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elleonmybeloved · 3 years

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Inspired by the beautiful art I saw recently of a kiss-dazed Diluc saying that he supposed you could continue, and from my own Diluc randomly coming home for absolute free on a random pull, I present you:

Kissing Booth!

Diluc x Female Adventurer Reader

Rated T: Lots of kissing in the dark with the big D himself.

~~~

With slow, drawn out movements, you did your best to set up the booth in the square. Around you, the other adventure teams set up normal ones, like cupcakes, charm bracelets, and assortments of artifacts. You cast a wistful gaze at them, wishing your group had also had some artifacts to sell.

In order to make the funding competition more fair and prevent repeats, each group had to draw a concept from a hat and make their booth sell that particular thing. Unfortunately, somebody had the great and hilarious idea to put some joke prompts in there, and your group had the great misfortune to pull the one and only paper marked “kissing booth” from it.

Admittedly, you had been kind of expecting Bennett’s group to draw that one, so the situation completely blindsided you. You weren’t the only girl on your adventure team, but Felicia had a boyfriend, so the burden was left to you.

“Hey, need a hand?” Jack, a fellow adventurer asks, having approached you with a friendly wave. “I noticed you don’t have your booth set up yet and Katheryn says we’re starting in five minutes.”

“Thanks Jack, but I’m good.” You give him an awkward smile. “Other than the curtain, the box, these chairs…” You sigh. “Aaaand this lipstick, there isn’t really anything else to set up.”

“Oh, okay.” He deflates, probably thinking you are denying him because he doesn’t seem useful.

As much as you’d like to hide behind the thick red velvet of the curtain, your group needs funding, and you’re not about to be the reason nobody can get their blades and armor fixed up at the blacksmith for the next several months.

“I guess, if you don’t mind, you can help me put this on top.” You acquiesce, throwing him a bone. Holding up a sign that says “Kissing Booth: One kiss for 1,000 Mora”, you gesture at the top of the wooden booth, where there’s a couple nails hammered in to hang the sign on.

“Leave it to me!” He says, and takes the sign from your hands to place it, dreadfully, in plain sight, right where it’s supposed to be.

“Thanks.” You say, trying hard to sound genuine lest he misunderstand.

“No problem! See ya, and good luck fundraising!”

He’s off with a whistle, and you wonder if he even read the sign he just hung up for you. Oh well, whatever.

A few minutes later, the chime of a handheld bell rings through the courtyard, and you hear Katheryn’s voice announcing, “Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild’s Biannual Fundraising Fair.”

Resigned to your fate, you draw back the velvet curtain and sit in your chair, gripping the tube of red lipstick harder than you would the handle of your sword if you came across an entire nest of giant slimes.

People filter into the square, most making a beeline for the sweets, and several crowding around the artifact booths to get first pickings of the feathers, goblets, and timepieces alike. With no flashy goods at your table, it’s a while before anybody even notices you. When a few people, you are relieved to see them laugh, and say “Look, they made a joke booth this year too, haha!” You let out a nervous laugh and give them a good natured smile.

You notice immediately when your luck runs out, a gaggle of young men and women just out of the cupcake booth heading your way. The exaggerated “No way, seriously?” accompanied by obnoxious giggles from one of the girls lets you know that they aren’t paired off, and the “Well if it isn’t my lucky day” from a lanky guy with a fashionable undercut and a flashy ear piercing tolls the bell of your doom.

“Hi, welcome.” You manage to greet the group with a stiff smile.

“You’re selling kisses?” One of the guys, a shorter one with black hair asks.

“... Yes.” You reply. “One thousand mora each.”

“Real kisses?” The flashy guy is the one to ask this time, leaning forward with a piercing look. “Like on the lips?”

“Or somewhere else on the face.” You suggest hopefully. “But yes.”

“Well then. Allow me to be your first customer. I’ll start off with three kisses, all on the lips. If you don’t mind.”

You do mind. But what can you do. At least he’s not ugly, but the amused stares of his group at your situation are humiliating, and your cheeks get hot with shame as you stare down at the table and he counts out three thousand mora, placing them on the table in front of you.

Applying a fresh coat of red lipstick buys you only a few seconds, and then he is leaning in expectantly. You close your eyes and resolve to make it as quick as possible.

“Stop!”

The voice is so sharp you startle in your chair as your eyes fly open. Crossing his arms and scowling, Diluc Ragnvindr stalks over and stands between you and flashy guy.

“Huh? Why? What’s the deal, man? I properly paid, count it if you don’t believe me?” Flashy Guy looks confused.

“That’s not the issue, just take your money and go.” Diluc swipes the coins off the counter and insistently presses the fist of them against flashy guy’s chest until the other man bewilderedly accepts it.

“Um, okay. I’m just gonna… go?” He and his group of friends leave, the girls already breaking into gossipy whispers before they’re even out of earshot.

“Uh, hi Diluc. Why’d you do that?”

Diluc turns to face you at your question, an annoyed expression on his face. “You’re really asking me why, Y/n? … Seriously, why would you even go through with such an idea in the first place?”

You frown at the implication in his tone. “I didn’t have a choice. And my group needs the money.”

“You should’ve made them give you a different booth concept.”

“I tried. Groups aren’t allowed to change concepts, since it would be unfair.” You explain with a sigh. As relieved as you are to have gotten out of kissing anyone so far, the weight of the empty mora box you are supposed to fill weighs heavily on the back of your mind.

“... You just need to sell all your stock, right? How much were you going to sell?”

You look up, and take a moment to think about it. “I guess I was hoping to get away with just fifty. Fifty thousand mora could possibly last us a few months… if we’re lucky and nobody’s sword gets shattered to pieces from a superconduct reaction again.”

“Make it a hundred, and I’ll just pay for it.”

“Huh?” You blink. “Oh, wow, thank you! That’s very generous of you. I wonder how I will explain all this to anybody who asks though…” Unable to help a cringe at the thought of your friends and guild mates teasing you for being the kiss-whore of the town, Diluc takes in your troubled expression with a raised brow.

“That’s none of anyone’s business.”

“Yeah but… if someone does find out you uh, sponsored us a hundred thousand mora, and didn’t even receive anything in return…” You play nervously with your hands, already imagining the protests of unfairness. “...But I guess I’ll just deal with it since the only way I can see managing to avoid that is if I actually give you a hundred kisses, ahaha.”

“...”

Dammit, this is awkward, why did you have to joke like that? Diluc is looking at you with an intense unreadable expression. You can’t help but squirm.

“What?”

“That’s a good solution. Let’s do it.”

“Oh. Really?” You stammer, feeling heat rise to your face. You’ve had a crush on Diluc for the longest time, but never in your wildest dreams would you think he felt the same. “With me? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. But I would appreciate a little privacy. Move over.”

You’re still reeling as he makes his way around and comes in the booth, leaning back instinctively to get out of his way as he reaches over and unbinds the thick velvet curtain, leaving the two of you in the dim red light that barely filters through the fabric.

Diluc pulls the second chair up next to yours, and sits facing you. He takes a pouch out of his pocket and places it on the counter of the booth next to you with a faint clink. You don’t even have to count to know there’s a hundred thousand mora in there, it’s a fat enough pouch.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, uncapping the lipstick to apply a fresh coat.

“Is that part necessary?” Diluc asks.

You falter, lips already cherry red. You don’t know what to say. Does he think it looks bad on you? You can’t help flushing in shame. “Oh, sorry.”

“No- it’s ugh, it’s fine. Continue. Please.” Diluc backtracks, placatively patting the air with his hand.

A long moment of charged tension passes, as you try and fail to work up the nerve to close the distance. His lips look so soft and the way his jaw works as he swallows sends a thrill through you.

“......”

With a small noise of impatience, Diluc shifts in his seat— and then kisses you, pressing his lips firmly against your own until you relax and melt back into him. He begins to rub his lips back and forth against yours, and strokes the shell of your ear with a gloved hand. The sensation makes you shiver. His breath is loud in your ears.

Heat builds up within you, threatening to burst. Your brain struggles to comprehend- Diluc, whom you’ve loved for the longest time, is kissing you.

Your breath catches in your throat at a particularly assertive press of his lips, and at the startled sound, Diluc breaks away.

“You okay? Still enjoying this, or…?” He asks, voice a rich murmur for your ears only.

“I’m fine, m-more than fine ahah,” You giggle breathlessly. “But I’m the one who’s supposed to be kissing you.”

“Hurry up then. You were taking too long.”

The implication of his feelings in the way he says it fills you with sudden confidence, and you smile and give him a look before leaning in and pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. It leaves you exhilarated and buzzing, and a squeezing saccharine urge bubbles up within you. Resisting the sudden desire to clench your teeth, you swoop in and attack his face with kisses, pressing your lips into the smooth skin of his cheek several times before moving to the other one. Diluc gives a breathless laugh and you feel like your heart will just burst. The soft, tsck tsck tsck sound of repeated kisses fills your ears.

After his cheeks have received enough attention, you move down to his jaw, the slight indication of ginger stubble prickling against your lips as you give it a few smooches in adoration before moving to the sensitive skin of his neck. It’s warm and so soft against your lips, you can’t resist going further than you should and opening your lips after kissing to suck on it. The surprised, needy sound Diluc makes sends a distinctive squeeze somewhere lower than your stomach full of butterflies.

You hesitate, and then do it again. He gives a low grunt this time, and your head spins at how quickly the two of you are losing control. Somehow reminded of all the girls in Mondstadt who swoon over and try to woo Diluc, you place a restraining hand on his shoulder before diving in and sucking hard right below his jaw.

“Hey-!” Diluc hisses and pushes you off.

You startle out of your love-addled haze and are squeaking out the beginning of a frantic apology when Diluc roughly grasps both of your thighs and lifts you out of your chair and deposits you onto his lap.

Thrown off balance, you scramble to steady yourself, squishing your body against his chest and gripping both his shoulders to right yourself.

“What’s the big idea?” You ask, giving him a look as you recover your composure. “I almost fell!”

“I would’ve caught you. And if you want to kiss me like that, you’re gonna have to fully commit to it.” Diluc says, raising an eyebrow and giving you a cool glance right back. “I’m not going to get a hickey from someone sitting across from me in another chair like some nervous Church of Barbatos deacon in training.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” You huff. He has a point. “You could be a bit less rough with me, though.”

Diluc blinks and averts his eyes for a moment. “... Right. Sorry, Y/n. Wasn’t intentional.”

“Yeah, I know.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking of how he throws his claymore around like a weightless treebranch.

Adjusting once more to get yourself comfortable atop his thighs, you apply another coat of lipstick. Leaning in, you're about to press another adoring kiss to his cheek when he turns his head, catching your lips instead. Your gasp of surprise melts into a whimper as he gets aggressive with it, pushing your mouths hard together with a gloved hand at the base of your head. You can’t escape his onslaught. Kiss after kiss, he doesn’t stop until you are gasping for air and then just dives right back in. Your mind goes blank of all thoughts, puddling into an empty haze.

When you come to your senses… a long time later, your lips are swollen, head dizzy from lack of oxygen, and … — Diluc’s gloves are on the floor, his face blissed out and slack, the sight sending a spear of heat straight through your stomach to your core. You swallow dry, clenching your thighs on either side of his and slide your hand down his stomach, and OHhhhgod abort, somebody is pushing the red curtain aside, flooding the small space with bright light.

“Oh, what the-! What in Barbatos’ name are you two doing in here?” Cyrus asks, rearing back with a shocked expression. “Archons, Y/n, I thought you’d left the booth behind.”

“Master Cyrus?!?” You’re just. Frozen stiff in Diluc’s lap, mortified. But instead of letting you scramble out of his lap, Diluc tightens his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace.

“Despite being given a ridiculous product, Y/n managed to sell all her stock to me. I hope there isn’t a problem with that.”

Cyrus stammers in the face of the thinly veiled accusation, monocle nearly slipping off his face. “Yes well. I’m not in charge of the prompts, miss Katheryn is… ahem, anyways, the fundraising event is over now. We’re taking down the booths and moving them to the Adventure Wagon.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, tucking your hair behind your ear, still flustered. “I’ll be right there.”

“You gonna need help taking the booth down and carrying it over, kid?” The blond older man asks, an unsure look on his face as he eyes your companion.

“I’ll take care of it.” Diluc says before you can answer, and you nod belatedly.

“Alright. See ya.”

When Cyrus is gone, the two of you are once again shrouded in red-tinted darkness, but the noisy sounds of people walking and loading things onto the wagon is unmistakable.

“...So, um… anyways…” You begin awkwardly.

“—That wasn’t a hundred.” Diluc cuts you off.

“...Huh?”

“That wasn’t a hundred. So you can deliver the rest of them later this evening. I’ll tell Adelinde to keep an ear out for you, so just knock if the Winery is closed by the time you arrive. I have some work to do with the guild but I should be done with all my most important business by five.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” You smile shyly. “Far be it from me to not deliver in a timely manner.”

“That’s my girl.” He says with a wry smile. “Blessedly quick on the uptake.”

“We should take the booth up before Master Cyrus comes back.” You admit reluctantly, climbing off his lap as he releases his grip on you.

“Let me do the heavy lifting.” Diluc insists, and the two of you come out the back and get to work on taking it down.

You try to help carry one of the smaller supports over to the wagon, but Diluc just says “I’m the one with the gloves, so I’m the one handing the wood. You’ll get splinters.” and shoves the Kissing Booth sign into your hands instead.

Diluc is… covered in lipstick kissmarks, and though several of your guild mates see and remark on it, there isn’t a trace of the pink on Diluc’s cheeks that you had seen in the booth as he gives cool responses. Remembering the sight of him, flushed and dazed and panting, has you nearly dropping the stupid sign though, and you hastily distract yourself from the thoughts of his lips that had tasted faintly sweet like grape juice… with the fate of Bennett’s booth.

You’re not sure what happened, but somehow it got burnt down to a crisp. Vaguely you recall he had drawn candles as a selling prompt. Ah. You can more or less guess what happened. Poor Benny.

“See you tonight.” You give Diluc a little wave goodbye when you’re finished, and he’s about to leave.

Catching your hand, he gives you a kiss this time, getting the top of your hand smudged with the faint remnants of your lipstick. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m a busy man.”

#genshin impact #Diluc x reader #Diluc x female reader #kissing #genshin impact diluc #not tumblr refusing to copy paste it in the right format I-#I’ll Reupload it with the formatting later i cannot #*rageee*

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romeulusroy · 3 years

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You Remind Me Of My Own Unhappiness (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,587

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @death-of-a-mermaid @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes @lucillethings @miahelen @valkyrie-2312

A/N: A lil writing before I start requested prompt fics, which are still open btw!!!! Ngl, I've had this is my head for a while, and it turned out better than I expected!!!!! I've been reading for my horror fiction class, so I guess this is kind of based off/inspired by all of it (lots of Poe, Jackson, King, etc.) so be warned my loveliest of loves!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You knew too much for his comfort 💕

Gif Credit: @peakycillianblinders :)

FIC MASTERLIST PARTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The earth is soft in your palms, loose as your dig away, your fingers aching amidst the clumps and rocks. The maggots fall one by one off the bone, disturbed in their everlasting feast. Fresh in his mind, an open wound he leaves exposed, to bleed, to breath, to eat him alive. Shallow, as expected. Careless in execution. Impatient, your husband always in such a hurry. Even with this. Handful by handful, muddied, the morning dew undisturbed even as nightfall came. Smelling faintly of a sweet memory, that of the first time you kissed. The raindrops coming between you. Pulling away with a laugh, in awe, at how his beauty compared to that of a rainy day. Your shoes sinking deep, your hands clutching his arms as he pulls you from the muck, letting the slightest hint of a smile slip. The noise of that day, the plops from the pond, the quiet, yet powerful, taps of the leaves, the shudder of branches and bones alike cold from the breeze, the soft of his voice, low, teasing of all the things he'd do when you were alone. Lost, but not forgotten.

It doesn't exist here. The silence is heavy, deadly, respectful. Something he is not. Early, before the sun has her chance to even set and paint the sky. The in between, the dark not as inky as you remember, the stars fading in, resting for their show ahead. A creature of habit, your husban. Every night, at the same time, no matter what. Day by day, you grow less and less, and this becomes an ever harder task than before. Time staking, your movements slow, weary, all knowing of the journey ahead. There is an ache of gratefulness, a nod to the thoughtfulness you assumed he was lacking in, though it could have come out of selfishness none of the less. Not far from home. A quiet walk, that of seclusion. A quick pace, a tight jaw, he could have made the journey in no time. Your body was not as forgiving

No wooden box. Not eternal flame. A sheet, dirty now, and spotted in red, tangled around you. Wet and cold. The same sheets you used to wash, scrubbing clean, that thick soap smell no longer. One more thing you'd miss, the newness of this dying as each minute ticked by. That excitement, that joy, that want for anything more fades as all things do, decomposing with the rest of you. It's become a duty, an obligation, to him, to your marriage, as all things had been, or would become.

There is no where else to go. Nothing more to do. A broken routine was a broken man. Fight it, resist, and you might find him in the tub again, his spine kissing the porcelain, neck bent, waiting to sink until he finds the bottom. You might find him in the bed you shared, eyes open, never crossing that split down the middle, always faced away from your side. You might find him out, at the bar, a job, surrounded, your presence striking him, bloodying his lip. He stares, his balance off, truly shaken to his core. You are a guest he does not share, a secret he locks in his closet, a beating heartbeat under his floorboards.

So, you give up fighting, as you had the last time, and accept this battle lost. Wave your white flag, shaking yourself free of the sheets, standing uneasily on your own rotting skeketon. Step by step, your toes tearing, soles wasting, the entirety of you threatening to cave, making your way home. Tendons frayed, splitting apart. Your flesh bloated, runny, what's left is chewed away. You can feel it all. Your teeth chatter by the openings that were your cheeks, the cold passing right through you, whistling through your open ribcage. Dreadfully exposed. All of it is heavy. With nothing to hold, to cling to, you're stitched together by a single thread. You pull forward with all your strength, choking back a scream. It wasn't pain, not anymore, your nervous system long gone, but the memory of it bursts through your open chest the way it had in that moment, before everything seeped away in a puddle beneath you, and the warmth of your body grew into icy cold.

Your hair is all but gone, just like your middle. Innards spilling into your clothes, filling out, everything once protected inside catching their first taste of freedom. You give up making yourself anymore presentable. You could pass for sickly, at your best, even tired in the beginning. The bags under your eyes gone now, eaten away, the green tint to your demeanor disappeared, leaving nothing but a rotting smell. There was no hiding this, hiding the time that's passed. The flies buzz, bugs crawl freely. It's much their home as yours. You click, a tune you suspect is music to his ears, but it only leaves an ache in your hollow chest. There isn't much left of you, there isn't much more time.

How long does he want to do this?

How much longer can you?

The light streams through the windows, a welcomed warmth. You missed it. You missed that comfort, that knowledge of a place being yours. All you had left to your name was a hole in the ground, weak and muddy. Even then, few knew it was yours at all. The back door, the one only homeowners used. You could see it, your skeletal hand resting weakly on the heavy door. A night like every other. Pressing your ear to the door, listening, as if the pull from his want, his need to see you, hadn't tugged you the whole way here. This act, so small, so innocent, had lead to consequences he could never take back.

Listening, waiting, your own breath no longer a distraction, your own heartbeat no longer drumming through your veins, interrupting every word. It was the only way. Banished, shunned, turned away. Though you wrote his name, you did not share blood, a defining trait he could not look past. The business, family business, turned you away. Complicit, docile, that's what he expected, what you tried to be. Yes, Love. No, Love. For your own protection, Love, as if it hadn't been the barrel of his gun pointed at your chest.

Not everything, but enough, your first mistake was making it known. Invading his world one word at a time, overstepping boundaries with a bit of advice. That was all it took. You realized too late, none of it you could ever take back. Pleading, wide eyed, you promised not to say anything more, to keep your distance between the job, but the damage was done. He changed before your eyes. Tight, rigid, masking himself, crawling back into his shell. He trusted you, he did, but not after that. A man like him could trust no one, not even the person he married. If you knew, who else did? Even the smallest detail could be dangerous. It could coolapse his entire empire. He didn't want to, insisting there was another way, but they agreed as long as you lived, knowing what you did, none of them were safe. A family by name, hardly by choice.

So, by their insistence, he pulled the trigger.

He dragged the body.

He dug a shallow grave.

He made an elaborate story, one of belief, of half-truths, and throw away lines about your solemn departure seeking a new life, abandoning your husband for something else, each of them chipping pieces and plots to the story, anything to help them sleep a little easier.

And here you sat, the hard wood of your dining room chairs puncturing your back. There are two plates, and two sets of silverware. A candle is lit between you. Not always, but tonight it seems he's been missing you more. A napkin sits on your lap, waiting, covering the mangled mass that used to be your lower half. He sits across from you, the space between you large enough to seat the entire family. Only two, though. Everyone else has left, gone, suspecting what it is Mr. Shelby is up to, wondering why they are let go more frequently, always at the exact same time. He musters up a smile, that of pain, with horror in his eyes, finally realizing just how cruel this has all been for you. You smile back, pieces of you ripping open, your lips uncurling, splitting in two, revealing a mouth empty of teeth.

Thomas speaks lightly of the day passed. The endless dread of paperwork, the faint gnaw that someone has been following him lately, a special nod to the advice he took from you that had been successful. No thank you, though. No admittance of grief or wrongdoing, no apology, not even a word of what you were really doing here. He couldn't let go, move on, he couldn't shake the guilt that woke you each night and put you to bed hours later. You were dead, killed by his own hand, had been for quite some time. Yet, every night after the murder you joined him. For dinner, for drinks, to sleep beside him in the bed you shared since your wedding day. Step by step, decaying in your time of rest, the same thought in your mind over and over, never letting it escape your lips, you knew better from the last time: when would he let you rest in peace?

#what a bastard im so in love with him #writing #thomas shelby #thomas shelby drabble #thomas shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby x reader #thomas x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #thomas shelby fic #peaky blinders fic #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

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Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 3]

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Chilton struggles with his discomfort being touched and desire to cuddle, and grapples with his conscience.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide attempt & noncon (from previous chapters). Angsty fluff.

2,300 words

“You’re coming home with me,” Dr. Chilton said with the authoritative tone of your boss, the hospital administrator. Then you looked at him with questions in your eyes, and his confidence quickly broke. “That is… I would like you to come home with me. It would be professionally irresponsible to leave you alone. You just tried to—”

“I didn’t,” you interjected. “I didn’t try to do anything. I just…” Thought about it. Planned it. Began to execute the plan. But you didn’t do anything.

Chilton watched you, his analytical gaze muddied with guilt. He held your arm as if you might drift away if he didn’t. You glanced down the wide marble hallway of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, but no one was there to see him grasping you so familiarly. You should have known it was safe—Dr. Chilton wouldn’t have risked public affection if there was a chance of being discovered. The main hall was darkened. This wasn’t an emergency hospital, so there were only one or two medical personnel on call overnight, and guards whose rounds Chilton knew by heart.

“If you prefer, I could have you kept under observation. However, it would be more pleasant if I did it myself. Simply to make sure you are alright.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I’ve never thought about killing myself before. I’ve never gone through with it,” you shrugged dismissively.

“That is not a reason not to be worried,” his voice pitched up in alarm. “In fact, I am more concerned that this is a pattern.”

Fuck. You forgot you were talking to a psychiatrist.

How could you make him understand you didn’t need help? You would never have the guts to actually go through with it, however much you wanted to. Were you even depressed? Probably not. You were just a dumb, dramatic, half-assed piece of shit who couldn’t even finish—STOP!

Fuck.

“OK,” you conceded, tongue numb and heavy. “If you think it’s best… I’ll go with you.”

***

It wasn’t until you were sobbing in the passenger seat of his classic red cabriolet that Chilton began to have doubts about his own intentions.

“Perhaps it would be better if I brought you to a friend’s house,” he offered softly. Your head shot up, puffy eyes filled with—of all things—betrayal. “Or a hospital.”

“You’re going to check me into a psych ward after fucking me?”

He stiffened. In the few months you’d worked at BSHCI, you always seemed cheerful and naïve—the cutting remark took him by surprise.

Right after you made it, your hands flew to your mouth. “Sorry…” you murmured, equally taken aback. “I didn’t mean that. I know you would never take advantage of me.”

The apology cut deeper than the insult, though you wouldn’t understand why. He fell silent and stricken as he turned the ignition.

Dr. Chilton’s home was an obscenely modern monstrosity with all white walls, white kitchen, hard angles, and open spaces that gave it an air of luxury, but moreover, vacancy. It was a five-star hotel: grandiose, without a single hint of a person living in it.

He offered you the guest-room, like a gentleman—no! He would take the guest-room, and you could—

The press of your lips cut off his nervous babbling. You smiled (a weak, tired smile so different from the sunlight that radiated from your face in public) and said you didn’t want to be alone. So he led you to his bedroom, another pompously large space that dwarfed the king-size bed at its center. He often had trouble sleeping, but never considered that his bedroom’s fishbowl quality could have anything to do with it.

His blood pressure was dangerously high as he stood next to his bed. How was he supposed to sleep next to you? Undress in front of you? He was near panic at his foolish decision to bring you home when there was a sudden weight around his middle grabbing him from behind. He gasped and jerked away before realizing, quite obviously, it was you. But his heart was still racing in his ears, and he winced as you reached for him again.

“Don’t… touch me, please.”

Your eyes widened, mortified. “S-sorry sir,” you stammered, and it didn’t escape his notice that your entire body went rigid, or that you reverted to calling him “sir” like when he was reprimanding you at work. You must have been expecting him to blow up at you. He’d conditioned this response. He’d successfully made you afraid of him, and his reward was a sharp pang in his chest.

His hands found your shoulders, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “It is all right,” he said. His best effort to be comforting came out dreadfully stiff and monotone. “And you… you may call me Frederick, if you like.”

He watched your throat tighten as you swallowed. With relief, he felt your shoulders relax, and then you looked up—your eyes fell on his like dawn breaking over Chesapeake Bay. Your mouth shaped into the first syllable of his name, but paused as your eyes locked on his left cheek.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. “Is it because…” You reached up to caress the round scar where a bullet had entered, but withdrew your hand quickly before making contact (and had the decency to blanch at your faux pas).

“Yes,” he gritted his teeth. “Because of that.” And because of the ones left on his abdomen by Gideon’s scalpel. And the scars not visible on the surface, left by years of neglect.

You shifted uncomfortably, seemingly at a loss if physical contact was off-limits. “I’m sorry.”

“It is all right. I am fine.”

Your lips twitched upward at that, and a gentle, sarcastic puff of air escaped your nose. Chilton straightened his posture—he’d been called out, and he knew it. If anyone else had dared laugh, he likely would have gone into a defensive pique and shut down, but instead, he returned your lopsided smirk.

Look at the two of you, pretending you’re fine. Just fine.

“That is to say, I am not incapable of touch”—he squeezed your shoulders as if to prove a point—“Our… rendezvous earlier was… enjoyable. I simply do not like being caught by surprise,” he explained haltingly. His cheeks heated. The truth was, he was bluffing: he had little experience with affectionate touch, so he couldn’t say what he was comfortable with. But surprises he was certain he did not appreciate.

“Then are you sure about sharing a bed?” you asked with tentative shyness. “I like cuddling. But if it doesn’t feel good to you, then…”

“It will be more than all right,” so long as you do not thrash too much in your sleep, he added mentally. He frowned. “I would like to enjoy cuddling.”

But he was never conditioned to enjoy physical contact by affectionate parents or by lovers, and life experience had done little but teach him to anticipate pain. Dr. Chilton understood how abnormal brains functioned. He knew he might never gain that oxytocin boost normal people get from the act of twining their bodies around each other. Still, it meant a great deal that you wanted to twine your body around his—that his simple presence pressed claustrophobically to your skin might invoke a positive emotional response.

Exposure therapy was the only treatment. If he was to become accustomed to being touched, he must practice.

“What should I do to support you?”

“Just go slowly,” he yielded. “Give me warning.”

***

He didn’t know why he showed you. Perhaps there was no other choice—sleeping with contact lenses always made his eyes red and irritated by morning. But perhaps he hoped that you would run away and get it over with. A masochistic side of him wanted to see your face contort in horror, disgust. For you to realize this hideous thing had fucked you, and curse him for hiding the truth.

Anticipation of your impending rejection felt like a boulder lifting off his chest. He was being crushed under his own happiness, unaccustomed to bearing your thoughtful gazes and kind words. The world would be right again when you ran.

“Come here a moment,” he called you into the master bathroom, voice calm but a quarter octave too high with strain. “You deserve to see this.”

Every muscle in his frail, hacked-to-pieces-and-put-back-together body tensed as you cautiously poked your head through the door and saw him standing in front of the mirror. You remained placid, but your eyes registered shock as they fell on his ghostly blue dead eye, then shifted down to his sunken cheek—the bullet hole more pronounced without makeup covering it, a gap of teeth missing where the bullet tore through his jaw.

Instead of disgust, you approached him, padding across the bathroom tile in your bare feet. You asked if it was alright, and waited for his faltering nod before caressing his tattered face under your warm palm. You called him handsome. Rugged. You called him a thousand beautiful things in a tender, soothing voice that held such magic in it he almost believed the words were true.

***

Dr. Chilton held you warm to his chest through the night, barely sleeping himself. Sleeping was impossible under those conditions. The scene of his dark bedroom would give, from the outside, the impression of peaceful stillness, but uneasy emotions roiled inside him, rocking him like a boat on a stormy sea.

Fucking was different.

When his cock was buried deep inside of you, claiming, possessing you, a primal urge took him over, blinding all his senses with desire, blotting out his over-active thoughts. But the feeling of you resting silent and trusting in his bed sickened his stomach.

He stroked your hair, watching your perfect lips move ever so slightly with each exhale that passed between them. He had been so wrong about you. Underneath your bright, friendly, forced smile was a garden as thorny as his own, and he loved you all the more for it. More than you could ever know. More than he imagined possible when he thought of you as a sunflower soaring toward heaven, high above his reach—an unobtainable treasure he admired with envious eyes.

For once in his miserable life, Dr. Chilton found someone who understood his pain.

A sunflower was just another plant trying to escape the cold, dark soil.

He flinched at being touched, especially on his abdomen or face. Holding you while you were deep in a sound sleep from which you barely stirred was tolerable. Not as pleasant as he thought it should have been, but not unpleasant. The sensation of contact was a bit squirmy, like worms writhing under his rib cage, but the warmth of your body, the sight of your peaceful face nestled against his chest made him feel protective. Strong. Desirable. You felt safe with him. A new kind of contentment washed over him, and so he bore the squiggling worms and hoped they would go away with time.

You felt safe with him.

His stomach turned again.

You felt safe, because you didn’t know that Dr. Chilton heard everything inside the BSHCI walls, including the staff break room. You didn’t know he was listening when you told Nurse Clerval that your boyfriend’s night shifts were putting pressure on your relationship. That Chilton began scheduling your shifts to conflict with his, hoping it would be the last straw. And it was. A few weeks later, you were single, and he celebrated his victory alone with a Scotch in his office, a smirk on his lips as he watched you cry to Clerval on the security feed.

You wouldn’t have let him hold you if you knew how deliberate his efforts had been to break you—to dull your shine enough that you might consider him an option, even though he was too cowardly to ever ask you for a date.

In the end, everything worked out better than he could have planned. The ends justified the means, did they not?

Forget the fact that, had a janitor not been cleaning his office, you would have been found dead on the floor of the supply closet tomorrow. Gone forever. How could he have known he pushed you that far?

Dr. Chilton had given up on himself long ago, but he had never considered ending his life. Instead, he used his misery to justify all manner of unscrupulous conduct. He hated himself so deeply that he might as well prey on a disassociating patient reliving memories of sexual abuse. After weeks in a coma, losing an eye, a kidney, half of his hearing, did he not deserve to take what he wanted? The possibility of getting caught was worth a moment’s pleasure when he hardly had anything to lose.

Was he preying on you, he wondered, as you slept in his arms?

No. This was different than Julianne. You were consenting, aware of yourself and your actions. A little depressed perhaps, but nothing that would have you deemed mentally unfit to stand trial. If you ever committed a crime, you would not be sentenced to his care.

You were wonderful, kind, and melancholy, and you wanted him. Your skin was soft, and your lips softer. He dipped his head to kiss them with the lightest ghost of pressure so you would not wake up. Your fingers curled in his silk pajamas, and you murmured a few cooing syllables, nuzzling closer before you stilled again. He would take care of you from now on. Do right by you. Everything he had done was worth it, because you were here with him.

Still, his stomach turned. The worms wriggled in his intestines, and no matter how heavy his eyelids, he could not sleep.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @barbasimp / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min

#Frederick Chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #gender-neutral reader #dark fic #my writing

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corner-stories · 3 years

Text

little thief

Calem. Serena. Chespin.

Swords. Ale. Medieval Times.

2882 words.

(ao3.)

For once in his life, Calem — Squire to the esteemed Sir Wikstrom and a potential Knight-to-be — could not do his job.

In his right hand was a dagger, an ornate tool that was far too beautiful to be wielded by a bastard like him. His fingers were grasped around it so tightly that the wire-wrapped handle was pushing deep lines into his skin.

In his left hand was the creature who had been raiding the kitchens of Shabboneau Castle. It was barely a foot tall and had a brown body, its head was green and what appeared to be its ears looked rather spiky. Calem held it by the scruff of its neck while a blissful smile remained on its face, apparently unaware of what was going on around it. The cooks and servants called it a Chespin — in their eyes it was a vile little parasite that had snuck in from nature to feast on the Castle’s supply of cheese and grapes and oats. Once the head Chef caught the little vermin, he handed it to Sir Wikstrom’s Squire and told him to get rid of it like a good Knight-to-be would.

So there Calem stood, holding his Master’s dagger to the throat of a creature that was happily staring at him with the beadiest eyes he had ever seen.

Calem’s hand was shaking. His usual stoic facial expression was turning into a look of fear. His heart was beating fast like a warrior’s would before a battle. His breathing was exceedingly rough and uneven.

Moments passed and Calem came to a conclusion that would lead to the best outcome for him and the Chespin.

He sighed and put the dagger in the sheath on his belt. He then held the Chespin properly, letting it lean against his shoulder like it was a newborn babe. With a sigh, he walked out of one of the castle’s many many spare rooms and went into the hallway. As Calem weaved through the other servants and workers of Shabboneau Castle, the Chespin was wagging its tail in utter excitement.

As they walked, Calem asked the little thing if it had any idea on what was going on, as if he was speaking to a human and not the pester that had been raiding the kitchens of Shabboneau Castle.

…

Calem took Chespin to the castle gardens, where it could at least roam free amongst the flora and fauna and perhaps play with the other creatures who lived there. As nice as the place was, King AZ seldom spent time outdoors, much preferring the company of his Court or a pitcher full of wine.

Calem grabbed an apple from one of the trees and gave it to Chespin. Knowing that the fruits were not deemed fresh enough for those of Royal blood, he was sure that neither him nor Chespin would face punishment for such an act.

“This should tide you through the day,” Calem said as he held the apple to Chespin’s mouth. The creature eyed the fruit curiously, giving it a few cautionary sniffs before taking a nibble. After tasting the morsel, Chespin grinned and looked at the apple in its paws, happily chewing on it like an emperor would to a lavish feast.

Calem grinned. “Probably tastes a lot better than table scraps.”

As Chespin ate, the young Squire took the creature to the farthest end of the castle gardens. There he set the little thing down. Once on the ground, Chespin dropped the core from its paws and looked up at Calem with curiosity in its inky black eyes.

Calem gave Chespin a polite nod, then began to walk away. He only took about two steps before hearing the creature prodding after him. He was quick to turn around and hold his hand out.

“No, you can’t come back with me. My Master would never allow it. Now shoo!”

Chespin seemed saddened, as if its entire world had shattered right then and there. Calem could not ignore the way Chespin looked at him, but knowing his orders he guessed that it would be the safer thing for both of them if they went their separate ways.

So firmly, Calem turned around once more and walked back towards Shabboneau Castle, doing his best not to think of the rather adorable creature that had somehow grown fond of him.

…

With a Tourney coming up, Calem was hard at work helping his Master get prepared. Being one of Kalos’s most esteemed knights, Sir Wikstrom prided himself on his prowess as a warrior. He needed to be in fighting shape to compete with the region’s much younger Knights, so five days a week he gave Calem a blunted longsword and ordered him to fight back, asking that the Squire never go easy on him.

In terms of swordsmanship, Calem still had a long way to go. He was much better than he was a year ago, when Sir Wikstrom decided to have a mere stable boy act as his Squire. Back then he swung the sword like it was a stick and he was a child playing make-believe, causing Sir Wikstrom to immediately leave him lying on his rear end in the midst of the castle courtyard. He would usually follow this up by saying Calem was better at sword sharpening than fighting.

But after months of practice, Calem was able to last longer in the one-on-one sparring duel against this master. Of course, Sir Wikstrom was able to win nine times out of ten, but Calem was capable of getting some clever strikes and thrusts in here and there.

As a result of the increased training schedule, Calem’s every muscle began to ache. Morning and night he felt the strain of his days in his arms and legs. He felt it even in the midst of the simplest tasks, such as shining shoes or fetching water and wine for his master.

Two days before the tourney Calem was in the castle courtyard. Despite his pain, he felt himself willing to power through it for the sake of some extra sword practice. With a blunted two-handed sword in his grasp, he unleashed his wrath upon a sparring dummy. Said target was propped upright and tarnished from years of practice, as much more qualified and skilled warriors had honed their craft on it. The strikes the mere Squire was giving out would probably do a fraction of the damage already done.

Although Calem preferred thrusts in the midst of sword fights, he was adamant that he practice his strikes and cuts as well. Even if thrusts were more effective to exploit the gaps in an opponent's armour, Calem did not want to neglect that area of combat. Knighthood may have been a mere dream to bastards like him, but he could at least try to aspire to the ranks of the highborns.

Calem was not alone when he practiced. Sitting on a stack of wooden crates was Serena — King AZ’s Royal Cup Bearer and yet another orphaned Kalosian bastard employed at Shabboneau Castle.

Unlike Serena, Calem had not grown up in a Lumiose children’s home before getting sold to the Castle. Instead he roamed the rocky streets of Ambrette Town in his youth after the loss of his parents — his unwed mother had worked in a tavern and died of an illness when he was young; he never knew his father, but it was fair to say that the man was one of the hundreds of soldiers who died in one of the Kalos-Galar conflicts. At this point there had been so many scuffles that it was hard to know which exact battle the man had perished in.

Calem came to the Castle when he was caught stealing bread from a merchant’s stand, having been given to the authorities and sent to work as Shabboneau’s Royal Stable Boy as punishment. Hopefully now he had atoned for his dreadfully benign sin of stealing a single bun, his Master certainly thought so before promoting him to Squire.

Serena was roughly his age — fifteen and somewhat gawky despite her youth. Her hair was the colour of honey and was often braided to be kept clean. When she was not enabling King AZ’s wine habit, she was exploring the gardens or spending time with Calem. He wasn’t sure if it was because she actually enjoyed his company (if so, then he would seriously begin to mistrust her judgement) or if because bastards and orphans often stuck together.

As Calem practiced his strikes on the dummy, Serena seemed keen on keeping her eyes on him. She had a cup of ale in one hand and in the other a palm-sized pie filled with onions and parsnips and mushrooms and turnips, which was one of the more luxurious foods that servants were permitted to eat. She took a sip of her drink, then asked Calem:

“Where is your Master now?”

Calem hit the head of the dummy, letting out a gravely grunt as his sword made contact. “He is bathing,” he answered without looking away.

Serena grinned cheekily. “And he didn’t need you to wipe his bum?”

Calem stopped swinging for a second to give her an unamused glare. Sometimes her wry humour took a bit of getting used to. “Evidently so,” he replied in the driest tone he could muster.

“What’s our esteemed King doing now?” he then asked, going back to hitting the dummy. “I thought he would need his Royal Cup Bearer at all hours of the day.”

“Our Majesty is sleeping off a Royal Headache,” Serena claimed. She rolled her eyes, then took a bite of her pie. “Sometimes I think I do my job too well.”

As Calem continued to strike the dummy, Serena held out her cup of ale towards him. With a nod, he retracted his weapon and took the drink in his hand. “Thank you,” he said, then took a hearty pull from the vessel.

The bitter taste of the cloudy ale came to him as a welcome relief. Even after trying some of the finer wines that Kalos had to offer (as it was a perk of Squirehood), Calem always felt more at home with a frothy mug in his hand.

Serena noticed Calem’s evident fondness for the brew and smirked. “At this rate you’ll be Sir Calem: Knight of Amber Ale and Form-Fitting Hose.”

Humoured, Calem gave her a sly look as he glanced down towards his legwear. Like many other Squires and Knights and Soldiers, he donned a slim pair of hose to allow for better movement during his daily routine. On occasion he would overhear the female servants expressing their appreciation for such garments. Seemingly in the vein of that, Serena saw it fit to express her own thoughts regarding Calem’s choice in clothing — only her comments were a lot more playful and friendly but mostly sassy.

“I better be,” Calem replied with a comical air of boldness. “I’m sure the fair maidens of Kalos will appreciate the view.”

The two shared a laugh, then Calem handed her the cup of ale back and returned to his training. He was sure that had the dummy been a living person they would most definitely be dead by now. Either that or severely injured to the most hellish extent.

For a moment the two just remained as they were — Calem furthering his attempt at Knighthood and Serena lounging without a care in the world. They may have been not feasting until dawn or being entertained by court jesters, but even the lowborns had ways of enjoying their spare time.

After a few moments passed and Serena was close to finishing off her meal, she glanced down and noticed something peculiar on the ground of the castle courtyard. She swallowed her final mouthful of buttery pie crust and let out a hum.

“Look over there.”

Calem’s sword collided with the head of the dummy with a mighty force — with his hand still on the grip and the blade still touching the target, he glanced down to see what had Serena’s undertunic in a twist.

Hiding behind an empty wooden wine barrel was Chespin. Its ears were perked up and its eyes showed off an air of curiosity. It stared at the pair of bastards, then looked to Calem in particular.

“Friend of yours?” Serena asked.

“In a way,” the Squire replied. He lowered his sword and handed it to her, then knelt down towards Chespin to look the green and brown creature in the eye. “Hello there, are you lost again?”

Seeing as Chespin was not capable of human speech, it simply walked towards Calem with a clumsy waddle and pressed itself against his shin, wrapping its arms around the limb in an adorable attempt at a hug.

Confused, Calem blinked. “Uh… I’m afraid I’ve run out of apples, Little Imp.”

The grin upon Serena’s face was bright like the sun. “Awww…” she cooed. “It likes you.”

Calem nodded, his bewilderment persisting. “Yes, I can see that.” He knelt down and picked Chespin up, holding the creature with as much care as he did before. He looked the little one in the eye and tickled its stomach like how a mother would to her beloved child. “You’re a real clingy one, aren’t you?”

Serena hopped off the stack of crates and set her cup down. She approached the two and began petting Chespin’s head. “I think it just wants a friend,” she said. “Is the little thief that was running through the kitchens?”

Calem nodded. “Indeed — I released him in the gardens and thought he’d be on his way, I suppose I was wrong.”

Serena scratched behind Chespin’s ears, something that the creature seemed to appreciate. “That doesn’t seem like a bad thing, maybe he wants to be a Knight like you.”

Despite the look of contentedness tugging at his face, Calem felt a pang of worry at the bottom of his stomach. “I’m not sure if Sir Wikstrom would let it be, there are no laws allowing Squires to have creatures with them.”

“But are there any laws stopping Squires from having them?” Serena brought up, playfully smirking at her friend.

For a second Calem began to think — in his head he ran through the various laws of Squirehood that the Knights of Kalos had created in the days of yore. Most of them pertained to public drunkenness and the importance of keeping a Kalosian Knight neatly groomed, but none of them applied to the current situation at hand.

Calem glanced to Chespin, who was currently snuggling its face into the crook of his elbow, smearing green grass stains all over his favourite gambeson. Despite the hesitancy, he gave the little one a grin and lifted the creature high above his head, its tiny feet excitedly swishing through the air.

“I suppose a few days together wouldn’t hurt.”

When Calem brought Chespin down again, he let the creature climb on his shoulder, where it was very glad to be. It settled itself on the top of his head, looking down at its new friend with absolute joy. “I suppose even Squires need Squires sometimes,” he decided, knowing full well that he had made the right choice.

For a few seconds, the pair of bastards beamed at the new creature in their presence… only for the moment to be ruined by Chespin tugging on Calem’s hair.

The Squire’s eyes widened as the creature’s claws grasped onto his dark black locks. “Oh… oh Yvetal, please don’t do that,” he tried, reaching up to get Chespin off his head.

Serena was quick to help, swiftly stepping over and taking Chespin by the scruff of its neck “Whoa, slow down there, most humans don’t like that.”

Once the matter was dealt with and Chespin had let go of Calem’s hair, the Squire sat down on the stack of crates, his newfound friend snuggling onto his lap.

Humoured and exasperated, Calem let out a sigh and then smiled. “We’ve got a few boundaries to discuss, don’t we?”

Serena laughed as Chespin and Calem got to know each other more. Moments passed, then she looked to her left hand, noticing that she had still been holding the Squire’s blunted longsword during all this time. Curiously, she lifted up the weapon and felt its weight in her arms. It was lighter than she expected, or maybe her body was simply harder where a Lady’s would be soft. Perhaps her years of labouring in the Castle had amounted to something after all.

Grasping the longsword in both hands — one by the crossguard and the other by the pommel, just like Calem had taught her — the weapon immediately became more maneuverable. She raised the mighty sword upwards just like Calem did, positioning her feet apart in preparation to throw out a strike.

From where he was sitting on the crates, Calem watched in intrigue and amusement. “You like that sword, don’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Serena said with a confident grin. It was as if merely holding the weapon imbued with the power of Yvetal and Xerneas’s forces combined.

With a tight grip on the handle, Serena brought her sword down and struck the head of her dummy with all of her strength.

#kalosshipping #trainer calem #trainer serena #chespin #kalos #pkmn #xy #period drama but make it pokemon

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gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 18: Unstoppable

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17

Word count: 2011

This chapter is really dumb and cheesy just a heads up 😂 I wanted to dabble in old school fanfic while I wrote this one I think. Idk, it’s kinda cute

El had come to hate the weekends. There was no substance to her days off now that she knew the thrills offered by the wretch of a city. Jonathan wouldn't let her run his underworld errands with him; an attempt to keep her safe from Falcone, he said. While she understood and appreciated the sentiment, the result was dreadfully long and slow weekends. They couldn't go to Arkham to supervise the project, lest they draw suspicion, and if Jonathan wouldn't take her with him to meetings, it left her with very little to do in the apartment.

Luckily, the day after her nightmare Jonathan had no reason to leave the apartment. On the other hand, he had spent his day worrying over her incessantly. Well, as much as Jonathan could "worry incessantly" in his own subdued way.

He had let her sleep in for hours, made her breakfast when she woke, and she was currently curled up on the couch next to him with the softest blanket from his linen closet. He had even let her pick the movie they were watching.

"Hey, Jonathan?"

"Mm?"

"Am I dying or something?" He looked across the couch at her, confused. "You're being really nice today. Are you still 'being me,' or am I dying?"

"Oh. Neither." He fell back into silence rather than offering the explanation that El was looking for. She waited patiently for a minute or two, giving him the opportunity to explain himself of his own volition before sitting up with a huff and pausing the TV, moving to sit next to him.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" El watched as Jonathan set his jaw firmly, releasing a long slow breath, all the while staring inscrutably at the coffee table. By the time he finally looked at her, the anticipation had made her too anxious even to admire the hue of his eyes as she normally would.

"Last night, you..." he trailed off and let out another sigh before continuing, "it made me worry. I've been thinking all day, and I'm wondering if maybe you would be better off leaving Gotham now and going somewhere without me." Whatever she had been expecting, this wasn't it. Her brow furrowed, and she struggled to organize her thoughts enough to argue as he spoke again. "I know you, and I know that that wasn't normal, and it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gotten you involved."

"So what?" she sputtered. "Jonathan, you got me involved, but if I didn't want to be still involved, I wouldn't be. Don't worry about me. You're not responsible for my decisions."

Her words did little to soothe him, and he leaned against the back of the couch with his head tilted all the way back to look at the ceiling. "No, I'm not, but this is clearly taking a toll on you. I just think it might be better if-"

"I understand what you're saying, but you're wrong," interrupted El. "If I were to leave now, I would just worry about you more. Without me, you're on your own here, and it's going to take a lot more than some stupid bad dream to make me abandon you. I know that you can handle all of this on your own, but as long as I'm here, I'm going to keep supporting you in whatever ways I can."

He was technically right, to an extent; it wasn't normal for a nightmare to break her like that. But the fact remained that it was only a dream, and the fact that it had immediately followed a dosing of fear toxin only served to solidify her point further. It would never have affected me like that if I hadn't insisted on a second toxin trial.

Jonathan mulled over what she said for what seemed like ages, to the point that Elianna wasn't even sure where his train of thought may have taken him. Regardless, she knew that he must have been trying to come up with some absurd reason why she should leave anyway. Deciding to let him think (and knowing that she would win this debate with this move), she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and lifted his arm to slot herself against his side.

He looked down at her as she settled his arm around her back, only to find her already looking up at him patiently with big green eyes. Shit. He could never argue with her when she looked at him like that, and she knew it. He did his best to steel his resolve, but then she blinked at him so sweetly that he had no choice.

"Fine," he sighed, finally looking away from her. "But no more toxin. From now on, you're just helping me supervise, understood?" He felt her nod fervently and wrap her arms tight around him. How did she always manage to get under his skin so well?

"I can't believe you thought you could get rid of me that easily," she scoffed. "I'm here to stay, love. I left you behind once, and I'm not going to do it again." Jonathan was amused by the childish notion behind her words but appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

He was silently glad that she had pushed against him on this particular issue. While he still believed that she would be safer away from the city, he really didn't want her to leave. She was too...important. As proven by how easily she could get him to concede just by looking at me, for fuck's sake.

"You know I would never try to get rid of you." Jonathan still faced difficulty coming to terms with her effect on him, but this time he didn't have the energy to fight it. Deep down, he knew that he had let her win, selfishly wanting her to stay. Unwilling to resist, he let his cheek rest against the top of her head. "Sometimes I might think about it, but I'm not stupid." He felt her laugh.

"Understandable." She tilted her head back to look at him, and he lifted his head from hers to mirror her gaze. A soft smile spread over her face. "One of these days, I'm going to get you to admit outright that you love me." She said smugly, undeterred by his impassive expression.

He could tell by the look on her face that she had begun speaking absentmindedly, but Jonathan found himself more focused on the conversation in his head; naturally, Scarecrow had his own opinion on what El had said.

She's got a point. We should just get it over with now.

That isn't what she means.

Sure it is! See the way she looks at us? Come ooonnn, what's the harm? If it goes south, I'll just take care of it.

You absolutely will not.

I still don't see why we shouldn't get rid of her anyway. Loose ends, Jonny. If she's dead, she can't snitch.

She isn't going to. She would have done it already, and she's never told anyone about everything else we've done; why would she start now?

Yeah, and why do you think that is? Principle? Honesty? She likes us, Jonny. If you don't take care of it now, then I will.

With that, the straw man retreated to the back of Jonathan's mind in smug silence. The ambiguity of Scarecrow's ultimatum made him nervous, as he was unsure of what Scarecrow's version of "taking care of it" might be. But Jonathan knew ultimately that his alter was actually right this time. All of the jokes, the affection, the trust, and when she looked at him the way she had done just a minute before...

It was almost terrifying to think that the woman he had held so dear for so long might harbor feelings for him, and the true rush of the unknown exhilarated him. As strange as it would be, Jonathan knew what he wanted to do and resolved on the spot to act upon it before he could talk himself back out of it as he was wont to do.

"Not verbally, necessarily," she spoke up again, "but one of these days, you're going to do something, and I'll kno-"

The rest of El's sentence was cut short by something that could not have caught her more off guard, and while some part of her seemed to process it immediately (judging by how hard her heart was beating), it took a moment for her brain to catch up.

Jonathan had interrupted her by cupping the side of her face with his free hand and, in one fluid motion, had tilted her head back more and kissed her full on the mouth ever so softly. Her mind hadn't yet finished racing with unanswered questions when her internal monologue switched abruptly to, "oh, fuck it."

At that moment, she didn't need to understand anything. By way of response, she lifted her own hand to close lightly around his wrist, keeping his hand against her face and returned the tentative kiss with one of her own.

Both of their stomachs exploded into butterflies, but for vastly different reasons. Jonathan felt a rush of relief from the reciprocation and a flutter of nervousness caused by sudden instability for the future that it implied. In the same moment, Elianna found an emotional release and a thrill caused by the same unclear future, eager to build something new, powerful even.

Whatever her motivation, when El kissed him again, Jonathan was more than eager to return the action, and all of his apprehensiveness began to melt away. It was a rare moment of clarity for him, as he found himself truly in the moment. She had kissed him. Things that had been so important to him only minutes before were suddenly irrelevant, and when El pulled away and buried her face into his neck, holding him so tight, he was all too glad to squeeze her closer.

He thought that he had never been more determined to do anything as he was to keep her safe previously, but having finally given in to the impulse that he had been repressing since their teen years, Jonathan realized his previous resolve had been trivial. This, with all of its implicit devotion attached, changed everything so drastically. Nobody would ever hurt her again; not Zsasz, not Scarecrow, not anybody.

It was a good feeling, if a bit overwhelming. Following his new theme of letting himself enjoy the things he wanted, Jonathan allowed himself to feel at ease, content. He even cracked a smile when a small voice chimed, "I told you so," from somewhere near his collarbone.

"Yes, you did." He stroked back her hair and left a lingering kiss on top of her head, and felt her delighted smile split her face as she hugged him tighter (if that was even possible).

"Now you're really not getting rid of me. You know that, right?"

"I know. That's what I wanted." El hummed happily in response, breathing in the smell of his clothes. Being wrapped up against him like this felt...right. Like this was what their entire friendship had always been leading to, and now that it had been fulfilled, nothing could stop her.

Ever at the whim to her desires, and knowing that Jonathan couldn't be relied on to do the same, El straightened back up to stand on her knees and captured him in another kiss, deeper than before. With no protest, Jonathan locked his arms securely around her waist to keep her close and responded in kind.

Everything else forgotten, the new couple passed the day away in a world of their own making, testing the limits, and exploring new possibilities. Totally focused on each other, they both forgot everything about the killing of the city, the crimes they were committing together, the hells they had been put through, all of it wiped away; with every kiss, every gentle touch, every movement erased every atrocity, past and future. The new, stronger nature of their companionship made them unstoppable.

#the mind's power over the body #Attraction To The Insane #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #Elianna Montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #scarecrow x ofc #slight au #fanfiction #multi chapter fic #scarecrow fanfic #fic series #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 18

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always-and-forever-a-killjoy · 4 years

Text

Hey y'all! So I wrote a relatively long oneshot (for me) in 24 hours or so (breaking my record for most words written in one day in the process), and I decided to dump it all on you. This is minimally edited and was posted with a cat on my lap, so if you spot any errors, please let me know.

Also, while it's not technically necessary to read all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me and all the things that you never ever told me, which are the fics which this is an alternate ending for, it will be really really helpful to understanding this. (All the smiles is here and all the things is here.) Do be careful of the warnings for those two, as they're quite dark fics. But then again, so is this, so...y'know.

Oh and please don’t question why the Cherri POV is present tense and the Newsie POV is past tense, idk either it just felt right.

Title: if i died we’d be together

Wordcount: 5316

Summary: Cherri Cola dies. NewsAGoGo refuses to accept this.

The Phoenix Witch is unhelpful (and an asshole, if you ask Newsie.)

Warnings: major character death, implied/referenced suicide, implied self harm, minor violence, an extraordinary amount of swearing.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

In this universe, the Phoenix Witch doesn’t come for Cherri Cola. He lies in the sand, alone and in pain, unable to move himself a single step further. He would get up if he could, he would go home, but he’s helpless. Alone and afraid, truly afraid for the first time in years. He doesn’t want to die alone. He doesn’t want to die knowing the people in his life will never know what happened to him. D, Pony, Newsie…

Cherri doesn’t want to die. Not like this. He was supposed to die helping his friends, not because he decided that life wasn’t worth living and let himself fade away into the heat of the desert. He doesn’t want to leave his friends, he doesn’t want to leave his family. Did they even know he counted them as a family? Does Newsie know he loves them like a sibling?

Cherri Cola dies alone, and the last words on his lips are “I’m sorry, Newsie.”

Cherri didn’t come back. Not after the mask discussion, not after Newsie’s talk with the Phoenix Witch, and certainly not any earlier than that. It was another week of silent dinners and endless, hopeless searching before Pony put eir foot down.

“Cola is dead.”

That was what ey said, breaking the silence of that morning’s breakfast.

Newsie couldn’t even manage the energy to snap at em. “No.”

“Cola’s gone, Newsie. You know it, just like me.”

“He can’t be fucking dead. I won’t- I won’t let it happen.” She hated that her voice shook.

“He is, though. Nothing we can do about it.” Pony’s usually cheerful voice was quiet, beaten-down.

“No!”

“Yes! We gotta accept it!”

“No, we don’t!”

“Maybe-“ eir voice broke on the word. “Maybe it was his time. Or fate or something.”

“Well fuck fate then! Fuck the Phoenix Witch and fuck her ‘plans’! It can’t just be right to fucking take him away, he’s got a fucking family!”

“Well- well- maybe you’re right, but what are we going to do about it?” Pony’s voice had gone quiet again, and ey was staring at the table like it might have the answers somehow.

“We’re going to find the Phoenix Witch and tell her to go fuck herself,” Newsie declared.

D sighed. “I don’t think that’s possible, Newsie.”

“Why not? Cherri’s met the Phoenix Witch, it can’t be that hard.” She got up from her seat, tossing the empty power pup can into the sink.

“I mean…they’ve got a point,” Pony said as D sighed again.

“See? Pone knows I’m right.” She made those words as firm as she could, filling them with all the confidence that she didn’t have but wished she did. “I’m going to go find the Phoenix Witch, flip her off, and get Cherri back.”

“Newsie-“

They ignored D’s worried voice as they went tromping into the back of the radio station, back to the room that used to be theirs and Cherri’s- and still would be, Newsie vowed. She packed up a messenger bag with a few supplies and located Cherri’s mask and ray gun, picking up the ray gun first. It was pink like hers, but a heavier weight in her hands. If she had been poetic like her brother, she would have said it was the weight of the task she was about to take on.

But they were no Cherri Cola, and they knew the real reason was that Cherri’s ray gun was a nicer one than theirs, taken from an exterminator he had fought back in the Analog Wars. It certainly wasn’t the newest model anymore, but it remained a high-quality weapon. Not that he ever used it anymore. Still, even however long after he had last held it, she thought she could feel the ghost of his hands on it, warm and rough as they guided her hands into place the first time she had ever fired a ray gun.

Newsie slid the ray gun into her spare holster and picked up Cherri’s mask. They debated putting it away into their bag, but that felt too much like they were bringing it to the mailbox for a final goodbye. Instead, they put it around their neck, where it bounced against their collarbone as they donned their own mask.

“Alright, Cherri. Let’s go bring you back from the dead.”

Show Pony and Dr. Death Defying didn’t try to stop her when she walked back through the main living space. D reached out as if to grab her wrist, but stopped himself in midair. “Newsie.”

“Don’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t, but I want you to take this.” He held out a crow feather, shining a gorgeous glossy black in the sunlight that streamed in from the window. “I met the Witch, once. During the Analog Wars. And she gave me this.”

“So you think it will help?”

D’s smile was dreadfully sad. “Worth a shot.”

Newsie hesitated a moment and took the feather. It was smooth under her fingers as she tucked it into her bag. “Thanks, D.”

“Of course.” He didn’t tell her to come back safe, and Newsie didn’t promise she would.

Pony skated up before she could walk out the door, handing her a packet of what looked vaguely like glitter. “I don’t have a fancy Witch feather like D, but take some glitter for the road. Because sparkles…”

“Make everything better.” Newsie’s throat burned. “Thanks, Pone.”

“Of course, GoGo.” Ey shot her a grin. “Bring back our Cola. Oh, and give him some shit for dying, would ya?”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Newsie muttered. They paused in the doorway, looking back at the other two. “Thanks, Pone. Thanks, D. Love you.”

“We love you too.” D’s face was sad as he watched them go.

Newsie hopped onto their motorcycle, grinning a bit to themself at the familiar noise of the engine. “Come on, baby, we’ve got an idiot brother to retrieve.”

What had once been called Death Valley was silent as Newsie hopped back off the bike, only a few caws of crows to welcome her. It was said that here, the lines between reality and wherever the Phoenix Witch was were even thinner than they were for the rest of the Zones, practically non-existent. No one could quite agree if it was because the Phoenix Witch lived here, or if the Phoenix Witch lived here because the lines were so blurred, but either way, she was said to dwell here in this aptly named valley. It wasn’t a place many people went by choice, not unless they wanted to risk the wrath of the Witch.

Newsie figured the Witch, her wrath, and all the superstition could all go fuck themselves. She was uneasy, yes, but the valley held no great fear for her. Only great fucking heat, given that the sun was blazing down and the air was almost unnaturally still. Couldn’t the Phoenix Witch have picked a nicer home? This was the closest thing you could get to hell on earth, with the exception of possibly whatever was beyond the Zones entirely. Not that Newsie particularly believed in hell, but she imagined it would be something like this. Blazing sun, still air, the faint haze of radiation, and the omnipresent sting of grief.

“Hey, Phoenix Witch lady! Asshole! Where are you?” The words didn’t even echo, absorbed into the stifling heat, and Newsie took another couple of steps. “I know this is your home- and you picked a pretty hellish one, if you ask me- so come on out and fight me!”

There was no reply, and Newsie dug through their bag to see if they had anything useful. Their hands brushed against a smooth…something, and they pulled out the feather D had given them. “Hey! Asshole! This is your feather, so come and get it!”

Once again, there was no reply, but the feather strained against Newsie’s grip, despite there being no wind. She reluctantly let it go, and it hovered above her hand, turning to point further into the valley.

“Holy shit. I guess I’m supposed to go this way?” She took a few cautious steps, and the feather almost seemed to bob in approval. “Okay, let’s go then.”

They zipped their bag closed again and started walking, following the lead of the feather. It was a longer trek than they really appreciated, across shifting sand through the hazy day. Every so often, the feather changed directions, and Newsie had to turn to follow it. Despite the fact that she guessed she must be out in Zone Seven by now, or possibly even further, the landscape never seemed to change. Rocks and sand and endless, burning heat, matching the burning of her eyes as the sand stung them. She would have been lost in a second if she didn’t have the feather, wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t lost anyways. They certainly didn’t know their way back.

Newsie shoved that concern to the back of their mind. Right now, all they needed to focus on was finding Cherri. The rest could come later. Still, there was no sign of Cherri- or anyone else for that matter- as they made their way further into the dusty valley. It should have been lonely, but the faint hovering presence of someone or something next to her kept away that particular anguish. She really should have been more alarmed by whatever was in the corner of her eye, vanishing when she looked right at it, but the presence felt safe. Almost familiar. So Newsie kept walking.

They walked, and walked, and walked and walked and walked until the steps all blurred together under the infinite sun. It seemed like it should be nearly nightfall by now, but the sun didn’t seem to move, no matter how many steps she took. The landscape didn’t seem like it was moving much either, even though they must have walked miles and miles by now. Every step was harder than the last, sand stinging her eyes and nose and throat as her feet ached.

Still, Newsie was too damn stubborn to give up now. She followed the feather until the landscape did start to shift, the feather pointing towards…a tree? On a hill? It wasn’t like the tiny, scraggly trees that clung to existence in the wettest parts of the desert. No, this was what Newsie vaguely thought might have been called an oak, once upon a time, branches stretching towards the sky as the tree stood proud. The leaves were dark green, striking a sharp contrast to the faded blue of the desert sky and the endless beige sand, and the branches were thick and steady, growing in a pattern Newsie hadn’t seen before. It definitely wasn’t a tree that was meant to be in the desert, but...shade was shade.

She staggered over and flopped down underneath it, every muscle in her body screaming at her. “Hey, Witch, asshole, why do I have to walk so fucking far?”

The only reply she got was the rustling of leaves above her. They didn’t think the Witch was actually watching, but they flipped off the tree anyways, just in case.

She could have sworn she heard faint laughter at that, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Water, she could really use some fucking water. Thank the Witch, or maybe just Pony’s quick thinking, they found a bottle of water when they reached into their bag. It was warmed by the sun and tasted vaguely of rust, but then again, most water in the desert did. Newsie was used to it.

She only got a few minutes to rest before the silence was shattered by a cry. “Help! Help!” It was a young-sounding voice, and Newsie groaned as they climbed to their feet. Having a moral compass was a real pain in the ass sometimes; they couldn’t just ignore a kid in need.

The presence by their shoulder seemed to have grown stronger as Newsie came around the tree and saw a few dracs holding a struggling killjoy who looked to be maybe thirteen or fourteen. She would have to be very careful in order not to hurt the ‘joy, given their close proximity to the dracs. Their hands shook as they pulled out their ray gun, reconsidered, and took out Cherri’s instead. They were pretty sure it had that gyroscope stabilizer (or whatever it was called) that some of the nicer ones were built with, and she would need every advantage she could get. This time, she was almost certain there were ghostly hands over hers as she took careful aim.

“Steady. Breathe,” a voice murmured in Newsie’s ear as they tilted the ray gun carefully. It would be only seconds before the young killjoy was dragged off, so she had to act now.

Newsie took a deep breath, releasing it fully before she pulled the trigger and took out one of the dracs holding the ‘joy, who was able to break free from the other one’s grasp as Newsie took that one down too. She might not have been Cherri Cola, but she was by no means a bad shot, and she grinned a bit to herself. Drac down, drac down, and that was the last of them!

“Fuck yeah, NewsAGoGo, you kick ass.” They figured they might as well encourage themself, since there was no one else around to do it.

That was met by what she could have sworn was another faint chuckle, but there wasn’t anyone else around to be laughing. Well, except the younger killjoy, but they were way too far away to have heard her.

Newsie shrugged and accepted that weird shit was going to happen on a quest in Death Valley. They had to keep moving, they decided, but first they should check on that ‘joy they’d saved.

“Hey, kid! You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks to you, I think.” Their voice was hoarse, and Newsie sighed as she handed them her water bottle. Cherri was getting his ass kicked for this, she decided. It wasn’t technically his fault that she was thirsty, but if he hadn’t up and died, she wouldn’t have had to quest after him and then she wouldn’t have ended up giving her water to some random ‘joy.

“Thanks,” the teen said, handing them back the water bottle.

She shrugged. “No problem. You going somewhere?”

“Yes, but not the same way as you.” Their head was tilted curiously. “You’ll have to go that way. Until you see the building.”

Newsie debated for a second if this kid was trustworthy, but ultimately decided it was no worse than following a fucking feather. “Thanks, kid. Good luck, keep running.”

“Keep running!” They flashed a smile and wandered away.

Newsie sighed and started walking again, this time in the direction the kid had pointed. Again, Cherri was so getting an ass-kicking for this. Their feet hurt.

Thank the Phoenix Witch- no, thank Destroya, she wasn’t thanking the Phoenix Witch for fucking anything right now- she wasn’t back on her feet for long. Compared to her earlier trek, it was quite a short distance, maybe a mile or so, to what must have been the building that kid was talking about. It was a small shack which looked vaguely familiar, even from a distance, and Newsie sped up a little as they headed towards it. Shade! Maybe even a place to sit that wasn’t sand! Of course, knowing her luck, the Phoenix Witch would show up and demand she go run some errand or walk another hundred fucking miles or something.

The presence that had been following her this whole time seemed stronger and easier to catch a glimpse of, now, but the was the least of their worries as Newsie approached the building and found it familiar. They could peer in through the window and find D and Pony sitting there in the living room, talking about music (she assumed, given that the only time D gestured so broadly was when he was giving opinions about music).

“D! Pone!”

They didn’t seem to hear her, and Newsie felt her eyes stinging from both sand and grief as she knocked on the door. There was still no reply, no Pony at the door or even sound from inside. But the two carried on their conversation, gesturing and laughing away.

"D, Pony…” If they were back here, that meant they had failed. They hadn’t gotten to the Witch after all.

Newsie gave up her knocking and turned her back to the door, sliding down to sit on the hard ground. Their feet hurt from standing and their legs hurt from walking and their hands hurt from clutching Cherri’s ray gun so tightly. The sun was still blazing, and their throat was dry and sore. Her collarbones were banged up where Cherri’s mask had been bouncing against them, and her hip was bruised from the bag bouncing against it, and everything fucking hurt. They had promised themself they weren’t going to cry, but now they were breaking that promise because their goddamn brother was dead and they couldn’t fucking do anything about it.

“I’m sorry, Cherri,” they choked.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” The words were only a whisper, but the voice was familiar.

Newsie’s heart skipped a beat. “Cherri?”

“I’m here,” the air next to her whispered, right where that presence had been hovering. “Not exactly, but close enough.” If they squinted, they could make out an outline of a familiar killjoy, smiling a soft, sad smile as he pushed his hair out of his face.

“Fucking bastard! Fuck! Fucking hell! You just fucking died on me and do you know how far I fucking walked?”

“Technically, you didn’t walk at all.” That was a different voice, belonging to the cloaked figured who was suddenly in front of Newsie. They could have sworn the person hadn’t been there just a second ago, which was damn inconvenient. Right as she was trying to catch up with her fucking brother? Really?

“Who the fuck are you?” They demanded.

“The deity you came to find, NewsAGoGo.”

Newsie hopped to her feet so she could stand on level with the bird creature, ignoring the ache in every part of their body. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Witch lady! Fuck you and your fate and your cryptic ways! What the fuck do you mean I didn’t walk?”

The Witch seemed faintly amused by her swearing. “I mean that in real-world distance, you went nowhere. You’re on the border, the boundary between this world and the next. Which is how your lovely brother is here, by the way. He belongs to the spirit world, and you belong to the ordinary one, but on this border and this border only, you can see and hear each other.”

“Great, now I’m taking him back to the real world.”

The Phoenix Witch tsked disapprovingly. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, NewsAGoGo. You see, Cherri Cola is dead. He belongs to my domain now.”

“Well fuck that! I’m not letting him go.” Newsie hadn’t walked however many fucking miles to give up now.

“Fine, fine, you can have him.” Newsie’s heart soared. “For a price,” The Witch added.

“And what’s the price?”

“The price is the people in that house behind you.”

“What?”

“Well, technically they aren’t there, per se. That’s not Dr. Death Defying and Show Pony, although it seems that way to you.” The Witch’s voice was annoyingly calm. “But my point being, if you can give up one of them, you can have your Cherri back.”

“Newsie, no,” Cherri whispered from beside her.

“Can you do it?” The Witch was still smiling. “Can you sacrifice one friend to save another? Could you live with yourself if you killed your friend to save your brother? And could you live with yourself if you left him here to save the others?”

“No, I can’t do it.” They knew their voice must sound very small and very tired as they leaned a little against the radio shack that wasn’t the radio shack. “I can’t choose the life of one of my friends over another. I won’t make that choice. I refuse.”

“So do you choose to leave him here? I’ll take good care of him, you know.”

“No. I choose to not choose. I refuse to choose.” She had no idea what she was doing, only that she wasn’t leaving without the lives of all of her family. “I won’t put Cherri’s life over D’s, or Pony’s. I won’t put D or Pony’s life over Cherri’s. They all deserve to live.”

“Oh, hon, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Well I’ll make it work that way!” A thought niggled Newsie’s brain. “What if…What if I gave you something else?”

“Like what?”

“Like my life.”

“No!” That was Cherri again, his spirit form flickering fiercely. “No! Newsie, just leave without me. Please.”

The Phoenix Witch was smirking, but she shook her head. “Sorry, NewsAGoGo. I can’t accept that offer, selfless as it might be. You’ve got things ahead of you, I can’t just mess up my plans like that.”

“Fine, then something else.” Newsie rooted around in her bag, desperately trying to find something to trade with the Witch. Empty water bottle, no. Can of power pup that she never touched, no. Their hand collided with a small, slightly squished packet of something, which they pulled out triumphantly. “Glitter. I’ll give you glitter for my brother’s life.” Newsie knew she sounded ridiculous, but it really was all she had to offer.

The Phoenix Witch threw her head back and cackled; it was almost more of a caw than a laugh but clearly a sound of amusement nonetheless. “Glitter! Glitter! I haven’t laughed so hard in years.”

Their hand was shaking. “Pony gave it to me. Because sparkles- because sparkles-“ Their voice wobbled and they couldn’t finish that sentence.

“Sparkles make everything better,” Cherri whispered softly from next to her. Newsie nodded, trying not to cry.

The mirth on the Witch’s face was gone, replaced by true, genuine pity. “You care so much.”

“Yeah, of course I fucking do. He’s my brother, asshole.”

Cherri’s form was flickering again, and Newsie wished she knew what that meant as the Witch smiled softly. It was a bit of a sad, pitying smile, which they really didn’t appreciate, but they guessed they did make for a pitiful sight. Sandy and dusty, tear tracks on their face as they leaned against a wall and offered a pitiful little pack of glitter in exchange for the person they loved most in the world.

“So…are you going to take the glitter?” Maybe it was dumb, maybe she should know the Witch would never accept glitter, but she had to try.

“Yes.”

Newsie gaped at her.

“Yes, I’ll take the glitter. Not as a reward, but as a symbol. You, NewsAGoGo, traveled uncountable miles of unreality, fought a squad of dracs, and dared defy me, a literal deity, for your brother. I am not a cruel goddess, I do not need to be. The world is cruel enough for me. And your Cherri did not deserve to die. Oh, he was asking for it, he was taunting me into swooping down to take that bracelet you gave him off his wrist and taking his soul on with me just the same, but he still didn’t deserve to die.”

The Witch flicked Cherri on the nose, or where Newsie thought his nose ought to be. “We’ve had some conversations about it, haven’t we? Because you didn’t want to die, Cherri Cola. You wanted to not be in pain. Something everyone wants. And your sister cares so much, so I’ll give you one more chance. This is your last one, lovely.”

“I understand.”

“Of course you do, hon.” The Witch turned back to Newsie. “Keep an eye on this one. He’s a bit prone to wandering off, but he’s yours again. He belongs to the land of the living. I’ll be keeping this, though.” She tapped the bracelet on her wrist, which Newsie recognized as the one they had given Cherri. “And the glitter, just for the hell of it. Tell your friend Pony they have good taste in décor, will you?”

And just like that, she was gone. Newsie was standing alone at the entrance to Death Valley, her faithful motorcycle next to her. At first, she thought the Witch had lied, since she did seem to be utterly alone, but before long, footsteps sounded from within the valley.

Newsie turned as a figure approached, her breath catching at the familiar face. Cherri Cola was exactly how he had been the day Newsie had left him at the radio station, not knowing she would come back to find him gone. His battered green jacket was just as ripped and dusty as ever, and there was a small scar across his right cheek, as always. The only immediately visible difference between Cherri of a few weeks ago and this Cherri was the pure white streak in his hair, white like bones and death and the salt crusted on some parts of the desert. Yet when she looked closer, she could also see a tiny spark of determination in his eyes that had been missing for a very long time.

Cherri came to a stop in front of her, smiling cautiously. “Hey.”

Newsie didn’t know if they should cry, yell at him, or hug him. They settled for a mixture of all three, sprinting over to hug him tightly as they unleashed all the bottled swear words and tears of the past few weeks. “Fuck you, Cherri! Dipshit! Bitch boy! Fucking rat bastard, you left me! You left me alone and I- and I was scared.” Their voice dropped on the last few words.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Cherri’s voice was very soft. “I should never have left.”

A bit of her fierceness came back at that, with another couple of swear words to unleash. “No, you fucking shouldn’t have! Asshole. Little shit! You died, you fucker! You died and I had to walk so fucking far to get you back, fuckface!”

“I’m sorry, Newsie. I’m so sorry.”

She sniffled, unable to stay mad for long. “Just never do that again. Ever. I’m not fighting a squad of dracs to save some child so I can get directions to a fucking fake radio shack and talk to a cryptic deity next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Cherri said softly. “I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

He crossed his heart, giving her a very serious look. “I swear on my best poetry and Show Pony’s glitter stash.”

They let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Now you can never break it, Pone would never forgive you if something happened to their glitter stash.”

“Exactly.” His eyes were glimmering with tears as well, but he was smiling as Newsie led him back to her motorcycle with a “Hop on, fuckface.”

It felt safe to have Cherri’s arms wrapped around her again, his head leaning on her shoulder as she revved the engine. He was a warm, safe presence, just as he had been in the unreality-reality place, but this time he was a solid one. A real one.

They might have been tired as all fuck, but that didn’t stop them from grinning as Cherri muttered something about it probably not being safe for her to drive while this tired. “Hang on, fucker. We’re going home.”

Home was, as it had been for quite a while now, a (mostly) structurally sound radio station in the middle of the desert. It was almost nightfall by the time they pulled up in front of the radio shack, and Newsie was yawning as she climbed off the bike with another huge yawn. Cherri practically had to carry her to the door, but in her defense, he wasn’t the one who had walked however many miles, got in a firefight, and argued with a deity today. So they felt no guilt in leaning against him as he paused on the porch, using his free hand to knock gently on the door.

They were met by an exhausted-looking Show Pony, eyes red-rimmed and blood-shot as ey opened the door. “I’m sorry, no visitors today- Newsie?! Cherri?!?”

Cherri waved with his free hand. “Hey.”

“Am I just seeing things?” Pony’s voice was as shocked as eir face, which was very.

“Not seeing things, bastard,” Newsie yawned. “I said I was getting Cherri, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you’ve been missing a month, Gogo! D and I thought you were ghosted like your bro!”

It probably was not an appropriate reaction, but the first thing out of her mouth was “No wonder I’m so thirsty.”

Cherri started laughing at that, and after a second so did Pony, half-hysterically. “Well, we’ve got water, that’s for sure. D’ll give you plenty, he’ll be so glad you’re alive!” Ey led them inside, still laughing in a somewhat hysterical way. “D, we’ve got some rat bastards alive and back on our hands!”

“Fuck you, Pone.”

“She’s kidding, we love you,” Cherri yawned.

“And I love you too, but you can’t just- just up and disappear! The lot of you, honestly.”

D’s face was only slightly less shocked than Pony’s when he rolled into the living room, and Newsie had a feeling that was only because he was even more exhausted than em.

“Hey,” Cherri said again.

“Cherri- Newsie- Witch, you both, we thought you were dead!”

“Well we’re not, deal with it.” She was too tired for this shit. Shouldn’t arguing with a deity give you a pass? “Also, sorry, Pone, I traded your glitter away to the Witch.”

Ey only looked shocked for a second before eir usual grin returned. “Well, it was meant to be used somehow! Plus, sparkles…”

“Make everything better!” Newsie, Pony, and Cherri all chorused.

D sighed. “Welcome home, you two. Never scare us like that again, alright, Newsie?”

“I wasn’t the one who wandered off and died!”

“To be fair, you kinda threatened to fight the Phoenix Witch and then vanished, sugar,” Pony put in.

Newsie flipped em off, flopping down on the sofa. “My point was, give Cherri shit instead. I’m too tired for this.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” D’s voice was vaguely threatening, but his face cracked into a smile as he turned to Cherri. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

Cherri stared at the ground. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“And we love you so much,” D added.

Newsie grinned at her brother’s shocked face. “Uh-huh, fuckface. We love you, even if you’re a rat bastard. Now I’m going to sleep for a week, see you all later.”

“Goodnight, Newsie,” Cherri said with a smile. If anyone else said anything after that, Newsie didn’t hear it. They were out like a light within seconds.

In this universe, the radio station is peaceful that evening, the family reunited at long last. Cherri Cola smiles to himself as he lifts Newsie off the sofa, giving D and Pony a thumbs up as he wanders into the back of the radio station. Their room is quiet, and Newsie barely shifts when he sets her down gently on the mattress. They do move, however, when Cherri tries to pull away, reaching out to snatch his wrist. Trapped, he has no choice but to lay down next to Newsie, earning a sleepy noise that sounds vaguely happy.

Cherri grins softly, even if she can’t see it, running his hand along the new set of scars on his arm. There will be time to think about those later, time for the conversations that have to come with that, but for now all they are is a reminder. A reminder that he’s a survivor, a reminder of what matters.

Cherri Cola falls asleep with Newsie by his side, and the last words on his lips that night are “I love you, Newsie.”

#cherri cola #newsagogo #phoenix witch #auri writes #ttlofk #danger days #danger days fic #ttlofk fic #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

Text

Wizards Hearts: A Night on the Town!

Wizards Hearts Game/Fest ran for a full four months, and is now officially over, though we are ever appreciative towards our readers for spreading love to Drarry fics old and new, short and long. 900 comments were left as a result of the game.

Players are sorted and assigned at random to four different teams. All team activities and discussions are completely optional but can yield extra points to help win the game! There are weekly team activities and longer, creative team activities where players can imagine new, fun headcanons in the Harry Potter universe and perhaps a few stories of their own!

Team Activity 5: Celebrity Visitations and Incidents

As was previously reported on, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter made visitations at multiple casinos. Those casinos have been kind enough to share their footage surveillance and first person accounts of what exactly happened during these visits. Some went much better than others, of course.

Teams were asked to 1) Write a fic about the incident at their casino (as written by their rival casinos) and tell it from the perspective of A) Harry or Draco or B) a 3rd Person Narrator for a minimum for 500 words. 2) Create an image to accompany their fics.

View the first Team Activity post here

View the second Team Activity post here

View the third Team Activity post here

View the fourth Team Activity post here

View the final Team Activity post under the cut!

Team 1: Loch Lomond’s Treasure

Before Draco was inside the casino, he thought the whole thing to be rather silly. A masquerade ball he would have been right at home in. But the way Harry had described it, this was almost closer to a costume party, and he wasn’t entirely a fan of their chosen costumes. He understood why Harry had chosen them, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like them.

But when he stepped inside the Loch Lomond’s Treasure casino, all of his worries were dashed away, and he was taken aback. He had known about the Gillyweed Ball, but goodness Merlin… It was exquisite. The way the lights danced around the water seemed to make everything sparkle, and everyone was laughing and having a grand old time. Near immediately, the two of them were approached. Even behind the shoddy glamour, Draco was able to recognize Mr. Richens. Elder gentleman, halfblood, and owner of an up-and-coming potions shop down in Diagon. “Ah, Mr. Potter!”

And just like Harry said, it worked. Everyone thought that he was Harry, and that Harry was him! He watched the way Richens seemed to fall all over himself to speak with him, all while snubbing Harry. Unable to help himself, Draco threw a smirk to Harry for what he knew would come at the end of the night when everyone cast off their costumes. Harry chuckled at his side, and it seemed to throw Richens off a bit, but Draco gave the man credit where credit was due. He plowed on as though nothing were amiss.

And that was what went on for the rest of the night as well. Business owners, politicians, and anyone looking to get anything to sell to the papers all came flocking towards him as though he truly were Harry Potter. He supposed that was what they believed to be true, at least. “Mr. Potter, everyone is just dying to know who made your costumes,” one of the women tittered. Draco barely kept from rolling his eyes.

“Blaise Zabini, of course,” he answered, and no one noticed the smoother, more cultured tones of his voice, as opposed to the rough and tumble way Harry spilled out his words. “He’s a new designer, and one to certainly be on the lookout for. He was anxious to make these for us, and I think we can agree that he did a fabulous job on them.”

When he and Harry were separated, Draco saw out of the corner of his eye, multiple people that Harry bumped into or tried to play nice with all give him cold glares, and seem to spit venom at him. Harry, of course, took none of it seriously and answered it all with one of those sunshine smiles of his.

Later in the evening, Harry called him over, “Harry,” he said, and Draco heard that teasing tone in his voice clear as day. “Come on over here, they’re announcing the winners of the costume contest.”

Draco chuckled to himself. “Alright, alright. You won’t let me go until I do.” So Draco walked over to stand beside him.

He wasn’t much surprised when he and Harry were announced as the Kings of the costume contest. Everyone pleaded with them to remove their costumes, and Draco glanced to Harry. When Harry nodded, Draco smirked and waved his wand silently to send their costumes away. The shock, awe, and fear on the faces of many in attendance did so warm Draco’s heart.

At his side, Harry’s fingertips brushed against his arm. “You enjoy some more of the buffet. I’ve got a few… business partners to talk to.”

Draco near purred, “Sounds lovely. Would you like me to save you a few crab canapés? They’re absolutely divine.”

“I think you’d be happier to have them all to yourself,” Harry chuckled, and Draco did so love the sound, as the shivers running through his spine attested to. “Just save me a seat?”

“For you? Always.”

Team 2: Golden Scales

It was All Hallows Eve, a day that Harry tried to forget. Harry usually spent this day locked up in his room at Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione would visit him to make sure he ate and give him company. This year, the duo was busy with their newborn child, Rose, and hence, Harry was going to spend the day alone.

Draco and Harry had struck up a new friendship after Ginny and Pansy’s wedding. Draco knew from the girls that this day was always hard on Harry, and so he took it upon himself to do something fun this year.

That’s how they ended up at the entrance of the Golden Scales Casino. The Casino was organising a Masquerade and Bonfire Night to welcome the season. Bring your best mask and your whimsy and prepare for a magical evening, the pamphlet had read. It was just what they needed to take Harry’s mind off of gloom and doom.

Draco had worn a beautiful silver mask with green feathers and rhinestones. Harry looked equally handsome in a red and black mask that accentuated his emerald green eyes. They met in the front lobby of the casino near the dragon statue. Before walking in, Draco rubbed the golden ace card held by the dragon, which was rumoured to bring patrons good luck. Their masks were a blessing, and not many heads turned.

The boys tried their hand at the casino’s patent game ‘Bluffing the Dragon’, and Draco even won a round and graciously treated Harry to a shot of Dragon Bite. They were sitting by the bonfire, enjoying the warmth and spectacular light show performed by the casino’s miniature dragons when a flame from one of the dragons skimmed Harry's face, causing him to panic and jerk away, spilling Draco’s drink in the process.

“Watch it, Potter, this suit is Italian and very expensive,” Draco said irritably.

Harry, however, had started hyperventilating.

“Calm down, Potter. You’re drawing attention to us,” he said.

“Shut. Up. Malfoy.” Harry bit out, and soon they had reverted to their schoolboy ways of hurling insults at each other.

The commotion had alerted the authorities, and two burly bouncers approached their table. Seeing this, Draco put an arm on Harry’s shoulder to calm him down, but Harry pushed him away, ripping his mask off and pointing his wand at Draco’s throat. A collective gasp was heard, and then the room went silent.

Draco looked at Harry, eyes wide and full of hurt. Harry, realising his overreaction, dropped his wand. Draco turned on his heel and started leaving when Harry came back to his senses and ran after him, but Draco pushed him and apparated away.

Harry had bumped into another patron who had consumed the Queen of the Night cocktail, causing a coughing cum fire breathing fit. The ensuing commotion was too much, and when the bouncers escorted him to the golden elevator, he went willingly.

The previous night’s debacle was all over the papers the next day. Everyone had a take on what must have transpired. Some called it a lover’s tiff, others a spat between friends, and some even speculated that Harry had been led to the Casino by devious means. Of course, none of it was true, and the only person who deserved to know the truth was Draco. Harry had to set things right—the look on Draco’s face had haunted him all night.

He wasn’t sure if Draco would want to see him, so he wrote him a letter explaining how he’d been lost in his own head. The flames had taken him by surprise, plunging him back to the night in the Room of Requirement when he and Draco had almost perished in the Fiendfyre. He didn't expect Draco to forgive him, but he had to apologise.

An hour later, Harry’s floo chimed and Draco stepped out of it, wrapping Harry in a tight hug.

Team 3: Vanaheim

It was stiflingly hot inside the infamous Vanaheim Casino, and the glamour Romilda wore didn’t help matters much since it clogged every pore of her face, making her feeling more uncomfortable. But she didn’t dare take off her glamour and risk being detected. Ever since she’d been caught bribing Mundungus Fletcher to steal things from the more noteworthy guests, she’d been banned from the premises under threat of public humiliation.

Tonight had been dreadfully dull though. She’d had high hopes for this event, with both Harry Potter and his more than questionable choice of boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, as guests. But everything was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Not even a row over winnings or counting cards or anything, just a slow hum of voices and the occasional outcry whenever someone won at that weird dice game they insisted on playing here that she could never understand or remember the rules for.

She sighed, glancing at her wristwatch, when something caught her eye. How on earth could she have missed this? She was sure she had kept her eyes firmly on Potter the entire night, but somehow she hadn’t noticed him walking up to… to none other than the literal god and eligible bachelor Thor Odinsson. Oh, this was good. This was almost too good to be true. But where was Malfoy?

It was difficult trying to scan the room for Malfoy while simultaneously keeping track of what Potter was doing with Odinsson, but when Potter leaned into the other man, placing a hand on his big bicep and whispering in his ear, Romilda felt like she had found the thirteenth use of dragon’s blood. Surely she would get promoted after writing a story about this?

Unbelievably, it got even better when she heard a cry of rage to her right, and saw Malfoy elbow his way through the crowd towards the two men. Romilda was whispering furiously to her Quick Quotes Quill while Malfoy started having a shouting match with Potter, and even went so far as to push Potter away from Odinsson. But in her haste to get everything written down, she had forgotten to keep her glamour, and she felt it slip enough that the bouncer by the door noticed her. He’d always had a keen eye, that one, and wasn’t easily distracted by gossip-worthy fights, not even a big one like this. Luckily for her, Malfoy yanked Potter away towards the loos by grabbing his collar. She took the opportunity to slink away in the general commotion that caused, grieving that she hadn’t become an unregistered Animagus like her predecessor Rita Skeeter so she could follow the two men and see the rest of the row. By the look of Malfoy’s face, it promised to get juicy.

* * * * *

Draco pushed Potter unceremoniously into the loo and slammed the door behind them. After a quick check to make sure they were alone, he cast Colloportus and pushed Potter up against the sink.

“I saw you,” Draco growled.

Potter’s eyes widened but he didn’t move.

“In front of everyone. They were all watching their Saviour. They think I don’t deserve you.” Draco took a step closer until they were inches apart. “I saw you. Whispering in his ear, touching him, and he looked like he wanted to devour you. Make you his.”

Potter exhaled, his eyes dark. “How did that make you feel?”

Draco slid his thigh between Potter’s and crowded into his space. “Incredibly turned on. He wanted you, thought he could have you.”

“The look on your face,” Potter murmured in Draco’s ear. “I was watching you the whole time. I love it when your cheeks and neck get flushed. You’re gorgeous when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck, Potter.” Draco leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry’s jaw, kissed down his neck and Harry tilted his head to the side in encouragement. “But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

Harry’s breath hitched as Draco nipped at the sensitive spot by his ear. “All yours. You’re the only one I want.”

Draco sucked a bruise into Harry’s neck to mark what was his, then came up and claimed his lips in a searing kiss. When they broke apart, Draco had only one coherent thought on his mind. “Apparate us home. Right now.”

With a loud crack, the room was once again empty.

Team 4: Arc en Ciel

Read here on AO3

#drarry #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh team activities

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pathofcomet · 4 years

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bride of ice (5)

{dragon age: inquisition | g. | female trevelyan/iron bull | 5.9k}

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533642/chapters/61596748

They drink that night, after returning to Haven and getting the Chargers settled. That’s the first rule of negotiations: to break bread at the same table as your new ally, promise made but not entirely true until that moment when the first cup of wine sits on one’s lips, first sip taken, trusting it not to be poisoned. Of course, those are nobles’ fears and superstitions. She has no doubt that given the right reasons, the Iron Bull would simply strike her down: easier to deal with someone, if not necessarily cleaner.

But while she comes up with such scenarios, the Qunari seems entirely at ease, downing cup after cup of ale, laughing next to Krem, turning a bit to the side to glance at her from time to time. She tries to keep her expression levelled, not let the redness at the tip of her ears and across her cheeks to be read as anything but tipsiness. Just because she desperately wants to trust him, doesn’t mean she does so, not quite yet. For as much as she appreciates having him on their side, for now, she fears the time when they might stare at each other across a battlefield. And she knows she has seen only a shadow of what he is capable of: both as a warrior, and a spy, incredibly sharp and smart.

Trevelyan looks around the tables moved together into a corner, to fit all her people, and wonders how on earth did they manage to bring together such a capable, colourful band of experts: Sera shares a joke with Varric, as Cassandra frowns in her ale, suspicious enough to at least imagine that she’s the reason for their laughter. Vivienne looks like she doesn’t belong in here, with her delicate garments, and yet the banter she gets into with Iron Bull feels natural from the first second. Cullen is explaining something to Solas, looking dreadfully serious, all while Krem is caught in an animated conversation with Josephine and a few other Chargers.

Something in her chest booms with pride, that she somehow helped in creating this moment in time, this space for all of them. No one talks to her outright, lost in alcohol, but not forgetting her sainthood, and only the barmaid throws her a wink each time she refills her cup. From the other end of the room, Iron Bull catches her eyes again, and warmed by the fire burning in the fireplace and the drinks, her expression slips for a second, before getting up and retreating for the night. It was a weakness that didn’t feel like one, right then.

Iron Bull accepts the refill, grins at Cassandra just to piss her off, thinks how no one even noticed the Herald’s absence, or said their goodbyes to her as she left. No one questions or challenges her, no one looks after her – even as she’s the one that has to do the same thing for everyone else here. He tries to guess at her age: younger than him, almost too young to be made the symbol that stands between humanity and the end of the world. Yet, ever since they met, he has seen nothing holy in her, only in the gazes of her people.

Sainthood achieved by devotion. Obsession and prayers given as offerings to a reluctant goddess. Martyrdom expected and awaited from nothing but a lost girl. To not allow herself get swept up in all this commotion created by the breach and her Mark, she must either lack serious self-confidence or know herself too well.

Bull downs his drink in one go, shouts for another. The barmaid smiles prettily at him as she passes by.

The cheerful chats go on for much longer in the night, and Trevelyan lays awake in her bed, lulled by the faint sounds of it, but her mind reeling, considering the requests they’ve gone through during the afternoon’s council, thinking of how they can get supplies for the new wave of refugees that are on the way. She thinks they deserve a late start to the day in the morning, feels guilty because it might be a luxury that they cannot afford.

***

Despite falling asleep late, she’s up early, with a stiff neck from a bad night, and she swears when she gets out of her blanket only to be welcomed by the typical freezing cold of Haven. If she were back at home, today she would have gotten ready alongside her mother, being a holiday, and maybe that’s why she ends at the Chantry. Habits are hard to lose, especially ones that your entire family is built upon.

But she doesn’t pray, doesn’t want to anymore, even as the words sit at the tip of her tongue, even as her fingers itch to go and light a candle.

She will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.

However, in the middle of a battle, when you’re gasping for air, when you’re sure you’ll be dealt a final blow, or when your vision goes out just as the world turns louder and louder around you – she knows one is actually very afraid, knows one is not praying for light and a place by the Maker’s side, but for more life, for another chance, for more time. One sees their entire life flash before their eyes, and in that second, they want to grasp it all, multiply it tenfold, hold on to it, lay it at the feet of the Maker and say: see, I deserve more. Dying is as desperate and as ugly as it can get, and there’s no god that can make it less of that, even as those left behind pray for it.

No matter how much she prays, no matter how hard she believes, the dead cannot be brought back to life, or, anyway, not in any way that it matters, not in any way that doesn’t involve blood magic or demons or a blight. So then, what’s the point?

She thinks of her brother, and then she’s angry all over again at a supposed Maker that allowed his death to happen, that let so many go like that. She thinks of his belief, of how badly he wanted to do good as a Templar, or how he was the person who taught her her first prayer, and he only had to die to undo all that good she made her believe in. She hates being called the Herald, because there’s nothing more she’d like to do than throw away her religion and her Mark, even as she knows it’s pointless to wish to change the past.

When will she make peace with the fact that the world if unfair, and it hasn’t been this vicious to her just because she’s been a noble until now? When will she accept that her rage is just exhausting, and nothing more?

“Herald,” Vivienne greets from her side, and she startles like a thief caught in the middle of a robbery. “If you’re praying, I can- “

“No.”

Her answer is too immediate, too sharp, and she turns her back to the statue of Andraste, smiles at the mage. Vivienne is as gorgeous as always, and if the night before was in any way more hectic than her parties, she’s not showing it. She looks at the Mark, reaches out with her magic to test it, and it tickles at the tip of her fingertips, makes it hum and glow – a sight fascinating no matter how many times she sees it. For a mediocre fighter to now possess a magical power stronger than a First Enchanter, with no magic manifested ever before, is a miracle in and of itself, though Trevelyan is not willing to attribute it to anything but pure dumb luck.

“Tell me: why were you at the Divine Conclave?”

It’s a question dressed in prettier words, Vivienne’s experience with nobility showing, because Trevelyan knows that what she means is: why you? There were the obvious political interests, and her mother’s choice that designed her at the ambassador of their house’s position. She has a brother on one side of the war, and she feared losing him even as she didn’t know it will hurt this badly to not have him anymore. She has heard the cries in Ostwick, from family of both mages and Templars alike, ever since the Chantry blew up in Kirkwall. She has barely missed being caught in too many fights on the streets, she heard the rumours that their guards were hiding apostates in their homes, that nobles welcomed back their children in their ranks, now that Circles fell around Thedas.

So she was there as a Trevelyan, just a representative of a name. But she knew what her brother was fighting for, behind the closed doors of negotiations, what Divine Justinia was hoping to achieve with the gathering in the first place.

“The war benefits no one. It must end.”

She thinks of their camps in the Hinterlands, now a mixture of those torn apart by war, villagers equally parts traumatized by lirium crazed fighting and spells blowing up everything to pieces. She thinks of all the bodies that they’ve found, burnt beyond recognition, houses abandoned, livelihoods forgotten behind just for a chance at life. She thinks of everyone who stepped in her path, crying and begging for a piece of their past, for a piece of their loved ones.

She doesn’t want to see something like it ever again.

“Mages, Templars, innocent people of all kinds now look to the Inquisition to decide their fate. Failure is a luxury that we cannot afford, my dear.”

Vivienne sounds calm, so she also tries to remain so, though her breathe is hitching in her throat and she’s starting to get dizzy. She doesn’t want someone to word out exactly what she’s fearing, like she doesn’t comprehend the gravity of the situation, like she needs guidance towards realization. She hates that Vivienne might have read her all right from the damn fucking start, and she breathes, slower, forcing herself to calm down because she doesn’t want to throw up all over Vivienne’s expensive heeled shoes, or her new boots that she looted off someone’s body in the Hinterlands.

“For almost a thousand years, the world believed ir was in the hands of the Maker. Now many believe you are the agent of His will. Whatever the truth, that belief gives you power.”

What a bunch of bullshit, she wants to say, but she knows she’s been allowed entry to Val Royeaux because of that belief, she knows she has an army, no matter how badly fed, because of that belief, she is part of the Inquisition at all because of that belief. And in those open doors, in those raised swords, in the allies she found – there’s her power.

She doesn’t want to use it, too scared, but she already did, just by surviving, and she’s now a piece in a chess game she doesn’t know against who they’re playing.

Vivienne is already not paying attention to her, returning to her desk, writing letters, inspecting the reports she’s received from Josephine. So her warning is more murmured, more an omen than an outright warning, though she knows it’ll hit where it matters anyway.

“If no one leads the way, many will be left in darkness.”

And the Herald knows, that as much rage as she is feeling, there is someone out there with more damage done to their families, with more responsibilities on their shoulders, with more grief in their hearts, failed by the world in ways that maybe she cannot even begin to comprehend. And she knows, that if her rage is true, then she has to fight to make sure that as many people as possible are protected from such pain. She hates that Vivienne read her all right from the damn fucking start. She hates that she knew exactly where to shove her, and in which direction – and if Trevelyan makes the Inquisition, then the Inquisition makes her just as much.

***

As she goes around Haven, writing down lists of needed supplies, marking on a map all the places that they need to scout, or where rumours are pointing at, talking with officers and soldiers, upgrading a piece of armour, training with Cullen and discussing best offers for various noble houses with Josephine, she starts noticing The Iron Bull. It’s impossible not to, as he easily towers above everyone else in the Inquisition’s ranks, and almost everyone naturally gets out of his way. When she marks Dane’s stables on her map and question one of the young helpers about the man, the Iron Bull borrows a sharpening stone for his axe from grumpy Harrit, one of the only persons that doesn’t seem at all phased by the presence of a Qunari in their camp. When she leaves a Council meeting in a late evening, Krem is dragging Bull in the tavern, looking outright comic with his arm around the Qunari’s shoulders, their laughter booming in the air.

Then, tentatively, because Bull has done her the favour of directly telling her about his status as a spy, she decides to just talk to him directly as well. Eyes to eye. First comes a morning training, as she goes through the moves with more recent recruits, that still are not familiar with her fighting style, whose moves she cannot guess just because they’ve been trained by Cullen, in a style too similar to her brother’s.

On the other side of the training ground, Cullen and Bull shout their orders to each of their troops, guiding their moves, correcting wrong stances, pushing those showing potential. Sometimes, the missed hits turn into reason for teasing from the others, or a joke is shouted instead of a scream as a soldier lunges for their opponent, and although everyone trains with all their might, there’s an air of comradery between them that makes it not seem much of a chore.

She stops first, head politely nodding at her partner, her skin still sweaty, adrenaline still making her head reel. She starts making her way across the yard, stopping by Bull’s side, waiting patiently for him to finish the drills, ask his lieutenant to take over. She’s staring at all these soldiers making up the Inquisition’s ranks when he turns towards her.

“They’ve got good form. Cullen’s putting his Templar training to good use.”

She crosses her arms, moves her weight so she’s just a tiny bit closer to him.

“Did Cullen tell you he was a Templar? He’s not wearing the armour.”

“He didn’t have to. Might not be a Templar shield, but it’s a Templar holding it. He angles the shield just a bit down. Helps direct fire or acid away, so it doesn’t spray right into your face. Qunari learn the same thing when we train to fight Tevinter mages. Your Templar’s doing good work.”

So that’s what his Ben-Hassrath training is capable of. She noticed the same thing, but it was the familiarity of it that made her notice it at all, and she’s impressed by how sharp he was to catch all those details, and piece together that much of the past behind them, and be so correct. Still, he’s true to his word, and he’s not only telling her his obvious conclusion, but also the thinking process that brought him to it – and she nods her head, looks again at the troops and sees something more this time around.

“I’m impressed by what Cullen has accomplished with the troops.”

Most of the people joined the Inquisition after the explosion at the Conclave, now refugees with a want to do something about this new problem that they’re all facing. Most of the older soldiers died when they closed up the Breach. Yet those standing in front of them are objectively good, and it is all thanks to their commander. It takes time to build a group into a team, but these men gave their loyalty to Cullen, and that’s one important detail when getting ready to fight a religious war.

“Biggest problem for the Inquisition right now isn’t on the front line. It’s at the top. You’ve got no leader. No Inquisitor.”

She turns to stare at him, try and see if he is joking, but Bull looks dead serious, his eye searching her face, memorizing every change in expression – and she knows he’s doing it, and yet she cannot stop herself from looking as incredulous as she feels.

“Cassandra’s been the driving force of this Inquisition. She’s the leader in all but name.”

“Cassandra’s a Seeker. From what I gather, that’s a bit like a Ben-Hassrath.”

The hand – that gives, that takes, that beckons, that strikes. She has hand-picked each person in their ranks, has used the authority of her title and past to create this organization. No one would be here without her, so isn’t that the obvious choice? No matter how terrible their beginning together, no one can deny the fact that the Seeker is an incredibly capable woman.

So then, why not? She frowns up at the Iron Bull, and with him, she doesn’t even have to actually ask the question outright.

“She’s a good hunter and a great fighter, but she doesn’t see the big picture. Too busy searching for answers.”

And Cassandra has searched for answers all her life: about her family’s demise, about the path of a Pentaghast, about her faith, about the heroes of Thedas, about the rightfulness of her actions, about the divinity of her Herald.

“My people don’t pick leaders from the strongest, or the smartest, or even the most talented. We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions… and live with the consequences.”

She doesn’t know enough about all of these people to figure out who would best suit his definition of a leader, barely having started to know them better, to fit in-between their orders and their skills. But as she thinks it over, she thinks it does make sense – especially as in these desperate times of need, so many people need others to make the hard decisions for them. No one wants to be the one having to bear the guilt of a choice, though everyone envies the laurels of praise that might come in good outcomes. But the balance is so delicately held together, and it so many times more tips towards destruction instead of success. The people just want someone to glorify, or someone to crucify. The Inquisition needs someone willing to wear both the glory and the condemnation.

It explains, however, how come he sits at the head of the Chargers. It explains, however, why he’s so proudly wearing his scars and his missing eye and why his people talk so highly of him.

As the silence lingers between the two of them, Bull breaks it.

“Ah, who knows. Maybe you seal the breach, the Chantry gets off its ass, and all those soldiers go home and get fat.”

She bursts out laughing, the 180 degrees switch in her thoughts and in the conversation making absolutely no sense, but pleased at the attempt to lighten up the situation anyway.

“You think?”

“It could happen. It won’t, but it could.”

She’s still laughing, a smile on her face, as she waves him goodbye, a messenger sent to get her for another meeting.

***

Then it’s when Leliana asks her to her tent, after Harding’s recent arrival to let them know of some scouting reports – but the surprising thing is that when she’s done, Harding is still around, sitting by the fire with a few of the soldiers, and Cremisius is next to her. When she’s warm enough, and fed well enough, she’s back on her scout duties, and the Herald takes the moment to occupy what was Harding’s seat just a few minutes ago, trying to smile at Bull’s man. He’s silently passing her a cup of tea, that she’s sincerely grateful for – no matter how much time she spends in the snow, she’ll never get used to the way her fingers go numb if she’s not wearing her gloves, probably forgotten in some meeting room.

She likes him because everything is straight-forward with him. He’s just a really good fighter that is part of a mercenary band that he cares about like no other, and it’s a loyalty and devotion that is obvious even from the way he speaks about them, the tone of his voice turning just a bit softer when he says the name of the people he entrusted his life with, over and over again.

So Trevelyan just goes for it: “I’d like to know more about The Iron Bull.”

“The Chief. First time I met him, he saved my life.”

Well, that’s one unexpected way of describing the Qunari leader of a mercenary group.

“That’s a story definitely worth hearing,” she pushes, sipping from her tea – and Cremisium maybe had figured out that she’s asking out of sincere curiosity, or he is just eager to tell the stories of their adventure together. One doesn’t simply become the most trusted man of a Qunari spy, and it’s not a title that many people can boast.

“I wasn’t a soldier at the time. I was in some trouble and trying to flee Tevinter. A Tribune and his men caught me in a border town tavern. They meant to make an example of me. Bull killed them. Gave up his eye doing it. He patched me up and asked if I was looking for work. I’ve been putting up with his jokes ever since.”

That last sentence grabs a smile out of the Herald, and Krem sits back more comfortably in his seat, pleased.

“That’s how he lost his eye?”

The eye patch is certainly the most unnerving and mysterious thing about Iron Bull. She heard the servants whisper in the tavern about it, and there are as many rumours about the story behind it as there are gossiping mouths in Haven. It probably doesn’t help that he’s a Qunari as well, and he automatically grasps the attention of everyone… well, across Thedas, really.

“Yes. The guards had me on the tavern floor when Bull came inside and yelled for them to stop. The guard had a flail. Bull put himself between me and the blow. Big horned idiot. Didn’t even know me.”

Krem’s voice turns soft, no bite in the offence, lost in the memory of that situation. Trevelyan thinks of the weapon, with its metal, spiked striking end, and how excruciatingly painful it must have been to get a blow in the face, losing an eye in the process. She doesn’t know why, but the fact that he hasn’t lost it in a gruesome battle, or while doing mercenary work, but simply trying to do the good thing and save the life of someone who didn’t deserve death, makes the outline of him in her mind switch.

“And about him being a Qunari, a-”

“A Ben-Hassrath?”

Trevelyan opens her mouth, closes it again, staring at this man defending his leader so fiercely, just by knowing a truth that she thought it should be a secret.

“I didn’t expect he’d tell you all that he was a spy.”

“Not the whole band, but those who’ve been around long enough to trust. He figures most of us would find out sooner or later, and it should come from him. It’s never messed up a job. He just writes letters back home. Lot of the boys write letters back home.”

She sits in silence, sipping at her tea, but no second feeling uncomfortable – her doubt not judged, his answers accepted. They’re just two people that care, in different ways, about the same person: one questioning and one defending. She considers his words and the information that she newly learnt, and how suddenly it makes Bull so much more than just a Qunari spy, or the leader of the Chargers.

If all her selves can exist inside of her, can it not be the same for everyone else around her as well? Cullen is a Templar, as well as just their commander, and a man trying to do right by his past mistakes. Cassandra is a Seeker and a Pentaghast and a warrior. Leliana is a spy master and a deeply religious person and a skilled, Orlais-trained assassin. Varric is a writer, a businessman, a spy and an adventurer. Josephine is the eldest daughter of the Montilyets, an ambassador and a tactician.

She thanks Krem for his time, and he grins at her.

***

It’s rare to eat lunch at all, as supplies are spare, so most of them are just keeping themselves busy until diner time. It’s even rarer to get to eat lunch, and when you do, to have it at the same time as other people. But as Trevelyan makes her way inside the tavern, she’s welcomed by the sight of Bull’s back, the musician tuning her mandolin, and a few of their recruits eating a very late breakfast, having woken up barely in time for their morning drills. It’s part manners and part want that makes her slide into the empty seat across Bull, at the same table.

“Hey Boss,” he says, and before she gets to, he gestures towards Flissa for one more bowl of warm soup, and he shoves the loaf of bread across the table, closer to her. She smiles, and she breaks apart a piece, starts eating it as it is, as she waits for her food. Bull has stopped eating his as well, and he waits as well.

“So, Iron Bull… How did you get the name ‘Iron Bull’?”

“I picked it,” he says simply, leans back a bit to allow space for the barmaid to place the new plate and cup on the table, before he returns, picking up his spoon at the same time as her. “We don’t have names under the Qun, just… I don’t know, job descriptions, I guess. When I came to Orlais, I chose ‘The Iron Bull’ for myself.”

She keeps her spoon between her lips as she pays attention to his words, a bad habit from her teenage years that she wasn’t able to get rid of, and so her question is somewhat muffled, makes her sound younger.

“But why specifically ‘Iron Bull’?

“This may surprise you, but I really like hitting things.”

She snorts in her spoonful of soup, the blow of air making all the contents fly back into her bowl, and she’s laughing hard now, Bull joining her a second later. She’s up on her feet, grabbing one of Flissa’s rags, cleaning up at her chin and shirt, as Bull’s laughter dies out. If her mother could see her now, even she’d swear, but as it is, she’s just enjoying her mishap, and clearly her lunch partner is doing so as well.

“Also, it’s the Iron Bull, technically.” He’s waving his spoon in the air to point at her in tandem with his accent falling on the word the. “I like having an article at the front. It makes it sound like I’m not even a person, just a mindless weapon, an implement of destruction… That really works for me.”

Well, she has seen him in a battle, he is all of those things, but she also knows there’s not a second he’s not aware of his people and how they are doing in a battle. He always jumps where the battle is heaviest and he’s incredibly scary swinging his axe around, a fastness in him that can’t seem possible for someone as large. And she also knows of Krem’s story, and how none of Bull’s actions can possibly be called, at any point, mindless or destructive. Heck, isn’t he here at all, tied to be her bodyguard and protect her in all Inquisition matters, just because he doesn’t want this whole world blown apart? But hearing it that he prefers it the other way around, she wonders what exactly she is supposed to believe at all.

So, she asks him about how he became a Ben-Hassrath instead. She knows parts of Qunari culture, just at a superficial level, nothing much but what every other Free Marcher put together during Arishok’s stay in Kirkwall. It starts at pure curiosity, though. Her world has been so narrow, and now it is getting wider and wider every day, with each piece of land walked, with each new ally that she recruits. She wants to be just to all of them, to thrown away the teachings of her family and the superstitions of her people.

She listens to his explanations, tries to piece it together with the book about the Qun that she asked Leliana to get her, that she found in the wares of the merchants she came across. Off the battlefield, even as he speaks of his people, Iron Bull is a refreshingly reasonable person, listening to everyone’s words with the same level of attention, attentively reading the gestures and expressions of those around him, and he replies in a calm matter that has nothing to do with his way of fighting. So even if he might be annoyed by her inquiries, he doesn’t show it.

They’re down only to the bread, that they’re now each grabbing a piece of as he keeps talking.

“They sent me to Seheron because they needed someone who could fight and hunt down problems. That whole island was a sack of cats. Incursions from Tevinter, Tal-Vashoth, and native rebels fighting both sides… And in the middle, me, trying to wrangle the rebels and restore order.”

If there is a place who can haunt a man for the rest of his life, then that place is Seheron.

“I can’t imagine that was easy.” She lets him take two pieces of the bread in a row.

“One day I woke up and couldn’t think of a damned reason to keep doing my job. Turned myself in to the reeducators. I thought about letting some rebel kill me, but I couldn’t give any of those bastards the satisfaction. The Ben-Hassrath ordered me to go to Orlais, ostensibly as a Tal-Vashoth, and work undercover. That’s how I ended up here.”

Trevelyan looks around, at the shoddy tavern that they’re in, with the food that always seems to have something missing, with their untrained soldiers, and with this one table that they’ve shared over the past half an hour.

“I’m glad you’re alive and; well, here, Bull.” It’s an intentional choice of words, and a one-word declaration: his name, but not its purpose. “If you ever need to talk more about all this, let me know.”

She offers even if she doubts he’ll ever take her up on it. Iron Bull gets up from the table, shouting his thanks to Flissa, before looking down again at this Herald, a young woman that is just extending her kindness to a man that she knows to be a trained spy and killer.

“Nah. It was a long time ago.”

***

And then there’s that time when a few days pass by with her locked in meeting rooms, counting once and twice and thrice and then over again all the supplies that they need for the Hinterlands once again. And the next time that she sees the Iron Bull, is as he sits outside his tent, when she finishes talking with master Harrit about the horses that he wants and the Inquisition desperately needs, and that she’s supposed to get from one of her treks in that damned place. Sometimes just the thought of doing something tires her out enough to make her want to stop, though stopping is a luxury that she cannot afford.

And yet, she takes five minutes to hover by Bull’s side, asking him some more things about Qunari. She cannot even imagine not knowing who her parents are, so much of her life hinges on her relationship with her family, and so much importance is placed by humans on their ancestors and links. Heck, the Trevelyans have an entire tapestry up on the wall in their main hall, showing their entire lineage, decades and decades ago, names that have gone out of fashion and names that have shaped the Free Marches and the Chantry and the Templar Order. And out of all of that, she was born to sit at the last end of all those familial roots: made and raised to be who she is, simply because she was a Trevelyan.

How can she judge him his religion and his loyalty for it, when she herself comes from a long line of believers, when her own version is stifling enough that it makes a holy figure out of a mere woman? There is so much she doesn’t know, or if she knows, she doesn’t understand – so it is with open ears and curious eyes that she listens to his stories and lessons, even if they challenge everything that she thought was supposed to be the natural order of things.

And how can she truly criticize the Qunari rules, when her own parents asked much of the same thing from her? There were always the things that they taught she’d be best at, the roles she was expected to fulfil – and that was the width of her life, with all the classes she was made to take to build her into the best image of a young lady, with all the unwritten and unspoken codes of conduct, with the fragile honour and egos. Life back in Ostwick was simply following a path that has existed for the women of noble houses for centuries, and much like a Qunari, they were all just expected to follow through.

People are just people, everywhere.

She likes him, because in his rebuttal of her beliefs, she understands that, for him, she’s nothing more than a bratty noble, and she wants to both weep and hug the life out of him for not even considering the idea that she might be holy. With all the others, she can feel when their perception shifts: that sometimes they cannot believe her survival or her Mark, so there’s only the heavens to blame; that sometimes they watch her train or they have to explain something to her, and they sigh in relief at her simply humane limitations. But with Iron Bull, she’s always just his boss – and he doesn’t seem to care to make more out of her.

And then, maybe because she’s reminded of her life before all of this, or maybe because Bull pauses to look after a redhead new recruit, or maybe because he has not refused to answer any of her questions yet, she asks him about marriage and love. And hears about sex instead, her face turning redder and redder with each word out of his mouth, and Bull seems like he is enjoying both the topic of the conversation, the memories it’s bringing up, and the prude reactions from her. By the end, there’s a teasing edge in his voice, and Trevelyan is covering half of her face with the pair of gloves she’s holding in her hands, while glaring at him above them.

“You asked, Boss!” he shouts after her, when she comes up with an excuse, stumbling over her words, and she just screams back at him that he better be ready for the Hinterlands from tomorrow onwards.

#dragon age inquisition #female trevelyan #the iron bull #the inquisitor #iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull x trevelyan #dragon age #da: inquisition #da: i #da fanfic #da fic #my writing

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onstarsandiron · 4 years

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Might As Well Face It, You’re Addicted To Love Chapter 2

The shortness of the first few chapters means I can pop em out quick! Also, I’m currently neglecting several real-life duties :D

Chapters: 1 / 2 [here] / 3 / 4 / 5 / ?

AO3 Link here

Robb

Robb paused to brush any dirt or debris off his uniform and ensure that he didn’t look like he had been running through town, nor that he snuck back into the Academy through a very familiar hole in the fence hidden by bushes. He tried to get his hair to slick back into order, but it was as much a losing cause as ever. Splitting his losses, he decided it wasn’t worth being even later to class than he already was and headed off towards the music building.

It was so tedious that he’d had to go all the way across town – and do it himself, no less – to get tickets to the show tonight. It couldn’t be helped, however. His usual choice for running errands meant to be kept hush-hush was James, his typical chauffer and, reportedly, his father’s favorite assistant. James, however, was booked the whole day running less hush-hush errands for his mother while Robb was “at” school. Obviously, he could have just used Ticket Master, like the rest of the world, but his phone was so bugged he was surprised it hadn’t popped antennae and legs yet. Even if his phone wasn’t bugged, his bank account was certainly monitored. It’s as if his mother didn’t trust him. How hurtful. So, he’d had to go to the ticket office on his own and buy a real paper ticket with cash.

His mind strayed to his return trip and he double-checked his shirt for any coffee stains. Spotless. Thank god. It was common enough for him to be late – he had a true knack for entirely forgetting the time – but late with stains would be far too suspicious – he had another true knack for getting into trouble, one which the administration was thoroughly aware of. Or perhaps they were wary of it?

His thoughts lingered on the boy on the sidewalk. Long limbs, hair so blonde it was white and kept in a long ponytail. He was dressed like any other office worker, but the way he wore a simple button up and work pants just looked somehow better. Or, rather, Robb imagined it would if the coffee stains were disregarded. It really was a shame when his clumsiness becomes a detriment to others, but he paid for the spill and he’d never see that boy again, so it really wasn’t worth dwelling on.

Robb opened the door to the orchestra room as quietly as he could, pressing on the typically loud handlebars as gently as possible and slipping through the door as soon as it was open enough. The rest of the orchestra was seated, instruments out, though the way they adjusted in their seats and chatted quietly with each other told him that at least their teacher hadn’t started practice just yet.

As he tip-toed his way to the back of the classroom where his instrument was, he thanked his stars for his luck, for once. Just as he finished his thanks, he felt a shadow loom over him.

“You are late, Valerio.” Scratch that, Robb’s stars could go fuck themselves, actually.

“Ah, Carnelian, pleasant to see you, too,” Robb said, turning around to meet his classmate. Viera was as chipper as always with a stern and disapproving look on her face. Her uniform was impeccably tidy, as was her platinum blonde hair, as always. On any other girl, he’d assume that hair was bleached at a salon, but Viera wasn’t the type to be bothered by whatever color her hair happened to be.

“And what has caused you to become held up?” Viera asked. To be honest, it was almost refreshing to be asked such a straightforward question, no matter how hostile the tone. It was strangely hard to find those.

“Well, it seems that though the cafeteria is graded so very highly, some of their dishes can still make one experience, err, certain discomforts best dealt with in the restrooms.” If you talk about something uncomfortable, people not only believe you, but let you off the hook without ever bringing it up again.

“I am so sorry your sensitivities were so very unnerved,” Viera sneered, very clearly not buying any of his horseshit, as per usual, “But if you continue to find yourself delayed to rehearsals, I will see to it that you will discover discomforts far greater than that which you found today.”

Robb gulped. They were big words coming from a very big, very capable individual. He nodded his head, the move of an individual who would like to keep it firmly on his shoulders.

“Very good,” Viera said, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, “Now, get set up, we will be starting soon.” Without waiting for reply, she turned and made her way back to her own seat and instrument.

Robb rolled his eyes. She was so uptight. Just because she was first chair and thus responsible for the whole section, as if it was like some sort of responsibility or something. Robb himself could have been first chair, too, since he and Viera were on the same level skill-wise, but apparently Viera was more “professional”, “trustworthy”, and “knew how to get to places on time, every time”. He was thus second chair.

Robb turned back to his case and finally opened it. His bass was gorgeous, a rich dark wood that he himself kept well-polished. For an instrument chosen out of spite, he’d really grown to love how it played. Robb extracted the instrument carefully from its case, his bow already tucked neatly into the quiver attached to the tailpiece.

He took his seat next to Viera and plucked at his strings, testing their sound. Deep notes reverberated off of them and he did a little hot-crossed-buns for his own entertainment. Seemed everything was in order. Before he could do much more the instructor tapped her stand for their attention. Robb felt a bit cheated that he hadn’t time to get properly warmed up, and then remembered that he had been late.

He tended to be late or absent to most everything, but, despite what Viera might tell anyone, he never skipped orchestra. It was the one time of his day when all he was thinking about were the notes on his page, the position of his fingers, and rich notes from his bass. Sometimes the music was dreadfully boring to play, an undercurrent for the rest of the ensemble, but skilled conductors like the ones at The Academy knew where to find pieces that truly allowed the basses to shine. Even when it was boring, though, Robb could appreciate how every draw of his bow influenced the tone of the whole piece. The bass was powerful and expressive and at times drove the whole movement.

Perhaps his mother didn’t fully appreciate the instrument, nor that he was only second chair in an orchestra full of other children who also had the best private instructors money could buy, but that was okay. What his mother didn’t know was something Robb could keep for himself, safe in his heart, just for him.

Chapters: 1 / 2 [here] / 3 / 4 / 5 / ?

#heart of iron #hoi #soul of stars #sos #might as well face it youre addicted to love #mawfiyatl #mywriting #fanfiction #robbert valerio #jaxander taizu #robbert valerio/jaxander taizu #robb/jax #robb #jax #rock band au

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vegetacide · 5 years

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Whump●tober - Isolation

Veg-notables: ::crawls out from under a rock..clears throat as if nothing happened::

Little late getting this one out due to...life...food...irritating biological need to sleep.. All that fun stuff.

@gumnut-logic - KOALA!!!

Thunderheads, you guys are a riot. I love reading your reactions to the crazy sh!t I’m putting these guys through. I can almost feel the laser beams pointing at my forehead.. Tee he he.. Can defo feel the assault’mallows.. ::bounces one of @gumnut-logic head::

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: stuff happens.. O.o;

Characters: Scott, Gordon/Penny, Colonel Casey

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous post can be found HERE

7. Isolation

Enjoy…

oOo

Gordon scowled at the transparent 3-D rendering of his Godmother and resisted the compulsion to swear. Foul language wouldn’t get him anywhere with the formidable woman except disapproval from all those sitting within ear shot and a disconnected call.

“Look,” Gordon beseeched. “We need Scott back here. Things aren’t looking good.”

“I understand the urgency,” The commanding voice of the Colonel softened. “But this is out of my hands. He nearly beat a man to death and we can’t just ignore that.”

“Colonel,” Gordon voice raised as he pushed up from his chair, winced at a twinge in his back. Fucking plastic torture device. A look from the attending at the nurses station had him gritting his teeth with frustration “That so called man, has landed my brother in the ICU with a tube shoved down his throat to keep him alive. At least Scott left that piece of shit still breathing. Which is more than I can say for Virgil. One of ours is rapping on death’s door. You’ll have to excuse us if we don’d give a royal flying fuck what the GDF wants right now.”

The colonel visage soured as anger sparked in her gaze. “No organization is an island, Gordon.”

Gordon eye twitched, well technically iR’s home base was an island…if the day hadn’t been so ‘arse over teakettle’ as Penny had occasion to say, he would comment on that little tidbit. Right now though, it wouldn't get them anywhere

“There are rules in place that have to be adhered to.” She went on. ”Laws, international ones put in place by the World Union that are not kindly suggestions no matter who the individual is or what the cause. He crossed, unauthorized into Canadian airspace without their foreknowledge or direct invitation and attacked someone on their soil. A dual citizen at that. Yes, it was with provocation but it doesn’t excuse his actions or the handful of laws that he decided didn’t apply to him.”

“Really, with everything we have done? The lives we’ve saved? This is the response we’re gonna to get?” His voice took on a pleading edge and he looked away. “Aunty Val, Virgil is dying.”

The authoritative posture dropped away from his Aunt with the utterance of those three words.. The sternness and anger evaporating to be replaced with the woman they had spent so much time with as children. “Gordy,” Her voice underlaid with a fount of emotions. “I am doing everything I can. This is coming down from the top brass and the odds are stacked.”

Gordon’s expression must have revealed something the seasoned GDF colonel didn’t like because she sighed and gave a brief nod. “I’ll call in a few markers. Shake some tree and see what falls out.

“Thank you,” And his gratitude was real. His eyes held hers a moment before skittering away. A hand reaching up to dash away at his face before turning back.

“I can’t promise anything. If you have any options on your side I suggest you try them.” Her brow rose pointedly and it took Gordon a moment to understand what she meant.

As realization dawned, he tipped his head in a nod. “I understand. Thank you.”

8-8-8

Scott's pensive stare drilled holes in cold grey, unadorned walls of the interrogation room. He'd lost track of how long ago he'd been accompanied into this friendly little corner of GDF territory and shifted his weight on the hard, metal chair. Enough time for his legs to go numb from disuse.

The bright overhead panel lighting was unforgiving as it drove a spike through his brain when he rolled his head on his protesting neck. The tension unrelenting with the stark, searing luminescence frying his retinas.

‘Note to self,’ he thought wearily. ‘Lights suck.’

He wanted to yell and scream at the GDF to let him out but he knew it was pointless. He was well aware of how this worked. Making a person 'sweat it out' was an old tactic. One he went through counter intelligence training for back in his military days. A brief in-counter but one that was necessary prior to a rather sketchy mission that had a very small success rate.

Let the suspect sit and stew so you could use their mental exhaustion against them. Throw them off balance. Then when they reached the point of critical mass, grill them hard.

His stare shifted to the two way glass. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing himself crack. He was too proud for that. And his energies were best used elsewhere on other things. Like getting back to his family...to Virgil.

The image of the prone figure that flashed through his mind pulled Scott up short and he schooled his features. If he let himself go down that rabbit hole again he was done for.

It was his own actions that put him here and he would have to live with it. It didn’t stop him from yearning to be elsewhere. Being cut off and not knowing how his family was fairing was slowly killing him but he’d made the decision, against the colonel’s direct order not to intervene in their ongoing investigation.

He hadn’t had a choice though. As Virgil’s status got worse.. as he’d had to watch his family suffer along side...as he’d seen the look of despair pass over his sister, heard the sudden catch in her voice...his decision had been made.

His family wouldn’t lose anyone else. Attend another funeral, bury another Tracy. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Time had been short and a plan had been hastily thrown together. One that avoided putting anyone else in harm's way bar himself.

Now, thanks to him, the GDF had an illegal bio-weapon manufacturer under lock and key. The makings of a firm case against a criminal organization they hadn’t even known existed and a pocket ace up their sleeve to help them locate everyone involved… once he regained consciousness.

And Scott had the intel he had hoped would help his brother. Along with some he wished he didn’t.

Closing his eyes against the unforgiving light, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Irked as the cuffs that were secured to the metal table, which in turn was bolted to the floor, pulled at his wrist and forced him lean forward to accomplish the task.

Doubt clouded his mind, made him second guess his every move. Question how things could have been differently and if they had been, would it have made a difference? Would Virgil be safe? Or would it have just happened to one of his other siblings.

He didn’t know.

What he did know was that a greedy individual had panicked when things had gotten too hot. An unsanctioned, hidden bio-engineering lab had been rigged and to cover his ass when the top of the whole thing was about to be blown wide open, this scum had calmly flicked a switch.

No care given to human life. To his brother’s life.

A gas filled lab had been remotely unlocked to the smoldering remains just inches outside the door and his brother’s life was now dangling over a precipice with no way back.

Clenched fist came down hard on the metal table just as the interrogation room door opened.

8-8-8

Gordon braced his hands on his knees and arched his back in the small hope that the crazy knot of muscles would loosen up. He knew the likelihood of that happening was next to non existent without a muscle relaxant, heating pads and his bed but it was worth a try.

The hand that started rubbing slow circles from the base of his spine up to his shoulders made elicited a grunt of appreciation.

“Thanks.”

“Darling, you need to get some sleep.” Penny’s voice was filled with worry and he looked over his shoulder at her.

She was perfect. In every aspect of the word. From her finely boned, aristocratic face, to her intricately twisted champagne blonde halo of hair. To the slender curves that held so much strength, right down to her Louis Vuitton clad feet. Every inch of her was perfect and Gordon was goner from the moment he laid eyes on her.

He didn’t deserve her and would never be able to even touch her regalness and intelligence but for some completely ridiculous reason she loved him.

And right now, he would forever be in her debt.

“I’ll get some shut eye once Scott gets here until then it’s not going to happen.”

Penelope knew a set mind when she met one and she nodded her understanding. “In any event, let me get you something. You are a twisted knot of muscles and I can imagine it is dreadfully comfortable.”

Gordon’s lip tweaked up a bit in a soft smile and he shook his head. “I’m okay, Penny. I need to wait to hear back from my contact at W.A.S.P. They owe me one but I’m not sure it’s going to be enough. If I take something now I’m going to be a useless pile of mush on the floor.”

“Well, that would certainly be something to see.”

“I’m sure it would. The hospital staff would be able to mop me up into a bucket.”

Penny lightly nudged his shoulder with her own and her hand continued its circuitous route over his seizing back.

Gordon dragged in a breath as her ministrations melted some of the tightness, his head lolling forward in the quiet din of their private waiting room. He was flagging in a bad way and he knew he needed to get back up to his feet if he wanted to stay this side of dream land. Besides the last thing his back needed was for him to fall asleep in one of these God forsaken chairs.

Giving his head a shake to dislodge the cobwebs he caught the time on the old school analog wall clock.. He wanted to see his Virg but Kayo was in with him. The idea of interrupting that intimacy was not something that he found very appealing. He would give her five more minutes than he would offer her a break.

Calculating if he had enough time to grab a coffee from the little shop the next floor down he patted his pocked down for spare credits.

He was about to turn to Penny to see if she wanted anything when a sudden disturbance in the hallway had his head coming up sharply. Frowning, he forced his back to unbend and pushed to his feet.

Stepping out into the corridor, he was met with pandemonium as hospital staff raced passed. The alarm blaring somewhere down by the nurses station made his heart skip a beat but it was his sagging sister being escorted from a very busy and familiar room that had his lungs refusing to work.

“Oh god...no…”

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

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cloudyjoongie · 5 years

Text

Keeper of My Heart ( Boyfriend Jeong Yunho Imagine) FLUFF+ANGST+MOSTLY FLUFF

Hello, I am back and unfortunately, burnt out. It is only the beginning of the semester and I completely found myself having to juggle through five classes of school work (If you are a college student, I don’t recommend this) and my job. I haven’t had a great night’s sleep considering the circumstances nor days off. I’ve deleted most of social media accs and this was the only time I have had access and given myself time to let my mind just relax through this next imagine. I know I promised a Yunho imagine and I apologize for the delay. But here it is now.

If you are a struggling college student as I am, or even someone who is an unhealthy ‘booked and busy’ workaholic, you need this Yunho in your life. And please, give yourself enough time to rest through it all, but don’t quit. You can do this, whoever you are. You will see your light at the end of the tunnel (I wish that light was Ateez huhu).

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Song Recommendation: CHILDDIAHN(차일디안) — Will You Be My Weekend (Feat. G. Nine) (Prod. KOLLOFF)

The days accompany you like oxygen. The day is for work and nights are also, well, for work. Caffeine has been a close friend at this point as you constantly glue yourself to your desk, consisting of nothing else but book over books and the continuously sickening blue light emitting from your laptop. You were tired, but there was no way sleep could get in between this; not even a nap. If you were in a 5k run, you were almost way ahead of the game than the people who were normally at the average pace. Yes, a workaholic you are, and you knew of the consequences that your body will face, but one or two sleepless nights will not matter in the long run of establishing your career. All these hard work is of great importance than you are, says your ego.

But along with your ignorance, Yunho saw that you were at the brink. He has kept a close eye on you even in days when you rejected a date or even a video call with him.

“Baby, I need to study for this exam before I go in for work.” That was all Yunho heard at the other end of the line.

At this point, even if Yunho craved for your joyous attention after all the stress that he, too, has been going through, he does not matter when he should be looking out for your health more. What kind of boyfriend would he be for not looking out for the woman he loved? The woman who is more accompanied with excessive workload than of comfort?

It was something he most loved and most hated about you: Independence. He loved that you carried yourself like the strong woman you are. It was the reason he fell for you other than the first time he saw your beauty. But if that same independence that you carried will be your downfall, then it was time for him to come into the scene.

So that night, your train of thought was ultimately disturbed when you opened the door to find a hooded man at your doorstep with grocery bags and a smile on his face. This left you confused.

“Yunho, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be asleep for promotions right now?”

“Noona, promotions was done a long time ago. And besides, may I remind you that you have a boyfriend too?”, You smiled.

“I know, but I have to-”

“Study. I know. But study can wait. Jeong Yunho can’t.” And with that, he comes in to your room and there, he saw so much coffee cups and empty bags of chips laying on the ground. This was enough for Yunho to know that not only did you have not time for him, but you were rejecting yourself as well. Once again, you sat on your desk which defeated the purpose of Yunho coming there to bond with you.

So while you were busy on your own planet, Yunho cleaned up your place. Unbeknownst to you, Yunho was controlling himself not to burst, knowing full well in the back of his mind how important your college work was to you.

To clear the atmosphere, Yunho heated up two ramen bowls for you had the little table set for the two of you to eat. The aroma from the noodles called out to you so bad, but couldn’t bring yourself to budge.

“Noona, food is ready.”

“Go ahead, love. I’m still on this thing.”

“C’mon Noona. We have not had a date in so long. I’d love that we could do it tonight over ramen.”, you turned around with obvious irritation across your face.

“Yunho, I appreciate this a lot but my school work can’t do itself. So if you could, please go ahead without me. I will be fine.” Yunho’s eyes went slightly dark.

“I have been doing that the whole time.”, Yunho scoffed.

“Then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” Your words came out without thought and with that, Yunho threw his chopsticks across the room. Still trying to find enough patience through controlling his breathing as he was about to get his point across the woman whose shoulder hung at her desk.

“You know what, Y/N, I have had it with staying silent and tolerating this. You have been so stubborn this past few weeks and not even to me, but yourself to. You can’t admit to yourself that you are at the brink of all this work. You can’t even admit it to me because of your godforsaken ego.” His words echoed in the room as you try as much as you can to ignore his words.

“But you know what, I don’t care anymore.", He says a little softer this time. "I don’t care about your college work, your due dates, and exams, and whatever else is occupying your time. It’s my turn to have a say in this and I am so tired. I am tired of you not looking out for yourself when that was the best thing I loved about you. You can’t even give yourself atleast a good night’s sleep. I am tired of not being able to reach out to you because you won’t let me. That is why I am here.”

You fought back the tears.

“Baby, I am tired too. I know what it is like to stress out, not having the time for yourself. Physically and mentally weak but you have to put up by having the best smile. I know what it is like. That’s why I have days and nights when I craved for your attention but you, you can’t even leave your desk and no one will stop you. I need you so much and I know you do too. But right now, I know you can do good without me, heck, you’re already great at pretending I don’t exist in your life. I miss the girl who would encourage me not to quit for anything, but if that same girl is also in need of the same help, I would gladly give my whole dedication and self to her. Because I love her so much. But she just won’t accept me because she thinks she is better off on her own.” Tears began falling from your cheeks. They also began falling from his.

“So, you choose. If you still want me in your life, if you think you are good on your own and if you no longer need me. Just say the word, I would walk out that door right now even if it will be hard for me to do so. Anyone would walk out on you right now but me, I want it to be your choice because if it were up to me, there is still hope but I’m leaving it up to you now.”

Silence filled the room. dreadfully silent and from there, Yunho knew your silence was a yes. You were always good at keeping the noise at bay if it meant that you needed to get your stuff across. It hurts for him to walk away but he was no longer needed in your space. But as Yunho was about to stand up, you started to sniffle and cry silent but loud enough for him to hear. You shook so hard and had your hands entangle in your hair. You turned from your desk with hands on your face, wet and glossy from the unending tears that came falling down. Yunho’s heart softens from the sight, that the woman he knew who was strong was now vulnerable. And there, you got up from your desk for the first time and sat on his lap as he enveloped you in the tightest and gentle way when his arms wrap around you. You kept crying as your tears fell to his hoodie, savoring the smell you missed so much and the comfort you found in his warmth.

“Baby, please don’t leave me.” You told him. and He reassures you. “I am so sorry for not being there. I am sorry for not giving you time when you needed it. You could have left me and yet you’re still here.”

“Ssh, I won’t ever leave you. not now, not ever. You are the most important person in my life right now and I love you so much. I love you too much to walk away from you. I understand you have a lot on your plate right now but I just hate that you are not taking care of yourself. You are the smartest and most hardworking person I know, but you have to learn how to rest without quitting, love. I would hate myself if something bad ever happened to you.”

"I'm so so tired. I'm stressed out and I know that you see it too. I just feel like I don't have time for anything else. That's all I know now. I'm exhausted, Yunho."

"I know, love. I know you are." He says as draws circles on your back to calm down. He kept you there till your demons are hushed and calmed down. This was the first time in a long time you both held each other so close. And once you have calmes down, you rose your head to face him with a smile on your face. And there it was, the smile that Yunho needed to ease his stress away. The girl he fell in love with and will always fall for.

“I am so goddamn lucky to have you in my life, Jeong Yunho. I don’t deserve you.I love you so much, please don’t forget that.” Yunho smiles at you and leans his forehead over yours.

“Of course you deserve me. I love you more, Y/N, always.” And with that, he angles his head as his lips closes in with yours, inhaling his exhale and vise versa. Your hands tangled with his hair and his hands tightened around your waist. your bodies became one at last after so long. Yunho lets go, leaving you breathless and slightly frustrated.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too for yelling. I don't know what came at me."

“I missed you.”

“I missed you so much more.” You both smiled. Yunho breaks the silence.

“Now, why don’t we have a nice meal before the soup gets cold and before I square up with your desk for taking my girlfriend away from me.” You laughed and there, the two of you sat in content with the just the company of each other, not letting anything else come between the both of you even just tonight.

----

now, I want a Yunho boyfriend wth. i cry.

#ateez imagines #ateez fluff #jeong yunho #yunho imagines #yunho x reader #ateez atiny #yunho #ateez scenarios #ateez yunho

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suzubelle-chan · 5 years

Text

Someday Someplace Chapter 2 Evening Encounters

A Casnor Childhood Romance AU

Just some reminders like 90% of the cast belongs to @s-kinnaly, @ridersoftheapocalypse, and @mrneighbourlove. Also, this an AU of rider’s fanfiction, where Cass and Ralnor meet and fall in love as kids rather than adults. This is fanfiction of fanfiction-seperate timeline going on here. Just to clear up any confusion. One more thing, I edited the bit in the previous chapter about Ralnor’s skin tone since s-kinnaly is designing him with brown skin and I want to keep my works close to what you see in her art. Okay, enjoy the fic!

As Orana sat on her father’s shoulders, she scanned the crowd, hand over her eyes. “No sign of him here,” she called out.

The king shrugged, "Well it was worth a shot. Keep looking, dear."

"Okay, papa!" Orana replied and looked out again into the crowd.

Right next to them, Zelda held Tebanam, Covarog, and Kanisa next to her skirt. “Mama, how come we aren’t yelling Ralnor’s name?” the princess asked. “Isn’t that what we are supposed to do when we lose someone?”

“I can do that!” Orana declared. She took in a deep breath. However, her father clasped her mouth with his hand, silencing her yell.

“It is true. But we are royalty. That adds on other problems in finding. People could panic if they found out that Ralnor is missing, running around and in searching they might not pay attention and accidentally hurt him. Or people might try to find him, but then hold him for ransom. We are trying to stay as quiet for as long as we can.”

“But I miss him, mama.” Kanisa sighed.

“Me too! We’ve got to get Ralnor back!” Covarog agreed.

“Ral!” Tebanam declared.

“I know darlings. I miss him too.”

“Is he going to be okay, Papa?” Orana asked.

“He will be,” Ganondorf stated, patting her. He then growled, “He will be.”

Zelda walked on over, patting her husband’s side. “Of course he will. We’ll make sure of it. I just can’t imagine what Ralnor is doing right now.

Indeed, with all the Wisdom she held, Zelda would have never imagined her son pulling on a piece of leather with all his might with a Gerudo girl pulling on the other end. All while, her mother narrated the events to a small crowd watching beyond the stall.

“See folks? Resists wear and tear!” Ukuri declared. There were some oohs and awes in the crowd. "You won't find high-quality leather anywhere else!" Then she smirked a bit. "Alright kids, now push!"

Ralnor took a step before straightening up. He looked up at the woman and asked her “What?” However, he failed to look back in time to see Cass ram into him, sending them both into the ground. Ukuri and crowd burst into laughter.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day!” The Gerudo woman chuckled. “So anyone interested in some leathers?”

As the merchant took in some orders, Ralnor watched the little triforce pieces swirling around his head.

“I’m sorry,” the girl lamented, still on the ground and eyes on the ground.

Ralnor shook his head, scattering the pieces away. He smiled, “It’s okay. I’m used to it. Sometimes my siblings and I get excited when it comes to group hugs.”

“What’s a sibling?” Cass asked.

“You know, it’s a brother or a sister.”

“Oh, you sure do know some fancy words Ralnor.”

“Just from books that I read.” The boy blushed, rubbing the back of his head. That is when his stomach gurgled, his cheeks pink. “Sorry.”

“Hey, when your tummy’s hungry its hungry.” Cass shrugged. “No need to blush.”

That is when Cass’s stomach roared, her own cheeks turning pink.

“Whoa is there a monster in your belly?" Ralnor asked.

“Shut up.” Cass mumbled.

“Well looks like I’ve got some hungry little kiddos on my hands.” Ukuri beamed, turning to the kids while filling her bag. She picked up a silver rupee and handed it to Cass. “How about you get us some grub?”

"Okay, mommy."

“Grub? Like bugs?” the boy flinched and twisted

“No, she means food." Cass giggled. "You may know the fancy words, but I guess I know some fun ones. She patted him on shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything I know." She fidgeted with her belt, revealing a small pouch and slipped the rupee inside. "Any requests?"

“I’ll take some cuckoo. You kids get whatever you want.”

“Yeah!” The girl cheered and took the boy’s hand.

“At least something that resembles real food. Not too many sweets or candy. I will be checking all pockets when you too get back.”

“Ugh! Fine!” the girl groaned.

“Ralnor I think you need to keep an eye on her for me,” the mother commented with a smile.

“Don’t worry ma’am I will.” The boy replied.

Just as the two children slipped out the back, a knight appeared at the stall. Ukuri jumped a bit, then took a deep breath and straightened out her skirt.

“Good day my lord. How may I help you today?”

"Pardon me, ma'am. There is a slight emergency I must announce. There is a missing noble boy and his family is dreadfully worried about him. He has blonde hair and blue eyes and is wearing green clothes. Has anyone seen a child like that?"

The group of customers shook there or murmured no.

Ukuri huffed, “A boy with blonde hair? In this country? Sorry, I think you are looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Well, keep your eyes open. Any and all information would be appreciated.” The man gave a slight bow and left.

When the crowd left, Ukuri grabbed a rag and rubbed the shelf a little too hard. “Typical. Some rich bastard’s brat goes missing and they’ll send out the guard. Meanwhile, a Gerudo girl goes missing and no one gives a damn.” She then glanced at the door. “Nah, couldn’t be.” She murmured, still scrubbing.

The kids glanced all around at the stalls. Food descriptions.

“See anything you like?” Cass asked.

“I’m not sure…” Ralnor admitted.

“Well, I think I found a stall with cuckoo for Mommy. Maybe there’s something for you here.”

The two children stood in line, glancing at the large black sign with all the foods and prices in white. “Aw sweet! They’ve got onion rings!” the girl declared. “Those are my favorites.”

“Okay…” the boy stared at the sign. His eyes scanning around, not settling on any of those words.

“Anything wrong?” Cass asked.

“Well…I don’t know what any of these things are,” Ralnor admitted.

Cass blinked at the boy and started to laugh her head off. “Aw man Ralnor. You are a riot!" She continued to laugh until she looked at the blank face of the boy. "You are actually serious, aren't you?"

“Yes.”

"Oh, Ralnor. I’m sorry. I mean, I thought you were a rich kid, but wow,” Cass pondered, hand now on her cheek.

“Mama usually only lets us have sweets at fairs or after dinner.” He admitted. “We sometimes can get Papa to give us snacks though when we are working on homework.

“Don’t you worry.” Cass pulled him in, arm around his shoulders. She patted her chest. “I am what you call a cuss-ne-sir of outdoor foods. Just ask me.”

“I think the word is connoisseur.”

Cass smirked, “ Okay smarty pants. Just read off some foods and tell you what they are. I’m sure there’s something you’ll like.”

“Okay…what is…a cheese frit-ter?”

“Oh, that's cheese covered in a batter and all fried up."

“Fried?”

“They take something like grease or fat or butter and boil it, and then they put food into it until gets all nice and crispy. Anything else?”

“What’s a Stuffed Spud?”

“That’s a potato that’s been baked and then put all kinds of good stuff in it. Sour cream, chives, cheese, bacon bits, butter-it’s really good.”

“Uh…I don’t eat bacon…”

“Me neither. Mom says it’s a Gerudo thing. You order your own fixings so it’s fine.”

“Maybe…what are fries?”

“Okay, now I’m starting to get worried about your lifestyle. Fries are potatoes cut up into strips and fried up. They make a great snack and usually come with a lot of meals.”

“So then what’s a grilled cheese?”

Cass sighed, “Let me ask you a question, you do know what a cheese sandwich is right?”

“Of course I do!”

"Just checking.” The girl stepped back, palms shielding her. “I was starting to think you came from like a different world or something. Well, grilled cheese is basically a cooked cheese sandwich. You just put in a pan until you burn the bread a bit and melted the cheese.”

“Well, I think I’ll take a grilled cheese then. With some fries too.”

“Excellent choice! Trust me, you’ll love it!”

The children ordered their food and weaved their way through the crowd. When the two children returned to the stall, Ukuri sighed. “Thank the goddesses! For a while there I thought I had two lost children on my hands.”

“Here you go Mommy, fried cuckoo wings!” the girl offered up the paper box overflowing with wings and fries.

"Thanks, kiddo. I'll go shut the stall and we’ll dine in the back.”

Right after the woman lowered the blind, closing them off to the word, a large stomping rattled the stall. “Yeesh, some customers," Ukuri grumbled. She then turned to see her daughter starting to take one of the hangings off the wall, food on one of the higher boxes, and Ralnor glancing around, checking the boxes.

“What are you looking for kiddo?” Ukuri asked.

“A napkin,” the boy responded.

“What for? We haven’t even started eating.” Cass stated giving the fabric one last tug before it fell on top of her.

“You can’t eat a meal without a napkin. Maybe a snack, but a not a meal.” Ralnor countered.

“Let me guess one of your mother’s rules?” Ukuri asked.

“Yes, ma'am. Plus I don’t want to get crumbs or stains on the hanging.”

“Kid let me tell you something, I learned when I lived with my mama.” The merchant knelt down, large arm wrapping the child close. “As long as your mama is not around, she won’t mind if you get a little messy. I’ll make sure you’re clean enough for her. Plus, Cass and I eat and sleep on these things all the time. I know how to get any stains out.”

Cass popped her head, hanging wrapped around her . “It’s true,” she declared.

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to make a mess.” He gazed up with wide, nervous eyes.

Ukuri sighed and smiled, “Well, I've got some rags upstairs that will do the job just fine if you want one.

"Yes, please. Thank you.”

“No worries hun. You are so sweet.”

As Ukuri left, Cass commented as she laid down the hanging, "Wow you got one of those strict fancy moms.” She then grabbed the boxes off the boxes and sat down.

The boy sat down next to her, he admitted.“She does kind of get mad when my siblings and I pull pranks or bring mud in the house or when we stay up late. But she always makes us feel better when we get bullied and really loves to help us with our homework.”

“She sounds nice, but I think I’ll take my mom any day of the week,” the girl said and then offered the boy his box.

The boy sat the box on his lap, cautiously took the sandwich with both hands. “I’ve never had anything so…wet and sticky…” He mentioned.

Cass chomped down on an onion ring as she spoke, “That’s called grease. It’s what the cook the food in. Just take a bite, it’s gonna not kill ya. Trust me. I’ve eaten this stuff plenty of times.” She then swallowed, a series of coughs following. Cass pounded on her chest until she started breathing again.

“Okay…” Ralnor glanced at his friend nervously before looking at the dark sandwich in front of him, cheese slightly oozing out of the crust and took a small bite. The gooeyness of the warm cheese and the crunchiness of the bread filled his mouth. After swallowing, the boy said in awe, “This is good.”

"See, nothing to worry about," Cass stated. "Welcome to unhealthy-ish foods.”

“Ish?” Ralnor repeated.

“Because well cheese and bread are good for you, right? But, some people say all the healthy stuff gets lost when you fry foods like this. But I think still think there’s some left. Maybe not that much, but still some.”

Ralnor laughed. “I really like the way you think Cass.”

“Thanks.” The girl admitted, beaming.

As Ralnor continued to eat, he heard something hitting the ground repeatedly. That’s when he noticed the two dogs in the corner of the stall. The large white dog with almost green was wagging his tail, panting at the two of them. The black dog stared silently at them.

“Uh..what’s up with your dogs?”

“Oh, they always do that when it's meal time,” Cass shrugged. “Daddy used to let them have leftovers of their meals, just try looking away and you should be okay."

“Alright,” the prince stated as he turned around and tried to concentrate on his food. However, the sound of panting only got louder. He turned around slightly to see the larger dog right up in his face. "Hi, doggie," Ralnor greeted. Then the tog bit the crust out of his hand, tugging it away. He then sat down and started to chew on the leftover sandwich. “Hey!” the boy cried out.

“You gotta be careful around Noishe,” Cass commented. “He’ll take what he wants without warning. Gotta stay sharp.”

“What about that dog?” Ralnor pointed to the thin, black dog still in the corner.

“That’s Repede. He’s the quiet one. He doesn’t cause trouble much unless you have something you want.”

“Like what?”

Before Cass could reply, the dog slipped over, his head on the girl’s lap. Cass managed to grab her box of food before he could grab a piece.

“Fries for one thing.” The girl muttered as she patted his head. “Come one bro. Mommy doesn’t want you to have too much human food. You are not as young as you used to be.”

The dog growled a bit and started nuzzling her stomach.

The girl started to laugh, “Okay, just one more piece.” And she plucked off a fry and put it right in front of the dog’s mouth. The canine eagerly took the piece and started to eat.

Ukuri walked into the stall, some rags draped over her arm. “Cass, you better not be feeding the dogs cooked food again. You know its not good for them.”

“I’m just showing Ralnor what not to do around the dogs when they want food.”

“Really?” Ralnor asked.

Cass shushed him, “Come on Ralnor, just go along with it.”

“Sure you are, and that is not the sound of the dogs’ chewing.” Ukuri lamented as she sat down handing a rag to her guest. She then reached for her food still on the counter and joined the two children on the mat.

"Well, it's a lesson by trial and error." The girl shrugged.

The woman chuckled shaking her head. “You know Ralnor, I think I might have to save you from my girl. Who knows what kinds of things she’ll teach you if I left you two alone?”

“Like adult words?” Cass suggested.

“What are adult words?” Ralnor asked.

“You know the words that grownups say when they bang their heads on doorways or stub their toes on furniture.” The girl started to beam, “For example…”

Ukuri then picked up her daughter, spilling out onion ring and fry bits and crumbs everywhere, rubbing her hair with her knuckles. “That’s enough out of you!”

"Ack! Aw, come on Mommy! You said it's better to learn now than later! Besides I promised I’d teach him everything I know!"

“I’ll have to put an end to that lesson. For all I know, Ralnor’s mommy might pick me up, put me over her knee, and spank me for letting you teach Ralnor those words. And who knows what she’ll do to you.”

The two dogs eagerly attacked the pieces the food, licking up and chewing on everything they could find.

Ralnor couldn't help but laugh at the scene. He couldn’t help but think, "I still miss Mama, Papa, Covarog, Orana, Kanisa and Tebanam...but Cass and Ukuri they make me feel right at home. I'm really happy I met them. I can’t wait for my family to meet them."

With the sky starting to change into its usual evening red, orange, and yellow, the royal family still didn’t find their missing member. Tebanam napped inside his father’s arms, while the other children clung onto their parents' legs to support them, rubbing their eyes.

“Still no sign of him…” Zelda sighed, patting Kanisa’s bobbing head.

“We will find Ralnor, we can’t lose hope.” Ganondorf countered.

“But we’ve search all over,” the queen retorted. “The only thing left to do is go inside each stall and search.”

“If that’s we have to do, then so be it,” the king commented. “But first, we must take the children home.”

At the mention of them, Covarog, Kanisa, and Orana snapped up. “What?” They all screamed. Tebanam now wide awake by the noise, starting to whimper.

“But we can’t go home yet!” Orana declared. “We haven’t found Ralnor yet!”

“We can’t leave him behind! We just can’t!” Covarog declared.

“We can still help!” Kanisa interjected before a yawn cut her off.

The king smiled, sparing one hand to pat Kanisa’s head. Zelda stroked Orana's and Covarog’s heads. “Yes, but you are also very much exhausted. You need to go to sleep.”

“No, we don't!" Covarog objected with the stomp of his foot.

“Yes, you do." The king then lifted the boy's chin with his fingers. "Don't worry, your mother and I will not stop searching for your brother. We will bring him home. But we also care about you, and you need to get to bed."

“I don’t think that I can sleep…with Ralnor out there….somewhere without us…” Orana sighed, staving off a yawn.

“Well at least, we’ll get you ready and you can try for us? Okay?” Zelda asked.

The three older children glanced at each other frowning. Tebanam grumbled a bit as his father swayed him, calming him down. Covarog sighed, “Okay let’s go home.”

The queen smiled, “I know this is hard. But we will find him soon.”

Covarog took his father’s free hand and the girls took their mother’s. However, just as they started the walk, Kanisa cried out, “That’s it!” digging her heels in the ground.

“Kanisa what’s it?” Zelda asked.

“That’s the stall! The one that Ralnor left for! It’s that one!” She pointed her free hand, bouncing up and down.

“Are you sure Kani? Looks like all the other plant stalls. What makes this one so special?” Orana asked.

“It’s got the most plants! The others didn’t have that many! If Ralnor didn’t go to this stall, then I don’t know about Ralnor at all!” Kanisa beamed.

The parents looked at each other, “Well it is worth a look,” Zelda admitted and the group headed to the stall. A young man stood in the back, pulling down on the tarp while the old lady still sat in her chair dozing off.

Covarog, Orana, and Kanisa immediately dashed into the stall, calling out “Ralnor!" while going around every pot and ducking under every table.

“Children stop!” Zelda called out.

The young man stopped his motion, staring blankly at the commotion. “Something tells me that you are not here for a houseplant.” He chuckled. Then he saw who he was talking to and gave a small bow, “Uh sorry your majesties. What can I help you with?”

“We are searching for our son Ralnor, brown skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, green clothes. He wandered off earlier today and we haven’t seen him since. We think he might have been here for a while. Have you seen him?” Ganondorf replied.

“Ooh sorry to hear that. Hope you find him. What time of day do you think he left?” The man asked.

“This morning. Before noon,” Zelda answered.

“Shoot. I didn’t see him. Most people don’t want to carry a heavy plant all day, so we don’t do much busy in the morning. I left Ma with the stall while I looked around. She might have seen something. Just hope her working ear is working again.” The man walked toward the old lady and started to yell “HEY MA!”

The woman snapped open, drool slipping out. She glanced around, adjusting her glasses “Who said that?”

“HEY MA! DID YOU SEE A BLOND BOY TODAY?” the man asked.

“Oi tone it down, I’m deaf but I’m not dead. You might raise your father back being that loud,” the old lady gristled.

“Ma, these parents lost their boy. He might have been here. Seen him?” her son asked.

“Boy…boy…boy,” the woman wondered.

The adults continued to stare, leaning closer waiting for her next words. But then the woman's head slipped back and started to snore.

“Ma!” the man called out. However, his mother continued to slumber. He sighed, “Sorry about this your majesties. I wish we could help out more.”

Just there was a loud clatter. The royal couple and merchant turned to see Orana, leaning forward with her hand's out wide inches away from a broken pot, laying on its side. Clay pieces and soil scattered on the ground, while a scrub bush lay helplessly on its side, roots exposed. "Whoopsie…" The princess stated.

“Orana!” Zelda called out.

“I’m sorry! I swear I just bumped it!” Orana stated.

“It’s okay, I needed to replant that one anyway,” the man replied.

“We’ll pay for the damages.” The king declared.

“No your majesty, it’s fine,” the merchant insisted.

As the three adults haggled over the pot, the princess made her way over to the little old lady, staring into space. The girl placed her hand on her lap. “I’m sorry I broke your pot. I’ll pay for it with my allowance.” She then dug into a small bag at her side.

The woman turned towards the child and smiled. "Ah what a sweet child. How can I ask money from such a kind soul? After the way you help that little girl earlier too. Don't worry. My son broke many a pot when he was your age."

“Little girl?” Orana asked.

“You know that cute little blonde you ran into. She came in here and you two ran around chasing each other. Then when she was crying you comforted her and took her away. I bet you have been friends for a long time.”

“You don’t think…” Orana glanced at her siblings.

“Can you tell us about this blonde girl?” Kanisa asked.

“Of course! One of the cutest children I’ve seen. Silky blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, green clothes, and the loveliest brown skin. Really put my kid to shame.”

"Thanks, mom I feel loved,” the man sighed.

“Where did I…and the blonde girl go?” Orana asked.

“Not sure…just saw you going to the left.” The old woman shrugged.

“Mama, Papa do you think that if we find the other girl we might find Ralnor?” Covarog asked.

"Well, it's the best lead we've had all day," Ganondorf admitted.

“Hope you find your kid soon.” The merchant stated.

“Thank you. Come on kids, let’s find your brother!” Zelda declared.

As the royal family left, the woman adjusted her glasses, sighing “What a lovely family. Mother’s a bit hairy though…”

The merchant laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder, “Ma don’t ever change.”

Ralnor and Cass watched out of the stall window, using their crossed arms as cushions as they rest their hands.

“Still nothing?” Cass asked.

“Yes,” Ralnor sighed.

“Sorry. I really thought we had a good spot and you’d find your family like that,” Cass stated with a snap.

“Well, I’m glad I’m here. If you hadn’t been at the stall, I probably just sat at the stall with that old lady, crying how my family left me. I’ve had a lot of fun today. Thanks for taking me in,” the boy leaned in.

“No problem, what are friends for?” Cass wrapped her arm around him, pulling him closer.

Ukuri stepped in, patting Ralnor on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll find your folks. I’ve just a couple of things to pack away and the dogs to put upstairs, then we can look around. You two kids head outside.”

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Okay, mommy."

Just as the kid’s reached the outside of the stall, Cass stopped, “Huh…I just realized I never asked what your parents look like.”

"My parents tend to stand out in a crowd, especially my papa. You'd know them the moment you see them."

“Probably, but not all Gerudos look alike. Some are tall, some are really tall, some are thin or fat, but we are all Gerudo. So what do your daddy and mommy look like?"

"My papa…"

“Ralnor!”

The children turned to see Orana and Kanisa running at them, arms open wide.

“Orana! Kanisa!” the boy cheered, opening his arms wide as well.

The two princesses tackled their brother, almost hitting him to the ground, knocking off his hat.

“Oh Ral, we're sorry we left you behind. We thought Mama and Papa knew you were at that plant stall!" Orana explained.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Kanisa sniffled, clutching her brother tightly.

“I’ve missed you too!” the boy eagerly returned their embrace, a few sniffles coming out.

"Sweet! That's one part of your family down!"

The reunited trio turned to the Gerudo girl smiling at them, hands on her hips.

There was a moment of silence before Orana yelled, “It’s a Gerudo girl!”

"Yes." The boy stood up and displayed his hand out. "This is my friend Cass. We met at the plant stall and she and her mama took me in so I can look for you.” He used his other hand to display his family. Cass these are my sisters, Orana and Kanisa.”

“Nice to meet ya.” Cass offered a hand.

Kanisa gaped for a bit, before hiding behing her brother. She still stared in awe of the girl as she sqeauked out a hello.

Orana beamed and grabbing Cass’s hand with both of her own, shaking it violently . "Hi, there! Thanks for taking care of our big bro!"

Cass, still shaking from the girl’s grasp, tilted her head,“ Bro?”

“Ralnor!”

Just then the group of children turned to see Zelda dashing towards them.

“Mama!” he yelled and ran towards her and jumped right into her arms. Now sobbing, he nuzzled his head against her chest. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The force from her son caused Zelda to sit down, cradling her boy, “I’ve missed you too! I’m sorry we left you behind.”

“It’s okay. Next time I’ll double check with Papa.” He raised his head, smiling.

She beamed and kissed his forehead, “You smart thing you.”

The queen set her son on the ground and stood up. He took her hand and led her to Cass. “Mama, this is my new friend Cass. She found me at the stall and let me stay with her mama until I can find you.”

"I am so happy that my son is making such wonderful friends. Thank you so much for helping him." She knelt down, looking the girl in the eyes, smiling.

The Gerudo girl’s jaw dropped. She tugged her hand out of Orana’s and pointed at Ralnor. She yelled, “YOU LIED TO ME!”

Ralnor blinked and squeaked out, “What?”

“You said you were a Gerudo. But you are not!" Cass pointed at Zelda. "You can only be a Gerudo if your mama! And she’s not! She’s the exact opposite!”

“Yes, we are! We are just as Gerudo as you!” Orana declared.

“No, you are not! Besides he’s a boy!” Cass pointed to Ralnor. “There’s no such thing as a boy Gerudo!”

“Nuh-huh there’s Ganondorf!” Kanisa stated.

“Children please calm down.” Zelda ushered.

“Ganondorf’s not a Gerudo! He’s just a monster!” Cass roared, stomping her foot.

“Ralnor!”

The arguing group stopped to see Ganondorf stomping towards them, Tebanam still on his chest and Covarog trailing behind. The king scooped up his son and started to kiss his face.

“Papa!” The boy eagerly wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Cass this is our Papa, Ganondorf.” Orana declared. “So we are just as Gerudo as you!” Orana folded her arms on her chest.

“Yeah!” Kanisa agreed with her hands on her hips.

At the mention of his name, he looked down and saw the Gerudo girl. His jaw dropped slightly and eye widened with joy.

The same couldn't be said for Cass. She started to turn as pale as a sheet. Then let out a blood-curdling scream. Once the royal family could hear again, she slumped over on the ground.

“Cass!” Ralnor cried out. He climbed down his father’s front and knelt next to the girl. He flipped her over and patted her cheek, but she still didn’t wake up.

“What’s wrong with her?” Orana asked.

“Cass!”

The group now saw Ukuri, standing a few feet away from them, holding her head in her hands. She dashed over and picked up her daughter. “Cass, monkey, sweetie. Please wake up!” She shook the girl slightly, but still no response. The mother twisted towards Ralnor. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know!” He replied anxiously. “She just looked at my Papa and screamed and fell over!”

“Papa?” That’s when the Gerudo woman noticed the king standing before her. She, too, turned and slumped over, still holding her child.

“Mrs. Ukuri!” Ralnor cried out. He then looked up at his father, tears clouding his eyes. "Papa…did you kill them?

"What no!" The king declared but it was too late. Ralnor now bawled his head off.

"We can't leave them like this," Zelda commented. "We'll take them back to the castle."

Ganondorf picked up both Gerudo women in his arms. All along the way back to the carriage and in the carriage ride to the castle, Ralnor kept glancing at his new friends. Hoping they would be alright.

Here’s a link to the previous chapter: Chapter 1 Marketplace

#thanks for reading #please leave comments or just say something in the tags #casnor #ralnor #cass #ukuri #zelda #ganondorf #covarog #kanisa #orana #tebanam #somedaysomeplace #childhood romance au #zelgan children au au

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pb1138 · 5 years

Text

Fictober Day 1: Ring, feat Genevieve and Isabela

Day 1 of Fictober and my prompt is 12 minutes late. Fuck me. Fluff story, Genevieve Hawke and Isabela.

It’s busy in the marketplace. Sounds surround them, a cacophony of sources to interpret. Market vendors hawk their wares, people barter, couples talk of plans, parents yell after children, livestock cluck and moo and honk, coin purses jingle. Frankly, it’s a lot. That’s to say nothing of the smells—the smells of body odor, of powdered spices disturbed and entering the air, of fruits and meats and breads, of the livestock, of the smells that accompany city life. People bump against her nearly constantly, and more than once they open their mouths to scold her and cut themselves short, presumably when they realize their folly.

It’s difficult to maneuver, this new city. Fenris had given her very clear and precise instructions how to make her way into the town, had told her of important landmarks she would be able to recognize—the tavern that smells of refuse and is always roaring with drunks and gamblers, the rug vendor whose shrill voice shrieks higher than the others around them, the wobbly stairs that lead down into the alley that smells of chickens.

It had taken her all of half an hour to get lost. And that had been an hour ago.

With a heavy, defeated sigh, she stops and rubs her face. To her near right, she can hear a woman’s voice, pleasant and warm, a fabric merchant advertising her wares. Nev carefully makes her way towards the voice, only managing to jostle two people despite the crowds.

“Pardon me,” she calls above the din.

“—finest silks in—Oh! Hello there. How can I help you?” Nev can hear the smile in the woman’s voice.

Pulling her gauntlets off and tucking them under her arms, Nev puts a smile on her own face. “I’m afraid I need some assistance. I’m dreadfully lost.”

The woman is quiet for a short moment, and when she speaks again, it’s with that familiar tone of realization. “Of course.”

“I’m trying to get to the Siren’s Call. Could you give me directions?”

“Oh… That um. I’m afraid the Siren’s Call is on the far side of town.”

Nev sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I was afraid of that.” Isabela will be furious. “Well. No matter. Did you say you sell silks?”

“Oh! Yes! I’ve got a fine collection here. I’ve got fabrics of all types, but my silks are especially lovely.”

Nev smiles and gently reaches down to where the table should be, and her fingers meet fabrics. She runs her hand across the various bolts and feels the way the fabrics glide against her skin. She finds one that’s particularly smooth and cool to the touch. “This one. What color is it?”

The woman coos. “Oohh, an excellent choice, milady. This is one of my favorites. It’s a lovely warm, soft rosy color and sheer. If you’re interested, I have a shawl made from the same material.”

Nev nods. “Might I hold it?”

“Of course, milady.” The merchant shuffles for a moment before a lightweight, smooth fabric is placed in her hands.

Nev runs her hands along the edges of it, feeling the intricate embroidery along the edges, inspects the gentle knotting in the corners. “This feels lovely.”

“The color looks good on you.”

“Oh, it’s not for me.” The feel of Isabela’s hand in hers comes to mind, fills her with warmth. “It’s for my girlfriend. How much?”

The woman coos again. “Girlfriend, huh? A lucky woman. 20 copper.”

Nev nods and reaches into her inner pocket for her purse. “I’m the lucky one.” She chuckles and shakes her head, counting the coins out. “Could you direct me to the nearest tavern, please?”

“Oh, course. It’s a straight shot to your left, about a 10 minutes’ walk. If you reach the guy with the parrots, you’ve gone too far.”

Nev smiles and passes the coin over, tucking the scarf into her coat. “Thank you.” She and Isabela know each other well enough to know that taverns are the best place to reunite. Isabela will find her eventually.

She manages to make it a good 10 steps without attracting anybody’s attention. When she does, they’re a little too insistent for her liking. “You there, scary buff lady! Yes, you, with the white hair, you look like a woman who enjoys fine things in life!”

Nev snorts but meanders over to the sound of his voice. “And what fine things might you have?”

“Ah, even without sight, milady can surely appreciate my fine baubles!” He doesn’t even sound ashamed. “Many things, I’ve got. I’ve got many fine jewels, necklaces that would make any noblewoman the envy of you!”

Nev snorts, memories of her own stint as a noblewoman coming back to mind. “I strike you as the gaudy type, then?”

“Maker, no! My deepest apologies, milady, I mean not to offend!”

His discomfort is funny enough that she waves him off. “I’m not interested in jewelry.” She turns to leave, but his hand catches hers. Resisting the urge to pummel him, she tilts her chin up defensively. “Unhand me.”

“Apologies once more, milady, but… Did I not overhear that you’ve got a… lady love?”

Of course. Merchants, always sticking their noses into everyone else’s business. “What of it?”

“Perhaps this special lady deserves a special bauble? Many fine jewels, I have, many. I’ve got a necklace here with a jewel big as your eye and blue as the sea, or I’ve got a pair of earrings shiny as starlight.” He pauses and leans in, his voice lowered. “Or perhaps… a ring?”

“A ring?” Nev raises a brow at him.

“I’ve got quite a few, milady. This one here—” a ring is pressed into her hand, and she brings it into herself to feel the band. “Seven diamonds across the band. You feel there? Middle one is a heart, raised above the others. Band is gold.”

Nev shakes her head, moves to hand it back. “No, thank you.”

“Or this one!” Another ring in her hand. “Antivan silver! A lovely inset emerald!”

“Maker’s hairy balls, there you are!” An arm snakes about her waist, making her jump, and she passes the ring back to the merchant. Isabela sighs, hugging her close. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, pet.”

Nev chuckles, her face warming. “Sorry, love. I got turned around.”

“Ah, this is the lady love?”

Nev sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Isabela’s hand tightens around her waist. “What of it?”

“A pair of lovely rings for two lovely ladies, perhaps with marriage on the mind?”

Nev bristles a little and frowns. “No, marriage is not on the mind.” Turning into Isabela’s warmth, she gestures over her shoulder. “Come on, Bela, let’s leave.”

“But—but—”

Nev shoots a scowl in the man’s general direction and puts her arm around Isabela’s shoulders. Isabela seems unperturbed by the interaction, already launching into a full-blown story about her day, but Nev’s mind wanders. ‘With marriage on the mind.’ Genevieve would be a liar if she said she’d never thought about asking Isabela to marry her, but she knows her hard stance against it, and though it is more difficult than she’d expected, she respects it. Isabela is a free spirit. Like the sea, she has no master, no owner, no claim to her. But still, the thought lingers. No. Stop that. Nev scolds herself her selfishness. Marriage makes no difference.

“Genevieve.” Isabela’s voice cuts through her thoughts, pulls her attention to her. “Are you listening?”

“Oh… Sorry, love, no. I was miles away. What were you saying?”

She can feel Isabela’s eyes trailing across her face. “…It’s not important. What were you thinking about?”

Ah, shit. Genevieve is good at many things, but lying is not one of them. She scrambles, reaching for something, anything she can say. With a sudden grin, she squeezes the arm around Isabela’s shoulders. “Just thinking about how to give you your present.”

“Ooh, a present? Let’s have it then.”

Nev chuckles and reaches into her coat. She had planned to wait, give it to her later that night, but oh well. Isabela coos when Nev presents the scarf to her. “The lady said it was a rosy color? I dunno. It just feels so nice, I thought you might like it.”

Isabela practically purrs, and there’s a shuffling as she steps away. When she comes back to Nev’s side, she moves Nev’s hand to her waist where the scarf has been tied. “I do indeed, my love. Thank you.”

They make their way back to the ship, carrying carefree and comfortable conversation, their hands on one another’s hips. The rest of the evening passes in easy companionship—drinking, dinner, more drinking, a night spent holding one another, with hands drifting listlessly across bodies and stolen kisses.

Nev wakes late in the day, the cabin filled with warmth. When she reaches across to pull Isabela to her, she finds the bed empty which draws a frown upon her face. Isabela never rises before her. They take it as personal challenges to see who can sleep in the longest.

“Bela?” Nev mumbles. When there is no response, she sighs and sits up. Her hair sticks out at strange angles, but she can’t be bothered to try to flatten it back down. Instead, she reaches for one of Isabela’s scarves kept tied to the headboard and wraps it deftly about her hair.

“Well, don’t you look lovely this morning.”

Nev chuckles, face warming. “Do I? I feel as though a raven has nested in my hair.”

The bed dips under Isabela’s weight as she crawls over towards Nev, and without warning, she straddles her hips. “You always look lovely, my sweet.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s the truth. And that’s partly why I…” Isabela sighs, bringing a concerned frown to Nev’s face. “Oh, no, don’t do that. This isn’t… Piss. I hoped this would go better.”

Nev puts a hand on Isabela’s hip, the other going to her cheek, the movement easy from years of practice. “What is it?”

“I got you something.”

Her brow quirks and she tilts her head. “Oh?”

“It um… Oh. Damn it all.” Isabela takes Nev’s hand and slips something onto her finger. A ring. “Now—don’t get carried away. This isn’t—we’re not—Shit.” She sighs and starts again. “I’m not saying I’m marrying you, Hawke, but… I don’t know. Think of it as a promise? This is me. Telling you I’m always going to be here by your side. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Tears prick at Nev’s eyes and her heart swells in her chest. “I…” Why does her face hurt? Oh… She’s grinning. With an elated giggle, she buries her face in Isabela’s neck, her arms snaking around Isabela’s waist tightly. Isabela squeaks against it but doesn’t resist, her own hands going to Nev’s back. “Thank you,” Nev whispers.

Isabela chuckles softly, placing a kiss to Nev’s bare shoulder. “For better or worse, I love your stupid face.”

“You’re so eloquent, my love.”

They both laugh. After a moment, Isabela pulls Nev’s face from her neck and places a warm, languid kiss against her lips. Once they part, foreheads touching, Nev reaches up to brush her knuckles against Isabela’s chin. “I love you, too.”

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cygnuswheel · 5 years

Text

after running away, a young boy stops, stone still. argus is so dreadfully cold. let’s see what he can do to fix that...

“ i like this one. “ oscar says, holding up the jacket to the mirror with a little smile. the colors are a bit new for him, especially with them being in such bold ratios, but that doesn’t mean that it’s a bad thing in his book. “ what do you think? “

there’s no answer.

the boy expects as much, considering the silent treatment that he’s gotten the past few days, but that doesn’t make the way his heart falls any softer. always too loud when no one expects it, always too quiet when everyone expects him. the walk around argus had been so quiet without the constant thrum in the back of his head, small pushes of approval, disapproval, or pure amusement being left to only the static ring of his ears and mind. blinking, he folds the outerwear gently before placing it into his basket for later.

ozpin hasn’t talked to him in days. a few months back, oscar would have found that to be a blessing, a chance for him to finally think for himself and settle on the idea that destiny never looked good on him. that there was no responsibility to be had, only himself, only the farm, only the routine that he had grown used to living with, as much as he wanted to complain about it at times. it would all be numb again, and he could go on living without thinking too hard on what things could have been. he was just a farmhand, a boy. he was normal.

but it’s too late for that by now, and he knows that. the passing sight of a dark haired man bedridden flies through his mind, the memory still as fresh as newly fallen snow. the child is reminded that his mental company was also just a boy once, one who strived to do what was right from the very beginning. one that was forced to learn that one day, in order to do what was right, he would have to do wrong. the very notion broke this fairytale boy’s heart into pieces until he had to bury it within himself and hide how much he cared about his own actions. living on had been an apology at some point: i’m so sorry that i wasn’t able to stop everything in time, before it was too late.

“ these belts are good. i wouldn’t have to worry about my outfit flying everywhere if it was held down. “ again, he muses aloud, the accessory sitting innocently on his hands. gods, he never had to think about fashion before, aside from how easy it was to move in them for his work. this was the same line of thought, but a bit more... refined. oscar almost laughs. his aunt would be so happy to know that he finally cared a bit about how he looked. he catches the warped reflection of one of his eyes in the belt buckle. with it comes a sigh.

it’s not just for him, no.

the greens, the reds, the blacks and golds-- it’s a strange amalgamation for him, but he has to realize that these choices aren’t just on his own behalf, as quiet as the world is right now. “ this place really has some fancy stuff. “ some of the price tags had already made him sweat. how could anyone afford this? the amount of lien wasn’t something that he could bring himself to fathom. but still, good gear could only aid combat. ( he would have been lying if he said that he wasn’t cold out of his mind, too. ) it would take some time for him to get used to it, but hey, oscar’s life seemed to be filled with new things lately. this is just another thing to get used to. “ and i’m going to keep talking to you whether you do or don’t reply, you know. “

there’s the smallest shift in his core. a ripple of some emotion... embarrassment? were he not paying attention, the boy wouldn’t have been able to pick up on it at all. talk about tuning into your inner self. the store keeps humming along despite the boy talking to himself, mostly because the overhead music would drown out whatever whispering he’s doing to anyone but himself. anyone but himself and whoever else is stuck in his head with him, that is. finally, something that stopped the static ring. but oz still doesn’t say a word. oscar rolls his eyes and slips some gloves into the basket.

this is going to cost his entire life savings at this rate. he hadn’t wanted to tap into them when travelling to mistral, but that was because he was still somewhat in denial at that point. the trip wouldn’t be that long, he told himself as he settled into the train seat and stared out the window. he would have been back before he knew it, and life would have gone back to normal. a glance at his surroundings. yeah, that really panned out exactly how he expected it to, huh. but even back then, he knew that this would be something different, something more magnificent than his naive imagination could have ever conceptualized back then.

( a clash, a scream, a silent apology. he remembers the girl’s first cries so clearly that he still hears it when he closes his eyes. ‘ i don’t have one. ‘ the defeated king says with his head held low, and all oscar can feel is how cold his hands are as the world around them falls apart. )

reality was always going to be confusing. it would always come to hurt him more than he expected and rip him away from any fantasies that he had previously. the fairy tales themselves are tainted, and so is his view of everything that he’s ever grown to believe. what a horrid fate for a boy of fourteen years. and what an awful reality that a man of many millennia had come to accept as his new normal after countless failed attempts at trying to forget why he had come back to the land of the living in the first place.

even without the other speaking, oscar knows that ozpin is not one that appreciates pity. the very gesture of it is lower and more pathetic than anything that he could accept, and, in a way, the boy can understand that. to have someone feel bad for you, you, when all they should have been doing was worrying about themselves... it’s not something unfamiliar. maybe that was to be expected, being the wallflower that he had grown up as. for someone to acknowledge all of the wrongs of your life means that you would need to regard yourself as a person worthy of being regarded as human. and ozpin had thrown away that right so long ago when he finally came to accept his mission. so why, oh why, the headmaster asks silently with a certain feeling of wryness that the boy feels in his blood, was oscar pine, his current cursed vessel, feeling bad for him?

“ i’d tell you to shut up, but you’re being smart with me. “ a scoff. he feels the impression of his headmate raising a brow. “ if you weren’t so busy moping, you’d already know. “ fitting room, fitting room... ah. there. “ i thought you were better at the whole mind reading thing compared to me. whenever i try for you i just get a montage of you drinking hot cocoa and looking at your scroll. “ that i can’t read for some reason, he almost adds, but opts against it in favor of sneaking into one of the last available rooms. he’s losing oz’s presence, it feels like a dying wick on its last legs. the man is tired, but so is oscar. and the kid will be damned if the other leaves before saying what he needs to say. “ ... you’ve made a lot of mistakes. “

“ actually, you’re pretty awful. “ oscar mumbles to himself as he takes off his shirt, slipping on the new one. it feels way too new, he’s only worn hand me downs for the last five years or so. but it’s comfortable, in its own way. he’ll get used to it. the stained and worn shirt that he had grown to love is folded neatly and left on the bench. “ i think if we were face to face, the first thing i’d do is kick you where it hurts. “

“ but i’m not mad, and it’s not because of your ‘ i can stay calm during anything and everything ‘ attitude. “ the finality of the tone startles even himself, and no doubt shocks his company. “ life sucks, the gods suck, and immortality sucks, no matter what form it comes in. that’s what jinn taught us, remember? “ no response. typical. oscar’s eyebrows narrow, and he readjusts one of his belts. a pause. he takes a breath.

“ jaune’s nephew is really cute. “

surprise. confusion. curiosity. this wasn’t what either of them expected to bring up, apparently. “ i was looking at him the whole time we were at the cotta-arc house. he has a good family. “ clothing himself is so exhausting. oscar lets his arms drop to his sides for a moment. ( he won’t acknowledge that trying to start up a conversation for the past two hours or so was starting to wear at his stamina. ) “ it reminded me of that one family you had. when you started to try again. “ their smiles are so bright and loving. the wife’s expression is filled with such warmth.

“ maybe the world is big. maybe it’s hard to protect. “ he continues on, pressing, pushing, trying. “ maybe trying can feel pointless after some time, and maybe people can be difficult and hard to help after all of your effort. “ oz’s eyes are wandering, trying to avoid the conversation. but oscar won’t let him. he holds the other’s shame in his hands and grips it firmly. “ but having a future is important. being able to appreciate the small things is important. “

“ i want to make sure that people still have a future, even if the world is against them. “ the boy is patting himself down now, brushing off any dust specks that he can catch in his sight. “ and i don’t want it to be based on lies this time. “ yang’s eyes still burn so brightly in his memory. he remembers the shock on weiss’ face, the absolute hopelessness on blake’s. ruby had never looked so hurt before. and qrow... the headmaster scowls. he never wanted them to hurt that badly. he didn’t want to destroy everything that they had been working for. he would have been content holding everything on his own shoulders until the end of time, because he had felt how many lifetimes the truth had ruined. a single one would never be enough time to despair.

“ they’re stronger than you think. “ he retorts, putting a hand to his own chest. he remembers how scared he used to be, how terrified he was at the thought of everything going wrong. “ they want the next generation to grow up happy, like you do. don’t forget how much you care. you just... “ oscar trails off. the entity is quiet, waiting. for once, he wants to listen. “ you just don’t have to care alone anymore. “

hm.

he’s done. turning around, oscar finally looks at himself in the mirror. gods, he looks like a completely different person. months ago, he would have never been able to imagine himself in this position, looking this fancy. he can feel in the back of his head that someone else is looking on too, admiring the thread-work, and while his approval is silent as can be, it speaks volumes. they’ve both changed so much over the months. “ well. ready to fake it till i make it. “

the other still doesn’t know how to respond to all of this. to oscar’s newlyfound sense of maturity, to the kindness and acceptance that he had offered to his own plague. it’s a warmth that he had never thought to offer himself in centuries, wretched imitation of humanity that he was. for once he felt... accepted. normal. even though nothing about this situation was normal. if the one person he had wronged the most in this scenario was willing to believe in his goals, then were his constant efforts to face in the inevitable not for naught? maybe.

maybe things would end up okay, if he was working with someone like oscar.

“ now. “

“ i took all this time trying to find something that we’d both like. “ ozpin doesn’t like the smirk that’s starting to grow on the boy’s lips. “ so give me your bank account info or i’ll walk out of this room naked. “

a snort, and then a laugh. but it’s not his own, no. ugh, finally. the boy lets the smile grow more freely across his face as his eyes narrow in pride and satisfaction. as he takes out his scroll, he can hear the slightest whisper in his mind that guides his fingertips...

#oscar pine #professor ozpin #ozpin #rwby #( two souls. )#[ this is just word vomit i haven't written a fic in years so im sorry if this looks weird! ]#[ i just had a lot of feelings and needed to get it out ]#[ i love ozpin and oscar so much yall. id do anything for them pl ]

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