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dreamer213 · 3 years

Text

Broken Machines Lights The Dark

Chapter 4: On My Mind

Fourteen hours and three days. That’s how long it had been since Penny went to the evening party, how long it had been since she had met Whitley, and how long the thought of him had made her feel odd. That night she went home told her dad about the events that unfolded at the evening party. Everything was fine until she got to the part where she saved Whitley then things got hazy. It was so strange she remembered everything clearly but when she tried to vocalize her thoughts on the boy she would start to stutter and her temperature would rise, turning her face red. At first she thought it was some sort of glitch in her speech and temperature gauge but her dad checked and said there was nothing was wrong and that her body was just reacting to her mind and her soul processing her emotions. Flustered is the word he used for the reaction, he said quote “It’s a perfectly normal reaction for a sweet young lady like you to have when meeting a handsome young man.” Though that answer did not resonate well with Penny for a few reasons. Firstly the reaction itself made very little sense to Penny as why would meeting an attractive person make another person behavior in such so oddly. Secondly Penny had already met plenty of young men in the military most of which were very handsome and she hadn’t reacted in this way at all. And lastly Whitley was not handsome, his features and overall demeanor aligned more with the definition of beautiful or pretty as they held a more elegant and delicate nature compared to the more rugged and brash nature of the word handsome. When asked the different the best way Penny could describe it was that he was less like someone you’d see in the training center but more like someone you’d see at a library sitting in an armchair next to a window, sunlight beaming down on him as he reads some complex text.

Penny: I wonder if he likes the classics or more modern literature. Historical fiction maybe? Is he the type of person who likes to have a snack or drink while he reads or would he not risk the chance of damaging the book? Though judging by the look and feel of his hands they are very nimble and steady so it’s very unlike he would spill anything. But maybe he’s the type of person that worries too much.

Penny continues to get lost in her thoughts, seated at the control panel for the training room. She was immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Winter entering the room nor did she notices Winter sneaking up from behind and get down to her level. Winter positions herself to be leaning right next to Penny’s ear. She taps her a few times first, when that fails to get her attention Winter decides to go with plan B.

Winter: penny…Oh Penny…..PENNY POLENDINA!

Penny: Eeep!

Penny squeaks in sear fright when she realizes it’s Winter she quickly turns around, jumps from her chair and salutes Winter.

Penny: Good afternoon Winter Schnee! How may I assist you today?

Winter: Well first you can stop your silly daydreaming and focus! Second you do your job and get the training room ready for my session-

“Ring” “Ring”

Winter’s scroll rings cut her. She takes the call, stepping out of the room into the hallway. After a minute and fifteen seconds she returns.

Winter: Call someone to take over your post. I need you to come with me for an errand.

Penny: Right now?

Winter: Yes.

Winter walks out with Penny trailing behind her. Penny quickly asks the nearest center staff member to take over the training room then dashes after Winter. They keep walking for a while until they reach a small building hidden behind the rest of the facilities. Penny know about this building, when she was restored one of the first things she was told was if there was ever an emergency and this building was in danger of being damaged or destroyed to protect she and any other soldiers in the area were to protect it with their lives. The second was that she could never enter without either General Ironwood’s or Winter’s presence and permission. Now why would one small building amongst so many military facilities have such strict rules? Because it housed something crucial to the safety of the entire nation and the world.

This morning had been an interesting one. After spending a few hours in conference with Ironwood, the details of they’re deal had finally been ironed out.. It was fairly simple agreement, the Schnee’s would provided support in the military’s investigation via invitations to formal events, etiquette lessons, and they even offered some financial assistance if necessary. In exchange Ironwood would back Jacques in his future political endeavors. Both would be sworn to complete secrecy on the matter for the sake of both parties public images. It was a simple exchange of resources a common practice in the business world however there was an additional clause in arrangement that had Whitley a bit on edge.

As they exit the reception room Jacques is preoccupied with his scroll while Whitley was pondering on what to do about the clause. It had added on in the last few minutes of the conference thus there was no time to debate or discussed it further then a yes or no. Knowing there was little to no chance of changing it outright Whitley decides to question Jacques on it to see if he could find some kind of trying and reason him into changing the conditions of this clause over time. He waits until they are far out of ear shot then speaks.

Whitley: Father?

Jacques: Yes, Whitley.

Whitley: I understand that we have to be cautious when dealing with the military but was it really necessary to add that last clause to the agreement?

Jacques: Of course it was necessary. I can’t just hand over my best tutors to those barbarians, they’d either be scared off by one of the mongrels he calls soldiers or return as his spies and I won’t stand for it! The lessons have to happen here, in the manor, that way I’ll know exactly what their little military hound is up to.

Whitley: Yes I do agree the change in location was but that’s not the problem. What I’m struggling with is the very last adjustment. The staff will be present and will be monitoring her every move while she’s in the manor so is changing her instructor really necessary?

Jacques stops in front of Whitley, he turns around, looks down at Whitley, and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Jacques: Whitley, this situation is nothing like any deals I’ve made before. This isn’t hosting an out of town guest for the evening nor is entertaining a group of businessmen. I am granting access to the manor to one of Ironwood’s soldiers for an undisclosed amount of time. If it were only going to be for a week I’d be less strict but possible months! Not a chance in Hell. And with that filth Klein betraying us I can’t chance give my trust to someone just to have them do the same. No, this task can only be handled by someone I know would NEVER betray me. Do you understand?

Jacques squeezes Whitley’s shoulder tight, the skin under his shirt and vest begins to redden as Jacques digs his nails into it. Whitley winces in pain but Jacques holds firm. He won’t let go until he gets the answer he’s expecting. Whitley takes a deep breath to compose himself before he finally speaks.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques: Good, now since there’s nothing left to discuss, go to the library you have a business statistic lesson in thirty minutes.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques pulls his scroll back out again and walks off without another word. While Whitley, holding his now bruised shoulder, starts heading towards the library and sighs. What a useless conversation, there was really no changing the situation all Whitley could do was prepare, the girl will be starting her lessons and he needed to be ready. Though it wasn’t like he really had anything to fear from her besides her physical strength and military training she had come off as a fairly awkward and meek girl with little to no social awareness. But still he could help this unnerving feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Why did idea of her presence make him feel so uneasy?

“????:….I….want….I want to see her….I want to see her smile again.”

The memory of the unknown voice plays in Whitley’s mind. He still hadn’t figured out what caused the deviation of the dream nor what the voice was or where it came from. What he did know was that it wished for him to see that girl, Penny, again and regardless of his wishes, it looks like it was going to have its way.

Whitley: This isn’t what I was hoping for but there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to push through.

After several security checks and the removal of all their weapons Penny and Winter finally reach their destination, a kitchen with a door at the other end. Winter goes to speak the cook while Penny stands behind her confused by what’s happening. They had come to the most secured building in the entire center base just to go to the kitchen. When she done talking Winter goes back to Penny and points her towards a tea set, kettle, and stove.

Winter: Go brew some tea. She likes camomile , no cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a three drops off lemon juice.

Penny: Yes Ma’am

Winter turns around grabs a tray of food of the counter, and walks through the other door. Penny does as she was told and starts making tea. She had already learned how to sometime again before she had ever left the lab. She’d brew coffee and tea for her dad and Ciel during breaks, long nights, or when it got really cold out. Back then Penny couldn’t feel things like warmth or cold but hated to see them shivering or struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night so she’d make warm drinks, get them blankets, and clean up after them if they were too tired to do it themselves. Those times had made the act of brewing tea quite therapeutic and calming for Penny and since she gained the ability to enjoy the practice to its fullest she had only gotten better at it. But at times like this she was also reminded of her former attendant Ciel.

Penny: (Sighs) It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Ever since that day.

Ciel had be like an older sister to Penny, wise, caring, and always there for the people around her. They’d been fairly close before they went to Beacon but after the tournament and Beacon’s fall Penny hasn’t seen her again, she asked for her a few times right after she was restored but she never came. Supposedly she was still working in robotics but was reassigned to mecha production and maintenance.

Penny: I would ask Dad where she is and how she’s doing but I don’t think she would want me to find her. Still I hope she’s doing well.

The whistle of the kettle pulls Penny out of her thoughts, the water was ready. Penny pours the hot water into the tea pot over the tea leaves in a circular motion. She lets it sit to set and cool a bit then pours the tea into the cup and adds the sugar and lemon. She puts everything on a tray and heads towards the door. As she gets closer Penny can feel cold air brush past her, she keeps going only to find the door has a layer of frost covering the edges. She pulls the door open to see what looks like a hospital room. There’s nothing particularly odd about the room aside from the many paintings that decorated the walls, the large window close to the ceiling, and the GROWING FROST AND DROPPING TEMPERATURE! The floor and a few feet of the walls have been covered layer of ice, Winter is standing by the bed where a frail elderly woman lays looking rather upset, the ice seems to emanating from her hands. Winter tries to get the women to cooperate with her but the woman just shakes her head as the temperature continues to drop.

Winter: Freya please stop being so stubborn, you need to eat now. It’s almost time for your medicine and you can’t it on an empty stomach.

Freya just shakes her head, unwilling to listen to Winter commands. This wasn’t too shocking as the elderly in Atlas were notorious for their attitudes. Anyone over the age of 50 was either the sweetest old person you’d ever met or the most stubborn and unruly. For the stubborn ones only the most patient of people could handle care for them. Luckily for them Penny was one of those people.

Penny continues to walk towards Freya, increasing her body’s temperature to keep the tea heated as she gets closer. Once she’s at Freya’s bedside she bends down to her level and gives her a warm smile.

Penny: Ms. Freya?

Penny stands over smiling silently as she waits for a response. Freya eventual turns her head towards her and groans. Still smiling Penny extends the tray to Freya.

Penny: Would you to have your tea first or do want your lunch first instead?

Freya groans again but motions for the tea cup.

Penny: Okay tea it is then. But you have to eat your lunch afterwards then take your medicine. Is that okay with you?

Freya nods and reaches for the cup, Penny pushes the cup towards her hand and help guid to her mouth. Once Freya’s got her cup of tea the ice stops forming and Penny turns to Winter.

Penny: Do you need me to do anything else?

Winter: (sighs) Please go and reheat her lunch.

Penny: Yes Ma’am!

Penny does as she’s told and reheats the food and brings the food back out. After Freya’s fed and medicated the girls begin gathering up the dishes and talking.

Winter: Thank you Penny, taking care of the Maiden can be taxiing at times. Especially when she gets in modes like this.

Penny: Is that why you told me to come with you on this errand?

Winter: Yes, I thought given your physical abilities and personality you’d be best suited to help keep her calm or in the worst case scenario hold her down with lower risk of major injuries.

Penny: Thank you?

Penny looks around again this time noting the paintings in detail. The all had a similar style, some looked older then the others, and there was an easel and cabinet full of fresh paints and brushes.

Penny: Winter? The paintings here were they all made by-

Winter: Yes, Freya was a talented painter before she became the Maiden, the large one on your right was the last piece she made before she fully devoted herself to being the Maiden and retired from her art career.

Penny: Oh.

Penny looks up at the paintings. It’s a silhouette of a little girl holding up a ball of light, the background is a starry night sky over snowy mountain range. The vocal point of the painting seems to seem to be the girl and the light. The light swirled outward blending into the other whites of paintings and while only being a silhouette the girl seems to looking at the light her expression unknown. What does the girl see in the light Penny wonders. She stares at for long moment trying to find meaning in the art piece. But soon Winter calls her back to the kitchen. Penny waves goodbye to Freya and takes one last look at the paintings before leaving.

Once they’ve cleaned up they leave the facility and go their separate ways to continue their work days. From there Penny continue with her day, her mind wondering back and forward between thoughts of the painting, Ciel, and Whitley until she finally finishes up her work day and goes home. When she opens the front door Penny is greeted by the sound of rustling of paper bags and the scent of pre cooked food. She goes to kitchen to see her dad setting a brown paper bag on the table. Pietro looks up to see her sporting a curious look as she inspects the bag.

Pietro: Welcome home Sweetpea.

Penny: Hi Dad, what’s in the brown paper bag? It smells quite good.

Pietro: Well, I was going to cook but I’ve been on phone on conferences all day and forgot to take anything out. So I ordered us some takeout instead.

Penny: Takeout!

Pietro: Yup, it’s stuff you haven’t tried yet to!

Penny: Yay!

Pietro opens the bag and pulls out three containers. He opens them to reveal a large amount of delicious looking food.

Pietro: We’ve got some soup dumplings, spicy wontons, and Yang Chow fried rice courtesy of Ms. Ling’s.

Ms. Ling’s was a popular family owner restaurant in Mantle Penny passed by almost everyday on patrol. The scent from the front door alone was enough to make her want to go in and order as much as she could have in one sitting but she never have the time or money to make quick trip. But tonight she would have her fill!

Penny runs and grabs two plates and forks. She hands her dad his then makes her plate, four soup dumplings, a couple spicy wontons, and a helping of fried rice! Pietro chuckles as fulls up her plate. Once her plate is full she sits down, and just as she about to take her first bite her scroll rings. Penny pulls out her scroll with her free hand and begins to read her messages. She tries to read and eat at the same but once she gets to a certain point she drops her fork.

Pietro: Penny? What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Penny: I-It’s m-my briefing a-a-and n-new sch-schedule. T-they j-just s-s- sent it a- a-a-and.

Pietro: And what?

Penny: The ten-tenth p-page l-last paragraph. I-it says it says-

Penny holds up her scroll for her dad to see and puts her head down on the table. Pietro tips his glasses a bit as he begins reading the section she mentioned.

Pietro: “ The formal etiquette lessons shall be held at the Schnee Manor Monday through Friday during the scheduled times. Penny Polendina will be chauffeured from the designated transit station to the Schnee Manor and back via a private chauffeured car. The lessons will be instructed by the Schnee Dust Company Heir, Whitley Schnee with up to five manor staff personnel present during each session. This schedule will go into effect tomorrow morning, please arrive on time and be appropriately attired.”

Penny: (high pitched squeak)

Pietro: Hmm, there’s a Note from the Instructor at the end. “ Good evening Ms. Polendina I’m looking forward to seeing you in the afternoon for our orientation session. I’m excited to teach you what I know and hope this will be a wonderful learning experience for both of us. Sincerely Whitley Schnee.”

With that Penny put her scroll down on the table and puts her hands in her now red face and starts squeaking at in even higher pitch while her dad just sits there and awkwardly pats her head. Tomorrow is going to be a very Very VERY difficult day.

#penny polendina #whitley schnee #broken machines #pietro polendina #jacques schnee #winter schnee #ciel soleil #rwby #rwby fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #God help this poor baby

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ibethalantyr · 3 years

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To His Most Radiant of Lathander, Kelddath Ormlyr, Governor of Beregost

Your Excellency,

Please find enclosed with this letter extracts copied from my personal papers detailing the incident we discussed last month. Sincere apologies for the delay: I have found my papers to be in an odd state of disarray owing to an (unrelated) magical problem. This manuscript was created approximately three days after the incident described, during which time I had undertaken further investigations, the fruits of which are also recorded here. I assert, on oath as you instructed, that no material has been altered or omitted within its continuous length, making said length wholly your own fault. The absence of personal names is consistent with the original, a practice I have adopted in all similar papers as a defense against magical surveillance. No post facto alterations have been made. “The gnome” refers to that individual whose name I disclosed to you at our earlier meeting.

I hereby consent that you or your appointed representative inspect the original to confirm my sworn assertions above, with the stipulation that such an inspection take place within the walls of the High Hedge House, as we discussed earlier discussed.

***

The old conjurer is convinced that there are few things easier than for a wizard to go bad, and few things worse than a bad wizard. The gnome, unfortunately, is just the latest proof.

Upon reading this line, he is discomfited to discover that it sounds like the product of some Athkatlan zealot pamphleteer rather than a long practicing conjurer with some professional pride. As such, some clarifications are needed before he proceeds further.

There are “few things worse than a bad wizard” because wizards hold considerable power for making their plans and desires a reality, and so when those plans or desires turn toward the selfish, the callous, or the hateful, the scale of damage a wizard then creates is larger than the average creature. Powerful wizards can - and do - kill, enslave, and mutilate for no reason at all, or for no reason other than that they want to. Even the gnome’s peculiar penchant for petrification is not unique, although the power to do so is unique to wizards. But while the power to do certain kinds of damage is unique to us, it is not uniquely large: a bad king, or a bad merchant, or a bad priest can leave a trail of damage at least as long behind them.

Even when writing “there are few things easier than for a wizard to go bad,” it is not the old conjurer’s intention to assert that there is anything inherently corrupting about either the study or practice of the Art. Years of honing and exercising power - whether arcane or otherwise - simply make it fit comfortably in the hand, and may (not to say must) bring out the worst parts of a practitioner’s personality. Magic - or better, power - will not make a person bad, but it may make a bad person worse.

The gnome’s first letter arrived a little more than a year ago. He was a very pleasant correspondent: a fellow conjurer (unusual for one of his species) who was pursuing a research project, a project on which he had hoped for some assistance. He was interested in a refinement of the monster summoning spell which would allow for the conjuration of a specific type of creature - a greater basilisk. Both the specificity of the summoning and the power of the creature involved would represent significant advancements to the classic form of the monster summoning genre, making this a very exciting project indeed. To be invited to contribute to such an undertaking was extremely flattering.

What prompted the first letter (or so the gnome claimed at the time) was a treatise that the old conjurer had written many years before, dealing with the bound loyalty of summoned creatures. This is a topic about which most specialists show little interest, but which was especially interesting to the old conjurer due to its relevance to his old favorite question (creation vs. summoning). The gnome’s interest was more practical. Unless the loyalty of a summoned basilisk could be assured with the same level of certainty as for other objects of a monster summoning, the spell itself would be nearly suicidal to attempt. Flattered by the approach and (to tell the truth) lonely for professional conversation, the old conjurer was only too happy to reply.

And so the correspondence began. Every few weeks, a new letter would arrive, full of compliments for the old conjurer’s insights and with new questions, born (it would seem) from the gnome’s ongoing observations of the basilisk’s life cycle. It made for a pleasant diversion from the often mundane work of a magical shopkeeper, and reminded the old conjurer of his younger, more ambitious days.

Then, about a month ago, a letter of a different sort came. Still full of effusive praise, but this time with a request rather than a question. Could the old conjurer create an item - an amulet or a ring perhaps - incorporating some of the techniques they had discussed? Such an item would be an invaluable tool for studying basilisks in the wild, and potentially provide an essential proof of concept for the loyalty portion of the planned spell which, from the sound of it, was nearly complete. Excited by the prospect of contributing, even in a small way, to such a breakthrough, the old conjurer readily agreed, and set a date for the gnome to come to his stately house and collect the item in question.

The meeting - their first and only in the flesh - had started out quite cordially, though in hindsight there had been a number of danger signs even then that the old conjurer should have recognized. The gnome had been immoderately pleased with the ring, which he expected would serve only too well. When the old conjurer, who had planned a number of experiments to test the efficacy of the new and innovative enchantment, heard this, he expressed considerable surprise. How could the gnome be so certain? He smiled chillingly, and in a voice I will never forget, replied,

“Allow me to demonstrate.”

The gnome then began to cast. Based on the wording and structure, it was a gate spell of some sort, though modified and radically simplified, probably castable as a sixth-tier working. At the end of the incantation, the gnome spat out an object, probably the scale of a greater basilisk, given that that is what appeared in the middle of the old conjurer’s sitting room. Before he could recover from the shock of this, the gnome brandished his new ring and ordered the beast to turn the old conjurer to stone.

By happy accident, the old conjurer was prepared for such an attack. Expecting to see a controlled version of the proposed summoning spell in action, he had prepared a contingency spell that would protect him from petrification in the event that a basilisk or similar creature came within 60 feet of him. While the old conjurer had been caught unaware, the spell had not, and so he was protected from the attack even before it was ordered.

Unfortunately, he had lost valuable time, and the gnome at least had come prepared for a fight. Magical duels general follow a classic form. First, cast spells of defense, generally an illusion or a direct abjuration. By the time the old conjurer had gotten to his feet, the gnome was already mirror imaged. A low level defense, but a wise one on the whole. As a fellow conjurer, he knew only too well that his opponent had made no study of the sort of major divinations that provide the most direct countermeasure. He had also guessed rightly that I would be unwilling to destroy my own house with a fireball, and a mirror image provides more than adequate protection against more precise forms of offensive spell casting. It also frees up higher tier spells for offensive use.

But not quite yet. For, before moving on to physical harm, most mages will first make an attack on the minds of their opponents, a gambit that is both defensive and offensive, in that it undermines the ability to attack and defend simultaneously. Enchantment spells are the most common choice in such situations. The gnome had instead begun a spell which used heavily necromantic vocabulary. Horror, then: lower level and quicker to cast than most offensive enchantments, but correspondingly easier to resist. With a mirror image in place, successful disruption would be very unlikely, even if the old conjurer had prepared for a duel. He had not. He is a shopkeeper, and had been expecting a pleasant conversation with a colleague and then a normal day’s work.

But one must work with the materials to hand. Having been planning to finish brewing a stock of potion, the old conjurer had a spell of lesser invisibility prepared. Even with the gnome’s head start, he would be able to cast it on himself before the horror spell was complete. He did. Barely.

Luckily - or perhaps not; fear had been the old conjurer’s frequent companion for years - he was able to resist the spell. Even more luckily, his invisible state meant the gnome had no way of knowing that. This was not the sort of fight for which he had prepared. In all likelihood, the gnome had expected either to turn his host to stone at once or else to engage in a lengthy and intricate spell duel. Given the low level opening moves, he had probably reserved his higher level preparations (which would be at least sixth-tier, judging by the gate spell) for breaching spell defenses and dealing maximum punishment afterward. A game of cat and mouse with an old coward was not at all what he had been expecting.

He said as much, and more besides. That the old conjurer was an self-absorbed fool, so easy to flatter and manipulate. That he, the gnome, had only ever been interested in controlling basilisks and that the method had not concerned him. That he had already worked out the gate spell before writing for the first time, having been living for some time at a basilisk’s nest in the barrens east of town. That he had only ever wanted a control item, and had been feeding the old conjurer the information - and the simpering flattery - that he would need to complete it. He had discovered the treatise later and thought it would be the perfect way to start an acquaintance, and that the old conjurer would be the perfect mark. Real mages, after all, aren’t soft-skinned school boys interested in books and minutia. Real wizards seek to be as powerful as possible for as little effort as possible, so that they could do was they pleased. And that what pleased him was to take possession of this comfortable house and mount its previous owner on one of the turrets as a gargoyle.

How much of this is true, the old conjurer cannot be sure. He is a fool, certainly. No question of that.

But one does not live to be an old fool without learning a thing or two. He had known fear and danger, and he had known magical duels aplenty once upon a time. In that time, the old conjurer had discovered - like many greater wizards before and since - that winning such a contest has less to do with sheer power than many mages would like to think. At least as important, perhaps even more important, is timing. The most powerful mages can hurl swarms of fiery meteors capable of devastating whole towns. Such castings take time, however, and in the time that a great archmage is rattling off the necessary incantation, the greenest apprentice can shoot off a single magic missile, breaking his counterpart’s concentration and wasting the whole effort. And if that apprentice has brave friends with weapons, that may be the end of that.

As he crept invisibly around the sitting room, listening to the gnome rant and watching him pocket various valuable items, the old conjurer was trying to work out the timing. Presuming he did nothing more vigorous than creep, the invisibility spell would last a full day. He could try to escape and raise the alarm, but he was unwilling to leave the gnome alone in the house, with so many valuable and dangerous weapons with which to arm himself. (Truth be told, he was also unwilling to confess to others the depth of his ego and his blindness, an unwillingness he still feels). Perhaps he could simply leave the room, grab his staff and a few scrolls, then return to the fight on equal footing? But the gnome seemed to be thinking along similar lines, for he quickly ordered his pet monster to block one door, and was now busily looking for any others. As it happened, there weren’t any secret passages out of the room, a problem to which the old conjurer should tend soon.

So, it would come down to timing, If he simply waited, the mirror image would wear off in a matter of minutes, leaving the gnome vulnerable to attack. But any such attack would reveal his presence not only to the gnome but to the basilisk as well. How long the monster would remain was impossible to say. Summoning spells generally expire after about an hour, but this wasn’t a traditional summoning spell. How long could he afford to wait?

The gnome was getting more and more frustrated. He began to cast again, this time an enchantment. The old conjurer steeled himself, ready to fight off an intellectual or emotionally attack. But then he recognized the spell: the greater malison, designed to weaken his magical defenses. His impatient house guest wanted this over as quickly as possible, and intended to make it more likely that whatever dire or spectacular working he attempted next would be the last he would need. But what would he choose?

Creeping closer, the old conjurer watched as the gnome pulled from his pocket a single black pearl. As he crushed it to dust, the conjurer moved too. Picking up an empty potion bottle, he smashed it to shards against the table. The gnome, who had just begun the death spell incantation, flinched at the noise, and at his enemy’s sudden appearance within arms reach of him. He did not break his concentration, however. The conjurer began an incantation of his own: feeblemind. The spell was complex, though less so than the death spell. He should be able to complete it before the gnome could complete his. Then it would be down to whether the gnome would be able to resist. Seeming to realize this, he split into a mad grin. At the same moment, his mirror images flickered and went out, leaving only the real gnome, still mid spell.

And the old conjurer cast. But rather than casting at the gnome himself, he aimed his spell squarely at the ring on his finger.

The old conjurer is a shopkeeper, and he knows a thing or two about magic items. One thing he knows is that properly enchanted items remain receptive to magic for a certain amount of time after the completion of the spell. The ring was still within that receptive period, and by design. The old conjurer had not yet cast the spell that would make it’s basilisk-control powers permanent, wanting to be sure first that the experimental spell was effective. Instead, he added the feeblemind spell, because of something else he knows. When enchanting items, it is possible for the items to “resist” receiving the spell, much as a person might. An items ability to resist is always tied to the enchanter’s own magical resistance, resistance that the gnome himself had attacked. So, by targeting the ring rather than the gnome himself, the old conjurer had greatly diminished the ability of the gnome to resist the spell.

The fact that he sits here writing about it attests to his success. The feeblemind spell attached itself to the ring and badly damaged the mind of the casting gnome. His death spell died on his lips, though the look of shock and incredulity that he wore suggested that his mind was not so damaged as was usually the case. The basilisk, too, linked to the mind of its master, simply stood stupidly in the doorway of sitting room.

Knowing the importance of timing, the old conjurer set about removing his guests, both wanted and unwanted, as quickly as possible. Given the hasty construction of the gate spell - the old conjurer suspects that the gnome had opted for such a simple conjuration as a time saving measure - he surmised that a simple “dispel magic” would dispatch the basilisk back where it came from. Stuffing the basilisk scale back into the gnome’s gaping mouth, the old conjurer focused his dispelling on the creature. Both it, and its master, vanished without a trace, leaving the old conjurer with a bleeding hand (he’d needed the glass for his spell), a wrecked sitting room, and a sick, empty feeling.

In the time since he has tended his hand with bandages and the feeling with research (the room will have to wait until his hand is better). This is what the old conjurer has discovered so far. The “summoning” spell the gnome created was in fact a modified gate spell. He was able to cast it at the sixth tier rather than the usual ninth because of his deep knowledge of basilisks and, more importantly, because he had hidden the basilisk nearby, in a small cove on the coast. The sirines had told him that they had seen a gnome matching his guest’s description anchoring a ship there for the last several weeks, most recently unloading a large crate. Disturbingly, it was one of several. The rest were not onboard when the ship returned for its addled master a few days later. His mind was apparently intact enough for him to operate the ship, though not successfully. It wrecked a few miles to the south. The whereabouts of the gnome himself are at this time unknown, but inquiries continue. Hopefully, his mind is now too damaged to perform further magic, or at least magic at the level he once practiced. It would be foolish to take too much for granted, however. And to judge by his horrific actions so far, a diseased mind did not stop him from being a mage before I intervened, so there is no reason to expect that it will be so now.

It is far too easy for a wizard to go bad, whether out callous greed or ego and loneliness. A lesson learned.

***

Well, that’s the worst of it. I suspect he’s hiding somewhere northeast of town, but it would probably be best to wait for him to come to us rather than place a bounty on his head. If he remains in possession of his powers and his monsters, he will be a more formidable foe than most around here can manage, and if we are to fight him ourselves, I would prefer to have the advantage of defense. But then, perhaps I am a coward after all.

-T

#an old conjurer's memoirs #bg1 #baldur's gate #wizard #mage #this took forever #and i cut so much #and it's still so long #ugh

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bee-kathony · 4 years

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Blue Christmas | Jamie & Claire one shot

a/n: Merry Christmas! I wrote this a few weeks ago, so I thought I’d finally post it. Comes in at a whopping 13,154 words so you’ll need to brew a cup of hot chocolate and settle in for this one! Now... this will probably be my last fic for awhile, possibly ever, we’ll see how I feel after everything has settled. I hope you enjoy and Merry Christmas! xx and thank you @julesbeauchamp for the moodboard!

December 23rd, 2019

Oxford, England

The wine glass in her hand was becoming dangerously low. Dangerous, because without the warm liquid filling Claire’s belly, she’d remember just exactly why she was drinking alone.

Christmas was a time of celebration and joy. A time for families to come together, laugh and exchange presents. Everyone would gather around the fireplace and tell stories or watch a classic Christmas film.

Claire was celebrating in her own way two days before Christmas. Her divorce had been finalized this morning, which was a good thing, but not exactly something that would lift the spirits.

Her ex-husband, Frank Randall had been a kind man, emphasis on had. They’d been married a short five years, and during that time, Frank hadn’t been faithful — at all. When Claire found out about one woman, it led to another and another… and another. Frank seemed to have a string of women lined up all around the city. It made Claire feel like a fool for trusting him and believing that he truly loved her.

So, with her divorce final, Claire was celebrating Christmas alone for the first time in her life. The first several years of her life she barely remembered, and until she had married Frank, she had spent every Christmas with her aunt and uncle in London.

Uncle Lamb insisted she come and join them this year, but the thought of having to pretend she was okay was mind-numbing. Being around her family would be nice, but seeing all the cheer and jovial faces wasn’t something she could handle.

A quiet meow came from her left, and Claire looked over to see her cat Adso licking his feet. Well, she wasn’t quite alone, at least she had her cat.

“I’m becoming a crazy cat lady at the ripe age of twenty-seven,” Claire said wistfully, petting Adso on the head, making him purr gently. “Just you and me now.”

There wasn’t even a Christmas movie that Claire could watch because they usually all ended with two people falling in love, and love was not something Claire wanted to think about. It killed her to know that Frank was probably screwing some blonde university bimbo right now, while she sat alone in the dark, not a decoration in sight.

Thankfully, she had the next two weeks off to wallow in self-pity. Claire worked at the local library, where she was able to read to her heart’s content. Her best friend Geillis also worked with her, although she didn’t read all that much, which always made Claire laugh. Why take a position at a library if one didn’t like to read?

Gathering enough energy to get off the sofa, Claire set her now empty glass down in search of a new bottle. If she had to spend this Christmas alone, she certainly wouldn’t be spending it sober.

As Claire grabbed a new bottle, she passed by the fridge, which was still littered with the odd bits and pictures of her and Frank’s life. A yellow post-it note caught her attention. It read, “I’ll be out late, eat without me!”

She yanked it off, crumpling it into a small paper ball before tossing it in the trash can. “You bastard,” she said to the post-it and to Frank.

Sooner or later, she would need to get rid of all his things. The process had begun two months ago when she’d found out about his affairs. Claire had gathered up as many clothes of his that she could carry in her two arms and tossed them out the second-story window, much to Frank’s complaints.

Laughing at this memory, Claire grabbed a packet of biscuits before plopping back down on the sofa.

“Another glass for the woman who’s destined to be alone,” Claire said to herself, watching the dark liquid fill her cup.

Just as she picked it up, a loud knock came from the door, making her spill it all over her pajama pants. “Shit!” Claire stood up quickly, checking to see if any had got on her couch, and thankfully (or not so thankfully) it had all landed on her.

Another knock came from the door, “Open up!”

“Geillis?” Claire raced to the door, patting at her pants. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Her friend held up a bottle of wine and a box of pizza. “Solidarity? I wasn’t going to let you spend tonight alone. I canna be wi’ ye on Christmas, so I thought tonight would suffice.”

“Get in here,” Claire grinned, hugging her friend as she passed. “I should make you buy me a new pair of pajama bottoms! Spilled half my glass of wine all over them when you knocked.”

Geillis looked her over, wincing as she saw the dark red stain. “Och, Christ, Claire. I’m verra sorry about that.”

“You should be,” Claire crossed her arms as she leaned on the counter, the smell of the pizza making her mouth water. “But you brought sustenance so all is forgiven!”

“Go make yourself at home, I’ll just go change out of these,” Claire rolled her eyes, laughing as she went to her room. It should’ve been hard to be in the bedroom that Frank and she had shared, but he was barely home towards the end. The reason for that was clear now. They had moved into this house only two years ago after Frank accepted the teaching position at Oxford. Most of the memories Claire had made here, had been on her own.

Returning with a freshly washed pair of fuzzy bottoms, Claire sat down next to Geillis who was already on her second slice.

“So ye really didna decorate for Christmas, huh?”

It was true. The room was dark with the lack of twinkling lights and not a bauble in sight. “I didn’t feel like decorating just for myself. Not this year at least.”

“I get it,” Geillis nodded. “But I wish ye wouldn’t spend the whole holidays wallowing in self-pity. Ye should put on a fancy dress and go get yerself laid,” she winked. “Now, that will lift yer spirits, ye ken?”

“I ken,” Claire smirked. “But I don’t think anyone would want to get with this sorry lump of coal.”

“Excuse me?” Geillis nearly spit out her wine. “If yer a lump of coal, then what am I?!”

“Oh, you’re gold darling, absolute gold,” Claire laughed. “I appreciate the encouragement, but I’d rather not wake up in a strange bed with a strange man.”

“But that’s often the best kind,” Geillis nudged her in the side. “Well, if ye willna go get laid, please dinna stay here in this miserable depressing house. Go see yer uncle or go take a trip somewhere. Ye’ve earned it, Beauchamp.”

That hit her like a gut punch. Beauchamp. Her maiden name. “Guess I’ll have to get used to saying that again. A trip you say?” She sipped her wine. “But it’s two days before Christmas, where on earth could I go that would have availability?”

“Try Scotland, my homeland,” Geillis grinned and ran her finger gently down Adso’s back. “Tis just a quick hop on a plane, gets ye out of England at least.”

“I’ve never been to Scotland,” Claire said. “Do I just find a bed and breakfast in some quaint village?”

“Aye,” Geillis nodded and then whipped out her phone. “Or ye can search for a cute holiday spot in Scotland. Let’s say the highlands somewhere.”

As Claire let Geillis search for a place for her to go, she looked around at her house. While she could wallow, the idea of sitting in the dark wasn’t exactly appealing. She had the next two weeks off, and she might as well try and enjoy herself a bit. After all, she should be celebrating the fact that she’s no longer married to Frank who took every opportunity to cheat on her.

“How long do ye want to stay?” Geillis asked.

“Umm, I don’t know. Maybe four days? Five? I’ll have to find somewhere for Adso to stay,” Claire smiled as her cat purred beneath her hand.

“Oh, I’ll watch the wee cheetie,” Geillis mumbled. “So, in the highlands… with availability.”

“Oh and make sure it’s not some romantic getaway destination,” Claire added.

“Lassie,” Geillis laughed. “It’s Scotland. The whole damn country is a romantic destination! But dinna fash, I’ll find ye a good spot.”

“While you do that, I’m going to turn on the fireplace,” Claire said as she stood up. She flicked a switch that turned on the gas and immediate heat came to life. Claire stood in front of the fireplace, trying to get warm.

There was something rather exciting about traveling to a country she’d never been before. Claire fancied herself as a bit of a gypsy — her home was wherever she was. And Scotland was a place she’d always wanted to visit, it seemed like now was as good a time as any.

“Oh, I think I found it,” Geillis stood up from the sofa to show her the phone. “Tis called Fraser’s Ridge. A collection of cabins of all sizes up in the Highlands.”

“Fraser’s Ridge,” Claire repeated and began to flick through the pictures. The cabins looked very cozy and inviting. “They have availability?”

“That’s what their website says,” Geillis said. “Want me to book it? It’ll be my Christmas present to ye… since I may have forgotten to buy ye a gift,” she winced.

“You don’t have to do that, Geillis!”

“I do! Ye need to take time for yerself,” Geillis slid her arm around Claire’s waist, squeezing tight. “Ye’ve had a rough year, and now ye can go up to a cute wee cabin and relax.”

Claire looked through the pictures again, noting how charming they looked. “It says here that each cabin was hand-built by the owner and his father.”

“Oooh, the crafty type,” Geillis winked. “Ye should make sure ye get a good look at the owner then. If he’s good wi’ his hands…” she made a lewd hand motion.

“Geillis Duncan!” Claire laughed, nudging her friend in the ribs. “There will be nothing of the sort. I bet he’s in his 60’s, overweight and balding.”

“Are ye picky then?”

Claire shot her friend a look, then laughed and moved back to the sofa. “Fine, if you want to book it, then go for it. It’ll be better than me and Adso rotting away like Miss Havisham while I sit in my wedding dress.”

“Ye should give that away or somethin’,” Geillis said as she typed Claire’s details into her phone to book the holiday. “I mean, I ken it’s full of memories and such, but surely those have all been tainted.”

“I guess you’re right,” Claire sighed, leaning her head back on the sofa. “I could give it to charity. Or you. Would you like a used wedding dress, Geillis?”

“Not a chance,” Geillis smirked. “Okay, I’ve put yer name as Claire Beauchamp. It’s five days, and you leave tomorrow.”

“Christmas Eve,” Claire ran her hand through her curls. “Guess I’d better pack!”

“Will ye promise me ye’ll bring somethin’ sexy to wear? Just in case the owner turns out to be a mysterious highland hunk?”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Claire chuckled and tossed a pillow at her friend who narrowly dodged it. “For you, I’ll pack it, but it will get no use.”

“We’ll see,” Geillis smirked, forwarding Claire the confirmation email.

++++++

After Geillis went home that night, Claire went into her closet and packed a travel bag full of everything she thought she’d need. The owner said he would have a car come and pick her up at the airport, and then to get some groceries if she needed them. Besides that, she wouldn’t even need to leave the cabin. Cozy sweaters and loungewear were all that she intended to wear, but she did pack a sexy silky pajama set she had yet to wear just so when Geillis asked her about it later, she could say she brought it.

She felt nuts to be boarding a plane on Christmas Eve, but she wasn’t alone. The airport was packed with other holiday travelers flying all over the world. Claire loved to people watch — coming up with stories for people.

There was a little girl Claire had been watching for the last several minutes while she waited for the plane to take off. She sat two rows in front of Claire and kept popping her head over the seat to look back at her.

“Hi,” Claire waved. The little girl ducked back down with a shy smile before popping her head up again. This pattern went on several times before the girl’s mother told her to sit still.

The flight was a short one, but Claire always got motion sickness on flights or in cars and so she took a Dramamine to help ease the nausea she was already feeling. She was also slightly nervous to be going to a place she’d never been on her own. Every vacation in the past had been with Frank, so now she was venturing out, and so far things were going well.

Nearly two hours later, Claire woke up to the sound of the pilot telling them that they would be landing shortly. Her head felt foggy, and she stretched in her seat the best she could.

“Couldn’t have sprung for first-class, Geillis?” Claire chuckled to herself.

She only had a carry-on duffel and a large purse that held her laptop and a few books for the trip.

The email said that one of their employees would be picking her up and would have her name on a sign. So it wasn’t a surprise whenever she walked out of the gate to find a tall bearded man, holding a sign that read, “C. Beauchamp.”

“Hi,” Claire smiled at the man. “Are you from Fraser’s Ridge?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “I’m Murtagh FitzGibbons. I take it ye are C. Beauchamp?”

“That’s me. I don’t have to wait for a bag so I’m ready when you are,” Claire said.

The man made a Scottish sound in the back of his throat and then took her duffel. A slight panic crept in as she followed this stranger out to the car. She was a woman traveling alone on one of the busiest holidays. This would be the time that she could be taken advantage of, perhaps taken to some remote place and murdered.

“Christ, Beauchamp,” she shook that murderous thought out of her head and told herself everything would be fine.

“Do ye need to stop at the grocer’s for any food for yer stay?” Murtagh asked as he started the car.

“Um, yes please, if there’s one on the way,” she replied.

“Aye, there is. The Ridge is about an hour away from here, so best get comfortable,” Murtagh smiled at her as he turned on her seat heater. Fraser’s Ridge did have five-star reviews, and so far, she knew why.

Murtagh drove her to the grocery store where she picked up snacks and food she could easily prepare. Wine of course, and a bottle of whisky… two bottles of whisky. The rest of the drive was silent, as Claire took in the beautiful Scottish landscape. The rolling green hills, covered in snow as they drove further north.

By the time they reached Fraser’s Ridge, the sun was beginning to go down, even though it was just the afternoon. The air was crisp and cold, making Claire shiver as she stepped out of the warm embrace of the heated car.

“The owner, Jamie, my godson, is out tonight and tomorrow to be wi’ his sister and her family. But, I’ll help ye check-in and then see ye safe to yer cabin. Jamie will probably stop by to welcome ye properly when he gets back,” Murtagh said as he picked up her bag again.

“You’re his godfather?” Claire asked. “Why aren’t you spending Christmas with them, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He grunted, “Och, well, I’m no’ much of a holiday man. And someone had to see to the place over the holidays. Jamie did it last year and I kent he wanted to spend time wi’ his sister, Jenny.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Claire smiled warmly. “I look forward to meeting this Jamie whenever he comes back. This place is absolutely beautiful.”

“Aye, lass,” Murtagh smiled as he walked up a trail towards a small building that must be their offices.

“There’s a wee book that tells ye a bit about the place,” Murtagh said as he wrote her name down. “It also has information about wifi, if that’s somethin’ yer interested in.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a gold key. “Cabin 2,” he handed it to her. “If ye’ll just follow me.”

They walked back outside, and it was beginning to snow lightly. On the way up here, Claire noticed that they really were in a remote part of the highlands. Although, it seemed most of the highlands was remote compared to the busy streets of Oxford or London.

“Are there other people here? Or is it just me being a complete and utter loser on Christmas?” Claire chuckled sadly.

“There are a few other folks,” Murtagh looked back at her. “A few families that like to spend the holidays up here. We have ten cabins in total, and this season only three are vacant.”

“Wow,” Claire was impressed. It was an ideal location, but most people stay at home with their family’s at Christmas time. “Well, it’s really lovely.”

Her cabin was just a short walk from the office, with its own trail that led to the door. Claire could tell that it was built with skill and precision. Everything looked so intentional and yet still had that rustic element that all cabins had. Murtagh walked up to the door, waiting for her to unlock it.

She turned the key, opening the door to a dark room. Murtagh flicked on the switch and Claire gasped.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Murtagh smirked and then set her bag down. “Jamie insisted on decorating every cabin for Christmas. I told him ‘twas a bit much, but,” the man shrugged.

There were lights strung around the room, making it sparkle. A large tree stood in the corner, fully decorated, with cranberry and popcorn and every bauble to go with it. The fireplace had greenery on top, fit with knitted stockings. It wasn’t cheesy or tacky. Claire wasn’t trying to escape Christmas, just her depressing home she had shared with her ex-husband. This… this was perfect.

“Well, I’ll leave ye to it,” Murtagh said. “Our office number is listed in the book as well if ye need anythin’. Enjoy your stay, Miss Beauchamp.”

“Thank you,” Claire smiled as Murtagh shut the door, leaving her on her own. The first order of business was to get the fireplace going, and upon first inspection, it wasn’t a gas one like Claire’s.

There was wood already set up, as well as kindling and a box of matches on top of the mantle. “Here goes nothing,” Claire muttered as she struck the match. At first, nothing happened, but soon the kindling caught the flame and began to fan out to the logs.

“First try,” she clapped her hands together.

There was a small kitchen connected to the living room, stocked with all the appliances one could need. The master bedroom was spacious, with a cozy king-sized bed that Claire was very much looking forward to getting into later. A bathroom connected to the bedroom, with a shower and clawfoot tub.

“The pictures don’t do this place justice,” Claire sighed as she walked back into the living room which was warming up nicely. There was a ladder that led up to a small loft area with plush seating. A cute little reading nook for later.

Claire continued her curious look around as she opened up the back door. There was a fire pit outside, with logs set up around it for seating. She managed to get the inside fire lit but wasn’t counting on her skills with an outdoor pit.

Before she settled onto the comfy looking sofa, Claire took her bag into the room and unpacked it. Then she put her groceries away, grabbing a packet of crisps and a plaid before snuggling in for the night.

The remote was on the coffee table and when she turned it on, The Holiday was playing.

“I can’t turn this off, now can I?” She rolled her eyes but smiled as Jude Law’s character put on his glasses.

After the movie ended, and Claire had eaten her weight in crisps, she groggily made her way to the bedroom. Not bothering with pajamas, she flopped down onto the bed face first and within moments fell fast asleep.

++++++

On Christmas morning, Claire treated herself to a cup of coffee and store bought croissants. There were no presents under the tree to open, and no one would call. Maybe her uncle Lamb, but later once his own children had opened their gifts.

“Another day of movies and crisps,” Claire sighed as she took up the corner spot on the sofa.

Hours passed in that order. One movie would end, and another would begin. She had given up on trying to avoid cheesy Christmas movies, as that seemed to be the only thing playing on virtually every station.

Claire felt herself drifting off to sleep during Elf, but was startled when a loud knock came from the front door. “What the bloody hell,” she yawned and jumped off the sofa. Grabbing the plaid, she wrapped it around her body as she shuffled to the door.

A very tall, very large, red headed man stood on the front porch. He had an axe in one hand, and a bag in the other.

“Um, are you going to murder me?” Claire glanced at the axe.

The man followed her gaze and burst into a laugh. “Oh, Christ! It does look like that. No, God no. I came to see if ye needed any wood cut for the place.”

“Perhaps,” Claire said, eyeing the man. She had to admit that he was very attractive, and his accent had that deep burr of someone who had lived in the highlands all his life, the r’s rolling off his tongue.

“Yer probably wonderin’ who this strange man is on yer front steps,” the man said as he took off his gloves and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jamie Fraser. Of Fraser’s Ridge.”

“Ah,” Claire smiled and shook his hand. “That makes a lot of sense,” she laughed. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. I just got in last night. Your godfather, Murtagh, was it? He said that you wouldn’t be around today.”

Jamie put his gloves back on his large hands. “Well, I wasna supposed to be, but then my sister Jenny’s daughter Maggie got sick after the festivities and so I was freed. Thought I’d just come back to check on everyone and to wish them a Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Claire grinned. “I must say, this place is wonderful. Did you really build every one?”

“Aye,” Jamie’s cheeks blushed. “With my Da before he passed a few years back. We ran this place together. It was a way to show the beauty of Scotland, and remind everyone to take time for themselves. What brought ye here?”

“Oh,” Claire paused, not sure how much of her personal life to disclose to a near stranger. “Just needed a break from my life back in England.”

“I kent ye were a Sassenach,” Jamie smiled warmly.

“Sassenach?”

“English person,” he replied. “More or less.”

There was still snow falling, and Claire began to shiver in the doorway. “Would you like to come in Mr. Fraser? It’s bloody freezing out there!”

“Och,” he shook his head. “I’ll just go and chop the wood for ye and bring it back. I wouldna want to impose on ye.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Claire said, and realized that she really wouldn’t mind spending more time with this man. He had a kindness to him, one that instantly drew her to him.

“I willna be long,” Jamie turned to leave. “And call me Jamie please, Sassenach.”

She waited until he had fully gone to shut the door. He would be back.

Racing to her bedroom, she tossed the plaid on the bed and began to root around in the drawers for something more suitable to wear. Of bloody course she had only brought oversized sweaters and lounge wear. “Didn’t think you’d be meeting a handsome Scot, now would you? Didn’t listen to Geillis,” she mumbled.

Pulling out a green sweater, Claire thought it was the most presentable option and replaced it with the old t-shirt she had been wearing. She only felt a little foolish to be primping herself for his return. Licking her fingers, she tried to assemble the bird’s nest called her curly hair into order.

She was not certain how long it would take him to chop down fresh wood. An image of the man Jamie holding the axe in his hands, droplets of sweat on his brow as he struck down with force on the wood filled her mind. Claire let her eyes closed as she pictured how he would grunt with every strike, again and again. He was clearly well built, so his muscles would flex.

“Christ, Beauchamp,” she shook her head, looking back at herself in the mirror. “Would you get a bloody grip?!”

She knew she shouldn’t have changed her appearance for a man. There was nothing that would come of this, so why did she want to look good for him? After Frank, Claire thought it would take her a long time to be open to any kind of relationship, let alone whatever she was imagining with Fraser.

He said he was going to chop down wood for everyone that needed some, so it could take awhile. The sofa called to her, and Claire sat down, grabbing a book off the coffee table. Her ear was tuned to any slight sound outside, waiting for Jamie’s return.

It took several tries for Claire to focus on the pages before her. She must have read the same paragraph nearly ten times, as her mind was picturing running her fingers through Jamie’s red curls.

“My God woman,” Claire muttered, feeling herself growing flushed. “This is not a cheesy Christmas movie. You’re not going to get laid by the owner of the place who kindly brings you wood.”

If Geillis were here, she would tell Claire to be open and take risks. But Claire had exchanged a few words with the man, and while she assumed he didn’t have a wife or family of his own, there was no way of knowing he wasn’t promised to some other woman.

Soon, Claire’s attention was hooked by her book, and as the minutes turned into hours, she had nearly forgotten about Jamie coming back. One look out the window showed her that it was still snowing, nearly a blizzard too. It was also growing dark outside, and she knew enough to know that chopping wood in the dark was a recipe for disaster.

Her curiosity sparked, Claire rose from the sofa and went to find her boots. Her gut told her that she should at least check that he was okay, if she could even find him out there. Once her shoes were tied, Claire grabbed her coat off the hook near the door. The fresh cold air hit her face, making her gasp as it took her breath away.

The steps were icy as she descended slowly. Obviously, she should look in the woods behind the cabin first. What would she do if she couldn’t find him? Go to the offices, demanding to know where he was? She would look insane and probably desperate. However, he did say he would come back and it’d been nearly four hours.

As she turned the corner round the back of the house, a flash of red caught her eye and she made her way carefully over.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

She wouldn’t have to venture out into the icy woods after all. Jamie was lying in the snow, clearly stuck and unconscious. His axe lay nearby as did a pile of wood. He didn’t have any signs of bleeding, so he must have slipped on the ice and passed out.

Claire bent next to his body, her fingers instantly checking for his pulse at his neck. His skin was chilled, but she felt a steady thrum under her fingers, echoing her own. Jamie’s lips were a light shade of blue — he must have been out for hours. And all this time, she sat warm and inside, none the wiser.

“Jamie,” she rubbed her hand over his cheek. He didn’t stir. There was snow covering his body and she began to wipe it off. If he didn’t wake, she wasn’t sure she could lift him into the cabin to warm him up. “Jamie, please wake up!”

Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she then placed them on his cheeks to warm them up. She had no idea what else to do save strip naked and put her body next to his. Things hadn’t gotten to that point she thought sadly.

“Jamie,” she said again loudly. “Mr. Fraser, you’ve got to wake up.”

Finally, she saw a twitch near his lip, and soon his eyes slowly opened, snowflakes falling down his cheeks. “Sassenach?” He said with a dry voice.

“Oh thank God,” Claire sighed, leaning her head briefly on his chest. “You must have slipped on ice and passed out. I think you’ve been out here for hours, and the snow has really picked up.”

“Have I?” He blinked rapidly. “Aye, I can barely feel my fingers so I must have.”

“Do you think you can stand?” Claire asked, “I might be able to help get you inside.”

“Let me try,” his mouth quirked up into a smile. It seems even freezing temperatures couldn’t dampen his spirit. Jamie sat up stiffly, flexing his gloved fingers out in front of him. Rising to her feet, Claire offered him both her hands to pull him up. It took all the strength she had to lift him up. And when she did, he nearly toppled them both over again.

“Okay, let’s try walking,” Claire wrapped one arm around his waist to steady him. They took slow steps and thankfully they were very close to the cabin. The steps took a little bit longer, but with the promise of warmth inside, Jamie managed to make it.

“Och, Christ, I’m freezin’,” Jamie shivered as Claire shut the door behind them.

“Come and sit by the fire,” Claire led him over. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

She walked quickly to her bedroom to grab the plaid she’d tossed there earlier. When she came back to the living room, Jamie was standing in nothing but his trousers. His chest was gleaming, with a tuft of auburn curls, and Claire froze in her tracks as she stared at him.

“Um,” she said, her eyes greedily taking him in.

“I need to get out of these cold wet clothes,” Jamie blushed, bringing color back to his cheeks. “I’m sorry to appear so indecent before ye, but…”

She waved him away and moved closer, holding out the blanket. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, anyways. You can’t be sitting in those clothes.”

Jamie held the blanket in his hands gingerly, staring back at her. “Would ye perhaps look away for a bit just so I can get my trousers off? I swear I willna flash ye or anythin’,” he chuckled.”

“Oh, that’s fine!” Claire blurted, wondering if she meant it would be fine if he flashed her. Feeling heat creep up her chest, she turned and walked to the kitchen to heat up a cup of tea for him.

Jamie’s clothes made up a wet pile near the door, and he now sat by the fire, presumably naked.

“I’ll hang these up in the bathroom so they can dry out a bit,” Claire set his cup of steaming tea before him.

She now had a nearly naked Scotsman in her living room, clothed in a plaid with no dry clothes. What had she gotten herself into?

As Claire returned to him, she was pleased to see that his color was already returning, his skin no longer showing a startling sign of blue. “You really scared me out there,” she said as she sat down across from him on the carpeted floor.

“Who knows what would have become of me had ye not found me,” Jamie sipped the tea. “Were ye comin’ to find me or was there another reason ye were out in the blizzard?”

“I was worried,” Claire admitted freely. “It’d been nearly four hours and you hadn’t returned.”

“Tracking the time, eh?” He teased her, clearly loving to watch her squirm. “I’m glad ye did.”

“I suppose I’ll have to go back later and fetch the wood,” Claire pointed back outside. “I don’t want you to go outside until you’re fully warm and your lips are no longer blue!”

“Are they?” He touched them with his fingertips. “Christ, my balls are blue too,” he laughed.

Claire couldn’t help but laugh, and tried her hardest not to let her eyes wander down to that part of his anatomy. She had heard that old joke about how Scotsmen don’t wear anything under their kilts and she wondered…

“What’s yer story, Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie said a moment later, startling her out of her thoughts.

“My story?” Claire grabbed another plaid from the chair nearby, wrapping it around her shoulders. “I’m quite plain really, there isn’t much to say.”

“Och,” Jamie scoffed. “I dinna believe that. A beautiful English woman such as yerself is far from plain, and besides, everyone has got a story.”

“Then what’s your story, Jamie Fraser,” Claire asked, feeling completely at ease.

“Agh, that’s not fair! I asked ye first,” he laughed.

“I’ll tell you once you tell me yours,” she nudged his bare foot with her fuzzy sock clad one.

Jamie eyed her suspiciously, and Claire noticed for the first time how strikingly blue his eyes were. A stark contrast to her own dark amber ones. Everything about his was a stark contrast to her — his flaming red hair to her dull brown, his tanned skin to her pale, and his largeness to her smaller frame.

He set the cup of tea on the coffee table, careful not to let the plaid slip. “Well, ye ken about how I built this place wi’ my Da. I mentioned he passed a few years ago, and my Mam passed a few years before him.”

“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” Claire said.

“Tis hard sometimes,” he shrugged, giving her a warm smile. “Not always, as most days ye think of them randomly and wi’ a happy memory. Holidays are hard, especially this time of year for me.”

He began to tell her about his life. How he had lived in Scotland all his life, but gone to university in Paris, and earned his degree in business. He had one older sister, Jenny, who was married to his childhood best friend Ian and they had three children. As Jamie talked about his family and his childhood home, Lallybroch, Claire could picture it in her mind. His knack for telling stories was unmatched, and she figured that would be the Scottish-ness of him. Geillis was quite good at telling stories of her own.

“I’m a simple man, who only needs a few things,” Jamie continued. “I remember when we first found this land. I’ve always thought that I needed a mountain to live on, a space to call my own and this is it.”

“You live here on the property then?”

“Aye, just a five-minute drive down the road though,” he nodded, pulling the plaid tight around him. “My Da and I built that first to see if we could even build anythin’,” he laughed.

“But it was somethin’ special once we finally finished it. The first night there was everything I thought and more,” he said dreamily. “There’s somethin’ about building yer own house wi’ yer own two hands. It makes ye appreciate the walls around ye that keep ye warm and safe.”

“It’s amazing what you’ve created here, Jamie,” Claire reached out and placed her hand on his. “I’m sure if your father were here, he’d be proud of all the success.”

“I’d like to think so,” Jamie moved his fingers over hers, squeezing lightly. “Ye said that ye were plain,” he sniffed. “I feel my story is quite plain and boring.”

“It’s not,” Claire shook her head slowly. “It’s yours and that’s what matters.”

He cocked a brow at her, and she rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright, I get it. My story is important too. Although once I tell it to you, you’ll find it’s rather depressing.”

“Well, spit it out, Sassenach,” he rubbed his thumb over her fingers, still clinging on. “Dinna leave me in suspense.”

Claire took a deep breath, deciding that she would be truthful with him — after all, he had told her all about his life, it was the least she could do.

“For starters, I should tell you the real reason I’m here… alone, on Christmas,” Claire began. “I just recently got divorced, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to spend another second in my house that wasn’t decorated and that reminded me of my ex.”

“Who was daft enough to let a lass like ye go?” Jamie smirked, not making her feel pitiful like she usually did when she told people.

“Frank Randall,” Claire groaned. “That’s who. He cheated on me with nearly half the population of Oxford. I was the fool who found out five years into our marriage. I really thought he loved me, and that he was different, but I guess all men are the same deep down.”

Jamie cleared his throat at this, causing her to look up.

“Perhaps not all men,” she corrected. “But the Frank’s of the world are all cut of the same cloth. It’s a relief to not be married to him anymore, but I never thought I would be a divorced woman at the age of twenty-seven.”

“Frank Randall is an idiot,” Jamie said sternly. “He had a wonderful wife, and he clearly didna pay any attention to her. A wife is someone that should be cherished, kissed every day and respected.”

“Are you married?” Claire gulped as she asked. She had seen no ring on his finger, even now as he gripped her hand.

“No, no I havena been so lucky,” he smiled sadly. “But I watched how my parents were. I saw the love between them, the partnership they shared, and I ken that one day I want to have a love like theirs.”

Claire could see that he loved his parents very much, and was sad for him that he had lost them both. “I lost my parents when I was about five,” she said. “I don’t remember what their marriage was like, but my uncle whom I lived with told me they loved each other deeply.”

“There’s hope for ye yet, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “Ye’ll find a man who will treat ye as ye deserve, I ken it.”

With stories exchanged, a hush fell upon the room. Claire’s hand was still held between Jamie’s fingers, and she had no intention of letting go. She looked out the window to see that the snow was still falling, adding to the already high pile of fluff.

“It looks like you may be here for the night,” Claire said and he followed her gaze to the window. “The roads are probably covered with the stuff, and you’re still shivering.”

Jamie’s teeth chattered, proving her right. “You should take the bedroom, you’ll be much warmer in a cozy bed than on the sofa. I don’t want to be held responsible for the owner of Fraser’s Ridge losing all his toes!”

“Nah, Claire,” he shook his head. “I canna take yer room. Ye paid for it, and I wouldna feel right puttin’ ye out. I’ll sleep by the fire if I must.”

“No,” Claire stood up and held out her hand to him. “You were passed out in the snow for hours, Jamie! You’re obviously still cold, and there’s a small fireplace in their too. You would know after all.”

He seemed to be weighing his options. While the sofa was comfortable, it was nothing compared to a pocket of warmth one found in a big bed. Jamie was a large man, and Claire bet that his feet would hang off the sofa.

“If you feel so guilty, then you can comp me the night for putting me out of the room,” Claire smirked, her hand still stretched out for him to take.

With a deep grunt, Jamie took her hand and stood up, keeping the plaid wrapped tightly over his body. Claire wanted to slip her hands inside to touch him but pulled her hand away as soon as he was stable.

“There’s also a hot water bottle under the bathroom sink,” Jamie sniffed. “Would ye mind fixin’ it up for me? It seems I still canna feel the tips of my wee fingers,” he wiggled them in front of her.

“Of course,” Claire grinned. “And I’ll bring you another cup of tea once you’re settled. Who knew I would be tucking a very large scot into bed on Christmas night?!”

“Certainly no’ me,” Jamie chuckled. He turned then to go to the bedroom, leaving Claire alone to fix up a fresh cuppa.

There was no way she could fall asleep tonight knowing that he was sleeping in her bed. As she waited for the water to boil, her thoughts turned to his long limbs under the sheets — his freckled arms reaching out to pull her close while she curled into his chest. Claire had never particularly been one for physical touch, but even now, her fingers missed his touch, and it was as if her body was longing to be next to his.

Claire went into the bedroom quietly, seeing that Jamie was already in bed, his eyes closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep. She found the hot water bottle exactly where he said it’d be, and returned to the kitchen to fill it with the hot water. With that in hand, as well as the cup of tea, she went to him.

“Delivery from Santa’s elf,” Claire whispered, and his eyes popped open, a grin on his lips. “This ought to warm you up.”

Jamie took the tea from her, his hands curling around the cup. The covers were tucked under the bed and Claire pulled them up to tuck the hot water bottle at his feet, making sure it didn’t burn him. She had to admit that it looked awfully cozy in there, and she wanted to hop in next to him.

“Ye ken tis no’ that late,” Jamie said as he sipped. “There’s a TV in here as well, we could put on a Christmas movie?”

“You mean… get into the bed with you?”

He blinked, owl-like up at her. “Aye, yer no’ goin’ to sit on the floor while I have the whole bed to myself, Sassenach,” he gave a loud pat to the spot next to him. “We’re hardly strangers, since ye saved my life, ye ken.”

She probably should have hesitated far longer than she did, but with a shrug, Claire walked around to the other side and climbed in, still quite far away from him as it was a rather large bed. The remote was on her side, and she pressed the power button, bringing It’s a Wonderful Life to the screen.

“Och, this is one of my favorites,” Jamie grinned and wiggled deeper under the covers. Claire laughed at that, and he glanced over at her with a matching smirk. “I love the old black and white ones, don’t ye?”

“Oh yes,” Claire sighed happily, and pulled up the covers. “There’s something so nostalgic about them.”

Geillis would be happy to know that Claire did, in fact, have a man in her bed. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but Geillis didn’t need to know all the details.

The two of them laughed at the funny parts, and were silent as George Bailey went along with Clarence the angel. The heat from the fireplace was comforting, and the bed was soft beneath her tired body. Claire’s eyes were fluttering shut, and while her brain knew she shouldn’t fall asleep next to him, the rest of her body didn’t seem to respond. Sleep washed over her, and she heard the distant ringing of bells as she fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke a little while later, she was surprised to find it was still dark outside. She must have drifted off for only a few hours. Claire was also surprised to feel a heavy weight — Jamie’s arm — wrapped around her stomach. As Claire’s senses came back to her, she realized that her body was curved with his, and his face was nuzzled into her neck.

There was no way she could get out of his embrace without waking him, and she knew he needed to sleep. No wonder she’d woken up, his body was radiating heat now and she was now covered in a thin layer of sweat. His breathing was deep and heavy, his arm tight around her, so she went limp and tried to relax herself into going back to sleep.

But her senses were on high alert now. Her imagination running wild as she felt with her mind his body against hers. With her knees bent, he had his legs pressed against hers. They were spooning. She was the little spoon of course. It was such an intimate position to be in with someone she’d only just met that day. Although, Claire had never slept like this with Frank. He was always on the other side of the bed, with only a kiss on the cheek before he fell fast asleep.

Perhaps, Claire had been craving someone’s touch all her life, and had never found it. Jamie lightly snored and the vibration ran throughout her body. Shifting to get more comfortable, Claire froze and gasped.

Her bottom was pressed snugly against his crotch, and there was no mistaking the hardness she now felt. Claire couldn’t suppress the laughter nor the arousal she felt. Any warm-blooded male would surely get turned on with a woman’s arse wedged between his thighs.

If it was anyone but Jamie, she would have been disgusted and jumped out of the bed. But she felt safe here in his arms, and the idea that she could turn him on even while he slept was erotic.

With that part of his anatomy reminding her just what she wanted to do to him, she gave up on sleep, and simply enjoyed being in his arms, as this would most likely not be a repeat occurrence.

“Sassenach,” he mumbled sleepily, startling her. Her body was now tight as a bowstring, waiting for him to realize what position they were in.

“Oh,” his arm around her stomach slipped away, allowing her to turn and face him.

“You know what they say about body heat,” she grinned, her face barely visible in the dim glow of the dying fire. “It’s the best way to get warm. Don’t worry about it, Jamie.”

“I dinna want ye to think I was takin’ advantage of ye,” he rubbed his hand over his eyes to better see her. “I must have drifted over to ye in my sleep w’out knowin’ it.”

“Jamie,” Claire laughed softly. “We’re still on your side of the bed. If anyone drifted, it was me.”

“I do feel much warmer now,” Jamie observed as he stretched his legs. “I can go out to the sofa now so ye can sleep.”

He made to move, flipping the covers back, and without thinking, Claire grabbed his arm to pull him back.

“I want you to stay,” she whispered, as her heart hammered in her chest.

Answering her plea, Jamie fell back into the bed and turned on his side to face her. He moved his hand to settle on her waist, waiting to see if it was okay. With a slight nod from her, Jamie pulled her closer until she fit against his chest. She looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes only inches from hers. There was no going back now.

“I dinna have any mistletoe,” Jamie said softly, his arms cradling her body.

“What?” Claire laughed, not expecting him to say that.

“Mistletoe,” he said again. “The wee green stuff ye hang over yer head at Christmas so ye can kiss someone.”

Claire buried her head against his chest, laughing. “I think we can manage without the mistletoe, don’t you think?”

“Aye,” one hand came to brush back the curls from her face. Their bodies were pressed so close that kissing didn’t even seem like an intimate idea.

They found each other in the dark. Jamie cupped her cheek reverently as he pressed his lips to hers. His jaw and neck were covered with scruff that itched pleasantly against her skin, and Claire wanted to purr like a kitten as he kissed her deeper.

Guiding her hands into his curly locks, she held on tight as she parted his lips with her tongue. The heat seeped from his body to hers, but a shiver went over her body as his hand snaked down to grip her arse, squeezing lightly.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, pressing her hips against his.

Claire was not entirely certain this wasn’t just a dream, and that she would wake up alone in bed. But for the moment, Jamie felt very real and his flesh under her hands seemed to yield to her touch.

They broke apart, only so that they could push the covers out of the way before coming back together. Jamie pulled Claire on top of him, his hands finding her hips and anchoring her against him. Sadly, she found out that he had not been naked the entire evening as her fingers skimmed the edge of his boxer briefs.

Her hips moved seductively, rolling against his groin. He was hard again, and with every snap of her hips a small sound left Jamie’s throat. His hands moved from her hips to her arse to push her closer. The kiss was so deep that she could hardly breathe.

“God, Sassenach,” Jamie sighed. “I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in all my life!”

Claire peppered kisses over his neck and chest, not wanting to part with the low lusty sounds he was making.

“Jesus, lass,” he muttered between breaths as he realized what she was doing. Claire shimmied down his body, leaving a trail of kisses in her wake. “Ye dinna have to…”

Looking up at him through long thick lashes, she smirked. “I appreciate the choice, but I’m willing, that is if you are?”

He cocked a brow at her, almost as a challenge. “As long as I can return the favor,” he said smugly.

Heat flashed over her body as he stared at her. She had to tear her gaze away from him to settle to the task before her. His body was sculpted to perfection. She ran her fingers over the grooves of his abs, swirling around the wiry hairs at his belly button. His breath hitched as her hands rested on the tops of his boxers.

Claire held his gaze as she pulled them slowly down his legs. His cock sprang free as the material was removed. Her belly quivered at the sight of his impressive thick length jutting upwards towards his stomach. Reflexively, Jamie’s legs widened and she slid down further to fit herself between them.

“Sassenach,” Jamie said with a hoarse voice. “I dinna feel that ‘tis fair that I’m the one naked and yer still covered up.”

“Oh,” Claire glanced down at herself. “I didn’t even realize.” She reached for the hem of her sweater, but two hands stopped her. Jamie pulled her to straddle him again. Now his hands crept up her sweater, his skin warm on her flesh. His fingers tickled her stomach before finally pulling up the material and tossing it over the side. She saw his tongue snake out and wet his lips as he looked at her breasts, covered only now by her black bra. With his skilled fingers, he unhooked it in seconds, tossing it to join the pile of growing clothes.

“May I?” His hands drummed a tattoo against her hips as he held her body over his.

“Yes, please,” Claire blushed and threaded one hand through his hair, following his movements as he leaned down and took one of her pink nipples into his mouth. His pull was insistent, and he began to suck, his cheeks hollowing. Claire’s head fell back as he pressed her against his mouth, sucking harder. A deep cry left her throat as he flicked his tongue back and forth over the sensitive nub.

“Aye, that’s it, Sassenach,” Jamie kissed the underside of her breast. “Make those wee noises for me!”

His mouth moved to the other breast, repeating the same process. His tongue was warm and he swirled the tip around her nipple, and they puffed up, now engorged and swollen from his lips. Before she could move back down his body, Jamie’s hands found her tights and began to pull them off as well as her panties.

“I wish I could see ye in the light,” Jamie said quietly as she pulled the material off her foot, letting it fall to the floor.

“No you don’t,” Claire snorted unflatteringly. “This is enough light so you don’t see all my bumps and squiggles.”

“Bumps and squiggles,” Jamie laughed adorably and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Claire, yer so beautiful. I feel I dinna deserve to be here wi’ ye, holdin’ ye in my arms.”

“You’re one to talk,” Claire ran her finger lightly down the slope of his straight nose. “It’s like making love to a god.”

“Tcha!” Jamie rubbed his hands slowly up and down her sides. She began to rock her hips against him, feeling his length grow between her thighs.

“I’ve never felt like this, Jamie,” Claire admitted. “With anyone.”

He picked up her hand and entwined their fingers, bringing their joint hands to rest over his heart. “Neither have I, Sassenach. I think ye are my Christmas wish come true.”

At that, she shyly buried her head against his neck, her body still gently rocking against his, the friction building. Her arms wrapped around his neck, as his arms settled on her hips. Claire gasped as the tip of his cock brushed against her clit.

She felt his hand move between their bodies as he took hold of himself. Jamie pumped his cock once before sliding it along her wet center. Claire shivered, biting down gently on the padded flesh of his shoulder. He was teasing her entrance with his cock, and just the tip entered her and she clutched his hair tightly.

Her body was shaking with the need to sink down on him, and she pulled back to look into his eyes. One hand came to rest on her lower back, his other still between their bodies. From just the tip, she knew that he was huge, and would fill her completely. Her stomach tightened in anticipation, and she couldn’t help but roll her hips, hearing the sound of the wetness their bodies made.

“I must take ye, Claire,” Jamie said as his grip tightened on her. “I must or I’ll die!”

Claire felt the same, as her heart pounded fast and hard in her chest. She wanted to explode, and as she sank down on his cock, she thought she just might. Their moans mingled together in the air as he filled her.

“Christ,” he whispered. The hand that had been holding his cock found her hand and he gripped it tightly as she began to rock her hips. Claire had never felt so close to someone, not just physically but emotionally. No one had ever looked her in the eyes as they bared their soul with her. There was nothing left unsaid as they gave over to one another.

Claire kept up the slow and steady rhythm of her hips, and overcome with emotions, she pressed her face into his neck, feeling tears spring to her eyes. Jamie held her close, his other hand rubbing slowly up and down her back. He thrust upwards, hitting a spot so deep inside of her, that Claire didn’t know such pleasure existed.

“Oh God,” she panted.

“Oh Claire,” Jamie breathed heavily.

She was close, and she began to grind down faster and harder, feeling his body begin to tremble. Quickly, she pulled back so that she could watch him fall apart. His length throbbed inside of her, and his mouth opened and closed, as the words failed to come out.

With a sharp snap of her hips, Claire felt her own orgasm coming, as she clenched around his cock. Jamie’s hands squeezed her hips, helping her ride him. His eyes flicked back and forth from her bouncing breasts to her face as she came.

Jamie cried out, “Claire!” before spilling inside of her, his body spasming. Tingles shot down her spine, and she held onto him for dear life. Carefully, Claire adjusted her position so she could wrap her legs around his waist and she clung to him, almost like a monkey.

His hands were soothing on her back, lightly stroking. He stayed rooted inside of her, reluctant to leave her body.

“I didn’t know it could be like that,” Claire said softly against his chest.

“I didna either,” Jamie echoed. “Perhaps it depends on who yer wi’.”

Claire chuckled, but sighed happily at this. Whatever it was between them… it wasn’t usual.

After time passed and they both were sated, Jamie shifted and then moved Claire to lay in his arms, her head comfortably against his chest as she looked up at him.

“When I first met ye, all those hours ago,” he snorted. “I felt a… a sort of draw to ye, Sassenach. Like I just had to be close to ye. To hear yer voice, touch yer skin. I thought I’d do anythin’ to be near to ye.”

“Really?” Claire ran her fingers lightly over his stubbled chin.

“Aye,” he smiled. “Twas the strangest thing. While I was out chopping the wood, I found myself thinking about ye, and I’d known ye all of five minutes!”

“I felt the same,” Claire smiled, pleased that she hadn’t been crazy. “I was waiting for you to come back with the wood. I even changed my clothes,” she laughed quietly. “When you didn’t come back, I grew impatient and that’s when I decided to look for you. I just knew I had to see you again.”

“I dinna wish my niece any ill tidings,” Jamie stroked her cheek. “But I’m verra glad that she got sick after lunch and I came back here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here wi’ ye in my arms. Ye see, Claire, and this may sound hasty, but I talk to you as I talk to my own soul," he said, turning her face to him. He reached down and cupped her cheek, fingers light on her temple.

"And, Sassenach," he whispered, "your face is my heart.”

Claire closed her eyes as he kissed her, feeling like something opened up inside of her at his words.

“I certainly didn’t expect this,” she said. “I thought I would never be able to recover after my divorce. That my heart was used and not able to be loved again. But, with you, Jamie… I feel things I’ve never felt. A closeness to you, as if I could tell you anything and nothing would surprise or scare you.”

He pressed their lips together once again. “I feel as if our souls have belonged to each other far longer than our bodies have.”

“I don’t think I can part from you, Jamie,” Claire said sleepily, yawning.

“Shhh,” Jamie kissed her forehead and slid further into bed, pulling the covers around her. “Sleep, a nighean donn. When ye wake, I’ll be here.”

“Mmmm,” Claire nuzzled against him, and fell asleep to him muttering something in a language she recognized as Gaelic.

++++++

When Claire opened her eyes, she did wake in his arms. The sun filled the room, and she wasn’t shocked to see that the snow still fell outside. The fire had gone out long ago, but Jamie’s body heat kept her warm. In her sleep, she had shifted to lie curled against his body, and she placed a soft kiss to his neck, rousing him.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she kissed his jaw.

“Yer insatiable,” Jamie groaned, all while keeping his eyes shut. His hands were locked around her back, and they slid down to rest over her arse.

“The same could be said about you,” she poked him playfully in the chest.

Before the morning could unfold like the previous night, however, a loud gurgle came from Claire’s stomach, making Jamie’s eyes pop open.

“I guess all that activity made me hungry,” she nipped at his bottom lip.

Jamie laughed and then rolled her body on top of his. “First we shall eat, and then I plan to devour ye,” he nibbled on her ear lobe, making her squirm.

Another loud gurgle sounded in the room and this time from Jamie.

A cold breeze drifted across her naked body as Jamie pushed off the covers. She rolled off his body and stood up, grabbing the plaid to wrap around her. Jamie opted for his boxers, tugging them on as he yawned.

They ventured out into the kitchen, sitting on two stools. Claire placed a bowl in front of Jamie and poured cereal into it.

“Tell me when to stop,” Claire said as she poured the milk.

“That’s good,” he smiled. “Breakfast of champions.”

“If I knew I would have company, I’d have bought proper breakfast,” Claire said as she sat down at the counter next to him.

“I dinna think this will be our last breakfast together,” Jamie’s foot nudged hers, making her grin sheepishly.

“No, I dare say it won’t.”

They ate quickly, impatient to return to each other’s arms. Food was necessary to continue making love, but Claire was shoveling the cereal down her throat as fast as she could, with only one strange look from Jamie.

“Dinna choke, Sassenach,” Jamie laughed as Claire wiped the milk from her lips. “I canna make love to ye if yer dead.”

“Sorry,” she blushed.

Jamie pushed his bowl aside, and grabbed her hand. “Dinna apologize, ’tis charming for some reason. But now that yer belly is full, I can have my way wi’ ye!”

He stood up, spinning her on the stool until she faced him. Jamie’s arms wrapped around her stomach and he lifted her into the air, plaid and all. She landed over his shoulder, and her bum was given a nice firm pat, making her giggle.

“You better not drop me, Fraser!”

“Not a chance,” he chuckled, bouncing his knees as if he was dropping her. Claire shrieked, but laughed, letting her arms dangle over his back. She slid her hands over his arse, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Enough of that,” he smirked, walking into the bathroom where he set her on her feet. His hands reached for the plaid around her shoulders and pushed it off of her. Claire returned the favor by removing his boxers, enjoying the sight of his erect cock on her way back up to kiss him.

“Just what are we doing in here?” She hooked both arms around his neck.

“I’ve fed ye,” Jamie kissed her nose, “and now I need to wash ye.”

“Do I stink?” Claire blushed, self conscious as she put her arms down.

“No,” he shook his head. “But ever since I set eyes on that curly wig of yers, I’ve wanted to get my hands into it. If that doesna sound too weird,” he bit his bottom lip.

“Oh,” she said. The shower was certainly big enough for the two of them, and she moved out of his grasp to turn on the hot water, watching as the room began to steam up.

Claire grabbed his fingers, pulling him into the shower after her. They stood under the water, letting it drench them. Once her hair was wet, Jamie grabbed the shampoo and drizzled a fair amount into the palms of his hands, lathering until suds formed.

Spinning until she faced the shower wall, Claire sighed as his hands massaged her scalp. He had large strong fingers — fingers that had explored her body the night before. Fingers that made Claire moan as she imagined them inside of her.

“Feel good?”

“Hmmm?”

Jamie laughed, still rubbing the shampoo into her hair. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Feeling like she was floating, Claire allowed Jamie to move her under the water to rinse out the shampoo. He then pushed her back against the wall, his mouth landing on her neck. The water poured down his back, cascading down his skin.

Claire’s eyes sprang open from her dreamy state as she felt his lips nibble on her breast briefly before moving south.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” Claire muttered as she looked down to find Jamie on his knees looking up at her. His hands settled on her waist, making sure that she didn’t fall down on top of him.

“I told ye I would devour ye, Sassenach,” he growled before licking slowly up her center. Claire’s legs buckled, but his hands squeezed her hips. The tip of his tongue flicked out against her clit before two of his fingers spread her lips. His tongue darted inside of her, and Claire’s head fell back against the wall.

Her hands found his head, holding on tight to his hair as he began to bop his head. Like a kitten lapping at milk, Jamie began to lick and suck her folds.

“Oh God,” Claire sighed. Jamie lifted her right leg to rest over her shoulder and he adjusted the angle, now able to insert a finger inside of her. Her thighs involuntarily clenched around his head. Jamie chuckled against her skin, sending shivers over her body.

Glancing down, she could see that his cock was hard and throbbing. His other hand left her waist to take hold of himself, the thumb moving slowly up and down his cock. Watching his head move between her thighs as well as his hand pump himself made Claire’s orgasm come quickly, her body trembling under the water.

Jamie lapped up her juices, his mouth greedy for her taste. Peppering her thighs with kisses, he stood up, watching as she swayed slowly, her body still given over to pleasure.

“I could do that all day,” Jamie kissed her gently and she tasted herself on his lips.

“And I want you to,” Claire kissed him harder. “But not before I return the favor.”

Before he could say anything, she was already sliding down onto her knees. His cock was still hard, resting against his stomach. Finally able to see all of him in the light, Claire gasped. He was bloody huge and she was impressed that he managed to fit inside her so snugly the night before.

“Like what ye see, then?” He was watching her, grinning at her fascination with his member.

“I’m just trying to work out if you really are a god,” Claire said and kissed the tip of his cock, watching his thighs clench.

“Jesus,” Jamie grunted, placing one hand against the wall to steady himself. “Ye sure ken how to flatter a man.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Claire smirked, running one finger down his cock. Her thumb rubbed slowly over the head, pulling back the foreskin. Moisture dripped down and she moved her lips around the tip, tasting him.

Jamie’s buttocks clenched, and moans left his lips as Claire took more of him in. Her fingers were skating lightly down the backs of his thighs. She enjoyed the shivers that ran down his body at her touch. With one hand she cupped his heavy balls, squeezing them firmly as her other hand pumped his cock.

Her tongue snaked out, flicking quickly over the head. Jamie’s eyes were shut, but they opened, dark blue and he watched her take him in her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, and as he hit the back of her throat, she gagged, but was too eager to please him to stop. Claire bopped her head, moaning as his hand found her hair, not pushing or forcing her, but just moving with her motions.

She felt his balls draw up close to his body, and looked up, seeing how he was breathing quickly. Claire pulled him out of her mouth, now only sucking on the tip of his cock. His head bent down to watch her again, and as she flattened her tongue against his shaft, he came in long hard spasms. She milked him, her eyes focused on his face as he spilled into her hand and she licked the head clean.

Claire stood up, her body gliding along his. She placed her hands under the water, washing his seed off.

“I could do that all day,” she smirked, returning his sentiment from moments before.

“I guess if ye bed a vixen,” Jamie leaned his forehead against hers. “Ye have to expect to get bit.”

Claire laughed as he kissed her. They finished showering with wandering hands. They simply couldn’t get enough of each other.

Not bothering with clothes, Jamie and Claire dried off and stumbled towards the living room. Claire laid down near the fireplace as Jamie lit it. The twinkling lights shined above them. Jamie rolled against her as he laid next to her.

“How much longer is yer stay?” He asked, sighing contentedly against her neck, his breath warm.

“Three days,” Claire said, her fingers brushing through his curls at the nape of his neck.

“Hmm, three days. Would ye really leave before New Year’s Eve?” Jamie smirked.

“Only if I had a good reason not to leave,” Claire looked at him.

“Do ye?”

Did she? Jamie was certainly not someone she expected to fall for, but she had. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since they met, but already her heart belonged to him. This Christmas would be one she would remember forever, always thinking back to the day she met the love of her life.

“Yes,” she kissed him. “I do. Is that a date?”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned. “I can show ye what a proper Hogmanay is like, Sassenach!”

“I thought this would be a blue Christmas, but the only thing that was blue was your frostbitten skin,” Claire laughed.

“And my balls,” he added, laughing.

“And those,” Claire snickered. “I’m glad you fell down in the snow.”

“So am I,” Jamie rolled his body on top of hers. “What were those lyrics again… I’ll have a blue Christmas without you. I’ll be so blue just thinkin’ about you…”

There on Fraser’s Ridge, two strangers met, and fell in love on Christmas Day. They laughed as they never had before, loved with a passion they didn’t know existed, and had a very very merry Christmas.

Five days later, after spending day and night in each other’s arms and getting to know everything there was to know about the other, Claire packed up her things and said goodbye to Fraser’s Ridge.

She wasn’t headed home just yet, however, as Jamie was eager to take her to his childhood home, Lallybroch, for a Hogmanay celebration.

“Is your sister going to be very shocked at my being there?” Claire asked as they drove. She’d called Geillis a couple of days ago to ask if she could keep watching Ados. Of course, Geillis had given her hundred questions to answer, but Claire told her she’d give her all the juicy details when she got back to Oxford in a few days.

“Probably,” Jamie chuckled, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on Claire’s thigh. “I havena brought a lass home, so she’ll want to interrogate me. The good thing,” he smiled over at her, “is that we’ll be arriving shortly before the rest of the guests do, so she willna have time to do that!”

“Ahhh,” Claire laughed. “All part of your master plan, I see. So that’s why we didn’t arrive there yesterday or the day before.”

Jamie squeezed her leg. “Tis no’ that I dinna want her to meet ye, but I still want to keep ye all to myself. Plus, I dinna want to subject ye to a million questions that she’ll ask ye. There’s no need to rush this.”

“My lad,” Claire sighed happily. “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Jamie smiled in agreement, and they drove on. Lallybroch wasn’t too far away, and within the hour, they were pulling up to the large stone estate. Jamie was right, as there were other cars pulling up at the same time as them.

“This place is not at all what I imagined,” Claire said in awe as Jamie turned off the car.

“Tis quite charming,” Jamie smiled. “Lallybroch means lazy tower, ye ken? I suppose it does lean a bit.”

Claire tilted her head to the side, admiring the house. She left her bag in his car, they would come out later to get that to stay the night in Jamie’s old room. Sliding his fingers through hers, Jamie pulled her close and together they walked up to the house.

People were milling about inside, and the atmosphere was electric with the air of celebration. The room smelled of meats and pies and Claire’s stomach growled with the need to be filled.

“Jamie!” Came a loud voice from their left. A short, raven haired woman came running towards them and Jamie let go of Claire’s hand to embrace her. “Ye finally made it ye numptie.”

“Aye, sorry we’re late,” Jamie said, giving his sister a kiss on the cheek.

“We?” Jenny craned her neck to look behind Jamie at Claire. Her eyes went wide, and her brows shot up to her forehead. “Hello, there.”

“Janet,” Jamie eyed his sister as he wrapped an arm protectively around Claire’s waist. “This is Claire Beauchamp.”

Claire noted how he didn’t explain where or when they’d met, and she though it best to keep it that way for now. She offered Jenny her hand, and waited awkwardly before his sister wrapped her arms lovingly around Claire.

“I’ll yell at ye later for no’ tellin’ me ye were bringin’ a lass,” Jenny said to Jamie as she hugged Claire. “But I’m happy that ye did. ’Tis nice to meet ye Claire. Sadly I dinna have much time to talk wi’ ye, but we’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow. Ye are stayin’ the night?” She directed this question at Jamie who nodded.

“Good,” Jenny squeezed Claire’s hand. “Ian is around here somewhere with the bairns. He’ll love to see ye.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie took Claire’s hand again, pulling her out of Jenny’s grasp. Jenny smirked at her brother before leaving them alone, off to fulfill her hostess duties.

“Well, that went better than expected,” Jamie sighed. “Ye must give a good first impression, Sassenach.”

“I’ve never been told I give a bad one,” Claire tapped his nose. “Now that that is out of the way, can we please get something to eat?”

“Aye,” Jamie grinned. “And to drink!”

They found the table of food easily, and filled their plates high with mountains of savories and sweets. While Claire carried their bounty, Jamie grabbed two full glasses of cider and they made their way outside into the chilly air to get away from the noise.

The sound of laughter and music could still be heard outside as they sat down on a wooden bench.

“This is lovely, Jamie,” Claire took a bite of a mince pie. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“I’m glad ye are enjoyin’ it,” Jamie grinned over his cup. “It’ll get rowdy as the night wages on. Swords dances and the like.”

“Sword dances?” Claire questioned.

“Aye,” gulped. “Ye place two swords crossed over the other, and ye dance atop them. Highlanders used to do these types of dances for celebration or before a battle to predict the outcome. It’s a tradition now.”

“Will you be partaking in these sword dances?”

Jamie’s cheeks turned bright red. “I do every year,” he took a bite of haggis. “But this year I’ll have ye to cheer me on.”

They kept eating until their stomachs were full, and while Claire wanted more of the delicious food, she felt ready to pop.

The music was drawing them back inside, but Claire took Jamie’s hand, rubbing her fingers lightly over his, not wanting to leave their peaceful cocoon.

“I didn’t expect to feel this way about someone I met only a week ago,” Claire said softly. “I came to Scotland to get away from my old life, and to make myself forget the pain.”

Jamie was silent, but his eyes were focused on her as she spoke.

“I came to escape my old life, but I found something new,” Claire grinned. “Something worth holding onto.”

One of his large hands came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing off a bit of snow on her skin. “Something worth holdin’ onto,” he repeated. “Yer worth getting frostbite for, Sassenach. Yer worth shiverin’ until I canna feel anythin’.”

Claire smiled, “I know that you live here, and I live back in England, but I hope this won’t be the end.”

“Nah,” he leaned in close, resting his forehead against hers. “’Tis no’ the end, Claire. I reckon… it’s just the beginning.”

Snow began to fall harder, forcing them to move inside. They danced hand in hand, sang loudly and rang in the new year with a kiss, sealing their fate forever.

#blue christmas #without youuuuuu #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie fraser #claire fraser #fraser's ridge #one shot #christmas

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fallenhero-rebirth · 5 years

Text

Macaroons

Finally got over myself and got a little bit written 4175 words in an evening is okayish. So here you get the snippet. SPOILERS (but no major ones).

Lady Argent and undecided mc, post villain reveal but nothing else. Post the post auction meeting. Coffee vice, argent flirting, no killing.

Will eventually be filled out to a proper chapter like the other snippets I did, but enjoy!

------

Argent shoots you a smirk under the brim of her hat, wide enough to shadow her face, which together with her huge glasses and soft, pink scarf make her look part rich heiress, part sixties Barbie dreamhhouse Cadillac. She looks like she's having fun, the thin coat moving to the sway of her hips, not exactly a disguise, more plausible deniability. You're having a hard time not smiling back, but your lip still stings when you do, so you lick it instead and get a laugh in return.

"Don't think you've made things up to me yet."

"I didn't." You trail half a step behind her, using her as an icebreaker, she commands attention even when she tries to avoid it which suits you just fine.

"And we are not going to do this in some sordid coffee bar." She adjusts her glasses, then picks a new direction. "Or Hoots."

"Fine by me," you agree, wondering how upscale she's planning to go. Not that you need to pay for anything, but she's still a Ranger and might have opinions about your methods to go about that. "Where are we going?"

"There," she points to an elaborately cursive sign, in French to add to the illegibility.

"A bakery?" The smell reveals it even if the sign doesn't.

"You're paying." A brief pause as she turns to you, lowering her sunglasses so you can see the reflections of her eyes. "You do have money to pay for things, right?"

"Of course I do," you say, a little insulted. You know you're not giving the most affluent impression, but you're not about to go broke from some baked goods.

"Don't make that face," she flips your nose with her fingernail, lightning quick, but not sharp enough to hurt. "I don't know how much of a villain you are."

"Not enough to abuse a neighborhood store," you rub your nose. Damn she's fast. "I do have my sights set a little bit higher."

"Good." She pauses outside the shop, giving you an expectant look. "I want a dozen mixed cupcakes, two dozen macaroons and a couple of chocolate éclairs." A short pause as she rubs her chin. "And of course whatever you're having."

"That's a tall order," you say with a straight face. "Anything else?"

"Surprise me." You get a wink and a smirk. "Maybe you'll succeed this time."

---

Once you've finished your shopping, you return to the street, bags in hand. It's a fairly sizable load, but she doesn't offer to help you carry. Not that you mind, if ordering you around for a little makes her feel better, you can take it. It's not that you feel bad for what you did, not exactly, or, well, even if you did, it wouldn't matter because you already done the deed, and it was for a good cause and water under the bridge and all that.

It's around that time during your internal monologue that you realize you are recognizing this neighborhood. You spent some time here almost a year ago, scoping out Argent's apartment, trying to learn her habits so you knew when to strike at her. You're not heading to a park or some public setting, you're heading home. To her home.

Damn. That wasn't something you had counted on, but then again Argent tends to surprise you.

"You probably already know where I live," she says, as if she was the mind reader here.

"I do," you admit. "Just not that's where you were taking me."

"It's been a long day, I am not going to sit around being gawked at. We're in this together, might as well let my hair down a little."

"Just don't expect me to return the favor anytime soon."

"Hah," she laughs, pushing the door open without using neither code nor key. Interesting. "You probably have some stinky lair in the sewer anyway."

"Hey," you protest, schooling your face into impassiveness. "That's just stereotyping."

"Really?" Another laugh." "Maybe an old factory then?"

"Is that really how you picture the other half living?" The elevator doors open once she approaches, but you can see no trace of a camera. How much surveillance is this place under? She's acting like it's safe, but can you trust that?

"Am I wrong though?"

"Not going to tell you." You step in after her, and watch the button for the top floor light up, without her pressing the button.

"I bet I'm right." You can see why Ortega likes her, they've got the same smug vibe going on.

"That's not going to work." She wants to find out where you live, that's an old tactic. Ortega used it back when you were Sidestep.

"Suit yourself." She steps out of the elevator, into what looks very much like a high security waiting room. It doesn't bother to hide it's unfriendliness, reinforced walls, no chairs, very obvious cameras and a single, blank metal door. It's such a departure from the rest of the building that you can't hide your surprise.

"Get many unfriendly visitors?"

"Some," she approaches the door, cocking her head, and it takes a moment before it slides open with a soft, metallic hiss. "It's a useful reminder."

"Reminder of what?" You look suspiciously around the room.

"Here be dragons." She gives you a wink and invites you in over the threshold.

---

You don't know what you expected Argent's apartment to look like, but it wasn't like this. It's huge, sure, high ceilings, spacious rooms, but there's a softness that takes the edge of the modernity. Nothing is white here, the coatroom a creamy yellow, with an absurdly out of place chandelier sending golden reflections playing over Argent's skin. You try not to look as you peel off your outer layer. You have more under there. She less so.

Shedding her coat, hat and shoes, she steps into the lounge, the summer dress making her skin look almost soft, or perhaps that's the reflected light from the powdery-pink walls. Is that the reason for the pastels? You can't help but wonder, but she really does give off a different impression once she's out of the hard lights of the Rangers HQ and the cold blues of her uniform.

"You're staring," she says, and you realize that you are, looking around helplessly for where to deposit your bags.

"Where's the kitchen?" you say, holding the bags up hoping she'll drop the subject.

"Over there," she says, smile turning sharp. "I guess we can be civilized and not eat right out of the bag if you want to."

"Hey, I probably live in a sewer, remember?" The kitchen is crisply turquoise and white, the fifties feel of the rounded appliances making Argent look absurdly like a housewife as she opens up the cupboard to get a tray out.

"Lucky you don't stink, or I would have tossed you in the pool."

"You have a pool?" You unpack your bounty under her watchful eyes, not sure if she's kidding or not.

"Where else would I keep my sharks?" That has to be a joke, but her smile is sharp enough to make you doubt.

"I really hope that's not true, we bought nothing for them." You keep your face straight, doing your best to read hers.

"Maybe I did." She steps closer, running a sharp finger over your breastbone, not sharp enough to cut, just enough to send shivers racing down your spine.

"I thought you already had extracted your pound of flesh." You'd like to imagine that your voice is steady.

"I told you, you still owe me." She tilts her head and licks her lips, the walls reflecting in her skin, turning her shades of sunlit water.

"There are nicer ways I can pay you back," you whisper, leaning in to kiss her, just a soft taste, still wary of teeth.

"Don't bite off more than you can chew." She kisses you back, equally softly, almost gentle in the way she nibbles your sore lip. Even when giving her the privacy of her mind, you can feel her testing her restraint.

"Are there really sharks?" you ask, running a hand up her bare arm. It's soft like sun-warm marble, not unyielding, but with less give than human skin. When you press your fingers against it you can feel the surface give a little, and she gasps into your mouth, holding still for a moment before pulling back.

"Only in my mind," she admits, looking at the arm you touched. No trace of your fingertips there, but she rubs it all the same. "I've got enough pets already."

"Really?" You look around, there's no trace of any food bowl in the kitchen, but it would feel like her to have an aquarium or something. It's a big place.

"Maybe you'll get to meet them eventually. If you behave." She shakes her head and changes the subject. "Coffee or something stronger?"

"Coffee is fine," you say, watching her as she prepares two cups. Capsule ones, high class, no fuss.

There's a quiet moment between you as the machine brews, and you keep looking around the room. Better than looking at her, and you get the feeling she feels the same. It's easier to know what to do in a fight, easier to exchange barbs and quips but the mood turned soft leaving you both unprepared.

"Get the tray," she finally says, grabbing both cups as she heads back towards the lounge. It's probably just a coincidence that her dress brushes gently against you on the way out.

Probably. There's just nothing sure about Argent, you're having a hard time reading her. Everything could have been cleared up with a brief scan, but you've promised to stay out of her head. She's projecting a quiet baseline nervousness that's at odds with her superficial confidence. Is she as bad as you are at this? How many guests have she had over? The flat is decorated to impress, but what if it's just to impress herself? It has the eclectic feel you recognize from your own first taste of freedom, but done on a Ranger budget instead of dumpster diving. Pink and gold, crystal and velvet, the marble of the coffee table, the massive television hung on one wall like a classical painting... you're not sure if you're supposed to read this as boudoir chic or romantic teen.

Unknown ground for both of you.

"So..." Argent speaks first, gesturing to the television. "You want to watch a movie or something?"

"Sure," you agree, glad to have something else than conversation to focus on. "You have a bathroom around here?" It's not that you're sweaty from the walk, her place is just a little too warm. That's the only reason.

"Down the hall, first door on the left." She gestures back towards the way you came. "Don't wander, I'll know."

"Afraid I'll find your bedroom?"

"Afraid they're not gonna find your teeth once I kick your face in?"

You both share a companionable smile before you head over in that direction. That's better, more what you're used to.

As you walk, you make a mental map of what you can see of the place. Old habits die hard, and you might need to get out of here quickly one day. It's going to be hard, you're high up, and the entrance to the elevator had the feeling of an airlock. Yes. That's what's been bothering you, the faint hiss when the door opened. Is this place pressurized? Maybe. The air smells clean, maybe a little too clean. A little too quiet, but good insulation only makes sense if you're rich. The corridor continues, but you do obey an take the first door on the left, and as she said, it leads to the bathroom.

Not the master one, for sure. Too small for a flat this size, and with none of the personal touches you had been hoping for. Nothing revealing in the medicine cabinet, the towels crisp and clean as if they had never been used. Does she have a housekeeper? Probably, this place wouldn't be so spotless otherwise.

Ignoring the mirror, you take the chance to check the ventilation system. There's no windows here, but as you thought, the ventilation feels climate controlled. You wish you could put your finger on what it is that bothers you about this place, apart from the fact that you're about to watch movies with a Ranger that knows your secret identity. That's not good. That's very much not good. You splash some cold water in your face to settle your brief anxiety attack, and focus on your breathing for a moment. There's no threat here, at least not more than Argent always is, so why are all your instincts screaming at you to run? To get out when you can?

Looking up at the mirror, you finger your lip while trying to ignore your face. Why is she doing this? What does she get out of it? Nothing here makes sense, let alone you. Biting down on your lip sends a cleansing flash of pain through your system. That you can trust, That's real.

You let out a sigh and splash your face again, checking in the mirror to make sure you leave all your insecurities in the bathroom when you step back out.

No time for weakness.

"That was faster than I thought." Argent looks up from where she's rummaging through one of the bookshelves, where rows and rows of movies stand behind elegant glass doors to keep the dust out. You had thought it was books at a first glance, looks like she's taking her media consumption seriously.

"I'm saving my breakdown for later," you joke. "The coffee would get cold."

"Got the movie picked out, grab a seat." She gestures to the couch, a rounded cloud of pink velvet, just a shade more flamingo than the walls.

"Don't I get a choice?" You carefully sit down, half expecting the couch to swallow you whole, but it's firmer than you imagined it would be. Comfortable. You shove some of the decorative pillows to the side, wondering who puts sequins on something like that. Can't be comfortable.

"Nope." She pops in the disc. "You snooze you lose."

"Couldn't agree more," you say, grabbing one of her macaroons.

"Oh that's just begging for trouble," she chuckles, sliding up on the couch next to you, grabbing another one.

"Have you met me?" You crunch down on it like it was a challenge, and she just pops hers into her mouth and swallows. Damn, did she even chew?

"I have, just didn't think you were as much of an ass without your face on."

"And what do you think now?"

"Oh it's you, alright. But I have to admit you're putting up a good front with the others."

"And how do you feel about that?" You sip your coffee.

"Are you planning to put any more of them in the hospital?"

"If they get in my way." You shake your head, trying to take the edge out of your voice. "Do we need to do this right now?"

"I guess we don't..." she lets out a sigh and carefully peels a cupcake. "If you hurt them too badly, I'll stop you."

"You mean you'll try."

"Oh I haven't begun to get serious with you." You realize with a jolt that her pupils have returned, and are staring straight at you. Three in each eye, and you grit your teeth not to squirm.

"Later. We'll deal with this later, or we'll have to deal with it now and then the coffee will be cold and the the cupcakes will be ruined. You and me both know this isn't something that can last, but right now we have a truce. Right now. Let's deal with next month then."

"Deal." She relaxes slightly, but the pupils remain as she licks the frosting from the cupcake with a silvery tongue you try not to stare at. "Not gonna lie, part of me thinks this is the stupidest decision of my life."

"You're not alone in that." Your face twitches, but you force yourself to look away. Break that eye contact, it made you feel too much like you were prey. "But here we are."

"About to watch a movie." She sinks back into the couch, placing the tray between you, in easy reach. "A sappy one."

"You wouldn't dare," you say unable to stop the smile. Defuse the situation. Good. You would not want to fight her without your armor.

"Don't knock seventies romantic comedies."

"You weren't even born then."

"Neither were you." She gestures to the television and it turns on. Interesting, is it a similar interface to Dr. Mortum's? You don't see a remote anywhere. "I like them from back when there still was a Hollywood."

"Oh no, is this 'Hold for Hero'?" The opening is recognizably garish, late seventies hero flicks were notable only for their lack of taste.

"You've see it?" Her squeal is nothing but delightful.

"Part of it," you say, trying to remember. It had been running on the hotel cable back when you were holing up somewhere... "It was a long time ago, it's the one with the roller skate duel, right?"

"My favorite part," she purrs, grabbing another cupcake. "I wanted roller skates so badly after that. I was so mad I didn't get any for my birthday."

"Could buy some now," you suggest, a little more subdued. Birthdays. Yeah. That was a reminder you didn't need of the divide between you. She grew up watching old movies and getting birthday presents. You...

You remember when you saw it now. Right after you escaped from the farm the second time, you had been holed up in a motel in the middle of nowhere, the television blaring nonsense to help you keep your head quiet.

How long had you stayed there? Long enough to get your feet back under you. Long enough that even drugs couldn't keep you awake. It was only luck that kept you out of their hands, if they had found you they could have recaptured you without issue.

But they didn't.

You realize that you are cradling the empty mug hard enough to make your hands shake, but a glance over at Argent only reveals her eyes welded to the screen. There's a distant look on her face as well that has nothing to do with the softness of the movie. You know that look. Loss and bad memories.

"I'm stealing one of your éclairs," you mumble to break the tension.

"I'll kick your ass later," she mumbles back, equally soft. But her fingers brush yours when you reach for it, and she lets you get your price unmolested.

The movie is easier to focus on for both of you.

---

"I will admit, it was better than I remembered," you admit once the credits are rolling. You can be honest about that, because you weren't exactly in the best headspace last time you saw it.

"Told you." Argent sounds smug, but she's more relaxed as well, Most of the baked goods are gone, and she puts the tray back on the table. "You get to pick the genre next time."

"Not the movie?"

"No, you obviously have bad judgment."

"In many things," you admit with a chuckle. "You got any horror?"

"Have I got..." she huffs, and you can swear the hair almost burrs up like an angry cockatiel. "Yes, I've got horror, and just for that you're getting the good stuff." She pushes out of the couch, stomping over to the shelf and yanking out a movie without even looking.

"Am I supposed to be worried?"

"Only if you don't have better nerves than Ortega."

"Of course I've got better nerves than Ortega, that's not even a question."

"I knew you were going to say that. Liar."

"Prove me wrong then."

"Don't come crying to me when I do." She pops in the movie, then dims all the lights with a wave of her hand. Her skin flickers in the light of the screen as she sneaks back to the couch.

It's only when the couch has settled under her weight and the darkness is complete that you realize what has been bothering you about her apartment.

No windows.

Not a single one.

Sure, it's big, but who builds rooms with no daylight when they're meant for customers with money? There should be panoramic windows everywhere. Was there one in the kitchen? No, you don't think there were. Certainly not here, the darkness would reveal any glimpses of light. You bite back the claustrophobia, this is not a trap, you know that, intellectually. You can understand it for security reasons. No windows means no snooping. This is a fortress, not a cell, there is a difference, but you don't hold the key, do you?

Your rub your palms against your thighs, they feel itchy and damp, your unease heightened by the music. It's hard to sit still, you keep shifting, trying to suppress the need to move. Just breathe. In and out.

In the darkness, a cool hand squeezes yours, a little too hard. Argent.

She holds your hand and the feeling is a grounding one. Her fingers are solid and soft, not damp like yours, but a little slick against your skin. Slippery. She shifts a little, leaning in closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her hair is soft where it brushes against your neck, she smells like danger and cupcakes. Does she think it's the movie that worries you?

You hope so. You can deal with that. But can you deal with this?

There's nothing soft about her when fighting, but right now she's relaxed and pliable, fitting right next to you, a compact, slick form almost invisible in the dark. You look down at your intertwined hands, no claws, blunt fingertips now, wrapped around yours, reflecting the bluish light of the screen. Someone's getting killed on it, you can hear the screams, but distant. Television never felt real to you, no psychic imprint. A picture of a murder was just a picture because there were no feelings to sense. Detached from reality. Like dead people, nothing to feel there.

Still, you feel her flinch next to you when the female lead stumbles into the water, trashing wildly to untangle herself from what grabs her from below. Empathy? Maybe, she wouldn't have so many movies if they didn't mean anything to her. So you squeeze her hand back, and rest your cheek against the top of her head.

Soft. Deceptively soft. The hair almost cut through your armor when you yanked off a few strands for testing. Testing that didn't make sense. Not yet. There's too many questions that surround her. Questions you should have answers to. She's too dangerous to be an unknown.

But she's holding your hand.

Her breath is too quick, but so is yours and someone is dying gruesomely on screen, the water red with blood. She holds her breath and you kiss the top of her head and she lets you.

The next time she tilts her head so your lips touch her forehead, and then she drags you close, noses bumping before she finds your lips.

Licking a razor. Putting the knife in your mouth when you eat, feeling it clack against your teeth. It makes sense, she's a danger but you never minded putting a blade to your throat and press down. Does she feel the same? Maybe. You've hurt her in the past, you could do it again. But she kisses you all the same, her fingers running through your hair, not cutting your skin. Not like on the screen. Every prey fights back eventually, that's the lesson of horror. Give a girl a knife and they can bring down the biggest monster. Become one herself.

You're not sure who's the monster here. Or who's holding the blade.

Maybe it doesn't matter anymore.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero spoilers #snippet #mc #lady argent

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militant-holy-knight · 4 years

Text

Castlevania Season 3 Review: Ellis is Gonna Ellis I Suppose.

Warning: Massive spoilers ahead because I don’t give a shit anymore so scroll down really fast if don’t want to get spoiled

Being a Castlevania fan is pure suffering, man. Not only is the video game franchise being put on ice by Konami at the time of writing, but your only form of enjoyment is a hit-or-miss Netflix Original written by a guy who admits never playing the games. I tried to enjoy the first season despite it being only four episodes long, and same thing with the second one which was longer but had a plethora of issues. Now it’s the third season, which took a year-long break to be made, and I am absolutely sorry to say it’s the absolute lowest point of the show: not only repeating the issues from the previous season, but amplifying them and failing to do anything interesting with anything new that is given. I will elaborate why I think so in this review.

So after Season 2, Dracula has been destroyed, our heroes have split up with Trevor and Sypha going their own way while Alucard has stayed behind in his father’s castle overlooking the Belmont Hold. Carmilla and Isaac have survived and are preparing to build an whole new army, the former to establish a new empire and the latter to get his revenge on her for betraying Dracula.

Even though the stakes are lower than the possible extinction of the human race which was the (possible) outcome from Season 2 which never actually came into fruition, you’d imagine they would do something inciting with this new status quo... But you’d be wrong. This season as a whole felt like padding in all conceivable manners. Not only was the pacing atrocious (which I will get into a minute), but really, nearly all of the events that occurred could have been omitted and the storyline as a whole wouldn’t have been affected somehow.

The pacing was the worst problem in Season 2 since you had the protagonists locked down inside a hold to do research on how to kill Dracula and endless exposition among the bad guys that some defenders call “vampire politics’ which ultimately went nowhere. The pacing in Season 3 is even worse since not only is it longer (10 episodes this time), you have more storylines now but each of them move at completely sluggish pace with a disproportional large amount of exposition and comparatively few action.

The Castlevania games were level-based games which had you visiting several distinct locations whether if it was inside or outside the castle. An adaptation series of Castlevania would make more sense if it was episodic in nature, perhaps even with monster of the week formula. It would have been better off for it, but the show is attempting channel Game of Thrones with an over-aching arc with sprawling individual storylines whose episodes are build up for an epic confrontation at the end, but it fails in that regard.

Trevor and Sypha’s storyline was absolutely pointless - they have no idea of the larger threat brewing with two demonic armies about to clash against each other, but they are stuck doing what basically amounts to a sidequest, investigating a evil cult operating in a small town which takes a needless long time to conclude. They completely fail in saving the townsfolk from being sacrificed and end up discovering that one of the characters that has been helping them is actually a monster all along. This only serves to make their effort completely pointless and leave the pair absolutely bitter and angry.

Not that there is any urgency in stopping Carmilla or Isaac since they come nowhere near close to trading blows to one another. In fact, Carmilla doesn’t come anywhere close to achieving her goal of raising an army of demons with Hector (who has been enslaved by her for this purpose) and it’s actually one of her lieutenants Lenore that solves this problem at the end. On the other hand, Isaac gets the closest thing to an highlight in this season by experiencing something of an character development since he is questioned by several characters that maybe humans aren’t so bad as a whole. The problem is that his development becomes inconclusive since he doesn’t learn to be anymore different than he used to.

Alucard gets sidelined like you wouldn’t believe. He spends the entire season in his castle now with two new characters, Japanese twin hunters that seek to be training so they can free their people from the vampires... Aaaaand they try to fuckin kill him, which comes out from nowhere specially after an extremely uncomfortable threesome between him and the twins. And just in case you thought the previous season was depressing enough with Alucard breaking down in tears completely alone in his castle, this one ends not only with Alucard still alone, crying, but now emulating his dad by leaving the impaled corpses of the twins in the castle’s entrance to scare off any trespassers which is the closing shot of this season.

But for me, the biggest letdown has to be Hector. He was one of my favorite characters from the games, having starred his own entry Curse of Darkness for the PS2 where he actually turns on Dracula on behalf of humanity and pursues Isaac for murdering his wife. Here, he does absolutely fuck all during the entire season except being bossed around by Carmilla’s sisters. The guy had such cool powers of summoning Innocent Devils and wielding all types of weapons (including a lightsaber) is reduced to a whimpering slave, whom I have absolutely no hope of seeing in his absolute glory. The worst part is that it was very predictable - the moment I saw Lenore saying that both her and Hector should flee together, I knew she was gonna screw him in some way. The irony is that unlike the other storylines which pull some kind of mean twist in the last second, here you already can tell what is going to happen next.

The new characters frankly do nothing for the story. The aforementioned Carmilla’s sisters are pure window-dressing and only Lenore gets the shit done by herself might I add completely independent from the others and specially Carmilla herself (who does nothing). A video game character actually does get featured - Comte of Saint-Germain, who is some kind of magician in search of his loved one who got lost in another dimension. Another step down from his video counterpart who is a time guardian that preserves the cosmic balance (though it seems they were channeling the historical figure rather than the character that happens to share the same name given their ignorance for the source material).

There are of course those typical Warren Ellis moments like three mentions of bestiality (and one goatfucking as usual) and anti-Christian commentary, though it seems to be sending some kind of mixed messages this time: in one hand Sypha comment that while she hates God, she at least admires Jesus because of his sacrifice which can be considered one of nicest things that atheists can comment about Christianity... And then the next episode features an demon that used to be a Greek philosopher who lived during post-Constantinian Roman Empire and was persecuted by Christians because of his intellect. Oh dear. With that said, it’s rather odd this guy became a demon so maybe he had it coming?

Overall, this season is a lot more weaker and lacking than Season 2, which at least had the climax in Episode 7 which some people were willing to forgive the dullness from that season. But Season 3′s climax is completely unfocused, interlaced with unnecessary and uncomfortable sex scenes and doesn’t even feature classical music from the games, which was the saving grace from the last time.

So did it have any upsides? I guess so if you look hard enough like Isaac’s schizophrenic “should I hate all humans or not” dillema which goes unresolved. Hardly anything that elevates the season or make it redeemable in some way. To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t know if I have any interest in keeping with this show. It blew away any good will Season 1 and 2 did, it barely moved the plot forward (and that if it has an overaching plot at all), the protagonists being disconnected to the main threat at large and quite frankly, none of the antagonists are as interesting as Dracula, I just don’t care what happens next. Specially if the pacing and exposition remain in place. In theory, if the series was restructured to be episodic instead of trying to be Game of Thrones, my interest in the show would have been renewed but it’s too little too late.

I guess in retrospect I should be grateful that Season 1 was so short had I knew later ones would be so tedious. There is so very little to do with Castlevania: Dracula’s Curse when you already got rid of the main villain and you don’t move the plot forward. If they want to regain my interest, do a Leon Belmont season that is episodic or heck anything else, but I don’t see them doing this because they have to give closure to this story arc, which already grew past it’s welcome and wasted everyone’s time with a season that amounted to nothing more than filler. Well, my patience has been worn thin.

#Castlevania #reviews

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wrinkledparchment · 5 years

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Spilled Coffee | [p.p.]

Summary: During patrol, Peter felt so tired he decided he needed to get a cup of coffee, which he almost never does, and it just so happens that you’re working a shift at the coffee shop that night. Unexpectedly, Spider-Man shows up at your quaint cafe, and it turns out, he’s pretty innocent for a superhero.

Word Count: 1,357

A/N: Y’all liked the first part so much I’ve turned it into a series! Thanks for all the positive feedback, love y’all! [Repost because I posted this by accident!]

Warnings: Light Swearing, Bad Jokes

Taglist/People Who Asked for a Part Two: @frog-face-wolfhard @loveofshows @meghan-8520xx @romance-geek @fatheadtheroger

Night Shifts & Spilled Coffee | Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

The taste was absolutely bitter in Peter’s mouth. It stung his tongue and coated it in the charred, harsh flavor of his Italian classic Cappucino. Next time he went to the Deja Brew, which was tomorrow, he would definitely try a new flavor.

The dark roast was too much for him. He had always been one for something on the sweeter side, but not so sweet that it was sugary. He liked it closer to the middle, where his senses wouldn’t be overloaded by either side of the spectrum.

Sweet, but not too sweet; bitter, but not too bitter. He truly was the Goldilocks of the modern era, he needed it just right. He needed something, so he tried and tried until it just fit.

And that was how he kept himself coming back to the Deja Brew every day in the middle of patrol. Because that routine, that place and time, it fit so remarkably well that he couldn’t help but continue it.

You, the snarky barista, plopped into his life by a complete coincidence, and now, you were stuck there. Maybe it wasn’t a problem though.

. . . . .

Sipping some coffee from your trial cups on the counter, your stomach felt completely hollow as you kept glancing at the wooden clock on the wall to your left. You knew the font by heart, now, despite never noticing it before.

It was a dark oak color, the color that your wooden porch was after it rained; it had small grooves and wasn’t carved quite right--it was very obvious it was hand-made--but it was adorable nonetheless.

You were currently sampling the fresh stock of Kona you’d gotten after Spider-Man’s visit yesterday, which had leaked on the news and just since yesterday, you noticed how many more customers there were now. Perhaps they’d come because they’d seen it and thought to give it a try.

It was very obvious, however, that was not the case. They came in, ordering no coffee and sitting down without pulling out anything except for a phone. It was obvious they were waiting for Spider-Man to come back.

It was a little less obvious, though, that you were also waiting for Spider-Man to come back. Maybe it was because he was so beloved around the city, or maybe it was because you wanted another chance to guess his name. However, deep down, you knew it was for another reason entirely.

You didn’t want to admit that reason to yourself just yet. It was stupid, right? Having a slight crush on someone you barely even knew, someone who was completely out of your league and that you’d talked to once for a grand total of 5 minutes.

There was an odd familiarity in the air around him, though. As if he wasn’t a superhero akin to the likes of Iron-Man, or Captain America. He felt youthful, mature but childish in just the right way. You liked it.

Deep in thought, you nearly splashed your coffee all over yourself when the bell rang. You jumped, coffee tipping over your cup to the counter in front of you. You’d managed to avoid spillage onto yourself, and quickly wiped up the spilled coffee before it was noticed.

Glancing upwards, your jaw almost dropped. Despite the superhero’s promise, you weren’t sure they’d return to try a new flavor of coffee. You thought they might not even show up at all.

But here they were, clad in the iconic red and blue, standing before you with those wide, only slightly reflective mechanical glass eyes that you found insanely interesting.

“Back for round two? I’m surprised,” you remarked, unable to wipe the wide smile off your face despite your sour mood just a few minutes ago.

“Couldn’t help it,” Spider-man countered, “I needed to find a flavor I can actually tolerate.” You really should have recommended him something, or at the very least asked if he liked bitter coffee or sweet coffee.

Before you could respond, he pointed towards your cup. “I’m sorry I surprised you with the bell, I saw you almost spill that on yourself.” Trying desperately to hide your blush, you nodded and chuckled a bit.

“Would’ve been a shame, that’s fresh Kona that we just got in.”

“Isn’t Kona like, super bitter?” Spidey questioned, his head tilting affectionately just a little bit. He looked like a puppy, and your heart swelled. There was no way this ‘man’ could be a . . . well, man.

Maybe he was actually Spider-Boy, because based on his personality and mannerisms, he was much younger than most would assume.

“More bitter than black, depending on how you roast it. You can certainly tone it down with other products, but I like my coffee so bitter that you can see frown lines on my face. Balances out my personality.”

“Well, I’m certainly more of a sweeter person myself,” Spider-Boy remarked, smiling, and you had to hold down your I guess we’d contrast perfectly, then, comment.

“Didn’t see that coming,” you stated sarcastically, grabbing a cup and thinking for a moment. Less about his coffee order, and now about his name.

“What kind of coffee should I try, then?” he wondered, and you smiled before starting, without words, on a latte. You made some art in his cup in the shape of a Spider-Man mask, knowing he wouldn’t see it.

You snapped on the lid, feeling his eyes on you again, and you wondered why he’d stare at you. If he was who the public assumed he was under the mask, wouldn’t he be with some 20-something-year-old journalist that was much prettier?

And also . . . not a high schooler?

He definitely had facial recognition software, so you were sure he knew how old you were. Why would he flirt, and stare, and come by if he knew you were too young for him? Unless--you weren’t.

Staring again, you picked up the worn-down Sharpie that you’d need to replace soon and began writing a guess of his name. You narrowed your eyes and found yourself writing ‘Chris’ on the cup before handing it to him.

“ . . . Chris, really? You can do better than that.”

You shrugged, “That’s the best I got for today. Guess I’ll have another crack tomorrow. I work this whole week, just not weekends.”

Taking his cup and beginning to saunter away, Peter smiled to himself under the mask, and he turned around to say something. But before he could, he felt a harsh bump to his side and looked to see a girl wearing a Spider-Man shirt.

She jumped up and down, clinging to his arm, exclaiming how amazed she was that the Spider-Man was here. He grinned, and thanked her graciously, as Peter Parker would always do. But then- she bumped him so hard while jumping that she knocked his coffee right against his chest.

He could feel the heat seeping into the fabric just before the resistance kicked in, and Peter was trying to keep himself from squirming inside the suit because it was so hot.

He knew that it wouldn’t damage the suit--because, after all, it was made by Tony Goddamn Stark--but the latte burned against his skin, and the front of his suit was soaked.

The girl barely noticed, continuing to rant on about how much she adored him. Then, he felt hands gripping his forearm, and he watched as you smiled at the girl and patiently asked her to sit down because she’d spilled coffee on a superhero.

You cleaned him up, your face heating up furiously, with napkins you’d grabbed and before he could thank you, you were rushing off to the mop closet to finish cleaning the mess.

He watched as you quickly mopped up the substance and, just as efficiently, quickly started on making another latte for him, handing it to him with a little doodle of the Spidey mask this time. There was a new name, ‘Brett’, and he scoffed before waving and exiting the Deja Brew.

He’d definitely have to pay you back for all the cash you’d lost in coffee.

#spider-man #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spider son #spider man imagine #spider-man x reader #spider-man far from home #spider-man x you #spider-man x y/n #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #marvel #mcu marvel #marvel x reader #sony #sony v disney

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mcww-writing · 4 years

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Nova

█████████ COMMISSION

FINAL REPORT

2037-06-15

*Please note that some sensitive information has been redacted, in accordance with the Post-Council Security Act of 2037.*

SUMMARY

In its findings, the Commission has concluded that through at first sheer ignorance, then, increasingly, a calculated campaign of repression and control, ███████████ leveraged the developing situation with ███████████████████ to his economic and political advantage. The Commission recommends the death sentence for ██████, and a rapid removal of his cult of personality, and re-education of the populace.

The Commission, however, recognizes the contributions both ██████ and ████████ made to the war effort; the successful defense of █████ and repellant of the ██████’s army are not to be forgotten. The Commission recommends that Premier ████████’s contributions be highlighted instead.

The Commission, furthermore, recommends a more decentralized government to replace the Nova Transition Government currently in place after the specified date in 2040, to prevent the abuses of the ██████ regime from ever happening again.

Lastly, the Commission recommends an immediate cessation of the further development of ██████████ weapons, and the development of a universal ban on their research and use. The Commission recognizes the sovereign right of the ████████ to control itself, and understands its frustration with the use of these new weapons.

By the authority of Acting Premier ████████, on this day, the fifteenth of June, two-thousand thirty-seven, this Commission has completed its report.

The following report and narrative was composed by ██████████████ under order by the Commission for the purposes of the ongoing investigation. Please do not distribute this report.

CHAPTER 1: SOMETHING, SOMEWHERE, IS WRONG.

Dr. Mark Haller (h.c.), First Marshal of the Condominium of Nova and its Protectorates, Councillor 6 (hon.) of the Eternal Council, had enough titles to fill a small dump truck. He wouldn’t let you forget it, either. But like everyone else, he required sleep. At exactly 4:32 AM on the morning of July 6, 2027, however, the long and drawn-out process of his frankly inevitable downfall began with the shrill shriek of a buzzer.

BZZZZZZZZZT!

Mark flopped over in his bed and grabbed his phone. It was an emergency call.

“Hello?” he asked, in a questionably-woken state.

“Mark, it’s Sol.” said a familiar voice in an unfamiliarly-nervous tone.

“Oh?” Mark asked. In this liminal state on the edge of sleep, he had the feeling deep in his stomach that “something, somewhere, is wrong”.

“I’m in Earth Ops right now. There’s been some kind of data breach and it l-”

“What?” Mark had a bad habit of cutting people off.

“…yes, please let me finish. It looks like there’s been some kind of data breach, and it doesn’t look like anything was stolen, but just deleted. It happened during the night some time, but we’re not exactly sure what was deleted,” Sol explained.

“How can’t you all tell what was deleted?” Mark asked, now suddenly very awake.

“The data in question was stored on an LTO tape in cold storage in the datacenter. It was remotely inserted into the drive, erased, then put back. We’re trying to see what was supposed to be stored on that tape, but no one seems to have a good answer for that.”

Mark frowned. Data breaches and hacks weren’t unheard of at all, but they were always small-scale and more apparently obvious. Publishing fake quotes, stealing sensitive information – nothing had ever just been deleted like that before, and never so quietly.

“Alright, you have my attention. I’ll be there in three hours.” Mark said. He hung up the phone and turned on his light, and stuffed himself into the classic three-piece suit that he always insisted on wearing.

His attention turned quickly from the brewing of trouble to the brewing of coffee. He hadn’t taken a single vacation in the past three years. Regrettably.

He quickly stepped out the door, and into his car. As he drove down the road to the spaceport, he stared out the window and admired the planet that he called home.

Most people thought building a base on the planet Mercury was a “terrible and stupid idea”, as Sol called it at the time. But Mark had a strange fascination with the planet, and built it was. Situated in a crater to protect it from extreme temperatures, a giant dome encircled the base, providing a breathable atmosphere. Most people who lived and worked there were humans, so atmospheric content wasn’t much of a concern.

He arrived at the spaceport and strolled out on the tarmac, in view of his ship that could affectionately be called only “rustic”. He had built it himself years prior, and it showed. As compared to most contemporary starships, it was quite, for lack of a better term, “blocky”. The name was haphazardly stenciled across the side: Impulse. Odd. In my experience with him, he was anything but.

Author’s note: my editors have asked me to please refrain from referring to myself in the first person. I asked if they could find anyone else better to write this narrative, and they replied with a begrudging “no”. I tried my best for the first one-and-a-half pages, rest assured. This is my report, after all.

My relationship with Haller? All in due time, dear reader.

Climbing on board, he flipped switches and tapped keys in a furioso of checklists and standardized procedures. If Haller was nothing else, he was at least incredibly litigious. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if that man had a checklist for brushing his teeth at night.

He passed his ship through the airlock, and took off into the cold Mercurian sky. “Sky” is, of course, a bit of a misnomer for a planet that has little more than a thin exosphere to speak of. Nevertheless, then began the short, three-hour journey to Earth. Not that the Impulse couldn’t make it there in milliseconds – what it lacked in looks, it made up for in speed. Interplanetary speed limits were a big deal back when there was any semblance of a government.

Author’s note: Reader, it is perhaps mean of me to keep tantalizing you with bits of the future of this story. I mean, this report is only meant for a committee, as it is. I wasn’t supposed to write a novel, but what are they going to do about it? There’s barely a government to speak of anymore. But I’m revealing too much. So I’ll reveal some more, and put you at ease: Mark Haller will die. Eventually. How, when, where, and why are details you’ll surely find out later. But die he did. I visited his grave just yesterday. A small plot with an unmarked stone at its head. It’s an ironically humble grave for such a pompous man. I’m getting ahead of myself. So let’s jump back a bit. Allow you to fill me in on Haller’s past, in case you somehow missed all of that during your life.

CHAPTER 2: STARS ARE BORN FROM NOVAS.

On June 18, 2023, ESA satellites detected a small asteroid that had been captured in orbit around the Earth. This was the second time a detection such as that had ever been made. The scientific community was briefly abuzz, but lost interest when the small asteroid deorbited somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

Somewhere slightly to the left of the Atlantic Ocean, a young physics student was pacing around his grandparents’ farm in rural Iowa. Something was bothering him – he couldn’t quite remember what.

A bright streak flashed across the sky, red in color. It made an abrupt turn to the left, and then to the ground. Before poor Mark Haller could even figure out what was going on, a large, well, thing – smashed into the ground at an alarmingly high speed.

A tsunami of dirt and pulverized rocks knocked Mark off his feet, and buried him up to his knees. He jerked himself out, and cautiously approached what appeared to be a large, well, thing – sitting in a crater in front of him.

He doubted his sanity when a hatch opened on the side, and out crawled a figure only describable as – well, an angel.

No, really. Large, white wings, white robes, even a golden ring around the head. Her head? Mark wasn’t entirely sure. He had more pressing matters on his mind than gender.

“Hello?” he called in vain, as the creature fell to the ground, suddenly crying.

Mark approached her with the same outstretched hand as he would approach a crying dog. He gave the fallen angel a small pat on the head, and sheepishly said, “There, there!”

The figure made an oddly-human laugh. “You’re interesting,” she said unexpectedly, in a soft voice.

“Oh, I suppose so?” Mark asked, a bit unsure if this was a compliment or not. “So, uh, are you an-”

“What you’d call an alien, yes child.” she interjected.

“Child? Oh, no, I’m actually twenty-one, which for our species is-”

“You are a child compared to me.” She smiled.

“Okayyyyy. Do you – have a name?” Mark asked, feeling knocked far off of his guard.

“Neona.”

“Uh huh. After… neon?” Mark asked, curious.

“Absolutely. Neon is the fifth most common element in the universe, and thusly, I’m fifth in command of the universe,” she said with a sly smile.

“Wait, wh-” Neona cut Mark off.

“SH, quiet. I hear something,” Neona cautioned. “It’s not safe here.”

She drew a small device from her cloak, pressed a button, and Mark instantly passed out.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Mark began to wake up, and slowly became aware of his surroundings. It was… odd. The walls were a pristine, glowing white. So were the floors. And the ceilings, too. But on the walls were… posters? Band posters. Contemporary band posters. Mark turned around, and noticed a window, offering a dramatic view of what appeared to be outer space.

“Welcome to outer space,” Neona announced, pointing at the window. “You must have a lot of questions. About life, the universe, e-”

“Actually, my main question is what’s up with all these posters?”

Mark thought Neona blushed. Of course, he couldn’t really see. She was covered head to toe (does she even have toes?) in a pristine black cloak, hence the angelic appearance.

“Admittedly, I’ve taken a taboo liking to human culture. These are some mementos I’ve kept from my visits to your planet,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Visits? Come to Earth often, eh? What for?”

Neona’s sheepish smile instantly gave way to a frown that could only be described as “queasy”. “I really do wish I could tell you, child. But I could get in lots of trouble if I did. In fact, I will be already if the others find out you’re her-”

A panel in the wall swung open, and in walked four other “angels”.

“Uh oh,” Neona squeaked.

Mark had no idea what they were saying; to him, the language they spoke was incomprehensable gibberish. There was lots of what sounded like yelling, and one of them started gesticulating wildly at him. He gulped. This went on for a couple of minutes, until they finally stopped, and Neona turned around to open her mouth.

“Mark, I’d like you to meet my, uh, associates. From right to left: Hydrona, Hela, Oxa, and Carba. Together, the five of us form the Eternal Council. I suppose you could call us the “rulers” of the universe, but really, we take a very “hands-off” approach, mostly guiding regional and planetary governments.”

Mark frowned. “So you’re the famed rulers of the universe and yet no one on my planet has ever seen or heard of any of you? Fascinating,” he quipped.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s really the, uh, advanced planets we’re concerned about,” Neona admitted.

Mark scoweled.

Hydrona broke the awkward silence that followed in what was supposedly her native language, whispering to the others as if Mark could actually understand them. Neona nodded, stepped forward, and placed her hand on Mark’s forehead.

What followed could only be described as having a vivid fever dream while completely awake. Mark’s eyes rolled back in his head, and the landscape turned dark. A voice spoke:

In the times before, there was no light, and there was no dark. There was nothing. Then from order came chaos.

A single speck of light appeared in the distance.

All of existence was a singularity. The singularity, noting the need for order, split itself in four.

Mark watched as the speck split in four.

“I am gravity”, said the first figure, and the Universe began to take shape.

“I am the strong force,” said the second, and matter was born.

“I am the weak force,” said the third, and the matter began to change.

“I am light”, said the last, and the Universe began to shine.

The four, noting the need for order, combined their powers for the force of creation.

A group of five hooded figures appeared, floating in space.

“You are five, a council Eternal. You shall watch over all of creation. You are guardians and peacekeepers. You will do whatever is necessary to sustain order in existence, and you will not fail,” the four fundamental forces said in unison.

One of the Council spoke. “And of you?”

The forces replied in a booming unison. “We do not exist as you do. You exist in the Universe. We ARE the Universe.”

The four forces, their immediate job done, disappeared in a colossal wave of energy, and the Universe began to expand outward.

Mark was thrown backwards as an explosion of light screamed across the cosmos.

For eons more the Council ruled over time and space. But the Universe grew too large. Noting the need for order, the five harvested the materials for life, and created their own.

A group of small creatures stood on a riverbank, watching the sky intently.

“You will act in our image and our interest, and assist us in ruling over all of creation,” the Council spoke in unison. The Universe grew and life developed. The Council, as promised, did their job. All was well.

Mark opened his eyes, and woke up.

CHAPTER 3: FALLING STAR

An hour later, the Impulse skidded to a stop on the runway of the Nova Earth Operations Center. NEO, as the “complex” was affectionately called, was Nova’s home on Earth. This “home” also happened to be an unfathomably-large floating fortress docked just off the coast of Bermuda. It was no ship – more like the biggest analogue to an oil rig ever created. It was the size of a very small, crowded city – and that it was.

Many countries, even those who joined Nova, did not want the base built in their borders. Mark also didn’t want to choose favorites, so he went for a compromise: a giant floating city. Bermuda was happy to have it dock there, so there it remained. The whole thing was basically an entire military base condensed into one staggeringly-large vessel. It had everything: a bank, a hair salon, thermonuclear weapons, a bowling alley – you know, the usual.

In all seriousness, Nova enjoyed a very respected position by every single country on Earth, for a good reason: no one wanted to pick a fight with a force that had enough firepower to obliterate every planet in the star system in an instant. Even terrorist groups played nice.

Mark strode into the concourse, and went through security. He could opt out, but he thought it wouldn’t be fair. He was quite humble at that point in time. Quite genuine. He ascended the building up to the top floor, where his office was. Expecting to get a few minutes alone, he was surprised to walk into his office to find Sol and Neona standing inside. Sol was scowling.

“Neona has just informed me that the Council will be handling the data breach investigation, for… whatever reason,” she said, with an air of mild annoyance.

“...Oh?” Mark asked, a bit caught off guard. “We don’t usually get this kind of request,” he added.

“It’s unfortunately not a request. It’s not my decision, either; Hydrona told me to let you both know that we’ll be handling it from here.”

Mark smiled cheerfully. “That’s okay! Have a good rest of your day then.”

“You do the same!” said Neona, and she left the room.

Sol chuckled. “You’re going to do some investigating, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. I know it’s none of our business, but I can’t pass up a mystery like this! If they’re taking it over from here, it must be really important. I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

Sol laughed again, then her smile flipped to a frown. “Does it rub you the wrong way at all that they’re keeping us in the dark on this?”

Mark stroked his bare chin. “Not really. I’d think they have a good reason.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Sol said, and left Mark’s office, leaving him alone in the room.

He frowned, got out of his chair, and paced around. He could tell that something, somewhere, was wrong. But that could wait. He had a few hours of prep time before the Earth Planetary Assembly met.

Reader, it may be pertinent at this point to outline the structure of Nova’s operations. It goes (well, went) a little something like this:

At the top of the chain of command was Mark Haller, Marshal of Nova. He acted at the time like a President of sorts.

In charge of operations and policy decisions was the Supreme Assembly. Each member planet of Nova got one representative, as did a couple of groups internal to Nova. Of course, the Supreme Assembly, and even Mark himself, all answered to the Eternal Council.

Each member planet of Nova had its own Planetary Assembly, too. Earth’s consisted of one representative from each member state.

The Justice Department handled the judicial branch of government, and acted as a court subservient to the Eternal Courts that provided judicial services to the universe as a whole.

That just about sums it up, wildly oversimplifying in the process. Earth’s Assembly was scheduled to meet that day.

At that point in time, Nova had 192 member states, leaving just 11 UN-recognized countries that were not a part of it, all of them war-torn Middle Eastern countries.

Oh, right, the UN. The original one collapsed in 2032. It was ugly. The new UN, created after that, was as close to what conspiracy theorists would call a “new world order.” As opposed to the UN of before, this one actually had teeth: legal standing and an army. Those war-torn Middle Eastern countries I mentioned? They were, to put it tactlessly, turned to glass after they refused to cooperate after the great global unrest following the first UN’s collapse.

Anyway, it was time to get ready for the meeting.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“Good morning, all, and welcome to today’s meeting of the Earth Planetary Assembly. Glad to see you all here. Let’s get started,” Mark said, shuffling some papers around.

“Before we get started, I’ll open up the floor for a few minutes for questions, comments, and concerns. Who wants a microphone?” Mark asked. The delegate from the Union of Sovereign States picked up a mic.

“My friend, I would like to relay the concerns our scientists have of your organization’s – how do I say – space junk problem. Just yesterday, yet another one of your satellites crashed in Siberia, just kilometers away from a village!” Delegate Tarasovich said fiercely.

Mark had heard a few complaints from the USS about satellites falling. He opened his mouth to respond, but Tarasovich continued:

“Yesterday’s craft was almost ten times bigger than any others we’ve seen, and this one even had the Council’s blasted name written on it!”

This immediately grabbed Mark’s attention. What was a Council satellite doing swinging around Earth? The plot thickened.

“My apologies, Delegate Tarasovich; we’ll discuss that later,” Mark said, before continuing on.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Soon after the meeting adjourned without incident later that day, Mark stopped by Tarasovich’s office, and knocked on his door. He came in, and Tarasovich was surprised to see the troubled look on Haller’s face.

“Something troubling you, Marshal?”

“Sort of. I think some funny business is going on with the Council, actually. I had no idea one of their satellites crashed in Russia, either. Would your administration mind if we flew out there to take a peek? And clean up the damage, of course.”

“Not at all, and thank you for the cleanup effort.”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Not two hours later, Mark and Sol were on-board the Impulse, touching down in the remote forest in Siberia where the satellite had supposedly crashed. Powdery snow filled the air as the ship drifted gently onto the ground. Bundled up in coats, Mark and Sol clambered down the ladder and onto the ground.

Peering around, they immediately noticed a large gash in the treeline up ahead. Both tree and snow were shoved violently out of the way. The two cautiously made their way over to the damage; the deep snow made it slow-going. Eventually, they reached the treeline and kept going into the interior of the forest.

Up ahead was a large mound of dirt, with a large metal thing resting in front of it. The satellite.

It was a gray cylinder, dulled and charred by its fiery reentry. It looked to have previously had antennas, which had been shorn off by the crash. There was an identifier on the side: Eternal Council Explorer 42069. Interesting.

Mark pulled out his phone, and opened the Intergalactic Vehicle Registry, the central database of all registered vehicles in the inhabited universe. He entered the registration number from the satellite.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.

He entered his authorization password.

AUTHORIZATION NOT ACCEPTED. TIER 1 ACCESS REQUIRED.

He frowned. Tier 1 access was reserved for the Council; his was only Tier 2. But he had never encountered something that locked even him out before.

“Trouble?” Sol asked.

“It says I’m unauthorized,” Mark replied. His frown deepened, and he called Neona.

“Hey, it’s Mark. Can you give me a temporary tier 1 access code? A satellite crashed on Earth, and I’m trying to identify it in the registration database, but I’m locked out.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“We’ll come take care of it. Leave it alone,” Neona finally replied.

Mark’s frown turned to an annoyed scowl. “What’s gotten into you all this week? This is my jurisdiction, just give me the code so I-”

A different voice cut into the line. “This is Hydrona. You will do as we say. Leave it alone and we’ll take care of it. Is that understood?”

Silence.

“Is that understood?”

“Fine,” Mark said, and he hung up, and was immediately startled by a loud bang. He whipped around to see that Sol had kicked off a loose panel on the side of the satellite, exposing the computer within. She began prodding at the terminals with her scan tool, and eventually was able to connect to the console.

“Nice work! Now let me take it from here,” Mark said gleefully, as he started typing. Sol frowned.

“It’s just spitting gibberish onto the screen. I think it may be fried,” Mark said, defeated. Sol peered over.

“Well, that’s a hexadecimal code it’s spitting out. I think it’s a memory address. I can check and see what’s stored there.”

She tapped some keys, and a very different string came up on the screen:

63°58′39″ S 61°48′20″ W.

Coordinates.

The two looked at each other. “I suppose we’re going on a trip then,” Mark said. His frown finally turned to a smile.

Author’s note: The commission has kindly asked me to stop writing such ornate prose, and to write what I assume would be a dry technical report instead. I thanked them for this kind compliment of my writing skills, and reminded them whose report this is. Never mind that I’m on their payroll. Reader, you are no doubt wondering where and/or what the turning point is of this story. Rest assured, for the plot device you’re waiting for is coming shortly. But it’s just that: a plot device. The real turning point happened long ago.

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Flowers in Bloom, Part 1 - Daisy (Shinkx) - Albatross

AN: The sequel to ‘The Language of Flowers’ - This will feature the Shinkx and Trixya dates that follow immediately where their last chapters left off.

So this didn’t end up being as long as I thought it was going to be at first but that’s alright. I’m trying to learn not set imaginary pressures or deadlines on myself and just enjoy the process of writing. Not sure when the Trixya date will be posted, I haven’t started it yet but I’ve got a lot planned. The next piece to be posted is very likely to be Biadore (because that seemed to be the overwhelming want from the little mini poll on AQ) and then Trixya. I’m also torn between starting on the magical girl AU right away or jumping into Rajalaskam. Might just start both and see which one is finished first. Quick little side note for the chapter names - the flower that I pick as the title is going to be how I feel best describes the date. In this case the Daisy represents innocence and simplicity.

In a matter of seconds, Sharon had followed Jinkx beyond the shop’s door and stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. In the short amount of time it took her to lock up the building for the night, Jinkx found herself suddenly slapped with the reality that she was about to go on a date with her boss. Her heart began racing in her chest as an overwhelming smile threatened to break out across her lips. She just couldn’t believe this was really about to happen!

In a strange way she was glad it was all decided so suddenly; if there had been any lapse of time between her subtle confession and the date itself she was sure she would have gone into a full-blown panic mode. As for right now the immense joy coupled with a heavy dose of shock was the perfect thing to keep her from freaking out entirely. The only thing she hoped for right now was that her expression didn’t betray just how nervous she actually was beneath her relatively composed exterior. However, the smile Sharon shot towards her once she was finished securing the shop threatened to override that thought completely.

As they walked down the moderately busy street, Jinkx found herself toying with the hem of her sleeves. It offered a small bit of distraction but she longed to be able to clasp onto Sharon’s hand. She probably would have tried had the blonde not already shoved them into her pockets. To anyone else she probably would have looked like the picture of perfect composure but Jinkx noticed all of the little tics that betrayed her true feelings; the slightly higher pitch of her voice, the twiddling of her fingers with the items in her pockets, and of course her struggle to maintain eye contact between the frequent breaks to watch where they were going.

Their conversation remained idle but natural as Sharon led the way to the restaurant she had in mind. To both women’s surprise neither fell into the old classic of discussing work as a safety net. Although shortly after arriving at the cafe that was intended for their date, they were reminded all too quickly of the night’s earlier activities. Jinkx hadn’t noticed the issue at first, she was more concerned with trying to dodge the miscellaneous clusters of patrons loitering outside the cafe’s entrance, but Sharon’s less than quiet call of “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” soon caught her attention.

Following the blonde’s line of sight, Jinkx quickly spotted the problem; it seemed that Katya and Trixie had also decided to take their impromptu date here as well. They had been seated at a raised table out in the enclosed patio section and were eagerly chatting away about some random topic Jinkx couldn’t quite make out.

Sharon’s face as she took in the scene was a study of indecisiveness. She didn’t want to risk being exposed to Katya’s unique talent of effortlessly annoying her, especially in front of Jinkx when she could easily lose her cool…but even more so, she didn’t want to delay her date with the redhead any longer. She’d spent so much time simply pining after her from afar, she just couldn’t handle pushing it off for another night now that it was finally within her reach!

Bracing herself, Sharon began to push herself towards the hostess’s stand to request a table but Jinkx catching her arm stopped her dead in her tracks. Sharon’s heart stalled for a moment until she saw the reassuring smile resting upon Jinkx’s lips.

“I know another place we can go,” she offered politely, “If you don’t mind walking a little further.”

Very much relieved, Sharon replied that it wasn’t a problem in the slightest all while making a mental note to herself that’d she probably walk the length of the city just to keep her date with Jinkx tonight. Thankfully the substitute cafe Jinkx had in mind was only an extra ten minutes away. It was a bit more quiet than the bustling restaurant they had just left but there was still a moderate flow of foot traffic coming into the shop. Given that the weather outside was still pleasantly warm, it seems the majority of the customers decided to take their orders to go or at the very least enjoy them at the open air tables and benches. This particular cafe seemed to specialize with coffee and smoothies rather than prepared food, which probably helped to account for the transient stream of customers.

Once inside the first thing Sharon noticed was that it was rather homey instead of strictly a place for business. There was a relaxed atmosphere that seemed to contradict just how busy the shop actually was. The decor was a bit odd to her mind; a lot of the space had been filled with various knickknacks that anywhere else would have probably been very out of place. Before Sharon could truly take in the sights around her, Jinkx was already guiding them towards the small line at the counter. A number of the people waiting for their drinks seemed to be part of one group in particular and as soon as their orders were filled they took their leave and the majority of the shop’s background noise as well. Sharon had just begun to let out a sigh of relief at the newfound peace when she heard a delighted squeal emanating from behind the register.

“Jinkx!” the brunette exclaimed in excitement. “I haven’t seen you all week! Where have you been?”

“Sorry, we got really busy at the shop. We…kinda messed something up and spent the last couple of days fixing everything,” Jinkx admitted with a sheepish grin and quick glance towards the blonde.

Amused, the brunette inquired, “Oh? And just what have you been getting up to? Not starting any trouble at your new job, were you?”

Placing a comforting hand in the small of the redhead’s back, Sharon replied with a proud smile, “No, she’s been an amazing worker and she’s definitely learned her lesson with all that went on this week.”

The barista cocked her head to the side as she sized up the blonde in vague confusion. The realization that they hadn’t yet met dawned on Jinkx and with a polite interruption she introduced the pair to one another, “Sharon, this is Dela, my old coworker and Dela, this is Sharon…my new boss.”

Scanning her eyes around the shop with a new appreciation for the atmosphere, Sharon mused, “So this is where you used to work? I’ve driven by a few times but never stopped in. If I knew this was where I’d find you I’d have wandered in here sooner.”

At the statement made by the older blonde, Dela’s lips curled into something of a teasing smirk and immediately she began nosily asking, “You’re the one Jinkx asked me to order those coffee beans for? Glad to see you’ve got good taste…”

Darting her eyes back to Jinkx, she threw a quick wink and added in, “Both of you.”

Almost immediately Jinkx felt herself taking a heavy swallow in a pointless attempt to will away the growing blush on her cheeks. To her utter relief, Dela didn’t feel the need to make any further comments on the subject and fell back into her usual customer service mode to brightly ask the redhead, “Your usual?”

“Please,” Jinkx replied with a grateful smile.

Turning towards the blonde, she inquired, “And for you?”

Sharon’s eyes raked over the menu hung up behind the counter before ultimately settling on a large cup of the house brew. Dela gave an approving nod of her head and turned to make the drinks but was quickly stopped by both of the women. Each wanted to pay for the order but the brunette assured them, “It’s on me…”

Jinkx was in the midst of a very appreciative word of thanks to her friend until she heard Dela add in, “So long as Jinkx tells every little detail of how your date goes!”

Eyes narrowing at the proposal, the redhead quickly shot back, “I’d rather pay for the drinks then!”

Smiling away, Dela refused any form of payment and informed her huffy friend, “No choice, I already closed the sale in the register. You’ll have to tell me everything later!”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Jinkx muttered, “I hate you so much.”

A final proud grin was shot her way before Dela spun around to continue her work. Jinkx honestly couldn’t believe just how persistent Dela was being…It’s not like she wouldn’t have told her a quick version of it afterwards…She probably just wants something extra to talk about when she compares notes with Ivy….Jinkx really wouldn’t put it past her not to provide real-time updates to their mutual friend anyway. Oh, well. She can’t stop it so she might as well just resign herself to the fact that Ivy was likely to know the majority of her date before Jinkx gets a chance to tell her on her own…

In a matter of minutes, Sharon and Jinkx’s drinks handed back to them in cute little To-Go cups with their names scribbled along the sides in some of Dela’s best handwriting. Jinkx for one couldn’t wait to take the first sip. She hadn’t had a chance to stop in for her regular pick-me-up since Sunday thanks in large part to the fiasco with Katya and Trixie. Her overly sweetened latte would be a welcomed treat after successfully cleaning up the mess that she and the other assistants helped to create.

Almost as if she were walking on air, she led Sharon towards her favorite table in the back of the shop and sat down to enjoy the first very satisfying taste of her drink. Dela was one of the few employees here that she trusted make her coffee exactly right. Try as she might, Jinkx couldn’t hold back the soft sigh of pleasure that escaped from her lips after the nearly too hot drink finished washing across her tongue. Very much intrigued, Sharon asked, “Mind if I try some?”

Jinkx faltered for a moment before sliding her cup across what little empty space remained between them. With a noticeable amount of hesitation in her voice, she warned, “You can but I don’t think you’ll-”

The face Sharon made as soon as the drink passed her lips was truly a sight. Her eyes went wide with disbelief and something akin to fear that someone would willingly drink something as sugary as what she had just tasted. If she hadn’t seen Dela preparing it herself, she would have sworn that no coffee at all had been used while making that drink. Quickly pushing the cup back in front of Jinkx and washing away the after-taste with her own coffee, Sharon commented shakily, “That was very…sweet.”

Jinkx gave her an apologetic grin and took a long sip of her latte in order not to have to say anything more for the time being. Swallowing away the lingering taste of caramel and sugar, Sharon further questioned her, “I’m a bit surprised though…I thought you always took it black?”

The redhead felt a light blush returning to her cheeks and finally admitted in a sheepish voice, “Actually, I only started doing that because of you…I’ve never seen you add anything to yours so I didn’t either as long as you were around…”

Sharon’s eyes widened and just vaguely it looked like a hint of pink was rising to her face. Deciding it was now or never, Jinkx continued on as she toyed with a lock of stray hair, “I just kinda wanted to impress you, I guess. You always made it look so cool and sophisticated…adding my usual amount of sugar and creamer just felt…childish sometimes.”

With the final confession, Sharon’s shocked expression immediately softened and her hand came to rest on Jinkx’s drawn in shoulder. Scooting their chairs closer until their legs were almost touching, the blonde assured her, “Jinkx, never worry about impressing me. You’ve done that already…you still do actually.”

The pair shared a fond smile before the intimacy of the situation became too much and each broke away with an embarrassed smile. They drank in further silence for another minute or so before a new topic was cautiously proposed by the older woman. It felt like the hours slipped by unnoticed as countless customers came and left the shop while the two remained close and cozy in their hidden corner. Around half an hour before the cafe was due to close, Jinkx asked with more than a fair amount of trepidation, “So this…us, I mean. What do we do at the shop?”

Her gaze was curious but also concerned and fearful. She didn’t want this to be a one time thing but it was also a bit of unfamiliar territory to be potentially dating her boss. She didn’t want anything to mess up her personal or business life but if she would have to pick now, she wasn’t sure which she would chose to pursue. Luckily, Sharon had no intention of forcing her to make that choice. Enclosing her hand around one of Jinkx’s fiddling ones, she consoled her employee in a simple but gentle voice, “We’ll do the same thing we’ve been doing; we remain professional with each other while at work.”

“And then after work?” Jinkx questioned in a meek yet hopeful tone.

Smirking just a tad, the blonde gave a comforting squeeze of her hand and stated confidently, “After work…we’ll be anything but.”

Jinkx felt a smile of previously unknown size growing across her lips as she beamed up at her boss. Her heart felt like it would soon flutter out of her chest but she could hardly care about that. Everything felt like a dream at this point and no part of her wanted to wake up any time soon.

She was almost finished with her drink when Sharon placed her empty cup next Jinkx’s. Leaving their hands resting on the table, Sharon worked her phone out her pocket and opened the camera app. She jutted her head towards the pair of cups with a silent request for permission to take a picture yet left the option open for Jinkx to refuse. Vaguely wondering who she’d send the image to before ultimately deciding that she didn’t care, Jinkx nodded her head with a gleeful grin settled on her lips. She found that she wanted everyone to know; both at the shop and the rest of the world.

Crossing the last few inches of space that remained between their bodies, Jinkx let her head fall onto Sharon’s shoulder as the blonde snapped a quick picture. Just at the very edge of the image, Jinkx could see their interlocking fingers making a small cameo while the cups with their names scrawled up the side took up the majority of the screen. With one click, Sharon forwarded the picture off to probably every employee at the shop.

Following the subtle announcement of their relationship to their coworkers, the pair quickly drank what little remained in their cups and bid Dela a short ‘Goodbye’ and word of thanks as they exited the cafe. The walk back to the flower shop was quiet and peaceful, yet over all too quickly to both of the women’s displeasure. Pausing outside the door to Sharon’s apartment, Jinkx stood on her tip toes to press a soft kiss to Sharon’s cheek as she whispered sincerely, “I had a really good time tonight.”

Before the redhead even had a chance to try and disentangle her hand from Sharon’s, the older woman carefully pulled her in closer and offered up hopefully, “Well the night’s not over yet…want to come inside for another cup?…I still have have those coffee beans you gave me…”

Jinkx’s face lit up and without a second thought, she dare to place a brief peck to Sharon’s lips and replied, “I’d love to.”

#rpdr fanfiction #albatross #shinkx #trixya #flowershop au #fluff #first date #jinkx monsoon #sharon needles #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #ivy winters #submission #lesbian au #flowers in bloom

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bae-in-maine · 6 years

Text

The Hocus To My Pocus

Notes: This is my addition to the Hocus Pocus theme for Clextober18! This story is loosely based on the 1993 Disney movie, Hocus Pocus. This is a multi-chapter story, and the first two chapters are posted here and on AO3 and FF. The rest of the story will be posted on AO3 and FF by 10/31/18 under my author name: Jude81.

Rating: Current rating is T+, but as the story continues, the rating might change.

Tags: Clexa, Clarke and Lexa, Raven, Echo, Nia, Anya, Madi, Aden, Salem, Hocus Pocus, Halloween hijinks, high school. More tags will be added on AO3 and FF.

@clextober

************************************ Chapter 1:

“Come on, Madi! We are going to be late if you don’t get a wiggle on!” Clarke stood at the bottom of the staircase, hand on the railing as she leaned forward in an attempt to project her voice so her nine year old sister would hurry up. She’d promised Madi she would take her trick or treating, and it was already 7:00 pm. If they hurried, she could be back in time at 9:00pm and make her way to the party at the Tri mansion being thrown by none other than her new highschool crush, one Lexa Tri, Captain of both the swim team and cross country team.

She tapped her fingers on the bannister, wincing when she noticed some flecks of dry paint still embedded around her fingernails. “Crap,” she muttered as she tried to pick away the paint. She was interrupted though by a loud yell, and she looked up just in time to catch the small body clad in a Wonder Woman costume.

She stumbled backwards, her feet desperately trying to regain their footing as she wrapped her arms tightly around her younger sister, but the sheer force of small body hurling through gravity propelled her backwards into a wall with a loud thump.

“Damn, Madi!” She yelped as she wheezed from getting the air partially knocked out of her. She let Madi slowly slide down her body, while she bent over, hands on her knees wheezing slightly.

“You shouldn’t swear, Clarke.”

“And you shouldn’t throw yourself down the stairs like that, Madi! What if I hadn’t caught you?!”

Madi cocked her head, looking up at her sister before smiling a little. “But you always catch me, Clarke. Always.”

Clarke stood slowly and looked down at her younger sister. Madi might have been nine, but she was the size of a six year old, a small six year old. She’d been sick most of her life, the doctors never really understanding the stomach pain and wild mood swings that plagued the young child. Her parents had abandoned her at the age of three in the hospital, deciding that the medical bills and a sickly child were simply too much for them.

Abby had been her doctor, specializing in diseases and pediatric care, but it had been Clarke who had fallen in love with Madi one day when she visited Abby at the hospital. It didn’t take much convincing, Jake and Abby had always wanted more children, but the time had never been right, and ten year old Clarke had convinced them that this child had been waiting for them, and they her.

The adoption had become official when she was five years old, and now they understood better Madi’s sensory issues and her dyslexia. Her stomach issues meant she was on a restricted, no dairy and no gluten diet, which made Halloween, her favorite holiday, particularly….tricky.

But Clarke was ready, her backpack stuffed with an extra Wonder Woman costume, wipes, underwear, water, noise-canceling headphones, and special gluten and dairy free candy. Candy she would sneak into Madi’s plastic, pumpkin head basket and exchange for the snickers and kit-kat bars when Madi was inevitably distracted by something else.

Madi’s stomach issues also usually meant Madi was prone to accidents, something that was often humiliating for Madi, but after years of this, they had a system in place, and Clarke was very good at helping minimize her sister’s shame, turning it into a game of costume changes.

She ruffled the top of Madi’s head, laughing at the way Madi jerked her head away. “Noooo! My hair, Clarke!”

She laughed again, “You hair is fine, Madi.” She leaned down so they were eye to eye and tapped Madi on the nose. “Hey…” she waited for Madi to look at her. “I will always catch you, Madi. Always.”

“I know.” Madi smiled happily, clutching her shield and grabbed Clarke’s hand. “Let’s go!” She pulled on Clarke’s hand, her small feet skipping along as Clarke chuckled and let herself be pulled out of the house, stopping only to turn and lock the door, before they stepped into the small crowds of children running about along the long sidewalks framed by tall trees and light posts every six feet.

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

Lexa stepped out of the house, shutting out most of the noise behind her. It was eight, and the party was supposed to start in another hour or so, although judging by the number of people in her parents’ home, they party was already well under way. The basement had been set up for her and her friends, while the ground floor was reserved for the adults to have their own Halloween party.

The adult theme this year was Unconventional Couples, and she shuddered at the thought of how many Jokers and Harley Quinns would probably show up at the party. But she supposed the theme was fitting, since her parents were considered fairly unconventional. Her mother, Indra Tri, was a four star general in the Marines, the only woman to ever achieve such a high rank, and she was technically retired, but she made a lot of trips from their home in Salem, Massachusetts to Washington DC, trips that she couldn’t speak about. And her father Gustus Tri was a great hulking man with more tattoos than he spoke languages, and he spoke seven. He taught Economics and Classical Literature at Salem State University.

Her parents roots were deep in Salem, especially her mother’s. Her mother’s family had been here since the early 1600’s, one of the original families. Her grandfather back twelve or so generations had been one of the first black slaves brought to Salem in the 1630’s, only a couple of years after Salem had been founded. It had been his grandson who had earned his freedom, and the subsequent generations had been freemen despite slavery not being abolished until the 1790’s in Massachusetts.

Their roots were deep, and Lexa’s freed tenth generation grandfather had taken the last name Sangedakru, in honor of his African grandfather’s clan. But over the years it had been Anglicized and then Americanized until it was simply Sanderson. It was a seemingly simple, innocuous name, and most had forgotten it’s African origins, but it still caused people in Salem to pause when they heard it.

Because when people thought of Salem, they thought of the Salem Witch Trials, and those who visited Salem, quickly learned of another trial, the trial of the three Sanderson Sisters. Three sisters, all witches, accused of sucking the life of the children of the village, so the sisters could be immortal.

And on October 31, 1693, the three sisters were hanged in the dead of night by the light of dozens of torches from the townspeople. But before they died, with her last breath, Nia Sanderson cast a spell promising that when a virgin lit the candle on the night of Hallow’s Eve, the sisters would rise again.

Lexa stood on the front porch watching as witches and goblins, ghosts, and iron men, and captain americas, and zombies, and princesses, and winnie the poohs, and cowgirls littered the street, bustling about about, screaming excitedly to each other, pillowcases and pumpkin heads laden with candy.

She shivered and looked up at the full moon peeking behind the clouds. The sky was a dark slate, shadowed in blues and purples. The moon hung in the sky, a silvery white that simply glowed, pushing the shadows back. It was beautiful, but there was something chilling in the air, something more than the fall frost in the air. She pulled her sherpa fleece tighter around herself, trying to shake the feeling of...something...something big...impending...dark...something just around the corner.

She chuckled and glanced over, eyes widening slightly at the black cat that had jumped up on one of the thick marble railings. “Well, hello there, Raven.” She reached out and scratched behind the black cat’s ears. “I was wondering when I would see you.”

She smiled at the way Raven bumped her hand, clearly in the mood for more scratching behind her ears. Lexa smiled, enjoying the soft silk of her fur against her fingertips. She glanced down at the red collar, with the old, tarnished heart hanging from it. It simply said Raven. There was something about the old metal heart that always made her feel strange, almost cold. It was old, her father had said that it had been made by a blacksmith, you could see the hammer dings in it. This wasn’t a heart that was purchased on Amazon or at Petco.

But no one knew who the cat belonged to. She came and went. Lexa would go months without seeing her, and then she would suddenly pop up again. Lexa and her parents fed the cat every time. And when she was a child, she had tried to find the owners, hanging up flyers, even asking the local police if they knew who owned the cat, but no one knew. They only knew that the cat had just always...been. Even the old-timers who gathered down at The Witche’s Brewe swore they had seen the same cat with the red collar and tarnished heart when they were children.

But a cat couldn’t be sixty odd years old. Could it?

She glanced away, trying to shake the feeling. Raven never failed to show up on Halloween. Every single year as long as Lexa could remember, starting when she was four, Raven had appeared on the marble railing on Halloween night. She licked her dry lips and turned away again.

“Well, Raven, I think I’m going to take a walk. You coming?” She walked down the steps, knowing without seeing that Raven was a few steps behind her. They did this every year, walked down the streets, turned up the north alley, and kept walking until they reached the Sanderson Museum. It was the original Sanderson Cottage and had been passed down to her mother, and someday she supposed she would inherit it. She rarely went in. The cottage was...unsettling, especially on Halloween, but sometimes it felt like it was calling to her. And she knew Raven was intimately acquainted with the cottage. She had seen her around the cottage enough times to guess that maybe it was her home.

It had been her great-grandfather who had turned it into a museum in the very early 1900’s, after returning from the Great War. He had been like a man possessed, cleaning out the cottage, repairing parts of it, and then setting it up as a museum. It was popular in the summer, but nobody went near it on Halloween, the curse hanging over them like an avenging shadow. And no teenager wanted to admit they were a virgin anyway.

She scoffed and tucked her hands into her pockets and stepped out onto the small street, turning left and walking down the sidewalk away from the center of town. It was quieter here, along the neatly cobbled sidewalks, the tall trees swaying slightly in the light breeze. She pulled the beanie down over her ears, wishing she’d grabbed her gloves. She walked down the street, nodding at the children tumbling about, the crowds quickly thinning out, as most people were headed to the center of town. Little Salem. It was technically part of Salem, but functioned as it’s own small town of about 17,000 people. Big enough for a movie theater, golf course, boutiques and stores catering to the tourists, small police force and a ten man fire department, three healthcare clinics, and the hospital was only twenty minutes away in the heart of Salem. It was a good town, perfect for her. Not big enough to feel truly lost and alone, but still big enough to afford her a little bit of independence.

She turned crossed the street at the stop sign and turned the corner, Raven padding along behind her, only run into something or someone.

She yelped when their bodies collided, and she stumbled narrowly missing tripping over Wonder Woman.

“Damn!”

“Holy Hell Hannah!”

“You shouldn’t swear.”

She blinked and looked down, her eyes clashing with green that looked almost exactly like her own. “Oh..I...uh...sorry…” She muttered, pink blossoming across her cheeks.

She glanced over to the older girl, swallowing harshly at the sight of a wild mane of blonde curls tumbling about the girl’s face, her snapback askew on her head, her blue eyes sparkling in peach cheeks.

“Sorry. Are you hurt?” She looked back down at Wonder Woman, “You ok?”

“Yup.” Madi nodded and shuffled her feet leaning into Clarke’s side, relaxing the moment she felt her sister’s arm fall across her shoulders.

“Yeah. Yeah...sorry. That was my fault. I was hurrying,” she laughed, pink now staining her own cheeks, as she scrubbed at her cheek with her other hand before grasping the brim of her hat, and turning it back so it was behind her head again.

Great. Her crush. Clarke had smacked right into Lexa, and damn if she hadn’t smelled good. Like vanilla and lavender. She licked her lips and looked away, too embarrassed to look her in the eye.

Lexa smiled a little, she had noticed the blonde in a couple of her classes, and she didn’t know much about her, a recent transfer from California. She knew the girl took a lot of art classes, including at least one class at the local college. She might have asked Octavia about Clarke. The two were in the same classes, both Juniors while Lexa was a Senior.

Clarke straightened her shoulders and stuck out her hand, grimacing a little when she remembered that she still had paint on her fingers, but it was too late, because Lexa grabbed it in shook it.

“I’m Clarke.”

“I know.” Lexa smiled and held her hand a little longer than necessary before finally releasing it.

“Oh. Right. We have some of the same classes,” Clarke ducked her head glancing down just in time to see Madi roll her eyes at her. Madi might have only been nine, but Clarke still shared almost all her secrets with Madi. And Madi was well aware of who Lexa was.

She bit her lip, hoping and praying that Madi wouldn’t...well be Madi. Just this once, her sweet sister with a corruptible streak might actually not out her in front of Lexa. Although she had an idea Lexa already knew she was bi, as she didn’t exactly hide it. No, she prayed Madi wouldn’t out her crush on Lexa.

“You’re Lexa.”

Clarke winced. Too late.

Lexa looked down at Wonder Woman, and then glanced up at Clarke, quirking her eyebrow at her, a small smile playing about her lips. It was clear that Wonder Woman knew who she was, despite Lexa not introducing herself.

“I am. And what is your name, Wonder Woman?” She held out her hand, smiling at the way Madi blinked owlishly up at her, chewing on her lower lip, before finally deciding to shake Lexa’s hand. Lexa was surprised by the firm grip, but it still made her smile.

“I’m Madi, Clarke’s younger sister. She talks about you. A lot. I like your cat. Our eyes are the same.” Lexa blinked, her mouth hanging open a little, her mind buzzing with all the words that had just tumbled past Madi’s lips.

Madi...Clarke...talks about you...cat...Cat? What cat? Oh! Raven!...eyes.

She nodded and chuckled looking up to meet the mortified face of Clarke, her peach skin now flaming red. She chuckled again and reached out, laying her hand on Clarke’s arm. “Really?”

Clarke closed her eyes briefly, debating between yelling at Madi or just keeping her eyes closed forever so she wouldn’t ever have to face Lexa again. But she was pulled out of her humiliating reverie by a squeeze to her arm, and the sudden warmth of a tall body almost pressing into her’s.

“Hey. It’s ok.”

She looked up, blinking at how closely Lexa was standing in front of her. The older girl was only a couple inches taller, and only a few inches away. Her eyes wandered across high cheekbones, dusky skin with a light smattering of golden freckles across her nose, to full coral colored lips. She licked her own, wishing she had the courage to close the space between them, but before she could even finish formulating the thought, Lexa stepped back.

Lexa blew out a shaky breath, her skin warm enough now that she unzipped her jacket a little. She glanced down at Madi. “Yes, we do have the same eyes don’t we.” She bent down a little until she was eye-level with Madi.

“You know, Madi. I’ve noticed your sister too. I know she likes to paint, and she is funny. I like hearing her laugh,” she whispered to Madi, pretending to ignore Clarke, but making sure Clarke could still hear her.

She heard Clarke gasp, and it made her smile again as she straightened. “Have you had fun trick or treating?”

Madi nodded and reached up grabbing Clarke’s hand, “Clarke? Are we going to do more trick or treating, or are we going home?”

Clarke nodded. They’d already hit the houses on the lower end where they lived and were on their way to the center of town.

“Do you want to come with us?” Madi handed her candy basket to Clarke and then held up her other hand for Lexa to take.

Lexa was tempted, but she needed to do something first. She had been heading to the Sanderson Cottage, her yearly pilgrimage. She wasn’t sure why, but the pull was even stronger this year, and by the way Raven was starting to rub against her legs, she knew the cat was anxious to get going also.

“I would love to, but I’m actually on my way somewhere. Unless you want to come with me?” She grabbed Madi’s hand and looked expectantly at Madi and then Clarke.

“Ok!” Madi grinned and swung their arms, deciding for them. She pulled on their arms, turning back the way they had come and then looked up at Lexa, waiting for direction.

“Oh look! Your cat!”

Lexa turned and saw Raven ten feet ahead of them, standing in the sidewalk, tail twitching, clearly waiting for them to follow her.

“Raven isn’t actually my cat. She only belongs to herself.” Lexa pointed towards her. “Every year we visit the Sanderson Cottage. She knows the way.”

“Oh I heard about the cottage, but don’t really know the history. I heard there is a curse involved?”

Lexa nodded slowly at Clarke and then looked down at Madi, wondering how much to tell them.

“The Sanderson Sisters were witches: Nia was the oldest and the meanest, and Anya and Echo were twins, but they didn’t look exactly alike. They say though that there were more children, children who died mister-mishteriously.”

“Mysteriously,” Lexa corrected as she stared down in surprise at Madi. “How did you know that?”

Madi shrugged, “I’m not good at reading. I don’t like it, but mama gets me the audible books from the library so I can listen to them. And I like misherteries.”

Clarke smiled, “She has almost perfect recall. She can quote back almost anything once she had heard it once or maybe twice. She likes mysteries. She was really excited to move here.”

“You are from…”

“Los Angeles. We moved here in August.”

They walked along slowly, the houses slowly falling away in the distance until they finally reached their destination. It was a medium sized cottage, only two, open rooms with a partially open loft that ran the entire area of the cottage.

The weeds had grown up around it, and Lexa frowned, wondering why the gardener hadn’t been out to clear out the dying shrubbery. She shivered a little, staring at the front door, her fingers itching to grasp it and open it.

Raven had settled on a windowsill waiting patiently for Lexa to decide.

“It’s a little spooky.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke watching the way the blonde fidgeted, biting her lip, before she straightened her shoulders and puffed her chest out a little.

“Let’s go in. It will be fun.”

She was surprised the blonde wanted to go in, sure the younger girl was a little scared of it. She looked down at Madi who was staring intently at Raven, her brows furrowed.

“Ok,” she heard herself say before she had even thought of it. She dug into her pocket for the key and dropped Madi’s hand, approaching the door. It took a minutes of jiggling the old iron skeleton key before it finally clicked and the door opened with a small squeak.

Chapter 2:

They stepped into the large room, Lexa frowning again at the cobwebs. The museum had been closed for repairs for the last two years, but Lexa had assumed someone was at least cleaning everything. But she could see the dust coating almost everything, cobwebs in the nooks and crannies. She flicked the lights on, and the lights pinged and flickered before finally settling.

Clarke stepped inside, pleased that the lights at least worked. The room was full of items, many of them books. A table and chairs, a large cauldron. She rolled her eyes at that, sure it had been placed there for the benefit of the tourists. Witches weren’t an actual thing.

But there was a large book on a pedestal, a glass box covering it. She glanced down at it, wrapping her fingers around the edges of the pedestal.

“Wow...so they actually put a spellbook in here?” She chuckled and laughed, “bet the tourists love that.”

Lexa grumbled a little and moved further into the room, trailing her fingers through the dust. “It’s real. The sisters are real, and so is the spellbook.”

Clarke looked up, surprised at the tone in Lexa’s voice. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Lexa shrugged and sighed a little, “No, I’m sorry. The Sanderson Sisters are actually part of my family history. They were my great-great-great-great...well, a lot of great aunts. My family owns the cottage and museum.”

Clarke nodded and walked around the room, checking briefly on Madi who was sitting in one of the old chairs at the table, patting Raven who was sitting on the table purring to her heart’s content.

She stopped in front of a tall, thin metal handle holder. In it sat a pristine, fat black candle, the wick unburnt. It was the only thing that didn’t have a layer of dust on it. She frowned and stared at it. There were numerous candles scattered around the room, most of them a whitish, yellow, wicks partially burnt. This was the only black one, never burnt.

“Lexa, what is this?”

Lexa glanced up from where she was reading one of the books written in the late 1800’s that spun the tale of the Sanderson Sisters.

She set the book down and walked up to Clarke, their shoulders brushing each other. “It is the curse.”

Raven stopped purring.

“How does it go?”

Lexa said nothing for a moment, before spinning the tale she had heard from her mother as a child. “The Sanderson Sisters were born in the mid 1600’s, witches. Real witches. Not women that were simply independent and used herbs and such to heal people. They weren’t like the innocent women in the Salem Witch Trials.”

She shook her head, reaching out as if to touch the candle before snatching her hand back away. “They were real,” she murmured. “Like Madi said, Nia was the oldest. By twelve years. Their parents were farmers, but Nia...Nia was different. She had a cruel streak. After Nia was born, legend has it that three boys were also born, and they all died mysteriously as babies. The oldest only living to be two or so. People whispered that Nia killed them.”

“B-but, that would have meant she was a child too.” Clarke gaped at Lexa and shook her head, sure it wasn’t true.

“Yeah. Exactly. But then Anya and Echo were born. Twins, and they say they never cried. And they didn’t look like each other, which was unusual. I mean it isn’t unusual now. We know they were fraternal twins, but back then I guess fraternal twins only happened when a boy and girl were born, not twin boys or twin girls.” She shrugged again and crossed her arms looking around the room.

“Anyway, the girls were born and were inseparable. Echo almost drowned twice, but each time, Anya saved her. And they said that Anya was badly burned once on her hands, like..really bad. But somehow Echo healed her? I don’t really know. That part of the story isn’t well known, and there aren’t a lot of sources. Just a few diaries really.”

She rubbed her hands across her face, needing something to do with them, unsure why re-telling the story she’d told her friends a hundred times, suddenly was hard to do. It felt different, telling the story on Halloween in the cottage. Different, because Clarke and Madi were there. Different because Raven was just a cat, and yet, she swore sometimes Raven stared at her so intently, that Lexa was sure she would open her mouth and speak.

“Stuff happened. The girl all grew up, and if people angered them, suddenly their hogs would die, their kids get sick, the rain wouldn’t come. So the townspeople started to pay them tribute. Like give them money when they had it, give them their sheep and cows. They sold potions and stuff, stuff to heal people, and I guess it worked.”

“And then the kids went missing.”

Lexa and Clarke both jumped, turning around to stare at Madi who was sitting at the table, sorting her candy not looking at either of them as she continued. “Kids started going missing, and the sisters never aged. They should have aged, but they didn’t. So people began to suspect that the sisters were somehow living off the children. Like sucking them up.”

Lexa nodded slowly, “Yeah. That’s it exactly. Every few years a child or two would disappear. Until they took the wrong child.” She turned back to the candle, staring at it, imagining what it would look like lit.

“Which child?”

She jumped and her laugh quivered in her throat. “Aden. Aden Walker. They took Aden when he was only five years old. Lured him from his father’s house. Aden was said to be a strange child. He never spoke,” she muttered. His father was Finn Walker, but he was also called Aden Woods.”

Lexa stopped, surprised at what she had just said. She didn’t remember where she had read that Aden had also been called Aden Woods. She’d been obsessed with her family history when she was younger, and she had spent hours reading and researching the Sanderson line. She vaguely recalled the name Aden Woods in the genealogy and wondered if she had confused the two. There had been an Aden Woods in the 1600’s, but he couldn’t have also been Aden Walker, because Aden Walker had died as a child.

“No one knew who the mother was. He was delivered to his father’s doorstep when he was about two years old. Or something like that.”

“Maybe he wasn’t Aden’s father. Maybe he was just supposed to protect Aden.”

Clarke turned and stared at Madi before walking over to her and resting her hand on her head. “Why would you say that, Madi?”

Madi shrugged and went back to sorting her candy. She knew she’d had kit kat bars, but now they were all gone. She wrinkled her nose and stared at the small candy bars in her hand. The wrapping was red, and they were nut and dairy and gluten and soy free, and egg free. But they actually tasted good. But she knew she’d had kit-kats! She sighed and went back to sorting.

Clarke looked around the room, noting the dust and cobwebs, the almost haphazard piles of what looked like blankets or clothes in one corner, dried lumber and a toolbox in another corner. Obviously someone had been working on the cottage.

She walked back towards Lexa, “So what happened then?”

“He disappeared. Dead they say. Someone saw him die, I guess and ran back to tell the townspeople. The came in the dead of the night and captured the sisters in the middle of doing a spell to gain their immortality. They hung them. Right outside the cottage from the tall sycamore tree.”

Lexa said nothing for long moments, staring at the candle, her mind tumbling. History hadn’t recorded who it was that had witnessed Aden’s death and then run and gathered the townspeople and brought them back here. And that was odd, because history had recorded the events of the night in detail, even recording the names of the townspeople. The Blakes and Kanes had been present that night, the Millers and Monroes. Even the rest of the Sandersons had been there that night. They had even recorded the strange spell and ritual the sisters had enacted to suck the life out of young Aden Woods, but still...no one recorded who it was that had witnessed it all.

Clarke waited, giving Lexa a few moments to think about it. Whatever had happened here obviously meant something to Lexa, her family was tied to it. But it was still all legend. The sisters had probably existed, but they had probably been three women, refusing to conform and bow to the patriarchy like most women accused of witches. And they’d been murdered by the men of the town.

She pressed her shoulder against Lexa’s gently, taking a deep breath and brushing her fingers against Lexa’s. “Lex? What happened then?”

Lexa jumped a little, her fingers wrapping around Clarke’s. She squeezed and intertwined their fingers together, smiling down at Clarke, suddenly feeling lighter. “With her dying breath, Nia cast a curse, claiming that any virgin who lit the black candle on Hallow’s Eve, or Halloween night when the moon is full, will resurrect them again.”

“And?”

Lexa shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Sooo...no one has ever tried to light the candle?” She nodded towards the candle. “This is a new candle, no way it is from the 1600’s.” She laughed and dug into her pants pocket, pulling out her lucky lighter, the one her grandfather had given her. He’d been a young pilot during World War II and had given her the lighter, claiming it had saved his life when he’d been shot down over Nazi-occupied France.

She flicked the lighter and smirked a little, hoping to dispel the gloom sitting heavily in the room. “Come on, let’s light it, and see if the curse is real,” she wiggled her eyebrows. “Stories are just stories, but we should light it anyway.”

She held out the lighter to Lexa who shook her head and smirked back at her. “Sorry, Clarke, but that ship sailed this summer.”

“Oh.” She ducked her eyes, trying not to look as embarrassed as she could felt. Of course Lexa wouldn’t be a virgin, of course she was dating someone! She suddenly didn’t want to light the candle anymore, didn’t want to be in the cottage, and didn’t want to be near Lexa.

“She’s gone now. Costia. She and her parents moved away. We were better friends than girlfriends anyway.”

Clarke jerked up, color flooding her face again, but she couldn’t stop the smile that practically split her face in two. “So...no girlfriend?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nope. No boyfriend or girlfriend.”

Lexa nodded, already having suspected that Clarke was bisexual. The girl did have a patch on her backpack with the bisexual flag after all. And she had a rainbow sticker on her locker.

“You should kiss.”

Clarke choked on her saliva, face flaming, as she whirled around to gape at Madi who was staring intently at them both.

“Wh-what?”

“Isn’t that what people do when they like each other? It’s what you did with that boy Finn last year. That was a lot of kissy-face.” Madi wrinkled her nose. Finn had been ok, mostly. But she didn’t like the way that he always wanted to spend time with Clarke, demanding that Clarke stop spending time with her, and with him instead.

“Kissy-face eh?”

Clarke groaned a little under her breath. “Yeah, he was just a boy. I broke up with him before we moved.” She shrugged. “He was kind of annoying actually.” She laughed and looked over at Madi, well aware that Madi hadn’t really liked him.

“Yup. Annoying.” The girl unwrapped a piece of chocolate and popped it into her mouth, smiling as the sweet hit her tongue. She swung her legs back and forth looking around her.

“Are we going to get more candy?”

“Yeah, kiddo, we are,” answered Lexa as she turned towards Clarke. She shrugged, “light it if you want, but we should go.” She leaned in closer to Clarke, only inches away, her eyes searching Clarke’s.

“You know, part of the legend goes that when a virgin lights the candle, she should be kissed at the same time.”

Clarke bit her lip, looking up at Lexa from under her eyelashes. “Oh, really? Does it now?”

Lexa smiled and leaned in closer, daring Clarke. “Does it matter?”

“No.” Clarke flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life, and she reached over and lit the wick of the black candle, just as Lexa pressed her mouth to her’s.

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

It was a moment before she realized that something had crashed loudly outside, the wind suddenly picking up and roaring through the trees. The house shook, and for a moment, she was sure it was because of their kiss.

But as she pulled back, she saw the cauldron lit with fire, the flame from the candle black as night and growing higher and higher. Raven was howling, and Madi screamed, jumping up and knocking over her chair with a loud crash, as she ran and threw herself at Clarke and Lexa.

Lexa scooped her up, Madi’s little legs fastening securely about her waist. She grabbed Clarke and pulled her back and behind her, stepping away from the candle. The light suddenly went out, and Raven howled again, the wind shaking the cottage. Books fell from the shelves, and the fire beneath the cauldron spit in angry time to the shaking of the house.

“Fuck! Fuck, Lexa! What is happening!?” Clarke grabbed at Lexa’s arm, pulling her with her, terror licking along her nerves. It was a myth, a legend, a stupid scary tale that they told to kids to scare them. But the lit candle’s flame was black, and it towered above them, almost reaching towards the ceiling now, but it gave off no heat, only a freezing cold slowly drifting through the air.

The lights were out, and they could barely see, and Clarke stumbled, her fingers gripping Lexa’s arm, refusing to let go, relieved that Lexa was carrying Madi, as she was the stronger of the two of them.

“Shit, Clarke! I don’t know. I don’t know! We have to get out now!” She pulled Clarke towards her and circled around the candle, staring in horror when she realized that the glass case covering the spellbook had been shattered, and the pages of the book were fluttering madly in the wind. Except…

“Lexa, how is that possible. There isn’t any wind in here?”

Lexa shook her head, her heart pounding in her ears, her skin hot to Clarke’s touch, but felt icy to her own. She could feel the temperature dropping. She tried to make her way to the wall, and with every step they took, a new candle suddenly flamed to life, blinding them only to suddenly burn out again.

“I can’t see, Clarke! Clarke!”

Clarke reached up, her hand scraping along Madi’s head, trying to soothe the wailing child. “It’s ok, Madi. It’s ok, we are getting it out.”

“Lexa, which way?” She was disoriented from the flashing candles, and the cold that was seeping into her bones, making her tired and dizzy. She fought to place one foot in front of the other, wondering why her movements were so sluggish.

“This way! Hurry! This way!” She heard the voice off to her left, and she tried to make her way towards the voice, pulling Lexa with her.

“Stop! No, move to your left, back! Back!”

She followed the voice, obeying their every direction, until she was able to get around the table, stumbling against the pile of lumber.

“The door. It’s right in front of you. Hurry!”

“Lex, this way!” She tightened her hold on Lexa and surged forward the remaining steps, her hand reaching out blindly for the handle. She closed her hand around it, and she pulled, struggling with the door as it refused to budge.

“Push it!” The voice hissed again. And Clarke threw her weight against the door, gasping as she and Lexa and Madi tumbled through the door, tripping down the wooden steps to land in a heap in front of the cottage.

They lay there breathing heavily, their hearts racing and limbs trembling. The cottage was suddenly quiet, all of the lights off, the candles blown out. The wind outside had died down, and they could hear mice rustling through the leaves under the trees.

“Wh-what was that?!”

“Madi! Madi, are you ok?”

“I’m ok.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah.”

Lexa sat up, pulling herself to her knees and then to her feet. She swayed slightly, relieved when Clarke wrapped her hands around her waist to steady her, before leaning forward and sliding her arms fully around Lexa’s waist. She leaned her head against the back of Lexa’s shoulders, trying to regain control of her breathing.

Madi scrambled to her feet, lifting her arms to Lexa, who immediately picked her up again. She was probably too old to be held like this, but she didn’t care. She was afraid. They had done something. Something bad. Something was awake.

Clarke loosened her grip around Lexa’s waist and slid her hands up Madi’s legs, squeezing them gently.

“You sure, you ok, Madi?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” She nodded and pulled away, stepping around them both to look at the cottage, before turning back towards Lexa.

“Lexa…”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Wait. What?” Clarke looked at Lexa, surprise on her face. ‘What do you mean who was I talking to?”

“In the cottage. Who led you out?”

Clarke stared at her for a full minute, her heart dropping to her feet. “Lexa,” She stepped closer, her words somber and heavy. “You. Lexa, you led me out.”

“No, Clarke,” Lexa shook her head and wiggled her arms, readjusting Madi who still clung to her. “No, I was to your right, and that voice came from your left. I followed you, Clarke.”

“L-Lexa, I...I don’t...I followed…”

“Me. You followed me.”

They both froze and turned slowly to face the cottage again.

Raven sat on the front step calmly licking her front paw, before gracefully jumping down the few steps to pad over to them and sit a couple of feet in front of them. She tilted her head back and stared at the three of them. It had been done. Finally. She had waited centuries for this night.

She had always known that the Griffins would return to Salem, having fled it the same night that young Aden Walker had supposedly met his end. Salem had a way of drawing the original families back, especially those with magic in their blood.

And nowhere was the more magic in Salem than in the three who stood before her: a Griffin and the true Sangedakru. Except...She peered over her shoulder, her body tense, the cottage was quiet, too quiet. She knew they were in there, waiting like the predators they were. They didn’t have much time.

“Listen, I realize this is a lot to take in…”

“Oh my god! The cat is talking! The cat is talking! Why is the cat talking!?” Clare turned to Lexa who simply stood there, looking more than a little bewildered, her jaw hanging open, her eyes wide.

“Cool! A talking cat!”

Clarke focused her attention on the squealing Madi. “No, not cool! This is bad, Madi! Oh..god...it’s the candy!”

Clarke grabbed Lexa jerking her around, terror coloring each word as she grabbed at Madi, trying to pull her into her arms. “It’s the candy, Lexa! It’s been poisoned, by...by...I...a...hallucogenic! Oh my god! Shit! Shit! We have to get her to my mom, she will know!”

Lexa simply stared at Raven, her mind buzzing. “C-candy?”

“Yes, I ate the kit kats!”

“I knew it!” crowed Madi, earning a wild glare from Clarke, who had finally managed to pull Madi from Lexa’s arms. She wrapped both her arms around Madi and turned headed towards the long paved road back to town.

“It’s ok, Madi. It will be fine, don’t be scared.” But the words felt useless, and she could feel her own panic bubbling up about to spill over.

“I didn’t eat the candy,” whispered Lexa, before finally turning and jumping after Clarke. It only took a couple of steps before she caught her, grabbing her gently by her arms and pulling her back into her own body. She turned her, unprepared for the sobs that suddenly jerked Clarke’s entire body, or the way the blonde almost entirely collapsed into her arms.

Madi wiggled, unable to slip out of Clarke’s hold, now squashed between two bigger bodies. She tried to crane her head around Clarke’s so she could see Raven. Raven who talked, when she shouldn’t. She always knew magic was real.

“It’s ok, Clarke. It’s ok,” murmured Lexa as she ran her hands up and down Clarke’s back. “I didn’t eat the candy, and I hear Raven to. It’s ok. We aren’t hallucinating.” She sighed and gulped. “This is real.”

Clarke sniffed, Lexa’s words finally piercing her growing panic. Her sobs slowly subsided, and she finally stepped back a little, and Lexa carefully prided Madi from her arms, setting her on her feet, keeping one arm around her tightly.

Clarke laughed, tears drying on her cheeks. “Better? Oh god, Lex. How is that better? Could it be real?”

All three of them turned to Raven who hadn’t moved, but was clearly unimpressed. “Are you three done? Because we are almost out of time.” She stalked forward, her eyes intent upon Clarke, her tail flicking with every step.

“Listen. My name is Raven Birch. I was born in 1667, here in Salem. And I was turned into a cat on the night the townspeople of Salem hung the three Sanderson Sisters. With her dying breath, Nia Sanderson cast a curse promising that they would rise again when a virgin lit the black candle under a full moon on Halloween. The sisters have risen, and we have go. Now.”

“B-but...you can talk,” sputtered Clarke.

“Yes, oh smart one, I can.”

“Oh my god. Did she just sass me?” Clarke turned towards Lexa, her mouth open, hands on her hips, only to see Lexa trying not to laugh. “Really? You think it’s funny that a talking cat just sassed me?!”

Madi laughed and grabbed Clarke’s hand, pulling on it. “Come on, Clarke. It is kind of funny.”

Clarke huffed and rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Raven. “Fine. You can talk. Look…”

But Lexa interrupted her, stepping forward and crouching down near Raven, “Could you always talk? And I just didn’t hear you?”

Raven smiled as only a cat can and stepped closer, rubbing against Lexa’s knee. “No, Lexa. I was always aware of who I was, but I couldn’t speak until the candle was lit.” She sat down and peered up at Lexa, her voice soft and gravelly, breaking a little “I’ve waited so long for this night, but we do have to go now, I will tell you the rest of what happened that night.”

“Well, well, well. And what do we have here.”

All three of them froze at the sound of the voice, before Raven turned quickly, crouching slightly, tail flicking wildly. She hissed and bared her fangs at the three figures standing in front of them.

“Well, well, Raven. It has been a long time. But how long exactly? Hmmmm?”

Lexa grabbed Clarke, who had already grabbed Madi, pulling them behind her. This was bad, very bad, because she recognized them from the sketches and paintings that had been done.

“It’s the sisters,” she whispered, throat tight with fear.

“Oh very good! Very good!”

The woman with reddish brown hair stepped forward and off the stoop, advancing on them slowly before stopping five feet from them. Her face was heavily scarred, but Lexa quickly realized that the scars were symbols and not random, and they were almost beautiful in a twisted way. The woman was thin, wearing a dark gray cloak, over a blue dress that obviously had gone out of fashion hundreds of years ago. Her eyes were ice blue and her chin sharp and haughty. She was clearly the one with the most power.

The woman to her left was taller with dark eyes and long brown hair tumbling about her shoulders in waves. She too wore a dress, long out of fashion, and leather shoes with buckles. Her cloak was dark green and clasped at the neck with, a large copper button. She grinned, her lips twisting, making her beautiful face all the more chilling.

And the last woman was taller than the rest, lithe and almost gangly. She wore what looked like a crown of interwoven branches upon her head, and her hair was long and brown with flashes of yellow in it. But it was her eyes, rimmed in what looked like charcoal with streaks spreading partly down her face that were the most startling. She wore trousers and leather boots, with a long coat studded with what looked like metal pieces.

“The sisters,” croaked Lexa.

Nia laughed and waved her hand and the woman to her left stepped forward giving a little curtsey, before smiling and licking her lips and stepping further away from Nia, circling closer to Lexa and Clarke.

Raven hissed when the woman moved, and she hissed back, her lips twisting into a sneer. “We meet again, Raven. You were always annoying.” She raised her hand, fingers extended towards Raven who backed up a step, just as the third woman stepped forward.

“Enough! We don’t have time for this,” She cast a quick glance down at the cat who was still staring at her sisters, but she knew Raven was watching her out of the corner of her eye. “Leave Raven be, we have no quarrel with this cat.”

“No, quarrel??” snarled Nia, “she is the one who brought them to our door!”

“Yes, and you cursed her and she paid her debt to you. It is finished.”

Nia stepped back and eyed her younger sister, her brows pulled low, her lips pursed slightly. It would appear that time had not brought her sister to her senses.

She stepped towards Lexa, smiling and holding out her hand. “So, you apparently know of us? Hmmm?”

Lexa swallowed harshly and nodded. “You are Nia,” she jerked her head towards the woman in the green cloak, “that would make you Echo, the youngest twin.” She pointed towards the last woman, the one with the crown. “And I guess that makes you Anya, the first twin.”

Nia laughed and nodded her head, while Echo clapped her hands and twirled in place. “So you recognize us!” She flicked her hand in the air, “We are rather unforgettable. But enough of that,” she flicked her hand in the air again, slowly letting her gaze roam over the three of them. “Tell me, what exactly are you wearing? Is it common for girls to wear pants? You are girls? Right?”

“Not that it matters, and gender is a social construct anyway, but yes,” hugged Clarke in annoyance.

“A gender..what?” Nia cocked her head, confusion wrinkling her face and making the scars jump slightly. “Oh never mind. That isn’t important. What year is it? How long have we been gone?”

“It is 2018,” chirped Madi, as she shifted out from behind Clarke, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“It’s...it’s...2018?!” sputtered Nia as she raised a hand and rubbed at her forehead, sighing deeply. “Well no matter.” She turned her attention to Madi, a slow smile breaking across her face, twisting her lips and highlighting her scars. She leaned down a little, while Raven spit at her.

“Aren’t you a beautiful, little thing.” She reached out towards Madi, as Echo stepped closer, her gaze intent upon Madi also.

“Look at her, Nia! So small and delicate! So...yummy,” Echo murmured, excitement spilling from her mouth as she licked her lips.

Clarke and Lexa both grabbed at Madi just as Nia and Echo suddenly rushed forward. Raven yowled and threw herself at Echo, who had managed to beat Nia to Madi, claws extended. Raven yowled again when her claws dug into Echo’s shoulders, her teeth catching Echol’s ear as she bit down.

Echo screamed and backed away, jumping up and down, grabbing at Raven and trying to pull her off of her. But her hands couldn’t find purchase in Raven’s twisting body, and the cat started to slash at her shoulder, ripping through the cloak.

Nia stumbled, falling to the ground when Echo had shouldered her out of the way. She cursed and held out her hands, fingers sparking, but she was too weak to draw her power from the spellbook.

Anya crouched slightly, her hand going to her hip, where a long dagger rested, bound to her waist with leather cords. But she didn’t move, her gaze darting between Nia and Raven clawing at her sister.

Echo finally managed to get hold of Raven, and pulled hard, screaming as Raven bit at her head and scratched her across her forehead. Echo screamed and cursed again, finally throwing Raven from her.

Echo bent over, angry tears coursing down her face, her hands gingerly poking at the scratches on her head and forehead. “Damn that cat to hades!” She snarled as she whimpered at the pain and the sight of the blood on her fingers.

Raven landed on her feet, twirling quickly and facing the sisters again. “Run!” She spat and hissed raising her clawed paw.

And this time Lexa and Clarke ran, Madi safely ensconced in Lexa’s arms as they tore down the paved road as fast as they could back to down, Raven right behind them.

#clextober18 #Hocus Pocus #clexa fanfic #jude81 #The Hocus to my Pocus #clarke griffin and lexa #clextober #clextober fanfic #day 13 of clextober18

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thederrylcsers · 6 years

Text

i’ll be holding on to you [stenbrough]

pairing; bill denbrough & stan uris

fandom; it (2017)

word count; 4776

prompt; The losers are dying to 👀 just how long it will take two of their closest friends to crack and finally admit that they’re dying to be together. All it takes is a little meddling and a bet to make things interesting.

the losers are 17.

(Hi!! This is my first fic for this fandom and as you can 👀, I went a little overboard. This is the longest one shot I have ever written and I am really proud of it! If the characters are a little out of character at some points I apologize but I’m learning and hopefully I can get them right eventually. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!)

The last day of their junior year came with many conclusions. The losers would soon have to start thinking about the more important aspects of their futures like college and finally moving away from the fucked up town they called home.

They had mutually decided that the best way to kick off their summer vacation would be to relax and kick back at the quarry. Their boisterous laughter could be heard from 💯 yards away, but they didn’t care. They had been free of the darkness for a little less than four years and they would be damned if they couldn’t have a little bit of fun over their summer break.

Mike, Ben, Beverly, Richie, and Eddie sat up on the cliff of the quarry, four of the teens carefully observing the two boys relaxing in the 🚰. Bill threw his head back in laughter as Stan splashed him, the 🚰 hitting him square in the face. Smiles graced the faces of the two teens splashing about in the warm 🚰 of the quarry. Richie sighed dramatically in the silence on the cliff.

“What?” Ben asked from his place beneath a nearby 🌴, a 📓 lying flat in his lap.

“It’s so 😔.” Richie said as he leaned against a boulder nestled deep in the soil, Eddie settled next to him with Richie’s arm thrown around his shoulders. Bev looks over from her spot where she’s ☀️ 🛀, catching the glare of the ☀️ in the lenses of her 🕶️.

“What is?”

“They’re so 😍 but they don’t even 👀 it.” He dramatically places a ✋ over his ❤️ and observes as Stan turns to start 🏊 back to the shore, Bill immediately taking this as an opportunity to dunk the smaller boy underneath the 🚰.

“Yeah. They’re practically Romeo and Juliet, Richie.” Eddie retorts, turning his head to glare up at Richie who only smiles in return.

“Eds, look at them! You can’t fake that kind of chemistry!” They sit in wonder, 👀 as Stan shoves Bill backward when he resurfaces, making his way toward the shore again. Their joyous laughter can be heard from up on the cliff and a 😁 is now found on the rest of the loser’s faces.

“First, don’t call me that, you know I hate it. Second, let’s assume you’re right. Let them figure it out for themselves.” Richie shushed him, placing his free ✋ over Eddie’s 👄. The younger boy wriggled next to him and desperately pried his ✋ away from his face, screeching about the germs Richie must have on them.

“Sh. Guys listen. We’ve known Bill and Stan for a while, right? We all—well, most of us—can 👀 how 😍 these two are with each other! Someone has to crack eventually, right? So what I am proposing here is that we place a little bet to 👀 just how long it takes them to crack. Who’s with me?” Richie had shot up onto his feet whilst giving this over dramatic speech, the rest of the losers 👀 him with an eyebrow raised.

“How is this supposed to help?” Mike inquired from next to Ben beneath the 🌴.

“Mikey, my man, listen; no one said it was supposed to help. It’s a classic bet. We all choose when we think they’ll finally give in and whoever’s closest wins. Losers pay up five bucks each.” He could hear the other two getting closer and he was running out of time. “The 🕜’s a-ticking, people. What’ll it be? In or out?”

The rest of the losers all shared a glance, mutually deciding what the hell, might as well 👀 where this goes. The nodding he gets in return causes Richie to triumphantly pump his fist through the air. “Place your bets, losers. I’m gonna go ahead and say… two months.”

“One month.” Bev said.

“Two weeks from today.” Mike.

“By next Friday.” Ben.

“Tomorrow!” Eddie exclaimed, caught up in the excitement, four pairs of eyes falling on him. “Damn.”

“Alright, and there will be no meddling allowed. May the best loser win!” Richie finished just as Stan and Bill could be seen hiking up the path the reach them again, hair drenched from the salty 🚰 of the quarry.

“Wh-what are you guys t-talking about?” Bill asked, shaking his hair out much like a wet 🐕 would, Stan right behind him. Stan let out a shriek, shoving Bill away from him, grinning all the while. Beverly shook her head at her ex-boyfriend and the pair decided to shrug it off.

“So 😍.” Richie whispered to Eddie, nudging him in the side with his elbow.

“What?” Stan and Bill asked in unison, identical expressions of confusion etched onto their faces.

“What?” Richie shrugged, turning away from them and returning to his place next to Eddie in front of the boulder.

The first of the losers to break the only rule was, no surprise, Eddie. He supposed he was desperate, having estimated the first and only time frame he could think of, so he assumed desperation would be his best friend for the time being. It was Saturday, the day immediately following the placing of the bet, and Eddie was running out of time fast. He could easily envision that tiny ⌛ in his mind, slowly but surely, draining itself of the golden traces of sand. Tick tock goes the 🕜, Eds.

Eddie Kaspbrak was a lot of things; a hypochondriac, a loser, an asthmatic, nervous, but a quitter he was not. Which is why when Stanley offered for him to join him while he went bird 👀 the day before, he agreed ecstatically, but he had a plan brewing.

Eddie had showed up on Bill’s doorstep at noon the following day, knocking with newfound pride. “HHey, Eddie, wh-what’s up?” The stutterer asked, stepping outside and gently closing the 🚪 behind him.

“Oh, you know, the sky. Listen I need a favor. Yesterday at the quarry, Stan asked me to go bird 👀 with him and I agreed but shoot! I forgot I have an appointment today!” Eddie chuckled, sitting on the porch steps and looking back at the taller boy with his chin resting in his ✋.

“A-An appointment?” Bill asked in disbelief, Eddie nodded. “What for?”

“Well, you know me, hypochondriac and all. It’s something new every day. What do ya say?” He slapped his palms down on his shorts and stood abruptly, turning to face Bill fully, leaning against one of the wooden beams coming down from the roof.

“Yeah, I-I-I can do th-that.” Bill’s cheek seemed to heat up at the realization of what he’s agreed to and Eddie saw it, 😏 slightly.

“Thank you, and give my regards to Stanley, please!” Eddie shouted, already running back down the path and toward where he threw his 🚴 on the ground. He waved back at Bill who still stood on his porch, 👀 the smaller teen pedal away, nearly crashing into a wooden post as he did so.

An hour or so later, Eddie could be spotted crouched behind various trees and bushes, spying on two of his best friends. He rested his chin in the palm of his ✋, 👀 the two so called ‘lovebirds’ from a distance. He observed the grin that would stretch across Stanley’s face as he leaned against a 🌴 trunk, pointing out various winged beauties and describing them to Bill. That was when Eddie saw what Richie had been talking about for himself.

Each time Stan looked away to watch the trees again, Bill’s eyes trained on his face. Even at first glance, anyone could tell just how much adoration Bill held for the other teen. A soft 😁 played at his 👄 and each time Stan looked back at him, he would turn away fast enough to snap his own neck, cheeks burning. It was then, when he looked away, that Stan’s eyes would glisten in the midday ☀️, a small 😁 resting on his face.

Eddie would admit to feeling a little odd about spying on his friends to no one but himself. Although, his only prayer at that moment was that somebody would break the tension between them. Then, he could rub it in the other loser’s faces when they met up again, but only if the pair in question were the ones to bring up the news. He wouldn’t dare let anyone know he was cheating.

His hopes burn out when he notices Stan and Bill walking in his direction. “💩.” He hissed, standing abruptly and jogging back up the way he had came, hopping on his 🚴. It’s a good thing he already knew what being a loser felt like.

The second of the losers to break the one rule Richie had set in place was Mike. He waited the appropriate amount of time, he thinks, to devise his plan. Delivering meat doesn’t offer much in terms of a social life but occasionally, he’ll hear certain things that catch his attention. This particular piece of information he had overheard had been about a 🙌 on the other side of town. He decided it was the perfect time to set his plan in motion.

“Do I have to go?” Eddie asked, leaning his head on Richie’s shoulder as he pouted. Mike smirked from across the room, arms coming up to fold over his chest.

“Yes, we’re all going. It’s just a 🙌 and it’s summer, live a lil’.” He sat down on the loveseat next to Bill.

“Fine. Who has a 🙌 two weeks after school gets out, anyway? And on a Thursday? What kind of 🌍 do we live in?”

“Come on, Eds. I think it’ll be fun.” Richie grinned, leaning down to press his 👄 against Eddie’s cheek. The teen smiled softly and glanced up at Richie.

“Don’t call me that, Tozier.” Eddie said, tucking his legs under his chin as they sat on the sofa immediately adjacent to the loveseat, Stanley at Richie’s other side, rolling his eyes.

“I’m with Trashmouth on this one,” Beverly spoke up from her place in front of Ben. “When was the last time any of us were invited to a 🙌?”

“Stan’s Bar Mitzvah.” Eddie said.

“That was definitely not a 🙌.” Richie chuckled, wincing when Stan punched him in the arm.

“You didn’t have to go, Richie!” Stan replied defensively as he crossed his arms, huffed and turned away from the pair.

“That’s exactly what I mean.” Bev pointed out, sighing dramatically. “I’m just saying, I think it might be nice to go out and have a little bit of fun. It’s summer, let loose.” The group collectively shared glances with each other, coming to a somewhat mutual decision.

“Wh-When do we leave?”

The seven teens arrived at the unfamiliar 🏠 later that night, Mike and Beverly practically skipping up the sidewalk from the truck they had arrived in. They had their arms locked, joy in their eyes as they 👀 the lights that flickered from inside the 🏠. The group had been anticipating this moment ever since Mike had brought it up earlier that day, and some of the antics a few members showed had been mistaken for excitement. All except for Eddie’s, he had made his opinion on the get-together known numerous times.

“I still say this is stupid.” Eddie said as he walked beside Stanley who he knew had mutual feelings about the situation. “I mean, who knows. Somebody in there could be 😷 and they could sneeze on me and I’m very prone to that 💩, you know? … I think maybe I’ll stay out here. In the nice, fresh, clean air.” The large 🏠 was overflowing with people, a vast amount of them gathered outside in the front and backyards.

The immortal words of Eye of the 🐅 flowed out to where Stan had been standing, feet planted on the ground. He assumed he was frozen out of fear and anxiety. This 🙌 was his biggest fear come true. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving until something touched his shoulder.

“A-Are you 🆗?” Bill asked, 😁 sweetly at him and Stan felt his cheeks grow hot.

“Y-Yeah, yeah. I’m 🆗. I’m fine. Great, even. How are you?” Stan asked, turning his body to face the other teen, pushing a few curls away from his eyes for better vision. Bill’s ✋ fell from his shoulder, sliding down his arm until he reached the other boy’s ✋, lightly grazing it.

“I’m good.” Bill chuckled, a soft 😁 on his face. Stan smiled back and lowered his head, staring at his shoes. “I-I’m gonna head inside, wanna c-come?” Stan nodded, following the slightly shorter boy up the lawn, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts swirling in his head.

As Stan and Bill travelled up the span of grass and into the 🏠, the other five standing off to the side, observing the interaction. “I think tonight’s the night, fellas.” Mike said from his place propped against the side of the 🏠. “Might as well pay up now.”

“Not so fast, Micycle.” Ben spoke up, pointing an accusing finger at the older teen. “Bet’s not over until someone makes a move or they tell us they’re together. You haven’t won 💩 yet.”

“Yeah, we all have to 👀 it.” Richie informed as if it weren’t obvious enough at that point, throwing his arm around Eddie’s waist and pulling him closer, pressing a lingering 😘 to his cheek, jawline, and neck making the smaller boy blush noticeably.

“Get a room, you two.” Beverly snickered at the pair and began making her way up the porch steps, squeezing through the crowd of people with Ben at her side.

“She’s just jealous she’s not as happy as we are, Edward Spaghedward.” Richie grinned, moving in to mold their 👄 together only to have Eddie dodge his 👄, arm dropping from his waist.

“You’re revolting.” Eddie snarked, trying his best to portray annoyance but the 😁 on his face gave him away. Mike rolled his eyes at the couple, 👀 Richie follow Eddie around the side of the 🏠, and then making his way into the 🏠 to seek out the other four losers.

“Mike!” Beverly shouted to him when he was able to track her down, her voice barely audible over the 🎶. “I was wondering if you were ever going to make it inside! This was your brilliant 💡 after all!” She said, nudging him with her elbow as she took a swig from the 🍺 she was clutching. Ben came walking through a doorway a few seconds after that, a 🍺 matching Beverly’s in his right ✋.

“Where’d you get those?” Mike asked and followed Ben’s ✋ as he pointed toward the doorway he had just come from.

“Through the doorway, down the hallway, last room on the left. In the kitchen.” He informed the other teen, sending Mike to trek in the direction he carefully laid out. As he made his way down the hallway, the 🎶 seemed to grow softer and softer until it was a gentle hush, the beat humming through the floors. An obnoxiously loud ‘ha-ha’ erupted from the room to his left and he peered in.

Bill had positioned himself on the counter, a ✋ slapped over his 👄 as he tried to suppress the cackle threatening to rip through him. Stan sat at the table, a 💩-eating grin covering his face as he rearranged the flowers in the vase. “St-stop, o-oh my God!”

“What?” He asked innocently with a 😁, eyes twinkling and stood up, walking toward the fridge. He fidgeted for a moment before deciding to organize the magnets plastered on the surface.

“Don’t play so innocent, St-Stanley,” Bill remarked, pointing an accusing finger in Stan’s direction. “You know wh-what you did.” And he did but he was slowly forgetting it by the second, the light buzz clouding his thoughts. Bill slid off the counter, walking toward the table and grabbing another 🍺 out of the cooler that had been set there.

Stan finished rearranging the alphabetical magnets back in the order that they belonged and turned around, a fond expression on his face as he stood in front of the fridge and 👀 Bill dig through the ice for a bottle of 🍺. Mike still leaned against the wall, peering in slightly from the doorway, careful to go unnoticed by two of his closest friends. He felt a bit odd 👀 his friends from behind a wall, peering into their 😍 life like this, but in his eyes it seemed to be a necessary evil.

“I think they’re all o-out over here, are there any i-in the fridge?” Bill turned around, locking eyes with Stanley. Stan lowered his head, gaze dropping down to stare at his feet, the lip between his teeth now his main source of concern as he chewed it nervously.

“I-I don’t know.” Stan stammered with his feet still planted firmly on the floor. It wasn’t until Bill had come to stand in front of him that he finally 🌹 his gaze. Bill was 😁 at him now and Stan felt as if he could collapse against the 🆒 metal of the fridge to bring him back to reality. He thought he might be dreaming with the way Bill dropped his gaze down to his 👄 for a split second. It happened so fast Stan briefly thought he may have imagined it, but then he did it again and seemed to lean closer to him.

Suddenly, Bill’s hands are on either side of Stan’s face and their 👄 are being pressed together gently. Stan concludes with this that he is either dreaming or ⚰️ because there was absolutely no way that this was real life. Bill’s 👄 are warm in his and just as soft as he’d imagined but Bill had been drinking, the proof lingering on his 👶-soft 👄 and leaving a disturbing taste in Stanley’s 👄.

Stan is the one to break the 😘, using his better judgement to decide for the both of them that this was just the alcohol, leaving Bill standing in the middle of the kitchen as he walked from the kitchen to the hallway. Mike had taken it upon himself to move to another room so as to not get caught spying. Given the way the events played out before him just moments ago, he decided that this shouldn’t be taken as a victory.

They all come to a mutual decision to leave the 🙌 within the hour.

Beverly decided that the best way to meddle was to not meddle at all, but to tell them straight away to ‘cut the 💩 and work it out’. It was notable that the pair hadn’t been seen hanging out since the 🙌 two weeks earlier. Whenever one of them entered the room, the other would make an excuse to leave it. 'I just remembered that my dad said he needed to talk to me about something’, 'I should probably get home not it my parents will worry’, 'I forgot to feed my hamster’ or something along those lines.

The new development was beginning to put a strain on their group and Beverly was slowly starting to get annoyed because why couldn’t they just act like normal human beings for one minute? Why can’t they be civil and stay in the same room or vicinity for longer than three seconds? She finally decided that enough was enough and teamed up with Eddie to set a plan in motion.

“Hey, Stanny.” She chirped one afternoon at the quarry while they sat up on the cliff above the 🚰. Neither one of them wanted to swim that day, and after a while the others had come up to join them.

“Hey, Bev.” He replied from his place on the boulder that he was sitting atop of. Beverly kept a close eye on the clearing, waiting for a certain stuttering 17 year old to make an appearance. Beverly decided that it would be Eddie’s job to convince Bill to come to the quarry with them (on the condition that Stan wouldn’t be there, which was an obvious lie), and he felt proud that he was successful in his task.

The unmistakable grinding of Silver’s chain as Bill came to a stop brought Beverly away from her thoughts as she smiled at the boy who was hopping off his 🚴. He wore a bright 😁 on his face as well as a pair of khaki shorts and the pale blue 👕 that Stan had once said brought out his eyes, it was his favorite. The 😁 on his face had dropped noticeably as he approached his friends, Stan’s 👄 hanging open as he slid off of the rock.

An awkward silence fell over the seven teenagers immediately, all conversations coming to a halt. As Richie had once remarked: “It’s almost like a terrible 🚗 crash. It’s awful and you know you should look away, but you just can’t.”

“I should rea—” Stan began just as Beverly threw her hands up and cutting Stan’s sentence off even though it was no surprise where it was headed.

“No!” Bev shouted causing the other six teens to jump slightly. “I don’t know what the hell is going on between the two of you. You were friends two weeks ago and then you just stop? 💩 like this doesn’t just happen for no reason, so what is it?” She demanded, her gaze shooting from Bill to Stan, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Bill shoved his hands deep into the pockets, staring down at his feet, glancing up at Stanley. Beverly’s patience was beginning to wear thin in the silence that surrounded them.

Stan turned sharp on his heel, gathering the 📚 he had brought along with him. He stood straight up and stared directly in front of him at Bill who now had his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on it. “Look, you have been pining after one another for months now and frankly I’m tired of waiting for someone to make the first move. So would you please just cut the 💩 and figure it out?” Bev asked, exasperated. Stan had his eyes fixed on her, surprised by the sudden burst from the girl and that she and all of his friends knew how he felt about the stuttering boy standing just ten feet in front of him.

Stan regained his composure seconds later, explaining that he needed to leave due to an obligation he had made to his father early on, which Beverly knew was crap but she rolled her eyes and waved him off. Eddie and Richie soon resumed their conversation, 😁 awkwardly at each other while they did so since Beverly’s outburst had set an awkward tone, the same went for Mike and Ben.

As Stan marched past Bill he felt their shoulders brush together and tried to ignore the fluttering that enveloped his ❤️, shoving his 📚 back into his bag and zipping the bag closed. He threw the straps over his shoulders and got on his 🚴, starting to head down the path they had come up. Bill hesitated for a moment before heading back over to his back and following Stanley.

Stan braked hard when they reached a clearing far enough from the rest of the losers, Bill pulling up next to him, getting back off of his 🚴 and he 👀 Stan do seconds before him, letting his 🚴 fall to the ground next to Stanley’s which was propped up on its stand. “What do you want from me?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Bill asked innocently as Stan paced across the dirt floor of the woods, the white sides of his shoes becoming noticeably caked in the dirt he was mixing beneath his feet, ruining the cleanliness of his outfit.

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Bill! First you 😘 me and then it’s like you can’t stand to be near me!” Stan asked and turned to face Bill fully, fists clenched at his sides. Bill could 👀 the frustration burning behind his eyes, begging to be let free. “Just, help me understand, Bill. What is going on?” Stan was breathing heavily, the heat mixing with the 🔥 that already sparked beneath his bones, his curls beginning to stick to his skin. It’s silent for a few moments before Bill speaks again.

“I-I was 😨.” He begins, digging the toe of his 👞 in the dirt, hands shoved back into his pockets as Stanley’s eyes burned holes into his head. “You pulled away, I thought I had ruined o-our friendship, I’m still not completely sure that I ha-hav-haven’t.” Bill said, stumbling slightly over his words. Stan’s eyes soften with this confession, taking a small step forward. Bill doesn’t seem to notice this new development, though, since his eyes are glued to his feet yet again. “I guess it was just the 🍺 making me think you liked me back.”

“You’re joking, right?” Stan asks in astonishment. He takes another brave step forward, the tips of his shoes hitting Bill’s. “Are you seriously this dense?” Bill lifts his gaze at this, his face suddenly very close to Stanley’s. “I’m absolutely crazy about you.” Bill is 😁 softly at the boy in front of him, the gentleness he displays is causing his ❤️ to soar higher than he’s ever know before. Stan has a ✋ at the base of Bill’s neck, his thumb brushing lightly across the cheekbone on the left of Bill’s face, gulping visibly as he leaned closer to bring their 👄 together.

It’s a gentle brush of their 👄 at first and Bill feels his ❤️ stop momentarily, limbs going numb before Stan pulls back slightly and the movement is enough to send a jolt through Bill’s body. He then has both of his hands on either side of Stan’s face and he’s pulling back in for a proper 😘, 👄 slotting together perfectly and meshing together as they move backward, Bill’s back hitting a 🌴 and Stan swears he’s never felt more alive in his seventeen years of living.

Bill’s hands are cupping Stan’s cheeks while the latter’s ✋ make their way into Bill’s hair and he’s curving into him slightly and Bill swears he must have died at that moment. A gasp escapes him and he reluctantly pulls away from Stanley, resting their foreheads together. Stan has his eyes shut, brows furrowed slightly and Bill swears it’s one of the cutest things he has seen in a while. They stand there, pressed against the harsh bark of the 🌴 for a minute or so before Stan breaks the silence.

“We should probably head back, and definitely do that again. Soon.” He grins and Bill nods, pressing another quick 😘 to his 👄.

A month later, the losers are sitting in Bill’s living room discussing their mutual hatred of the next school year that was rapidly approaching (well, all except Ben), and the only thing that had changed since before was the development between Stan and Bill. Stan still sits next to Bill only now their hands are linked together and the smiles on their faces are brighter than before.

They’ll share the occasional 😘 and Richie can be heard gagging from across the room. “I won’t lie, I liked it better when you two were miserable and pining. At least then no one had to suffer through 👀 you eat each other’s faces.” Richie had also won the bet by default. Beverly lost since the rest of the losers had mutually decided that what she (and Eddie) did was meddling at its finest.

“Like it’s any better when you and E-Eddie do it.” Bill defended, pulling his boyfriend closer with an arm around his shoulders and pressing 👄 to his hairline.

“Eddie and I save our face eating for the bedroom, thank you very much.” Richie explained and Eddie didn’t hesitate to 🥊 his arm and scoot away from him, although he didn’t complain when Richie was wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and pulling him back into him, peppering kisses down Eddie’s neck and causing the smaller boy to squirm. Stan scrunched up his nose at the other couple, turning his attention back to Bill.

When all was said and done, though, their friends were happy that the two teens no longer needed to wait for one another. They were content in living their lives just the way they were right then.

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