

He cuts you off and pushes a stray bit of your hair out of your face, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long. "I'll make it up to you. 'specially if you don't like it."

Your breath catches in your throat at the sensation of his fingers against your cheekbones when he brushes the hair out of your face. You wonder for the briefest of moments if it feels the same way when he trails his fingers down to someone's neck. The question is on your tongue before you shake your head, forcing yourself to keep staring at his eyes in an effort to not back down.

"Are you offering to pay for me to take off tonight?" You ask before you purse your lips. You hadn't meant to make that sound as bad as it did if the laugh from behind you is any indication. Your cheeks heat up and you clench your jaw.

Elvis's eyes flit to your jaw before looking behind you and glaring. The words that come out of his mouth sound more like a booming sort of bark that has you reflexively flinching. "Billy! Keep laughing."

The man named Billy stops and Elvis turns back to you. "I am. Even the hardest working people deserve a night off. You deserve one, and I wanna show you a good time."

"At your show." You finish exhaling slowly as you do. "And if I say no?"

The man in front of you- if you want to call him that- frowns for just a moment before shrugging. "Then you don't swim."

"You're forcing me. Who do you think you are? Because all I see is a has-been who's wasting away in a hotel when last I remember hearing before your drunken ramblings about aliens, you wanted to go to Japan and Germany and everywhere. But I know you're going the second you leave here because you do it every year."

Elvis moves closer to you and looks you up and down. "I'm Elvis Presley, the man you can track like a bloodhound. 'm not forcing you to do anything, just come to the show, let me show you how good it is and you can do whatever ya want."

You huff and push your way past Elvis, tossing your robe onto an open chair and making your way to the deep end of the pool, sliding into it and under the water before you break the surface after you see Elvis standing over where you slid in. "Fine. Now can I swim? Or are you gonna pull me out?"

If his look turns a little heated, seeing you soaking wet in water while he's standing over you, he chooses to believe God would forgive him and that you wouldn't notice. "Have at it. Watch out for the idiots. Billy's fond of playing chicken. Fuckin' sucks at it, though."

Jerry by this point has left the pool himself and is sunning himself in the chair next to where Elvis plops down as you look at the two of them, your lip curling in what might be disgust. That's a new one for him. "She doesn't like you."

Elvis grabs the pair of sunglasses on the table that he knows Jerry brought down for him and spares a glance back at you, marveling at how the water slides down your back. His tongue darts out of his mouth like he wants to lick it off of you. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, you had him acting like a teenage boy with those thoughts and some desire to not immediately act on them. "Yet, Schilling. Yet."

He snorts. "Yet. In your dreams, EP."

You don't want to go, you have been dreading going all day since you climbed out of the pool after your swim. Elvis had tried to talk to you a few times in the pool, only for you to rebuff him with splashes of water and eyerolls. His entourage left the pool area first and you think that means he's going to follow them before you see a shadow blocking the sun from you. You sigh. "Elvis get out of my sunlight."

"What color are you wearing?" He asks not even making a single attempt to move.

"I'm not matching you." A pause, because honestly, you might not be matching him but what's the harm in lying to him about the color any way. "Turquoise."

His lips curl into a smile and despite your frustration at the man you can't help the way you stop breathing for a moment at seeing that look directed toward you. Lord have mercy who gave him the right to look like that and be as much of a pain as he had been that morning. "Turquoise. You'll look a goddamn vision in it. Won't- I'll see you tonight."

"Maybe!" You call out to his retreating form.

As it turns out you hadn't completely lied to Elvis, you were wearing something that had turquoise beads on it it to offset the complete void of black that it was. You thought it was cute and it had brought you a bit of luck at the tables from time to time so you didn't see the harm in it until you found yourself being met at your table by one of the men Elvis surrounded himself with- Jerry, you think his name was- and you saw how his eyebrows raised at your dress and your platform shoes.

"Did- Did EP buy you that?" He asks before shutting his mouth and wincing when he realized what he said.

"No?" You answer, confusion coloring your tone as you narrow your eyes. "Why?"

Jerry can't help the laugh that escapes him as he shakes your head. "You'll- I- I can't tell you, you'll see when the show starts. Get comfortable. E wants you to enjoy tonight, sent me out here to make sure you do."

"I don't need a babysitter." Which was true, but at the same time, the company would prevent other people- people who'd likely want a word with you over their losses from bothering you. "But if you're going to be here, I'll tolerate it. Is my tab on him too?"

"It is." He murmurs as the house lights start to dim.

The second you see Elvis you realize what Jerry had meant. You were matching, your lie had meant that he picked a jumpsuit with turquoise detailing and was black. You want to be horrified but it's strangely flattering knowing that Elvis wanted to have you match somehow, not that he had known you were going to essentially be wearing a dress version of his jumpsuit. You spare a glance at Jerry who is laughing at your gasp. He waits until Elvis is saying something to the audience and staring right at the two of you to whisper something to you.

"Don't know what it is about you, but I haven't seen him this excited for a while. Not telling you to give him a chance or make it easy for him, but hear him out. He's- he's been through some stuff and it's getting to him."

Once again your mind drifts to what Parker had been forced to give you when he lost and the myths you've heard offhandedly from plenty of drunks. You wonder if that has something to do with it. that had to be it, you weren't the kind he went for anyway. Even if you think you'd go for him just for the hell of it. You sigh.

"This is a one time thing, Mr. Schilling. I can't be coming here night after night. I'm just as busy as him."

Jerry hums as he sees the house lights start to light back up and Elvis launches into what you swear is an actually entertaining routine about wanting to see the audience. You're almost not paying attention to who he's pointing out until he mentions your name and you wince at the bright light on your face.

"Sorry 'bout that, darlin'. Forgot to give you warning. But look at her, isn't she a beauty, didn't realize we were gonna be matching. Thought you were wearing turquoise, baby!" He jokes as the audience laughs with him.

Your embarrassment with the situation has your shoulders tensing up and you want to not answer, you want to run but you're an adult and you know very well that there's enough people in here who you play with that if they see you blink in this situation they'll never take you seriously again. So you don't blink.

"So did I! Left it in Memphis?" You joke, smiling your most charming smile as you do a twirl so everyone can really see you do look like you're his matching girl.

"Hawai‘i!" He answers back before motioning for you to come up the stage. "Let her by, everyone! Gotta give her something to cover up that gorgeous neck."

You look confused for a moment before you make your way up to the stage. This entire thing was getting way too weird for your tastes, you had just met Elvis and here he was trying to make the audience be charmed by you like he planned on you being by his side for a while. What did he think that you were gonna join his little Memphis Mafia as the resident gambling woman? A few members of the audience were still a little too close and you found yourself pushing at least two of the women away when they tried to grab at your dress like they were going to steal it right off your body.

Elvis is looking at you from the stage and when he sees the women try and pull off your dress he almost hops off of it to defend you and protect you. Strange, but at this point he's beginning to realize everything about you and his reactions to you is a little strange.

When you finally reach the stage, he takes off his scarf, it's sweaty and he knows it is but somehow knowing you'll smell like him, knowing people will see his scarf and know that you're off limits. How off limits exactly he doesn't know. All he knows is he wants to see you with something of him wrapped up around your neck. His eyes flit to your neck as soon as you take it from him, your fingers brushing his, causing his body to flush more than it already was from the exertion of the show. If the brush of his fingers illicit the same reaction in you it doesn't show beyond a brief inhale. You noticed how his eyes flit to your neck though and despite the sweatiness you end up tying the scarf almost immediately around your neck perhaps a little tighter than you should, but you didn't trust the audience members to not try and pull it off you.

His tongue darts out to wet his lip when he notices how tight you tied it before he chuckles. "Y/N, everyone! Ain't she a good sport. Go on back to your seat, doll!"

You didn't even wait for his permission, your backside already turned to him, your dress swaying with your hips as you slid in between everyone. No one cares what you have to say but you can't resist the response. "Not your doll, E!" Not Elvis, not Presley, not even EP, just E.

If the rest of his show seemed like he had the energy of two men- well, you chose not to notice it. You do have to give Elvis credit, though, he wasn't wrong about the night you had seen before not being his best work. This was something else, he commanded a room the way you commanded a table. It has you clenching your thighs together and has your lips twisting into a frown when you realize it. Jerry doesn't say anything about how you keep shifting in your seat except for the occasional sniffle and small huffs that leave his lips. By the time the show is done, you're already standing up, ready to leave when Jerry grabs your arm.

"You should come backstage." He says, motioning to the curtain. "I know he's going to want to see you after that."

Your hand moves on top of his and you pull it off as you shake your head. "If Elvis wants to see me, he can come find me. I'm sure the hotel staff would let him know my room number. Now if you excuse me, Mr. Schilling, I still a few more hours to enjoy my night. Do me a favor and tell him that he might be right, I shouldn't have judged him off that show."

Jerry lets you walk away even though he knows Elvis is going to hate it because this is something else. The whole thing is strange, you smelt faintly like Elvis before he put the scarf on you and yet- he was going to get to the bottom of this eventually but in the meantime maybe it wouldn't hurt to make Elvis work for you.

Two weeks later and you're beginning to think Elvis has forgotten about you. Sure, he gave you the scarf and seemed bound and determined to get you to like him but he hadn't found you yet. His manager had on more than one occasion, trying to win back the skin, but the joy was that Colonel Parker absolutely did not know when to quit when it came to wins. He had won it several times over only to lose it again that same night. It'd be tragic if you didn't find it hilarious to watch.

It's about 10AM when you hear a knock on your door. Strange, but not entirely unheard of, it might have been room service for all you knew. What greeted you had you stopping in your tracks.

Elvis looks good- better than he had two weeks ago and you wonder if it's makeup or something like a diet pill or some drug. No one looks that good after looking as bad as you've heard he's been lately. Then again, most of your knowledge had been from tabloids so maybe he wasn't that bad off. Your eyes drift down his form, taking in the suit with no undershirt, the belt with a buckle bigger than your whole hand and his boots. When your eyes drift back to his face he tries to blow his bangs out of his face before he grins. "You are a hard woman to find. You pay off the front desk staff? Because goddamn they wouldn't tell me a thing."

Your mouth opens and closes in quick succession before you finally squeak out an answer. "Nope. You're- You've been looking for me?"

"Every morning." He answers honestly, looking at your unmade bed and back at you. "Am I interrupting something?"

You turn to figure out what he was looking at before your eyes widen and you bite back a laugh. "Are you asking if I have company?"

He has the decency to look a little guilty before he nods. "I am. From that giggle though, I'm thinking you don't."

You nod back and fully start to laugh. "Unlike some people, I'm not known for sleeping with strangers."

Elvis purses his lips and shakes his head. "Lord help me, I don't know why- you are-" He takes a moment to breathe and he swears he smells the sea when he feels the breeze from your open window waft air out to the hallway. Impossible because you're both in Vegas but he knows that smell. It smells like- it smells like his skin used to. "What about talking to 'em. 'specially since you've got my scarf."

Your eyes flit to your nightstand where the scarf is and you pray to every deity he hasn't seen it. You shouldn't tell him yes, you should just let him have his scarf back and be done with it but you're thinking that's still not going to solve the problem so you shrug.

"By the pool, E?" A neutral spot, and one you figure you both feel comfortable being by.

"Already got a party going 'till one down there. It's a date." He turns to leave before he looks back at you. "I don't know if that's a candle or what but- your room smells like the sea. I like it."

Your eyes widen momentarily before you stutter out a thank you and shut your door before running to the closet. The skin is still there, still looks healthy- honestly looks healthier than it was when you first got it and you jump back like you've been burned. You were no expert on any of this but this- this was weird. Still, you had to grab your swimsuit and head downstairs. After all, he wanted to pretend this was a date and you hated being late for those.

As it turns out, Elvis wasn't bad. You learn this after the first morning in between laps around the pool and interruptions from various people. You learn the real basics of him that day. But as the weeks go on and turn into months you learn about his charitable works, about how his gaudy house was actually bought for his mother and on one memorable day how he hates every single one of his films including your favorite.

"Viva Las Vegas! Oh come off it-" He exclaimed, shaking his head. "That- Love Ann Margret."

"Yeah, everyone knows you did. But I really liked it. Especially that scene when she let you fall into the pool." You grin, grabbing some water with your hand and splashing it at Elvis's face.

"Oh, you just like me all wet, I see how it is, darlin', that's really why you chose the pool wasn't it." He asks, leaning over like he's about to kiss you.

You inhale sharply. "That's for me to know and you to never find out."

His hand moves to untie the scarf you wear out of habit at this point, his scarf you wear out of habit at this point and lets his fingers trace your neck when he does. "Not even if I ask real nicely, mama?"

It occurs to you that if you didn't have his skin, if you didn't know that you had his skin this would be easier. You'd feel less like you're taking advantage of him, but you feel that way, you know the basic myth, you know this has to be tied to it somehow. Still, his hand is touching your neck and you know your pupils have to be dilating by now and- your chest feels like it's in a vice grip before you manage to guip and speak. "Not even then."

"Can I kiss you?" He asks as his hand moves up to your cheek and you swear you stop breathing before you find yourself nodding against your better judgment.

Elvis's lips are soft and that surprises you for reasons you don't quite understand. They dominate the kiss and you don't know if it's because Elvis is the more dominant one- barely- out of the two of you or if it's because they're just larger than yours. You mean for it to stay chaste, you do, but then you can feel his tongue pressing against your lips and you open your mouth to let him in, your tongue dancing with his own. On instinct, you nip at it, something you've always done with partners and earn a groan from him. You're both on the edge of the pool and everyone else is there but without even missing a beat, Elvis moves to climb on top of you, half shielding you from everyone's eyes but also allowing himself the pleasure of pressing against you.

"Elvis-" You breathe out when he pulls away trying to steady his breathing. "We're- by the pool, everyone's here. I'm pretty sure they're staring."

He shakes his head. "They've seen worse. I've seen them do worse, just- let me kiss you, darlin', please. It feels- you feel like home. Feel like I did back when I-"

He trails off and you find that it worries you because you feel him tense above you. "Back when you what?"

Back when he had his skin? He's- his manager has had his skin, he had been married not that long ago, what does he even mean by that. You needed to- he needed to have the skin back if it was causing him to feel like this with you for no reason.

"I can't- I won't tell you right now. After the show tonight, darlin'. I'll tell you after the show if you wanna know still." He shakes his head and starts to pull away. "I. It's getting close to one. Darlin' do you have a dress like that one you wore to my first show. That black one."

"I have it with red stones? Won it off a businessman. Why?" You're fully confused now, wanting to ask what's going on and why Elvis is seeming skittish now when he had just been wanting to kiss you. Had he realized what was going on? Or what might be going on?

His lips curl into a smile. "It was like you were tailor made for me. It's the same for me. I was planning on wearing the one with my red stones. Come to the show, I'll give you my scarf before it. I just need my- I need you to match me."

"Kiss me some more and I will." You give him a small smile when you speak, grabbing at his cheek and watching him nuzzle into it not unlike the seal you know he is inside.

"Okay." He whispers leaning back down and closing the distance between you.

The Colonel sees you backstage before Elvis does and gives you a once over before grabbing your arm and attempting to move you to where no one can see the two of you before Jerry actually catches him.

"Let her go." Those three words have the Colonel dropping your arm like you scalded him before he glares at Jerry and leaves, leaving you to rub at your arm. You open your mouth to explain before Jerry waves you off.

"I know how bad his gambling gets. None of my business how much you took him for as long as- maybe you can find a way for it to get back into EP's pocket."

It really should be his business is what you want to tell him before Elvis spots you, practically running over and picking you up in a hug before twirling both of you until he sets you back down. "You came and you match me, darlin'. Don't know if I like you more in the black and blue or this one." His hands move to his neck, pulling off his scarf and tying it around your neck loosely. His breathing quickens just a hair seeing his scarf around your neck before he shakes his head. "You look perfect."

It's hard to make you feel bashful but in that moment you can't help the way you look down and kick at the floor like a schoolgirl. "Could say the same for you."

"Aw- no need to flatter me, you've already got me-" He stops himself and leans a little closer to murmur in your ear. "I'll meet you in your room after the show. Shower, maybe get a little dirty with you? Continue what we were doing at the pool?"

Your only answer is a hum and a smirk and Elvis knows that's a yes. Knows by now that you doing that is how you say yes when you don't want to admit it. He takes a deep breath and realizes he smells the scent of sea water once again. It's in your clothes this time, it's in the dress. He wants to ask you what the deal is- why your dress smells like sea water and like home, but Jerry's pulling him away and you're waving at him with a blown kiss. It's silly but he makes a move to catch it and you laugh.

The show is phenomenal as always and while you notice Elvis is distracted by something- someone maybe, he still puts on the show you've begun to expect. By now you've seen or heard Elvis talk about the end of his show that you know how it goes so you let yourself slide out the back of the showroom and make your way to your room, humming "Can't Help Fallin' In Love" to yourself as you do. You know you need to tell him, know that he deserves to know that you're the new owner of his skin, that you've been trying to figure out how to give it to him, but his promise of something more tonight has you thinking it can wait until tomorrow morning before your daily poolside chat. It feels like a lifetime before Elvis arrives at your room and in that time you've undressed, leaving yourself with nothing but your underwear and dark blue robe with your initials printed on the pockets and on the lapels. Elvis knocks once, twice, three times before you answer the door, pulling him in before kissing him softly.

"Shower." You say simply.

As soon as the door shuts Elvis is overcome with the overpowering scent of seawater that he keeps smelling near you and he stops as he heads to the bathroom to make sure he doesn't see any candles before shaking his head. He's got to be losing it. This- it's almost like how the Colonel's room used to smell with his skin hidden in it. But that was impossible, you couldn't have his skin. His shower doesn't take long, his anxiousness and desire to talk to you forcing him to rush through it. When he comes out of the bathroom he finds you lounging on your bed, looking a bit tired. He considers the merits of not telling you, debates if you're coherent enough to hear what he has to say before he realizes that no- he needs to tell you. If he wants to move forward with you- you need to know.

He slides next to you in the bed and leans on his arm to face you. "I'm a selkie." He pauses, realizing that he offered no preamble to go with that. "It's-"

You tense next to him the second you hear the words come out of his mouth and turn your body to face his, cutting him off with a finger to his lips. "I know what it is. Human who can turn into a seal with a skin. Or vice versa, I don't know which is the default."

"How do you- how do you know what a selkie is?" His voice wobbles a little, like he's terrified to hear your answer.

A breath leaves your body in a rush before you bite your lip as if you're thinking, plotting really and Elvis face is morphing into one of genuine panic and worry. "Baby, why do you know what a selkie is? How?"

"I've played with a lot of men who know the legends." You answer in a rush, biting your lip once more. "I- They've told me about them. Your manager told me about it too. Elvis- what does it matter- I know I don't mind it's fine-"

He cuts you off, his eyes flashing and the blue you swear turning into a stormy sea. "Parker- that toad- where is it? You don't feel like home because you're supposed to be with me, you don't smell like the sea because you might be a great seal wife. You- Where is it?"

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me!" Elvis shouts practically jumping off the bed before starting to go through your drawers, tossing your clothes as he does. "Where is my goddamn skin, woman?! I will- Just tell me where my skin is, darlin' I don't want to hurt you but I need- I haven't had my skin for a decade and you've had it for a month after winning it off the man who was supposed to protect it. Give me back my skin!"

You're sure that your neighbors think you're a murderer with how loud Elvis is shouting about his skin but you don't care, more preoccupied with making sure Elvis doesn't hurt you or wreck your room too much in his search. You get it- you get how this must be horrifying and frustrating but he's actively scaring you with how he looks, how you feel he's every bit of a deadly seal ready to kill you for keeping him away from what's rightfully his.

"Closet." You whisper before watching him storm to it. You don't dare get up from the bed and so you only hear his victorious shout and hear the somewhat anguished sobs coming from inside your closet for a few minutes until you see him come out holding the almost pure black pelt with only a few white spots. He doesn't bother to look at you as he heads to the door, still looking as angry as he did when he first walked into the closet.

"Keep the scarves. It's gonna be as close as you ever get to touching my skin ever again." He spits out before opening your door and slamming it hard enough the picture frames on the wall rattle.

You lock the door and sink to the floor and cry.

A month goes by and Elvis had left the building, an emergency trip back home everyone had said until the pictures of him in Hawai‘i prove that to be false. You've been on a losing streak and you blame it on Elvis. On his scarves, on his kisses on the knowledge that he had charmed you only to leave you because you didn't tell him that you had his skin. It's on one of your losing streak nights that you hear whispers about Elvis having a show tonight and you can't help the laugh that leaves you at hearing that. You can't help the way it makes your heart twist inside your chest and makes you want to crawl into a hole.

You excuse yourself from that table, realizing you've lost enough tonight and realizing that you'd like a drink. You're not paying attention to where you're going and you find yourself bumping into a body you've become relatively accustomed to.

"Y/N." He breathes out once he steadies you and takes a good look at you. His eyes drift over your form, noting how your hair is unkempt and you look almost like- well like he did when you first met him. Maybe- no.

"Elvis." You murmur, leaning against him, taking in his scent, that sea scent that had left your room two weeks ago and lead to crying jag that left you in bed for two days. As much as it felt like home to Elvis- it called to you in what was perhaps a similar way. "You look healthy. Good. The- Your skin helped you. That's good."

His eyes narrow, realizing you're smelling him. If he was honest with himself, and he rarely is, he hasn't stopped thinking about you while he was in Hawai‘i. Even without his skin you felt like the sort of woman he could be with and who could keep up with him. It's not like he hasn't loved Priscilla and Ann Margret and anyone else he's been with but you were different. You caught him off guard and you felt like the person he was supposed to entrust with his skin all along. Seeing you like this? Seeing you worse for wear because he left the way he did has his heart twisting in his chest and has a growl against himself brewing. He had hurt you, twisted you into something he didn't like seeing.

"Being around you before-" he left, before he realized that you had what he had dreamed about getting back for over a decade and you took such good care of it. "You helped a little."

Your head moves from his chest as you wave him off. "That was all you. I heard the stories, you'd sleep all day stay awake all night. You were the one at the pool that first day."

He gulps and his hand moves to your back, holding you in a hug, his hand rubbing up and down. He can't help the way his nose buries itself into your hair. You still smell like the sea to him. "Only kept going because that's where you wanted to meet."

A laugh bubbles up from deep inside you and you pull away as you laugh like the idea is the funniest thing known to man. "You can't- You can't say stuff like that, Elvis. I'm- I'm going to go back to my room. You have fun down here. With- it's- you're done with your shows tonight aren't you? Just have fun here then. Win some money off of Parker. Oh, that'd be funny."

Elvis pauses and grabs your arm as you start to walk away. "I'm walking you to there."

You look at him like you want to argue before you see that there isn't room to argue. He's already waving off Jerry and Lamar and Billy so it's just the two of you. The idea of being alone with Elvis is not necessarily something you want because you don't trust your tongue and brain to listen to you about how you don't want to tell him how much you missed him. You feel pathetic about how much you missed him because he doesn't look like he missed you at all. Sure, you two had only really known each other for a month but you knew things about Elvis no one else did and you had told him a few things about yourself that you wouldn't tell someone on your deathbed. Being around him felt right even now, felt comforting even now. Elvis moves his hand from your arm, a good thing because you swear you felt his rings starting to dig into the flesh and moves it to your waist, pulling you against him as he walks both of you steadily to your room. The desire to lean against him is too strong just from the feel of his rings against your waist so you let yourself indulge in it, leaning against him like he's the only thing keeping you from falling. You hear a sharp intake of breath from him before he grips your waist tighter, almost as if he never wants to let you go. What a pipe dream.

Your room door comes into view too quickly for your liking and you almost want to tell him that it's not your room any more but you know he's not an idiot. Some people may think he is, but you know the truth, you know the brain underneath that gorgeous hair. You open your mouth to speak first before Elvis turns to face you, his hands moving to push back your hair on both sides.

"Ya look like shit, doll." A simple comment but one that has you shaking your head and biting your lip before looking down. He's not admonishing you but it certainly feels that way.

"No one to impress here for the past month." You answer, knowing fully well he can connect the dots. "And when I lose I don't- treat myself kindly, I told you that the day Billy convinced Lamar to toss you in the pool while he tossed me in."

His lips quirk into a smile at the memory before he shakes his head, frowning. "You- I did a lot of thinking while I was gone."

A hum as you make a move to unlock the door so you're not having what feels like might be a very important conversation in the hallway. It opens easier than you think and you motion for Elvis to go in as you respond with an attempt at a joke. "Don't do that, you might hurt yourself."

The second you're both inside the room, Elvis shuts the door with his foot and leans against it, putting just a little bit of distance between both of you. "Wouldn't be the first time." He takes a few deep breaths, noting that your room doesn't smell like the sea breeze, but it still feels like home- still feels like he's supposed to be there. "But I-I- I came to the realization about somethin'."

Your eyebrow quirks up and you tilt your head questioning what he means by that without saying a word. He takes that as permission to continue.

"I've had that skin my whole life. I've seen- my mama shouldn't have been married to my daddy. Maybe they loved each other but it- it was complicated. I didn't think about it beyond protecting her and all but she always told me to make sure whoever had my skin knew to protect it. Told me to make sure that I was- that I trusted the person I was going to let have that power over me. Made the mistake of giving it to the Colonel, but then you- you won it from him. Jerry told me that- told me how you won it and how you kept winning it back when he tried to get it back and- baby, I don't think you know how much that means to me. How much-" He pauses, taking a breath or several to collect himself. "Priscilla couldn't get it from him, everyone couldn't get it from him and we tried, oh God did we try and I thought this is it, I'm gonna die because I'll be seperated from my skin for so long. I'll waste away because that toad won't let me go. I resigned myself to it."

Your throat tightens as you try and swallow your saliva, and you feel your nose starting to run and your eyes start to burn but you have to say something. "But then I- I got the skin."

He nods, his own eyes looking glassy but not because of any drug. "You got my skin. You got it and you hid it because you- I'd have thought you stole it if you gave it to me right after. But you kept it safe and mama, you smelt- You smelt like you rolled in me, Jerry thought I had fucked you the moment you watched that first show you smelt so much like me. I thought Priscilla was home and she was when we were together, I'll admit that right now, I still love the woman and she gave me my little pup of a baby seal. But you- I don't think it was just the fact that you had my skin that made you feel that way. I- Getting to know you without knowing that you were holding something that could tie me to you- somethin' that I've had used against me for so many years- I- I think I'm in love with you. I think you were always supposed to be the one to get it. Supposed t' protect it with your own life."

"No-" You start before he's waving you off and moving up off the door.

"Don't ya be telling me whatever bullshit I know you're about how I'm an idiot, because I know you think I'm one. I'm the selkie here, I'm the one thinking about givin' you back my skin so that when I'm here, when I'm with you I smell a sea breeze and when I touch you- you feel like the warm waters of Hawai‘i against my skin and I know that somehow you'll make sure I live a long and healthy life wherever it is." Elvis closes the distance between the two of you and by this point you're crying, you're crying because none of this makes sense. Elvis Presley doesn't forgive like this- you've heard the horror stories, you've seen how he barely interacts with his manager any more after they used to be thick as thieves. You had to listen to the Colonel talk about how it was supposed to be the Showman and the Snowman but now Elvis doesn't want to be so tied to him after his betrayal.

"I'm- You- Elvis don't play." You choke out, rubbing at your eyes like that's going to hide the fact that the more he speaks the more you feel tears just pouring out of you. "It stopped smelling like the sea two weeks ago and I-"

He pulls you into his arms and you find yourself just taking deep breaths trying to calm yourself. You focus on the feel of his rings gliding against your skin as he rubs your back and shushes you murmuring what feels like sweet nothings in your ear. "I'm here, I'm not- I won't swim away, darlin'. I came back. I'm back. I'm here. Gonna finish up my residency, this last one here and I'm gonna- I'm gonna take you wherever you want. You're gonna protect me and I'm gonna protect you. Gonna spoil you, gonna swim with you."

"Are you giving it back to me?" It's the first thing that comes to your mind when he's murmuring all those things and making you feel like you want to cry even more even as it's strangely comforting to hear. "Are you giving me back your-"

"It's in my room. I'm gonna move you up there, you're gonna tell me the best spot in there for it to be and it'll just be me and you who knows it's there." A pause. "Yeah, baby, I'm givin' you back my skin. I'm- I'm not asking you to marry me or nothin' but you'd make a good seal wife."

That last sentence, that moment of hearing Elvis call you a good seal wife, as dumb as it sounds to anyone else listening has you pulling away just enough that you can kiss at Elvis's neck and up his jaw before you reach his lips. It's a gentle kiss as if you feel like if you do more he really will swim away never to return. You realize you shouldn't have worried when Elvis deepens the kiss, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he nips at your lips before pulling away, breathing heavier than he was before, his eyes starting to be taken over by his pupil.

"Can I show you what I wanted t' do with you that night?" He asks, searching your face for any hint of a no. "How I wanted to lay you on your bed, kiss every inch of you and see you moan and bounce on my cock."

You shiver and it's not because of any cold breeze before nodding and whispering your answer with a nuzzle against his chest. "Please. I missed you."

That's all the permission he needed as he picks you up like you're nothing and drops you on the bed, and climbs on top of you, his hands moving to the bottom of your dress, pulling it up slowly over your body and over your head, exposing your silk underwear to him and earning a groan of appreciation.

"Didn't have anyone to dress up for but you're wearing something as soft as me." He says in between kisses down your neck as his fingers move to feel your cunt, noting how just with a few kisses and his presence you're practically soaked. "You missed me that bad. Didn't ever touch you and you're-"

You mewl at his touch, feeling a slight burn at both of his fingers before you move your head to the side and shake it as if you don't want to admit what you're about to say. "I touched myself that afternoon, after the pool. I wanted you so bad that night. Was gonna tell you about the skin the next morning. Thought I was going to lose you for good, E."

His fingers still in you at those last words and you briefly think you've made a mistake before you feel the press of his lips and the press of his tongue against your lips as a reassurance that you didn't. He bites your tongue softly, remembering like he has for the past week how you did it to him and you let out a soft moan as he curls his fingers just so.

"Didn't lose me for good, baby. I'm right here. Gonna be with you for for good if you'll have me." He murmurs against your lips before kissing you again, his fingers sliding in and out of your core.

"Promise?" You ask as you buck up, feeling Elvis's thumb against your clit, pressing hard against it before rubbing a soft circle.

"Promise." He answers, his head moving down to your neck, until he stops at your chest, peppering kisses across it and moving a cup down just enough to expose your nipple. "You can make noise, mama. Wanna hear you, want everyone to know you're taken, want everyone to know you've claimed me. Trapped the selkie on dry land because he's happy for once."

If there was a response you had, it's overtaken by the groan you let out at the feel of Elvis's tongue against your nipple. The flick of it, the warmth of it drowning out anything other than you and him and your bodies. You hear the sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and your body heats up more if it's even possible. You didn't know you could be that wet for anyone and yet here you were feeling as if you're going to leave a puddle on the sheets. He pulls away just enough to blow a puff of air against your nipple as his thumb swipes just so and you find yourself shouting, your vision whiting out for just a moment as you feel his hand grip your hip to steady you. It's- You never come that quickly, a frustration for most of your partners and yourself but you think- no you're almost positive that Elvis has helped you reach an orgasm in no time flat. You'd be embarrassed if the thought didn't feel so hot.

He speaks first. "You came."

You nod slowly, your eyes struggling to focus on Elvis before you trust your tongue enough to form words. "I-You're very good." A pause. "I can go again. I want- that was too short. I want to feel more of you."

Elvis pulls his fingers out of your cunt, his eyes watching how it clenches around nothing as he pulls them out. It is a sight he wants to commit to memory and a sight he wants to spend the rest of his days seeing day in and day out. He doesn't say anything, instead choosing to stick his fingers in his mouth, his tongue sliding across them before he pulls them out and moves to touch your lips with them. "We've got all night, darlin'. Now be a good girl and taste yourself on my fingers, will you?"

Your tongue is out before he even finishes the command.

Later on that night, when you're curled against Elvis, your hand playing with his chest hair and his hand is petting your hair as you both half pay attention to whatever movie is on the television screen you find that being with him feels comfortable, like you've shed your walls or the hardened skin you normally present to everyone. You wonder if that's just because he's that charming or if perhaps there is something supernatural at play.

"You're thinking too much right now. Thought I fucked that out of you tonight." He murmurs against your hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"Sorry, it only works for an hour, then I'm right back at it." You joke softly. "What were you going to tell me that night? About how I felt?"

Elvis stiffens just a tad before he hums and you can hear his head hit the headboard softly. You almost start to tell him he doesn't need to answer before you hear his sigh. "You felt like home. Felt like Tupelo and Graceland and the sea around Hawai‘i all rolled into this package of a woman who accidentally matches my jumpsuits without me buying the damn dress for her. You felt perfect for me."

There's a burning in your eyes you don't want to acknowledge but you can't help the way you sniffle at the comments before you speak. "And now?"

"Didn't change." He starts simply before his hand moves to rub your back and pull you closer to him. "You are perfect for me. We're gonna protect each other. Gonna do what we want when we want it and if they don't like it we'll go somewhere else."

Your lips upturn into a smile at that and you snuggle into Elvis' chest just a bit more. "I'm holding you to that tomorrow morning."

He chuckles and it fills your whole body with a warmth you only associate with a hot cup of tea. "You can hold me to that for the rest of my life, darlin."

"We'll see."

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fluff #kind of?#elvis 2022 #austin butler #austin butler elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #this is so very self indulgent.#as evidenced by the length.#ally's october creature au's.#yeah i did make jerry a werewolf in this because i wanted to.#don't judge me #i said this was self indulgent.#selkie!elvis

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lanaevyssmoved · 8 months

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hi I would LOVE to hear backstory and personality deep dive lore on your tief clown, she’s so so so cute

bro dont ur gonna make me cry ive literally never had anyone be interested in my ocs before (mind u i never shared anything about them out of fear so its my own fault BUT ALAS)

i dont have the Strength TM to go massively into her right now but .

she was born in baldur's gate lower city, to a poor family. they are the eldest of 6 children, with rather large age gaps between herself and the youngest!! the youngest, 6th, was born during the story!! she has no idea until she goes back to the city!!!!! (she is so, so upset she missed it. her parents named the babe after them though - they cried so hard man.) when the 5th was born she decided to not be a burden on her parents any longer, as they lived in a small 2 bedroom home, and left baldur's gate to travel the sword coast!!! they busked to survive wherever she stopped, and learnt how to survive on her own on the road through experience. they got robbed a few times and had some scary encounters on the road and sleeping rough in the wilds, but she's a strong clown and was okay!!! i promise!! her Kidnappy by Squids happened while travelling! she was on the road for about a year before this happened, so she got that Survivability Stat Maximum (she doesn't. she still struggles to start fires.)

their admiration and love for clowns comes from the circus at baldur's gate!!! dribble the clown is her HERO!!!! any dribble haters get PIED IN THE FACE!!!! her outfit is one her mother sewed for her. she really really wanted to join the circus but she was rejected because (spoilers) shes not actually a good clown . she can't make mean jokes and she can't make puns. her jokes suck . half the time she compliments people and thinks its somehow a bit and thats how to clown . however her flute is a FUNDAMENTAL part of her 'act' and she WILL sing (extremely poorly written) songs for u and thinks its a the natural evolution of clownery. she wants to suggest this idea to dribble (she never gets the chance). they bond with the SquadTM through her bardery though. in the late hours she practices her flute, and she's good, like, she's GOOD. so they like to listen.. and when moods and morale are down, she writes songs for each companion and performs for them. either by the fire for all, or privately 1 on 1 (this is seen as flirting. she is not flirting. they are autistic .) THIS is actually how gale came to like her because she wrote him a stupid song about books being fun and cool and cats being really cute and wine is ok but beer is better. absolutely SEDUCED by this bard.

i dont know what else to say. i like them a lot. clown haters dont interact or get pied

#ask #Anonymous #bro... im in love with you btw #oc afhiri #SHE/THEY BTW :D

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snowy-squids · 3 months

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Squidbeak Masterpost

Summary: “Callie always liked to revisit her past- it was a simpler time, and reminded her of times were she wasn’t busy 24/7 between her job making music alongside her cousin, and working with the Squidbeak as Agent 1. One night, she chooses to revisit them once more, in Octo Canyon- a place she hasn’t been to in a long time.”

This is my first time posting writing to Tumblr, so I hope the tagging and formatting is fine. Also, for peace of mind- any romance oriented scenes between Callie and 3/Violet is when both are over 18, and both characters are the same age.

Callie always liked the quiet of the Squidbeak's outpost located in Octo Canyon. Sure, it wasn't the most recent one established, but it was in better condition than the one in Octo Valley. Additionally, it wasn’t in a desert that was as hostile to inkfish as possible, like Splastivlle’s.

It had been what, 5 years since 4 had finally brought her back to the surface she missed so much? Though she doesn’t have many memories of that time. Even with Marie and 4’s (Abigail? That’s what her name was, right?) help, everything was foggy.

She picks up an old scrapbook in the outpost's cabin. She’s been working on it for a while. It’s filled to the brim with photos, alongside glitter glue, stickers, and paper cutouts.

As she flips through the pages, she thinks about the days long gone. The memories she’s held onto over the years.

—————

Callie and Marie were 10 when they entered Calamari County's Folk Singing Contest. Quite young to be entering, but both were prodigies. Or perhaps early bloomers, being able to reliably switch forms at a younger age than most inkfish.

Callie flips through a book of sheet music, singing to herself as her cousin sits on a chair, fidgeting. This is their last practice session before the big day, something the reef squid was worried about but didn't say so. Marie was the more vocal one when it came to complaints, after all.

“Do you think we can even win? I know we've been practicing for months, but they always have hundreds of entries. And a lot of people aren’t even from Inkadia.” Marie says, her voice barely a whisper.

Callie grins. “I know we can do it! Gramps says we've got the best singing voices he's ever heard!”

“He hasn't heard anyone sing outside of us for years.”

The two young squids didn't know at the time that they would win. Nor that they would get a standing ovation. It was the most exciting day of their childhood. Proof that they had talent that could be honed into something amazing.

—————

It was 5 years later when the agent approached them. If there was one thing that was common knowledge, it was that most idols started off young. Sure, exceptions existed, but most got their first deal before they were even 18.

“You just need to sign the contract.” the Inkling says. She had introduced herself as Shy-Ho-Shy, and had taken an interest in the two recently. “I assume you've talked with your parents about this, yes?”

Callie nods firmly, while Marie gives a quiet thumbs-up. Callie bounces from foot to foot, but Marie shows no expression.

“Good. Now, here's a pen. Please know that this is binding and...”

Callie has signed the paper before Shy-Ho-Shy has even finished her legal jargon. Marie follows soon after, a bit apprehensive.

The idea of being recognized was something that Callie somewhat yearned for. She despised her job at Walleye Warehouse. After all, inkfish were not known for their physical strength, and the job paid only a few thousand G above minimum wage. It was hard labor that she only did since it paid the bills.

Perhaps now things could take a turn for the better. At least- that’s what Callie hoped for.

—————

The first day of hosting the news was a nerve-wracking one. Callie had performed for an audience before, it was a constant for what, 2 years now? Time was something that was hard for her to get a grasp on. But this was something that was a big deal- the two would go live to all of Inkadia.

The back of Callie's outfit is laced up, and she fidgets with one of her head-tentacles. She had been growing them out for a while, and perhaps one pro was that she had something to grab onto when she was nervous. She flashes a thumbs-up to Marie, who is finishing her makeup.

“You two will be on air in 10 minutes.” a lobster says as the two walk to the recording studio. Callie holds her head up in faux confidence, hoping that maybe, just maybe, her fear can be cloaked. She is so excited for this, but there’s so much that could go wrong.

The two go to their places, having memorized the script given to them over many days and rehearsals. The dynamic they two were marketed with was the bubbly airhead and the snide straightwoman.

Luckily, Callie could play her role well.

“Action!”

Callie is the first to speak.

“Hold onto your tentacles!”

Marie follows up after.

“It's time for Inkopolis News!”

—————

Callie and Marie had been hosting the news for the year when Shy-Ho-Shy approached them with a proposal.

“We were thinking, since your contract for the news is ending soon, that perhaps we may host a more special Splatfest.” she says. “An idol showdown, where Inklings fight to see who comes out on top- Callie, or Marie. It also dovetails well with your endeavors in solo performances.

”Are you sure?“ Marie asks. ”If I were you, I'd do a double take.”

Marie wasn't wrong, all things considered. Splatfests were a heated debate, often ending in drama and discourse. Many times Callie got death threats as well, usually when her team won. Something like this could easily tear the internet to shreds.

“It's more a publicity thing.” Shy insists. “I'm sure this would get plenty of coverage.“

”I'm aware. But, well. This is a disaster waiting to happen-“ Callie starts.

By then, it's too late. The papers have been signed, and the theme of the final Splatfest has been set in stone.

—————

The publicity stunt worked. Perhaps too well. The Squid Sisters were one of the most popular bands in Inkadia, yes. But the fallout of the Splatfest had been nuclear. Even weeks later, Callie got heavy amounts of drama in her Squidder feed. Sure, it was a small amount compared to the praise. But it refused to go away, no matter how many users and tags Callie blocked.

Perhaps that's why she found herself drawing in hedonistic pleasures and vices. Using it to suppress her feelings.

Perhaps that's why she found herself in Octo Valley. It had been a few months since her grandfather established his ”Squidbeak“, one she found both herself and Marie dragged into unwillingly. An attempt to settle old grudges, but covered her hands with blood instead,

Perhaps that's why she talked with Octavio. She felt alone, alienated. Drowning in drama she could never escape. Wanting something more in life.

Perhaps that's why she picked up a crowbar on the ground, and struck it down on Octavio's prison. Even if her mind told her not to.

Perhaps that's why she blacked out shortly after hearing the glass shatter and crash to the ground.

—————

The view from Callie's room is beautiful. It's located high above Dome 1, the richest of the various underground bunkers retrofitted into living space for the Octarian Empire. Every night, she can see light shining from the city, bathing the apartment in a pale glow.

She reaches a hand to her fin, where a pair of glasses sit. Octavio gave them to her when she woke up, in a recovery unit underground. Callie was also told to never take them off. Ever.

She didn't. Cuttlefish told her many stories of what Octavio was like a long time ago, and the Octarian leader was one that rarely abandoned his old ways. And at the same time, she didn’t want to take them off. They looked fresh, after all.

Callie got used to it eventually. The music softly playing through the shades, soothing her and making her be more willing to do what Octavio told her. The strict routine she was held to. The way she would sometimes wake up somewhere without knowing where she was, or how she got there.

She hears the door open, and then the footsteps of an Octoling woman around her age. Callie had seen her many times before, and the two even talked. Her name was Crystal, and she was the granddaughter of Octavio.

”Oh, hello, Crystal.“ Callie says. The way the words sound to her are foreign. Not of inkling origin. But she’s gotten used to her voice sounding off. It’s been like that since she woke up in recovery.

Crystal nods her head. ”Hello, Callie. My grandfather wanted me to tell you the latest news.“

”About the new Agent?“

Crystal nods. ”That's the case. She's been draining our power supply. She seems to be quite clever. She can evade our forces, and take out most she can’t outrun.“

”That's how every Agent is, Crys. I was just as cunning as her before I arrived here.“

”I'm aware, but well. She was able to shut down one of Octavio's superweapons. The Octo Oven. Even with all of his failsafes, it got destroyed.”

Callie presses her hand to the bridge of the shades. ”You're joking.“

”I'm not. I’m worried, in all honesty. The other weapons seem to be fine, including the General’s mech, but who knows how long it’ll be until they’ve been destroyed? Or our power supply runs out?”

Crystal sighs.

“I’m scared. I really am.”

“I know how you feel, Crys. To have everything taken from you.”

Crystal smiles, before looking at Callie, as if she remembered something.

“By the way, Octavio wants you to go down to the studio tonight for a recording session. I have no idea what for, but well. I’m sure whatever it is for is going to be special.”

Crystal then turns around, getting ready to leave the room before Callie holds out a hand.

”Wait.“

Crystal turns around. ”What is it?“

”I was just hoping for some company. It gets lonely up here.“

”I understand. I'd love to stay, but well. My grandfather is waiting. He’s an impatient man.”

Crystal closes the door, leaving Callie alone once again. It's like she can never escape the alienation.

She can hear the music again. It melts her feelings away, and soon, she is getting ready to go to the studio. Callie knows that the people here love her.

Perhaps soon, she will feel like she belongs even more.

—————

”My name is Abigail Torres. It's nice to finally meet you formally.“

It's been a day since Callie was freed from the underground. Her left eye hurts, from the piercing shot of Marie's Hero Charger. Her head hurts, from the aftershocks of being snapped out of mind control. In fact? Every part of her hurts. Even with painkillers.

She's still groggy when the new girl introduces herself. Callie slowly lifts her head, and smiles- but it’s hard to do so.

“It’s nice to meet you, Abigail. I. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did. I, I didn’t think he’d keep me under his control. That I was his pawn.” Callie chokes out, each word having force behind it.

Abigail puts a hand on Callie’s shoulder, and looks the squid in the eyes.

“Don’t worry about it- I forgive you. Callie, you were played for a fool. So was I. It sucks so much. I don’t know how I feel.”

“That’s what being an Agent is like.” Callie responds, long pauses between the words. “It’s tough. Emotional. You get used to it.”

An awkward thumbs up accompanies her statement.

“I see…”

But Callie is lying. She has never gotten used to it. Even after 2 years of service, Callie feels great regret in her Agent work. And she knows it’s the same for Marie.

But that’s too much for her brain to process; she falls asleep once again.

—————

Callie never liked going to hospitals. The smell of antiseptic, chemicals, and sickness always was revolting to her. But 3, or no, Violet, was here, and Callie had yet to visit the inkling. She had taken a shine to the Agent since the two first properly met. Callie still remembered xir coming out of the domes, crying and saying over and over that xe was a monster.

But that was years ago.

Callie knocks on a door, labeled with “Toyama, Violet”.

“Come in.”

Callie pushes the door open, in the middle sits Violet. Bandages cover her right eye and left arm. An IV drips painkillers into the Inkling's body. Under Violet’s eyes are dark circles, from little sleep.

“Violet, you're okay.”

“Okay. That's one way to put it, considering I've been here for a week, and still am going to be here for another all things considered. It’s been hard to sleep. Hard to move. Hard to not think about the Metro.”

“But you're alive, isn't that what matters.”

“Sure.”

Callie walks closer to Violet, lightly holding the Inkling's left hand. Violet weakly smiles.

“I heard about what happened from Abigail.” Violet weakly says. “I. I know what it feels like. To be controlled by an outside force, to be commanded to kill, despite every little part of you trying to hold it back. To hurt somebody you care for, and pay the price.”

Callie feels a burning on her side. Where her stylists in the underground tattooed an octopus onto her body. It never came off, no matter how hard she scrubbed and tried to wash it away. An ever-present sign of what had happened to her that refused to go away.

“I don't like to think about it.”

“I know.”

Violet rubs her finger on Callie's hand.

“I missed you. I wish I was there. I wish I could've stopped it before it was too late.”

“You couldn't. By the time it happened, you and Gramps were gone.”

“A woman can dream.”

Violet lightly presses her other hand on a button to her right, releasing painkillers.

“I'm glad to be back.” is the last thing Violet says before xe falls asleep, and Callie leaves the room.

—————

Cuttlefish rarely calls meetings for the Squidbeak. His mind and body have been withering away, causing him to forget things constantly. After all, most inkfish don’t live for over 130 years- even with medical advancements.

“Well, girls, it's been an honor.”

Callie, Marie, Violet, Abigail, and Samantha all sit together in the outpost cabin, squeezed in tight. Cuttlefish stands at the door, leaning on his cane, hand shaking.

“But I'm getting too old for this. I'm not as spry as I used to be.”

He laughs, but that laugh evolves into coughing.

“Because of that, 3, I think it's about time I pass the role of captain onto you. Out of the lot, you have gone through the most, and been a shining example of what the Squidbeak is all about.”

Violet looks at Cuttlefish, eyes glassy. Like an angelfish caught in headlights.

”Me? Why me?“ Xe says. ”I don't deserve it. All I did was be Tartar's pawn, go through the Octarian underground and leave a trail of blood behind, and just. Be a monster! I don't deserve it, I think Marie does more, she was the one who helped with the Callie situation.“

The Inkling chokes back a sob. Marie squeezes her hand.

”Well, Mx, you can't make crab cakes without breaking eggs...“

”That's easy for you to fucking say-“ Violet yells through a gritted beak. She leans forwards, wanting to tackle the old man, but Callie holds her back.

”He's already old and senile enough.“ the reef squid whispers. “A strong wind could knock him down.”

But with all their pleading, Violet's claims land on deaf ears. They are given the Captain's hat, and a box with their new uniform.

The first thing Callie sees as soon as xe receives it is xem pushing the box under a bench and swapping the hat out with xir military beret.

—————

It's a clear night when Callie and Violet meet for the first time in weeks. Both had been very busy, life beginning to take over. It was a given, as Callie was starting to record new music alongside her cousin, while Violet checked out the new inksports scene.

The two squids sit on the rooftop of Callie and Marie's apartment, located in Inkopolis' central district.

“It's a nice night, isn't it?” Callie asks.

“Yeah.” Violet responds. “But why did you ask to meet here, of all places?”

“Because I wanted to talk. In person.” Callie responds, fidgeting with a tentacle. “I thought this would be a nice place to do it.”

“There's more to it.” Violet responds, curious. They were the type who knew how to read Callie- albeit not as well as Marie.

“There is.” Callie responds, her face covered in a bright pink blush. “Violet. For the longest time, I've taken a shine to you. You've been one of my best friends through this whole Squidbeak thing, and well. One of the few people I really could relate to.”

Violet looks at her with confusion.

“I think it's because. I love you.”

Violet is startled. Her jaw drops open.

“You're lying, right?”

Callie shakes her head, and Violet begins speaking.

“Because. I've loved you too. I thought it was just a silly celebrity crush. But now we are in the same boat. That we've gone through so much. It's obvious it was more than that.”

Violet smiles.

“I love you, Callie. I really do. It isn’t a lie or something I’ve repressed for years.”

Callie pulls Violet in for a hug, and Violet gently wraps her head-tentacles around the idol’s. Kissing, of course, isn't exactly practical when you have a beak that can tear flesh and a tongue lined with hundreds of small teeth meant to tear up food.

And that night, under the stars. Callie feels accomplished. That there is nowhere for life to go but up.

—————

Callie can see a look of both fear and pity cross Violet’s face when an Octoling in his early 20s comes knocking on the door of the organization's outpost in the Splatsville Desert. He holds a notepad in his hands, and a bandage is wrapped around his left eye.

“Who are you? Usually we don't get visitors!“ Callie says, grinning.

”Probably a straggler. Thought Octavio's rule was all but demolished, however.“ Marie flatly responds.

The Octoling gives the two idols an annoyed glance, and he begins to write on his notepad. As he does, a Smallfry jumps out of his bag, and starts sniffing around the area.

He then holds it up, revealing that it has writing in messy, but readable, Oceanic.

”Cuttlefish sent me after some Octoling shot me in the head. Fishfry found him, he told me to find you guys after patching me up.“

Callie hears Violet cursing under her breath.

Callie cocks her head, curious. ”Cuttlefish sent you? I thought he was retired!“

”Old man didn't tell me he was. Crazy guy, called me a slur on accident. But that's not important. My name is Mike.“

Callie shakes her head. She knew about how Cuttlefish got heated around Octolings. It was something he could never fully shake off.

”If you cross paths with that idiot, tell him to go jump in a pond.“ Violet says through a gritted beak. ”Did he tell you anything about a Squidbeak? Or ask you if you wanted to be an Agent?“

”Yes. He called me Neo 3, I declined but he insisted that I join this operation, and come to see you guys.“

Violet unleashes a string of every swear word she knows. Half of them aren't even in Oceanic or Inkling.

”Gramps is a crazy old man these days. Don’t take anything he says at face value, hell, he isn’t allowed to recruit people.“ Callie tries to reassure, holding out a hand. Mike looks at her with a look of familiarity on his face.

”I think I know you. In the underground. I lived there, I was a courier for the military. You. You're Callie, right? And the other woman. Marie?“

Callie is confused, while Marie nods.

”Ah, yes. You gain a reputation when you've become a scourge upon the domes.“ Marie responds. ”But that's not important, is it?“

Violet takes a breath, and feeling more calm, xe speaks.

”Anyways. I guess you may or may not be one of us. Don't worry- these days, all we do is sometimes deal with small investigations. No fighting or anything. There’s nobody really to fight, in all honesty.”

Mike then tears a page off of his pad of paper.

”Huh. Though, I think that might change. Cuttlefish sent me here after I explained how I ended up in this mess. Was carrying a package to GrizzCo HQ, then an Octoling, Inkling, and Ray tied me up, and stole my things. The Octoling shot me in the head, to make sure I wouldn’t go after it.“

A look of concern crosses Violet's face, and Callie puts a hand on the Inkling's shoulder.

“Okay, but what makes the package important?”

“I don’t know. But I was getting paid a ton to deliver it, and it seems to be that it’s of high importance. 1,000,000 G is a very high sum.”

“Okay.” the inkling says. “Well, I’ll take your offer. Not like there’s much to do these days.”

The Octoling nods, and tears off the paper, writing on the new sheet and showing it to the group.

“Thank you.”

—————

”We're thinking about renewing your contract after the stunt you, Marie, and those other inkfish pulled at the Castaway's Dream. It's obvious the Squid Sisters are relevant again, and a full album would most likely sell well. Additionally, we're thinking about a proper reunion tour and-”

By now, Callie has tuned out. They have a new agent, as Shy-Ho-Shy had retired years back. Now it's a jellyfish, whose name she didn't ask for.

“So, what do you think?” the agent asks the two inklings. Callie puts on the fake smile she has become so used to wearing, while Marie is more apathetic than anything. Though Callie knows that there's more to it. Unlike her, Marie was more upfront with hiding her feelings.

Callie looks at Marie. Marie looks back at Callie. There's tension in the air, that there isn't much of an option but to take the contract.

”We'll sign off on it.“ Marie states. Her voice is strained, she was forced to say it, wasn't she?

Both women sign the contract. The next few days are a blur, talking about songs, a possible collab with Deep Cut, and a trial reunion concert to see if the various denizens of the area would be interested in the duo performing again.

Callie feels happy, she'll be able to do something. But inside, she feels hollow. That this will go over well.

Yet the reef squid will dislike each moment of it.

—————

Callie closes the scrapbook. Her life has been one of ups and downs. More of the latter, than the former. But she's been able to push through, hasn't she? Violet mentioned that she had a strong spirit.

That's something she knew was true, the fact that she had gone through so much and endured was proof.

She quietly sings to herself as she puts the book away. A moment of calm in an ever-churning storm of emotion. Callie knows there is a bright future ahead of her. All that’s left is to create it.

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #callie #callie Splatoon #Splatoon fanfiction #agent 3 #marie #agent 4 #agent OCs #agent 3 x Callie #snowy writing

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