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destielhasmedead · 3 years

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this is the first part to a story i started - thoughts?

It had been two hours in the Impala for Cas to suddenly crack, he cleared his throat,

“Uh, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned around to see the angel. Cas made a head-nodding motion towards Dean and pointed to his ears.

“What y’all playing charades now? What is it Cas?” Dean laughed and took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at the two passengers,

“What…..”

“Dude, we’ve been listening to the same song for the past hour, and the same album for the past two, even Metallica isn’t that good,” Sam said.

“You watch your mouth Sammy, I'm the one driving here!”

“Dean, I do too thoroughly enjoy the melody, but perhaps we could hear something else?” Cas piped in from the backseat nervously. Dean moved his attention to the rearview mirror, took a good look at Castiel, then back to his brother, and with a deep sigh begrudgingly agreed. Sam grabbed something from his feet,

“An aux cord? You have to be kidding me”.

“Dean, unlike you I enjoy living in the 21st century. You should try it, upgrade from your cassette tapes.” Sam scoffed, but let out a soft chuckle.

“Fine let’s see what garbage you listen to.” Said Dean annoyed and skeptical. Cas moved eagerly towards the space between the two front seats to get a good look at all the commotion. Sam plugged the wire into his cell and proceeded to scroll through till he found the playlist he was looking for.

Sam had always been a soft rock, jazz, and even pop kind of guy. Though, he was sure to always have a playlist that wouldn’t get him kicked out onto the side of the road. Soon, Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on through the speakers. Dean's face fell flat but remained silent. They were on their way to the beach, so Sam knew he had some leeway and extra room to play with, and Dean was fully aware of the opportunities Sam had. It had been years, decades even since they had a proper visit to the beach. The only times they’ve been there was on a case. Sure, when the boys were younger John had let them stay a couple of days afterward from time to time, but even then it was stress-filled and tense.

A few songs in, Cas reached, sitting up higher, and pointed out the sign that read of the hotel they had booked. Cas had all the windows of the Impala opened, his hair flopped about as the salty air flowed around him. The hotel was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the shore. It was nicer than the places they typically stayed at.

Sam helped his brother find a parking spot, and closed the doors almost simultaneously. Sam stayed back for a minute grabbing their bags, while Dean and Cas ventured inside. It was quaint, a typical beach hotel. Whiffs of sunblock, the squeaking of damp flip flops, bright lights, and inspirational signs filled their senses.

“Hi, we have three rooms booked.” Dean leaned on the counter and put down a credit card that wasn’t his.

“I see only two on the reservation list..” the clerk said clicking on his computer. Dean looked at Cas nervously, searching for a response to give to the man. Sam strolled in with their bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam butted in on the conversation.

“You only booked two rooms,” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Sam shrugged and turned back to the desk for answers.

“I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do, there aren’t any extra rooms”

“We could stay somewhere else..” Sam started to say but was interrupted.

“No! The reviews said this joint has great water pressure in the shower and I’m not giving that up!” Dean exclaimed passionately. Suddenly Cas cleared his throat,

“Well, I could um share a room with Dean. I don’t sleep anyway.” Cas’s face grew flushed and he shifted his weight on his feet.

“Ok, that works for me. I’m sick of sharing with you anyway, you snore real loudly.” Sam commented about Dean. Though Dean didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, staring at the wall deep in thought. He felt his heart in his throat as if he had been chasing a vamp. He gulped it down and felt a soft palm on his shoulder that pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Are you ok?” Cas looked him in the eyes.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine just thinking” Dean gave him a smile, and Cas’s head straightened once again out of its tilt. Both of the men were visibly flustered from the string of events that just occurred. Sam cleared his throat,

“Ok, wanna find our rooms and get some rest, I for one would appreciate getting more than four hours of sleep for once in my life.” The guys nodded, now aware of the time. Dean bunched up his sleeves till they reached his elbows, and looked at his watch. It was eleven pm, which in hindsight made sense since they had arrived when the sky was darkening.

They started towards the elevator and to the 4th floor. Dean had been iffy about not getting their usual spot in the corner on the base level. But Sam just poked fun at him saying,

“Dude quit overreacting, we aren’t on a hunt, and we’ve saved the world like 12 times. We can survive two nights in a room that doesn’t look at a parking lot.” But Dean had just rolled his eyes. Soon, he found himself following Cas into their room, and Sam walked down the other end of the hallway to his.

“Have fun you two!” Sam teased. The new roommates' faces reddened. Cas swiped the key card over the black square and pushed the door open.

“You have to be kidding me,” Dean said under his breath, yet still audible for Cas to hear. He tossed his duffel bag a few feet away from him and rubbed his hands through his hair until his nails dug into his neck. Before them, they saw a couch, a TV, other typical Hotel amenities (bathroom, mini-fridge), and one queen-sized bed. But, looking back on it, the man at the front desk hadn’t said there would be a second bed in that room.

“Dean, I don’t sleep much anyway, you have the bed and I can hang out on the couch.”

“You sure Cas?”, Cas nodded. Dean felt his eyes getting heavy, he tugged at his duffel and got out his Men Of Letters robe, Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, and his hotdog pajama pants. Meanwhile, Cas had found the TV remote and started channel surfing. He paused it on a show called Lucifer, which he had found very amusing. Dean walked back in to find Cas hunched over in front of the screen pointing at the different characters and saying how inaccurate they are.

“You having fun over there?” Dean said through a smirk as he drew the blanket toward him.

“Though it’s ridiculous, it’s also very comical!” Cas nodded to himself with a smile, maintaining his focus.

“Alright, well you two have fun, just turn the volume down a bit so I can sleep? We’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow in the morning.” Dean kindly shook his head.

“Alright goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Buddy.”

--------

chapt 2 (not completed?)

It’s 9 am and Dean awakes to Castiel pulling the curtains open, letting the effulgent sunlight bounce around the room, filling Dean’s face with the brightness. He cups his hands by his eyebrows, grabbing at the covers while doing so. Once Dean’s eyes stopped ping-ponging and the static washed over, he grumbled “good mornin.'' and tossed around the clothes in his bag till he found what he called his “summer flannel” and shorts. Cas moved out from by the windows and shuffled over to Dean’s ill-made bed and began to meticulously tidy it up.

“Alright, you ready? Sam’s meeting us downstairs for bacon. Well, he’ll probably have some fancy-schmancy healthy smoothie, but I’m having bacon.” Cas turned towards the bathroom doorway where Dean was still a few feet away from, nodded to Dean in agreement, and walked towards their room’s door.

“Wow wow wow there champ, you’re wearing that?” Dean held out his hand in a stop motion, running over to block the door from him.

“Y- Yes?” Cas replied, unsure of the question.

“Okay, I know it’s your outfit and stuff, but it's the beach! it’s hot outside!”

“But, you’re wearing your summer flannel, and this is all I have.” Cas gestured to Dean’s extra layer and then proceeded to look down at his overcoat.

“Well, that’s different.” Dean said, slightly defensive, and followed up with “We’ll ask Sam downstairs, but I for one am starving”. Dean swiveled, now facing the door holding onto the round silver knob, letting Cas walk through first.

Once the two arrive in the food court, they find Sam already set up with, as his brother had predicted, a bottled smoothie and eggs.

“Hey! Bacon’s over there, Dean.” Sam’s head tilted in the direction of the food. There were lifted metal container-looking platters lined up each with lids to keep what was inside warm. Excitedly, he grabbed a plate and piled on his food.

Castiel joined Sam at the circular table.

“So, how was last night?” Sam asked, showing genuine curiosity.

“It was fine. I did what Dean refers to as channel surfing, and I read all of the brochures on the table.”

“Oh yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not particularly, I saw a couple of different restaurants, there is an ice cream place down the street though.” Yes, Cas didn’t need to eat, but recently Rowena cast a spell for him so that he could at least taste it without feeling every single molecule. He hadn’t gotten around to trying Ice Cream yet though, he was still getting used to the sensations.

“What’d I miss? Oh, Sam! Cas refuses to change his clothes. The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me.” He had put emphasis on the word “refuses” to get his point across. Cas rolled his eyes at him, recalling the interaction and being fully aware that there hadn’t been anything he would refer to as a refusal.

“Cas only ever wears that trench coat though. And you on the other hand,” Sam turned to Dean,

“Are wearing your summer flannel which by the way does not exist.” Sam lightly laughed as Dean bites dramatically into his bacon.

“Well, this is a vacation, remember? So, if I even see your asses walking to the beach without wearing bathing suits, or at least not long sleeves, I swear I will shoot you.” He waved his fork in the air as he spoke. The men in question, who had been sitting next to each other, locked eyes. The two, without talking seemed to come to the consensus that Sam would in fact shoot them in the leg. Sam himself had been wearing dark purple swim trunks and a T-shirt. Having spent part of the night reading about the town, Cas mentioned a nearby store for him and Dean to walk down to.

#original writing #deancas fic #mine #spn #work in progress so please don't hate me #deancas #destiel

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biznichwrites · 4 years

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A Dream Come True

Length: 5K Pairing: Giyuu x Reader

This is to go hand in hand with @dudeandduchess‘s accompanying post in which we had alternative endings with this fic. I wrote until the end of the smut, after which we created our own endings. Think of it as yin and yang.

If you would like to read Jen’s nightmare version check it out here.

She had filled her head with pretty lies, thoughts of soft, fluffy things that tickled her stomach like butterflies. The sight of one of the few other water breath users - the pillar, in fact - brought a smile to her face. He was perfect for the role - eyes as blue as the ocean, steady like the waves, strong like a deep current, carving his own path like a river, yet calm like the water's surface at night.

What started as infatuation became a crush, leaving her whole world centered around him. Inside she knew she wouldn't grab his attention, even if she was one of a handful of slayers at the water estate. Their rarity made them all busy on missions, there wasn't much time to see each other in passing, so she treasured every moment spent in Giyuu's presence.

Despite their schedules, she tried to do more for him. The maintenance he had performed almost single handedly was spread among the both of them. Mending his uniforms when they were damaged, even his beloved haori once. Salmon was always stocked once she figured out it was his favorite, even going as far as to cook it just as he liked. That was a mistake on her part - his glowing smile pulled her in deeper.

Still she felt her heart ache over the months. No matter what she did he never spoke a word to her, not that he really spoke to anyone else. Had she done something to make him hate her?

The day she had given up on his heart came shortly after. It wasn't often she needed help or saving, but a lower moon was a bit beyond her hope to slay. She had kept neck and neck with it for some time, praying that a pillar would arrive to slay it before it ate her. Like written from a bad romance novel, her Pillar came just as she felt weak after hours of battling, his blade cutting through the neck of the lower moon with ease.

Her knight in shining armor, so to speak. He came to save her, specifically him. Her heart fluttered in joy, tears gathering in her eyes. Maybe he would be impressed that she managed to last so long, to stay alive and keep the moon busy until someone stronger arrived. Her breath hitched as she heard him inhale, as if to speak.

"He wasn't much trouble, you should have been able to slay him. If you're weak you should know not to challenge a moon." He hadn't spared a glance her way, simply flicking his sword to clear it of blood before sheathing it. Her heart broke as he walked on, leaving her to watch the mismatched haori on his back as the distance between them grew.

***

"Giyuu, you should try to get close to others! I know it's scary but there's plenty of people out there that are nicer than the way Shinobu makes it seem." Tanjirou smiled at the elder water slayer, urging Giyuu to connect to others the way they had, at the very least.

"I'm not sure about that. People don't like me." Giyuu sat with his legs pulled up by the bank of the river they stopped at.

"All you can do is try! Didn't you want to become friends with Sanemi?" Tanjirou wasn't going to let Giyuu escape this time, even if it meant some friendly pestering.

"Yeah, I think he likes ohagi so I was going to give him some." Giyuu stared into the distance, trying to imagine the violent man attempting to receive a gift.

"What about (Y/N)? She's been nice!" Tanjirou was hoping to point out anyone who had been kind to the pillar, at least someone who wasn't filled with malice.

"Who?" Giyuu's face went blank at the name, unable to recall who the name was attached to. "I quit remembering names of most slayers since they die so fast."

Tanjirou deflated at that, finding it sad for Giyuu to view life in such a bleak manner. It felt him grasping at straws to find the correct words to express himself as he thought of what to say next.

"You remembered me before I was a slayer! She survived a solo fight with a lower moon, I don't think she's dying any time soon, you know." Tanjirou hoped the other would understand what he was saying, at the very least.

"Oh… She didn't beat the moon, though." Giyuu, like a child that was done with the conversation, drew idly in the sand below them with a stick.

"Well we can work on the ohagi for Sanemi, how about that?"

***

Giyuu thought of the girl Tanjirou had mentioned. He didn't know what to make of it all - she had survived, which is what he was looking for in a friend, but she wouldn't have without help. At the same time neither would have Tanjirou. Perhaps he was being too critical, she was still alive and kicking to this day.

However he hadn't seen her much since then. Maybe she was training more? That was enough of an explanation for him. It wasn't unusual for the entire water estate to be empty with as few of the water breath users completed the final selection, much less survived long enough to rank high enough to live in the estate.

The next time he saw her, presumably after a mission as she was returning at dawn, he recognized her more than just a name. He bit his tongue, unsure what to say as he stood on the engawa staring at her tired body limping closer. The moment her eyes caught his she glanced away, turning towards another part of the estate to rest in.

He would have questioned it more, but occurrences like this weren't uncommon. People avoided him, that was normal. Yet the way she kept herself at a distance made him want to find out why she did such a thing. Why did she hide away from him?

His breath caught in his throat one morning, watching as she sat on the far end of the engawa in a simple yukata. She must be getting ready to sleep, given most slayers were nocturnal, but he thought she looked nice in the morning sun. Pretty even.

Months drug along, her eyes never meeting his own. Yet he felt himself drawn to her. All the actions she had taken before - he hadn't forgotten them, but he hadn't fully appreciated them at the time either. She had done something for him without being asked with nothing in return. Someone that selfless couldn't be a bad person. He still felt a bit bitter with himself for being so critical with her, the same he felt with Tanjirou. Neither deserved that.

***

It wasn't until Murata and a few others had saved up a large sum of money to buy enough alcohol to drown all the demon slayers, that he had a chance to interact with her. The whole time he was tense, almost awkwardly staring at her the whole time.

"Earth to Giyuu, you there?" Really, Murata was the only one that talked to the pillar so freely, with the exception of Tanjirou. Having kept the pillar alive at one point gave him a bit of the right, so no one spoke of it.

"Hm?" Giyuu's head turned back to Murata, clearly not aware of anything he had just said.

"I was seeing if you were going to drink with us. We're celebrating a year of not losing any water breath users. I figured of anyone you'd want to join." Murata handed him a bottle, not really waiting for a response. Was it responsible for a pillar to drink? Not at all. Had they organized this with Kagaya in mind? Of course, they had consulted with him to make sure they could celebrate freely.

Giyuu stared at the bottle then back to Murata, eyes flickering between the two. "I've never drank before…"

"Now is a good time to start!" Murata laughed with a pat to the pillar shoulder before disappearing into a small bunch of slayers.

***

Giyuu had drank nearly half the bottle in the course of a few hours, but he didn't find himself relaxed. Rather he found himself in a flurry of emotions - sad remembering everyone he's lost, angry with himself for allowing his life to be ruined by both demons and his own mismanagement of his emotions, but most surprising of all he found himself jealous.

The only female slayer of the bunch was flirted with endlessly. Most of the less than classy lines were met by laughter by the slayers. He knew they were treating it as a joke, even when she pretended to be the man hitting on Murata pretending to be a woman, but he didn't like it. He rested knowing that it was all in fun, though.

His drunken eyes met hers, making her already flushed cheeks even more red than previously before she glanced away. He was happy she was mindful to wear hakama, least the drunk young men around them get any ideas.

"Murataaaaa, when are you gonna get a wife? You keep talking about settling down but you're doing a shit job at it." Her laughter was kind enough, even if she was poking fun.

"(Y/N)! You know I-I-I---! I'm trying! It's just difficult!" Murata floundered under the playful scrutiny before returning a rebuttal, "So when are you getting married (Y/N)?"

"You know I'm dying alone, don't ask dumb questions." She laughed, but the laughter joining her was awkward, quiet and confused. Technically she could pick any slayer and they'd say yes - just for a lack of women around them, especially ones that understood the nature of their jobs. A moment passed but no further comments or banter had been added to the conversation after her bleak comment. Her face heated realizing she had made a fool of herself, not that Murata was much better as he fumbled moving the conversation forward.

Giyuu watched as she tilted up the porcelain of her heated sake, taking in how her throat contracted as she gulped. Was it proper for her to drink like that? No. But it technically wasn't traditional for women to wield swords and hunt demons, so it wasn't like social protocol meant much to her anyway.

Almost silently she slipped away, padding over to her room at the far end of the estate. His eyes followed her movements, taking in the dejected way she looked. Was she broken-hearted? He didn't understand why, she was pretty in her own way, stronger than most gave her credit for, smart enough to stay alive. Maybe he was more fond of her than he let on.

After some time the men grew rowdy, playing games and raising their voices. Murata seemed to stop drinking after a certain point, clearly aware of his limits.

"Murata?" Said slayer turned his attention to Giyuu, almost surprised that he spoke. "Is there something wrong with (Y/N)? She left a bit ago."

"Oh… I made a mistake and brought up something I shouldn't have, she's probably just having some time to herself." Murata prayed the Pillar didn't press for more info, being one of the few she admitted the situation to. He was far too drunk to stop himself from slipping up.

"Is she sad?" The lower ranked slayer blinked at the question, taken aback at how simple it was.

"Yeah, she just has her ways of dealing with it - wait! Where are you going?" Giyuu stood, moving toward the woman's room without another word. Murata prayed it didn't make things worse.

***

The pillar stood outside her door, listening as her crying was muffled into hitched breaths and harsh inhales to quiet herself. He wasn't sure what he was doing with the alcohol in his system, but he slowly pushed the shoji open and closed it quietly behind him.

"Is there something wrong?" He was trying to be nice but the jump of surprise from her was clearly not the reaction he was searching for. Her hand rested above her heart in surprise before gripping the cloth in anguish.

"I'm fine. You can go back to the others." Her head tilted away, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sure Murata didn't mean to upset you. Did something happen? Did you lose your fiance?" It was the only explanation he could rationalize why she wouldn't take a spouse when she had her choice of men flirting with her earlier.

"I said I'm fine. Leave me alone." She flopped back down on her futon, facing away from him. He wished she didn't look so pretty or the light of the moon didn't accentuate the curves of her waist and hips. Despite her words he never left, she knew at the lack of sound her shoji made when open and shut.

Rather he shuffled closer, nowhere near as elegant as he usually moved. Still he slid his fingers into her hair, finding himself rationalizing the feel of her hair with the need to sooth her.

"I'm sure you could find a husband in the slayers if you're worried about that." He didn't like it, especially the thought of not being able to freely look at her and the risk of never being able to touch her again.

"I said my plan was to die alone, it's not that complicated."

"Why?"

"Men don't want a woman like me." Her words croaked from her throat and he could help but sink into the futon and pull her back to his chest. His nose was pressed to the back of her hair and he could bask in her scent.

"That's not true." The more of her he got, the greedier he became. He wanted to remind her that the other water breath users would marry her, but she clearly wasn't interested.

"You don't know that." He felt her back trembling as she held back her distress and he hugged her closer. "I'm covered scars, I can barely fight and I'm a pitiful slayer, I don't have anything to my name but what I wear, I'm not pretty and dainty like other girls-"

Her hands covered her mouth. She was complaining to the very person that filled her with insecurities. Deep inside she wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. It didn't mean she wasn't bitter. Her love for him had soured, painting her into a corner of self depreciation. She knew this wasn't him, this was some drunken version of the man likely looking to have a piece of her.

For what it was worth, she would let him. At least it would be the final chapter to the broken heart saga of her life.

"None of that is true."

"I don't need lies to make me feel better."

He was growing a bit frustrated. His hand gripped her waist, both keeping her still and holding her to him. He was painfully aware he could slide his hands lower to grip the curve of her hips or slide his hands upward to cup her breasts.

"You're pretty. A good slayer. You're good as you are." He couldn't think of anything more grand to say, not that he was eloquent with words anyway. He prayed she understood, but the pause in her response made fear eat at his chest. Had he said the wrong thing?

"...Did you want to sleep with me?" That was the only conclusion she could think of. He was drunk and needed a body that was willing. If he was into women she was the closest one, and considering she was the only one in the estate he had to act fast.

"Sleep with you?" His words were quiet, as if he was scared to say them loud enough.

"As in sex. Did you want to have sex with me?" She was only so bold because she was facing away from him. The alcohol and bitter feeling in her chest brought up the question, but she could never work up the nerve to ask if she was looking directly at him.

He buried his face against her neck weighing the options. She was drunk, but so was he. There was no way either should do this. At the same time he doubted the option would ever be available again, especially as his attraction to her grew.

"Yes…"

***

He hovered over her, pushing in deeply with a moan. Her eyes had shed so many tears through the night, even more when he undressed her, but he couldn't help but to find her more addicting than before.

"You're so warm, oh fuck…" His head rested against her shoulder as he found himself able to thrust into her depths. "You're so beautiful, so perfect."

He heard her crying harder, moans of pleasure breaking through her moans of agony. Long had passed the attempts to calm her tears, especially when she grew nervous when he saw her naked.

He never missed her whispers of self depreciation, how she fought all compliments that slipped from his lips as he undressed her layer by layer. Even if she found herself disgusting he couldn't agree with her. Every scar he uncovered, every little imperfection his eyes found cemented his infatuation.

It was her, something so unique to only her. No one else could replicate every little aspect of her.

Yet he couldn't make her stop crying. Soft whispers of praise didn't just fall on def ears but only pushed her into further despair. Every kind thing he said only brought more tears.

He didn't miss how her hips canted into his, how her eyes grew hazy as pleasure set in - the way her lips trembled after he kissed her, the second of hope in her eyes before she turned her head away.

The soft hiccups between whimpers were never lost on him. They came at his every kiss and praise, every moment he touched her in a way she enjoyed. As if some part of her wanted to receive his adoration before becoming buried in negativity.

She couldn't deny it, either. Simply knowing he didn't despise her, or at least a part of her, both healed and hurt her. For a moment she had some value to him. She was someone worthy of his sole attention.

Rough hands graced her body, pushing her hair from her face before guiding down her neck to cup her breast, gently squeezing her nipples before tracing her scars down her torso. When he reached her hips one hand held firm while the other graced the area above where they were joined. He remembered in a haze that men had talked about women feeling good there. A clit? All he knew is that her legs tightened around his hips the moment his thumb grazed the tip of the bud.

Abusing such a sensitive spot to see her reactions was a bit cruel on his part, but he wanted to see her relieved of her tears. It was time she felt good - both in terms of sex and about herself. He basked in the moment he hands left her face to cling to the bedding below her.

Dipping down he kissed her lips again, taking in how she seemed to squeeze tighter at the simple piece of affection. Despite the fact she felt inferior he adored having her like this - seeing her broken, in a way no one else has seen before, and the ability to see her put back together again. The vulnerability neither showed the world, only shared with the other.

He shifted his hips, thrusting deeper than before. She clenched around him in ways that made him regret never considering doing this sooner. At the same time he knew their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Their suffering was similar in a sense, they both could understand not having any value in themselves. Had he really been so blind to her all this time?

"You're so good." His head fell to her shoulder as his hips jerked into her warmth. The man felt elation when she gave in and clung to him. At first her hands were lightly touching, only loosely circling his back. Even if he wasn't sober he recognized enough of her reactions to make her react how he wanted.

Kisses were placed to her cheek and jaw as he tilted his head from her shoulder. Her breath shuttered, her nails timidly scratching his skin as her hold grew more firm.

He didn't expect her to orgasm from such simple affection but he couldn't explain why else her core felt as if it were milking his cock. Her arms and legs tightened around him, pulling him flush against her as her face buried into the curve of his neck.

It was welcoming to hear a cry of pleasure rather than anguish. The sound graced him, bringing him to climax shortly after her. Had he been sober he would have been more mindful of mindlessly cumming inside her without a second thought. For the moment he wanted to bask in the feeling. The after glow of sex was only highlighted by the feeling on her nuzzling into his neck.

For a moment she accepted him. Someone liked him, even if he could still hear her hiccup as warm tears covered her cheeks again. He considered wiping her tears away but decided that he would rather let her hide against his chest. It was somewhere safe, where the judgements of the world that had brought her so low couldn't touch her.

Her heart throbbed at the feeling of him holding her close, even as they shifted to lay chest to chest on the futon. His cum dripping out to dirty her thighs wouldn't deter her for enjoying the moment. Regret and shame could come later, for now she wanted to accept just a grain on the validation he gave. Even if he regretted in the morning she wanted to savor the moment.

***

The next morning, or rather afternoon, came too soon. Her eyes hurt, presumably from all the crying she had done, and her body was simply tired. While she wasn't sober, she remembered the previous night. Perhaps with less clear detail than she'd prefer, but the feeling hadn't changed. Tension gnawed at her stomach as she felt the water pillar's warmth against her skin even before she opened her eyes.

Giyuu woke silently, as always, but with a shadow of a smile on his face. Not that anyone could see it, not even his bedmate. Still waking up with her in his arms was a pleasant feeling. She hadn't run away from him, hadn't pushed him away again. She had accepted him, at least for the time being.

The futon wasn't made for two people so it was to be expected they were pressed flush together. Yet neither felt uncomfortable. His back blocked the light faulting through the shoji, sparing her eyes the brunt of the light.

She had assumed the night after a half tipsy hook up would be more awkward, but the moment his fingers traced her spine she found herself melting into him and the blankets. The bitter feeling inside hadn't disappeared, but the harsh things she believed to be fact that haunted her seemed to be farther away more than ever.

Timidly she nuzzled against him, testing the waters of his affectionate gestures. Warm hands pressed against her back, pulling her into him. Her arms circled him tentatively, only applying the lightest of pressure before returning his hold on her.

His heart throbbed, feeling as if it were in his throat. While he found actions easier than words things became more confusing the more awake he became. Holding her out of some sleepy instinct seemed right, but now he was awake and aware of what he was doing. However she seemed to like it, even reciprocating of her own free will. It was a much better turn of events than her crying about being unlovable or something of the sort.

"Good morning, Giyuu." He looked down to find her peeking up at him, seemingly just as unsure of herself as he felt. Yet he didn't miss the hopeful glimmer in her eyes, the way she subconsciously held on to him. She really didn't want him to leave, did she? "How are you feeling?"

"Morning. I'm fine." More than fine, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself. Unconsciously his hand rose to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He struggled to hold a conversation, but he'd try for her. "You?"

"I'm great. Tired though, still." With a heaving breath she buried her face against his neck as he had done to her the night before.

"One thing." Her eyes blinked in surprise, unused to him sparking more conversation. Anxiety rolled in her stomach again worrying about all the possibilities he could bring up. Was he going to ask her to let go so he could leave? Not tell anyone? Was he ashamed of sleeping with her? Yet when he spoke he sounded as if his word was final, nothing to be debated.

"Don't talk about yourself like that anymore."

***

Months passed without incident, the pair of water breath users growing closer by the day until either were inseparable between missions. While Giyuu was never a fan of public displays of affection, the rest of the estate could see the change in him.

"Is something different?" Murata whispered to Tanjirou, who was sneaking a glance at the water pillar with him.

"Absolutely. I can't tell what, but I can smell the happiness on him." The younger slayer tapped his nose before the elder took a hold of the top of his head and twisted it back to focus his sights on the engawa.

The once sad slayer, one who had given up on her heart, sat next to Giyuu with a grin that could blind the room. Even the pillar himself couldn't help but return the sentiment with a shy smile of his own. As she took his hand his cheeks flushed a pink tone, as if that had been the most indecent thing they had done thus far.

"Good morning, Giyuu." Lips pressed to his blushing cheek, same as she had done every day since they agreed to be together shortly after their drunken, steamy night. His cheeks plumped with the happy smile before returning to a simple content expression.

"Good morning, dear." He couldn't deny it was odd at first, but receiving her affections had become the highlight of his day. Even if he was too shy to return them all in the public eye, he held her hand more firmly as a silent promise to grace her with the love she gave him later.

I'm the distance the lower ranking slayers looked on in surprise. Murata, who had a notion of what happened, soon wiped his face of shock to replace it with comical tears of joy.

"She did it! Tanjirou, she did it!" Murata shook Tanjirou's shoulders in excitement, not mindful about being caught in the moment. "She finally got him to break his shell. Look at them! Oh my-"

Murata's mindless blubbering went on and on, while Tanjirou sniffed the air. Something was different, a familiar scent but he couldn't quite place it. Wait, was she-?

"Giyuu, I actually needed to talk to you." Tension rose in him as his lover said that, but her demeanor was not the same style of tense. Rather she seemed a bit anxious but not angry or upset. His hands held both of hers, as if there were a silent plea to not leave. The shy upward curve of her lips soothed him.

"I don't really know how to say it more eloquently, but…" Her hand took his, pressing it to her stomach. "We're going to be parents."

Below his palm he could feel the fabric of her yukata and the skin below. It was firmer than he remembered, likely from their child growing within.

"You're really…? It's mine…?" His eyes were wide, jaw slack as he pressed both hands around her stomach, even if it hadn't grown much yet. Perhaps that's how he hadn't noticed before.

"Of course, I haven't been sleeping with anyone but you." She laughed to herself as he all but slid off the engawa to sit on the ground and become level with the child growing within her. Idly her hands traced through his hair as his eyes bore into her form.

"I'm going to be a father." The whisper was almost silent, meant for her ears only.

"You'll do wonderful, sweetheart." Her pet name for him made his cheeks turn bright red. Immediately he ducked to hide his face against her stomach. Her arms circled him and held him close, lightly scratching at the hairs along the nape of his neck.

After a moment he glanced up at her. His heart swelled, bubbling in his chest in a way he couldn't describe. Never before had he felt so strongly, so intensely. Rough hands reached for her own again, intertwining their fingers as they did so often before.

"I love you." The words poured from his mouth before realizing it. "Marry me."

Bonus:

"That scent, she's pregnant." If there was anyone that could recognize the scent of a pregnant woman, it was Tanjirou. After all he had spent most of his childhood with his mother pregnant.

"Tanjirou! We're going to be uncles!" Murata began to sob on Tanjirou, happy tears running down his face like a waterfall. "Oh my God, we're going to have a baby at the estate!"

Tanjirou laughed to himself as he watched the soon to be parents in the distance. Other than the scent of pregnancy he could smell their happiness. A couple of people, so defeated by the world, could find happiness together.

If that wasn't poetic, he didn't know what was.

#giyuu x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #giyu x reader #giyu tomioka x reader #giyuu #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyu #giyu tomioka #tomioka #kny imagine #kny x reader #biznichwrites #jen

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officialtrashbin · 5 years

Text

Follow Through

Rating: T (for a sexual innuendo with Corvus’ glaive) A continuation of First Meetings, in which Corvus and Proxima have a conversation that gets very out of hand very quickly.

“Tell me, Devil—” Proxima boosted the crate of nuclear fusion cells and essential tools onto the platform, and the impact rattled the floor of the shuttle as if it were hollowed out. The reverberation shook Corvus’ feet. “Does it hurt to die?” she finished asking, watching his back; he was hunched over the control panel, trying to understand why the configurations were so stupidly misaligned with their readings, and his only response was a grunt acknowledging that she had opened her mouth and started talking. “I cannot, for the life of me, decide what reasoning compelled you to come work for Thanos, of all the galactic sociopaths you could have earned credits from.”

“My reasons are my own,” Corvus replied sharply.

They had been fixing the ship since it was almost shot to oblivion while hijacking supplies from a patrol fleet in Xandar’s occupied quadrant. Proxima and Maw flew together like clockwork and managed to navigate them back to Sanctuary before the shuttle’s engines gave up completely. The interior was, somehow, worse than the exterior; Proxima heard the acute thump of Supergiant applying a sheet of titanium to the hull, followed by the thick scent of welding metal, courtesy of Dwarf. Maw was preoccupied with delivering the reports to Thanos, leaving Midnight virtually isolated with Corvus Glaive.

“And,” he added, “of course it hurts. It means I’m alive.”

Proxima glanced at him. She considered the tone in his words, how it dropped its previous hints of irritation—not with her, surprisingly—and she perched on the crate, folding one leg over the other. “We are not in the business of dying peaceful deaths,” she said to him.

“I cannot stay dead.”

“I am more than fully aware, but the price of immortality is the inevitability of glaring weakness.”

Corvus turned his head to look back at her. His eyes glinted crimson in the shadow, and she felt a dangerously cold rush under the surface of her skin. Then, he twisted his whole body around, the black cloak billowing in his wake like an unfurled sail—he went to her, silently, not quickly. Proxima dug one hand into the lip of the crate, anticipating all of him to descend upon her, while the other went to the back of her utility belt and traced the handle of her pistol. It wouldn’t do her any good. Yet, she was compelled by the weight of it and the knowledge that, at the very minimum, she could get the upper hand by shooting out both of his kneecaps.

“Tell me then, Proxima Midnight,” he hissed, stopping a single pace out of her reach, “of this weakness.”

“If I told you that, I would no longer have the advantage.”

“That’s the point.” His mouth split open as he grinned, exposing rows of sharp, sharp teeth. It made her feel strange to be in the same room as him with nowhere else to go. “We are, as the saying goes, in the same boat, and an advantage against me is far from proper strategy.”

Proxima considered him like some puzzle piece, detached from the bigger picture. How out of place it looked against such a comprehensive canvas.

“Your glaive,” she said.

It hadn’t been a command, but he lowered it to her shoulder all the same and she ran her forefinger curiously over the edge of the aureate blade. Her touch was feather-light, studying the masterwork with her hand while maintaining eye contact. In the last few years of working together, she had never observed it so closely; Corvus seemed to tense as if the weapon reflected his own nervous system, when she traced the elegant langet to the very tip and applied just enough pressure to almost, almost rupture the thermal layer of her glove.

“To be nothing without it,” she said, “and to be bound to its omnipotence. You are quite the curious creature.”

Corvus didn’t withdraw his glaive; he was entranced by her motions. Proxima’s fingers glided down to the socket, where she curled her grasp around the neck of the polearm and coaxed the weapon from his hand. He allowed her to take it. To wield it like an uncovered artifact from a forgotten time in a long-ago place, fingertips sliding over the polished details and intricate design in wonder. His empty hands furled and unfurled in subconscious apprehension as she examined it. Whatever it was she was making him feel, it seemed to scour bone deep.

“Two weaknesses, I believe,” she said after a moment.

“Two?”

His throat sounded dry. She chalked that up to the suppression panels in the hull and told him, “Why, a formidable fighter such as yourself? You must certainly have a lover back on your home world, or wherever it is you were spawned from.”

Corvus rolled his shoulders. “I must confess…I have—I have never before considered feelings for anyone else. My brother is very much a romantic, and though I have contemplated the occasional possibility, I was unable to—” He hesitated, treading over the memory that haunted the back of his mind. “You will find that I am considered a devil on my home world, as well.”

Proxima’s finger fell still against the flat side of the blade. “You poor creature,” she said. From this distance, she could feel the warmth that radiated from him, as if there was an eternal fire burning in his chest. “Though I suppose it would be unfair of me to pity you when we are, as you said, in the same boat.”

“You are considered a devil by your own people?”

“I took no flames with me when I left,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Have I told you that on Andavaar, I am a princess, second-cousin to a long line of nobility? On my planet, freely courting is reserved for everyone else but our family. To court a noble was to go through the process of combat with a high fatality rate, to fight for a place in the bloodline.” Proxima dipped her thumb into the underside of the glaive’s neck and rubbed free a speck of dried ichor.

Corvus raised his brow. “How many died for your hand?”

She didn’t look at him when she said, “None, so far.”

Proxima grasped the throat of the polearm and thrust the glaive out. Corvus took it in one grip. With the other palm, he covered her hand, a touch so uncharacteristic to his violent personality that she startled and flicked her eyes up to his.

“You are quite beautiful, Proxima Midnight,” he said. “Curiously, the most beautiful being I have seen. It is…quite a shame that you have not been given a throne of corpses of those vying for your hand.”

Heat rushed to Proxima’s face; she stood, lightning quick, snapping her hand away from him. “You must learn when to hold your tongue, Devil.”

“I apologize, Lady Midnight, I did not mean to cross a line—”

“That is not what I—you mustn’t compliment me unless you plan on following through. It is only proper. Were you not listening to my story?”

“Oh.” He clutched his glaive with both hands. “Will you allow me, to follow through?”

Proxima’s fists balled up at her sides, and she turned away from him to take several steps towards the open rear of the shuttle. Instead of leaving, as Corvus might have suspected by her demeanor, she all but shouted, “How could I possibly allow—are you truly that dense? We have an important job to accomplish, and personal distractions—” She was starting to sound like Maw, stumbling over lame excuses while calculating the risks involved in physical diversion.

“A simple no will suffice,” Corvus said distantly.

Proxima reminded herself to turn back around and look at him. Though his irises flared in the bracket of shadow cast from his hood, his eyes were gentle when they befell her; it had been months since she last saw that glimmer of predatory delight. It reminded her of their proximity in the shuttle, close enough to touch—how they had been getting closer for the last year, his step by step motions, measuring the distance by word quantity and volume of blood he’d shed taking a blow meant for her. Closing the distance as a diligent predator would.

This time it wasn’t him who was hunting. She was the one coming closer, advancing on him with the barreling might of her stride. “You are dense, Corvus Glaive—infuriatingly so! I have seen you follow through on nothing but killing and being killed! How can you devote yourself to Thanos and allow him to end your life a hundred times yet compromise all of it with—”

“Because I deserve it,” he uttered. “I deserve what he does to me.”

She ground to a halt. In here, there was nothing stopping her from learning, as there was nothing to stop him from being exposed. The shadows were thin, made artificial by poor light coming in from everywhere. The length of them to the back ramp of the shuttle was cast marginally larger by their closeness.

“What we deserve is made possible by what we give,” she hissed to him. “All you’ve done is ask for permission to have. To be given to. Do you not understand what it is we do?” Corvus opened his jaw to respond but she seized the front of his cloak and drew him against her, wild fire burning bright behind limpid eyes. “I will not allow you to court me if you do not deserve it, so if this, if I, am what you truly want, then you need to grow a spine and prove that you deserve to be a part of it—the Order, the plan, us—”

“You would want a devil like me?” he asked, arcing his glaive around and slamming the blade through the floor. Another thing to fix when they weren’t occupied with the collateral damage between them.

“You have one chance to find out.”

It was the permission he needed. His hands grasped her, one on her cheek, the other her hip, claws threatening to pierce through the material of her suit; Proxima hadn’t considered whether she reflected his feelings but in the moment his lips pressed to hers she decided it didn’t matter right now. She needed this to know him. There was that discernible sharpness of his teeth as they kissed, the glowing heat that emanated from him and spread to her chest by proximity, a comfort that made her get closer, one arm around his waist and the other hand to the back of his neck to take him in. The wet sliding of their tongues and the pounding of her blood in her ears.

Then he was ravenous. She was pushed back and pushed back, first at an angle and then up against the wall between the rafters and the exposed arteries of wires they still had to fix, where the warmth of the engine lifted through the ventilation and was bounced inwards by thermal layers. She opened her mouth for his tongue, eyelids slid shut to focus on the sensation of him working on her, all primal instinct, it seemed. His clawed hands took her wrists from where she had her hands on his face and pinned them to either side of her head, their fingers intertwining. Heat pooled into the dip of her stomach.

The rush overwhelmed them so suddenly, so strongly that Proxima broke the kiss first to catch her breath; they were panting from the sheer exertion of it, of skin melding into skin. Corvus knocked his forehead against hers. His eyes were no longer hauntingly crimson, but a soft and burning gold that gave her the sensation of standing deep underground.

“Two weaknesses,” he said breathlessly.

Proxima titled her chin up and laughed.

#corvus x proxima #corvus glaive #proxima midnight #inappropriate use of a glaive.mp4 #i mean really you have to read between the lines but the intentions are obvious

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meretiic · 5 years

Photo

That’s [Rosalie Merit] not [Katherine McNamara]. She’s [24/166] years old and a [Heretic]. She may be adaptable, empathetic, & captivating but she’s also volatile, insecure & deceptive.

About Me:

I’m not the best with talking about myself, so bear with me. I go by Liv, I’m 24 years old, and I live in the EST timezone. Pronouns are she/her. Um…I like to think I’m a fairly chill person, generally speaking. I’m not in school right now, but I do work the morning shift five days a week at a bagel shop. That means I’m usually up early, so I tend to head to bed early-ish as well. Exceptions being Friday and Saturday, as I don’t work weekends.

Oh! I also have a dog named Lucy, though we also call her Lucille cuz she’s an old lady. Yes, it’s a reverse nickname. Anyways, she’s a yellow lab, nine years old, and fully blind. But before you let that last bit get ya down, rest assured that she is still one of the happiest puppers you will ever know. A legit sweet baby angel.

Basics:

Name: Rosalie Evangeline Merit Species: Heretic Age: 24/155

Personality:

Rosalie isn’t nearly as hardened by her experiences as one might think. Instead of allowing that pain to fester and pull her towards the darker side, she always has done her best to rise above it and allow herself to be happy. Sometimes easier said than done, but she knows that her joy is truly the best way to get back at those who have wronged her(read: non-biological father, ie the man who raised her). That’s not to say she doesn’t occasionally let that inner darkness out. Her kindness is not to be confused with being weak, a lesson she is more than willing to make clear to anyone who might dare to cross her.

Quick Facts:

This bit is gonna be a mess cuz it’s just a quick jumble of facts

she’s done a few shows on Broadway

a couple back in the 1920s, and then again a couple of years ago

she’s a ripper like her biological father, which translates into both her bloodlust and tendency for siphoning too much from someone

it’s because of this that she tends to avoid siphoning living beings, as well as sticking to a diet of animal blood

even after her initial arrival in America, she never tried to find a coven, for fear of being outcast and hunted down simply due to what she was

she’s kept her species fairly hidden over the years, allowing people to believe she is either a witch or a vampire, but never letting them see that she is truly a combination of both

a good part of her life has been devoted to finding her biological father, as she knows that Mr. Merit wasn’t him

Background:

Rosalie Evangeline Merit was born in London, England in June of 1864 as the first siphoner to the Merit bloodline of witches. Though her mother survived the traumatic birth of the child, she was left in a weakened state from which she would never fully recover. Being the first of his family to produce such an abomination, not to mention one who held so few physical similarities to the rest of his children, Rosalie’s father began looking into the possibility that the girl was not, in fact, his. He came across stories of a group of witches born without magic of their own who instead drew their powers from others. He’d spend his whole life trying to discover whether or not it was one of them who had cursed his family with the magical leech he’d called his daughter.

To her credit, Rosalie did her best not to steal magic from her family, preferring to live without if it meant avoiding punishment. Brutal as the consequences were for harming one of her siblings, sometimes accidents happened. Her father, however, was less than willing to listen, often leaving her with scars as evidence of his wrath. It seemed even with all the effort the young girl put into trying to be good, fate was simply never on her side. Without proper teaching, she was never able to truly get a handle on her siphoning abilities, and one tragic night she lost control entirely and killed one of her brothers. Her first kill.

Rosalie immediately packed her things and fled her childhood home. Using what little magic she possessed, she charmed her mother’s ring with a cloaking spell that would keep her hidden from the Merits. There was no going back after what she’d done. So instead, she settled to find herself a means of making money in order to survive. Easier said than done. With no real prospects, she turned to the one place she knew most women could succeed. A brothel. It was likely the lowest point of her human life, but it sparked the beginning of what would be a thrilling next chapter.

Working in the brothel, Rosalie befriended a young woman named Dorothea. It was a connection that would offer the siphoned a new life. A favorite to many, Dorothea often found herself requested by a young man with a fetish for blood play. Odd, maybe, but it would turn out that the man was a vampire, intent on sharing his immortality with the mortal girl. She would agree, but only if he would also offer up his gift to her friend. He agreed, though only proceeded to turn Dorothea, as Rosalie was still unsure if this was a life she genuinely wanted. It was a choice that would be stolen from her by a man she had mistaken as a client. The year was 1888. The man, was Jack the Ripper.

Waking as a vampire was a strange sensation to say the least. For one, she felt hungry in a way she’d never experienced before, but beyond that…she felt powerful. Not just a physical strength either. No, for once in her life Rosalie could feel a limitless amount of magic coursing through her veins. It wasn’t something she was intent on giving up. Like most vampire, her first feed resulted in a kill, though she found it far easier than she’d imagined. Perhaps the man who had raised her - she now refused to refer to him as her father - had been onto something when calling her an abomination.

For so long she had restrained herself, and now she was finally free to live as she pleased. It was an idea that excited her. Her first plan of action, return to the Merit home to face her former abuser. He would not survive the encounter in his office, though Rosalie herself would discover the research he had been doing on witches like her. Claiming it for herself, as well as a sufficient amount of money, she would make her way to the docks and buy herself a ticket to America. A new life demanded a fresh start, and she felt no regret at leaving nearly everything of her past behind her in London. Only two things could tie her to that life; her birth mother’s ring, and the letters she and Dorothea would continue to write to each other even to this very day.

If you have any questions or would like to plot, feel free to hmu to chat !!

#apx:intro #☙🥀❧ most girls are smart and strong and beautiful // about #abuse tw #murder tw #death tw

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arse-blathanna · 6 years

Text

The Bones of a God - 45/50

Chapter 45: Ascend and Descend

[Ao3] [FFN] [Fic Tag]

Fic Summary: Once upon a time, monsters roamed the entire world, so plentiful that they needed countless numbers to fight them off. 13 years ago, that changed. Grimm died off suddenly and stopped proliferating. Now the few Creatures of Grimm that are left are too large and powerful to be taken down in "the old ways."

That doesn't make them any less of a threat.

The real problem comes when people decide it's for the best that they start picking sides in a war starting anew.

Word Count: 3,949

Chapter Summary: The one where everyone gets a POV section.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading!

Cinder felt hot.

It was a feeling that came with intensity that she hadn’t been adequately prepared for. It burned under her skin and stretched out through her veins. It filled her up and hollowed her out until she was nothing but what she had just gained. There was a sense of satiation, even as she felt as though she starved for power.

[Read it on Ao3] [Read it on FFN]

It felt as though she was so strong all of a sudden, that she would burst. An attempt at using her semblance would be an explosion so strong that she didn’t even know if she could survive it.

But, Cinder supposed in a way was she began to gather herself back to her feet, she had survived fire and had only come out singed. She had been chosen by Salem, after all.

She was-

A maiden.

The others had decided to gather around her and watch her closely, but none said anything. Off to the side and behind all of them, Amber had gone limp and fallen to the ground, unbreathing and unmoving.

They’d won. The burning in her veins told her that it was worth it.

“I suppose that crosses that particular item off the docket.” Watts said, sounding sincerely bored. “Staying here for too long will only waste time. We should get moving. At least before someone finds us with the girl’s body.”

“Moving where?” Emerald asked, and Cinder felt a spike of something horrible at that. It wasn’t quite rage, but something else entirely. Not quite hate, but hot frustration. “If this was what we were supposed to do-”

“No.” Watts snapped at the girl. “We will be going. You have likely outlived your use.”

“We don’t know that for sure, Watts.” And oh, how confident Cinder felt as she said those words out loud. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers and stretching them almost experimentally. “We may need her again.”

Cinder looked from Emerald to the others, then down to Amber’s body.

“We should move on, though. The last thing we need is to be seen with-”

She locked her eyes onto Hazel, who managed to look very unhappy with the current situation. Even if he said nothing and didn’t hold himself as though he was preparing for a fight, it was obvious. Tangible, even. "Is there something that you need to say?"

Hazel shook his head in denial, but the way that he looked and the careful way that he pressed a hand to his chest said otherwise. Cinder didn't know what his problem had been lately. All that she knew was that she didn't like having him so distracted. Perhaps with them finally moving on from the current assignment, he would stop.

She rolled her eyes and began to lead the way down the road towards Mistral, calm and easy. There was no reason for them to break off in the other direction. Besides, going to Mistral might have been enough to give them a chance to rest and to recuperate. Perhaps it would also be a place where they could finally figure out where their plans were taking them next.

The others looked amongst each other and said nothing before following after Cinder.

For most of the trip to Mistral, nobody said so much as a word.

It was quite obvious that it was because nobody wanted to.

Ruby skidded in the dirt, almost trembling from exhaustion. No matter how much they fought and how much they did, it felt like nothing was happening. Like progress had stopped existing.

"Are you going to be okay?" Jaune shouted to her, rushing into a position in front of her and holding his shield up to protect the two of them. Ruby looked back up at the monster, and she was able to catch a burning gold flash of light that had to have been her sister. She needed to get back to her teammates.

"I don't know." Ruby mumbled, standing up tall. "Do you think that you have things handled?"

"We should." Jaune answered before looking across the area. "On the count of three, you make a break for it."

The two of them counted down and Ruby sprinted across the space, doing what she could go get to the next piece of cover, or someone else that could be of help.

She saw a bright white glyph appeared and felt some relief, because Weiss was going to be nearby if that was what she had found.

Ruby caught sight of Weiss, and landed at her side. “Weiss!”

“Ruby!” Weiss hissed back at her, having decided that she wanted to hide out of view. “Where have you been?”

“Got carried away.” Ruby looked back up at the grimm, trying to figure out what they were meant to do next. “What are you doing?”

“Setting up.”

Before Ruby could even ask, Yang was landing on the glyph, her hair on fire. As soon as she was somewhat grounded, Yang was reloading. Her eyes were blazing bright red. Semblance, no doubt active. It seemed like Yang and Weiss had worked out a system that worked for both of them to keep attacks moving.

“Ready!”

“Got it!” Weiss swang Myrtenaster with one fluid motion. The glyph that Yang stood on pulled back with Weiss’ hand moving backwards before Weirss released it and Yang was rocketing off and up towards the monster.

Ruby looked up at it, reminded of what had gone wrong. No matter what, it didn’t seem like they were doing enough. Maybe it was something that they truly couldn’t do without the help of more trained people. Real hunts,en that were going to be able to actually put on the heavy damage that they needed.

It was impossible as things were.

"Weiss, get ready to send me up."

"Are you sure?" Weiss asked, locking their eyes. "Because-"

"Yeah." Ruby repeated the words. "I'm sure."

Weiss nodded, and Ruby watched as layer after layer of glyphs appeared, creating a springboard of sorts. Weiss looked like she was utterly exhausted, like she might have been pushing herself too hard to be able to perform.

"Go."

Ruby leapt forward, let her feet hit the glyphs, and launched upwards.

Yang punched the grimm as hard as she possibly could, and felt it try to move to hit her harder in return. She didn't have the space to maneuver out of the way. Yang grit her teeth, raised her arms in front of her, and braced for the impact.

At the very least, she could get stronger from this. Assuming that her aura didn’t finally snap and leave her helpless.

In front of her, something changed though, a black and red swirl of energy forming out of nowhere before someone or something flew out of it at top speed. Yang couldn't catch what it was just, but she couldn't have missed the streak of bright red and bone white. Like a grimm had come to aid for some reason.

The bright red slashed through the grimm's great clawed hand, before disappearing again into yet another portal. Out of view entirely. Yang tried to get a good look at it, but a proper view in the middle of battle eluded her.

The grimm roared and pulled back away Yang, but not enough to stop her from punching it so hard that she could have sworn that she heard something crack. Not that she knew what that would have been.

Somehow she managed to grab onto a length of fur and hold on for a moment. If she was going to be lodged there for a moment, Yang was going to keep on fighting. She drew back, and delivered punch, after punch, after punch.

For a second, she thought that she might have seen smoke.

Blake learned very early into the fight that there wasn't much that she thought she could do. She was able to blend into backgrounds, but being able to hear the things that were going on around her was useful. It helped her to know exactly where everyone on the battlefield was.

Getting to her current position had been a grueling ordeal. As things stood, she was up on top of the grimm's head, with the ribbon from Gambol Shroud wrapped up around one of the beast's horns. She wasn't going to fall, that was something that she felt confident in.

Mostly, she kept an eye open. If she could act by signaling opening to her teammates, then she was doing her job right.

From up where she was, everyone else managed to look like tiny dots dots and nothing else. All of them were brightly colored though, and that made it easier.

She needed to do something, but Blake didn't know what. It felt like she’d already managed everything that she could have done.

One of the things that Qrow hadn’t quite prepared for going into this fight was just how old and even sluggish he was going to end up feeling. It had been a long time since he’d last been involved in such high-risk combat. He must have lost the feel of it years before, because once it had felt effortless for him to participate in.

Apparently, that wasn’t exactly the case anymore.

Not to mention that his new role in the fight was that he was trying to keep a group of kids from getting themselves hurt or killed. He had to give credit where it was due, though. They were all doing pretty well on their own. Well, they were doing as well as they could have, all things considered.

Qrow stretched his wings and circled over the grimm, looking for some sort of vantage point. Blake was lodged up by the beast's horns. That was something that he could have used, if not for the fact that the best tactic he could think of for something like that would have involved a beheading and his sister.

There were a lot of reasons that wouldn't work. Too many of them to count, really.

A second bird fell into formation beside him, and Qrow tried his best not to concentrate on her. Raven could still pack a hell of a punch, but it seemed like something was off about her. He wasn’t sure exactly what, though. Qrow locked an eye with her and let out a caw before moving straight into a divebomb, preparing to rip through his own muscle to become himself again and deliver a strike.

Raven understood, falling into a divebomb to do just the same as he had. She didn’t need to do it this way, Qrow knew. But she was choosing to anyways.

Taiyang was fighting his way up the grimm's body, using its fur to fling himself higher and higher.

In the end, the tactic almost feels familiar.

Qrow dipped out of the grimm’s line of sight and transformed, landing on the grimm's back and pointing Harbinger's tip down at it. He dug it in as best as he can, and let his legs carry him, opening up a long cut along the beast's spine.

"Qrow!" Tai shouted to him, having grabbed onto a long tuft of hair and using it to hold himself up. "Meet me up top!"

"Got it!" Qrow shouted in passing as he reached closer and closer to the monster's rear. He launched himself off with one clean motion and transformed so that he could fly back up towards the monster’s head. Taiyang had an idea, and though they don't have Summer anymore, they could still work together and try.

Qrow reached his destination, turning into himself again just before Blake would be able to see. As himself once more, Qrow pulled himself up onto the grimm’s head.

Blake looked over at him, her eyes wide. "What are you doing up here?"

"Fighting." Qrow responded, calmly. He grabbed onto the horn like Blake had, and felt the grimm shake its head in an attempt to get the two of them off. Blake didn’t allow herself to budge, but Qrow had to do what he can to hold still. "What're you here for?"

"Not quite sure." Blake answered. "I think we wanted to try to garotte it."

"Sounds risky." Qrow grumbled, seeing a flash of gold up towards the top. He's expecting it to be Taiyang, but instead its his niece.

"Yang!" Blake greeted her teammate first. "What's the new plan?"

"I think Weiss is staying down on the ground." Yang answered, breathing hard. "Ruby was coming up I think."

"Got it."

"You two better figure out what the hell you're doing quick!" Qrow shouted at them, and relaxed if only very slightly when Taiyang finally bounded up to the top, looking a little bit more the worse for the way. "Because we're setting up for something."

"Yeah." Yang answered, bracing herself. "Right. Blake, we should-"

"Good idea."

Blake passed off the length of ribbon to Yang and the two of them split, with one at each side and holding the ribbon taut between the two of them.

Taiyang looked at it and grinned wide.

"Hey, Qrow-"

"You're thinking it too?"

"What?" Yang asked. "You two are totally going to steal our tactics, aren't you?"

"Nah." Taiyang shouted. "We could just use the boost."

Qrow swung Harbinger, and thrust its blade down into the grimm's head so that he couldn't lose his position. There was a barely controlled streak of red, which Qrow soon recognized as his other niece hurtling towards them. The girls prepared and braced themselves, and Qrow watched as Ruby landed on the ribbon which stretched before launching her back up into the air.

"Tai, now!" Qrow shouted, and he watched as Tai leapt off of the grimm's body and landed on the ribbon, leaping off of it to propel himself up high. He prepared to do the same. "You girls better have landing strategies prepared."

With that, Qrow launched himself upwards and tried to meet Tai in the air, transforming Harbinger into a scythe again in the process.

Tai caught him by the leg and held on tight.

They only had so much time. Qrow could only hope that luck was on his side.

Ruby kept as tight of a grip on Crescent Rose as she could possibly manage on her descent, twisting herself and firing the rifle to push her forward faster and faster. She almost laser focused in on what her target was, throwing her scythe out at her side and holding on tight.

She caught the grimm by the neck and fired over and over again, pushing her further and further against it. The blade began to slice into the grimm's neck, but not nearly doing enough to take the head off.

Up above, her father slammed down onto the grimm's head, her uncle's sword stabbing into the monster's forehead. She heard him shout for someone, and a portal appeared on the other side of the grimm's neck, a woman racing out and slicing through what was left of it before falling back out of sight behind another portal.

Ruby swallowed hard and looked to her teammates. Blake and Yang were still there up by the monster's head, but now that was falling and they needed to move. She looked back down to the ground and saw that the ones down there were already moving and running, trying to clear the space to avoid any of them getting injured.

She had to brace herself and fell down, down, down. As she got closer to the ground there was the cushioning of one of Weiss' glyphs slowing her down. With the control that she was able to use with Crescent Rose, Ruby was able to ensure that she landed cleanly and without too much injury.

Blake and Yang ended up in a nearby tree. Her dad ended up riding the monster's head down, and Qrow had disappeared into nowhere.

The group of all of them gathered there by the grimm. It wasn't dissipating as fast as Ruby had ever seen one turn to smoke before.

"It's.... dead." Pyrrha said, sounding a bit surprised and more than tired. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Ruby mumbled, shaking her head. She looked over at Weiss and walked to her teammate. Blake and Yang joined them, and moments later the four of them were folding together into a warm hug. It was comforting.

They were allowed to rest for a few minutes, but before any of them got comfortable enough, Oobleck took the helm with the statement that while the threat may have appeared to be gone, their work was not over.

It was going to be a very long night.

"Professor Ozpin."

Ozpin picked their head up and looked back over their shoulder to see that Ironwood had come to join them. He looked worried and tired, but he also wouldn't have rushed to visit them without a good reason for it.

"James." They greeted him. "Is something the matter?"

"I just received a report that it's fallen." James said, standing up tall and seeming to calm just as quickly. "There will still be more work to do, but for now-"

"The people of Vale will be able to rest." Ozpin said, feeling a certain sort of melancholy that threw them back to conversations from decades before. This was not the first time that they had seen something like this. "Thank you for reporting to me, General."

"You know that it's no problem." James said quietly. "The others should be staying out for the rest of the night." There was a long pause, like James almost needed to catch his breath. "I'll contact Winter to inform her and Glynda of the change in situation."

"Thank you." Ozpin said calmly. "I'm expecting that we'll be hearing from Taiyang and Qrow soon."

"I am too." James mumbled. "We'll recall the groups in the forest as soon as we can."

"Of course." Ozpin said calmly, but there was still more to this that neither of them seemed to want to touch. There were still other kingdoms which were going to need to be contacted, headmasters that were unaware of the situation in Vale.

It would be likely that passing on an update on Vale's condition would be of use. "I trust that you will be able to handle those arrangements?"

"Of course." James replied, still standing tall. "What will you do?"

"I..." Ozpin's voice trailed off for a moment. "I believe that I have things which I will need to check in on myself."

"The Relic?"

"Yes." Ozpin confirmed, frowning. "Although I'm afraid that reaching the vault will be-"

"If you're just looking to check that the vault is still secure, it should be enough." James mumbled. "Without Miss Rainart here..."

"It will remain closed." Ozpin confirmed, feeling a sinking feeling down in their stomach that they weren't going to be able to forget. It was yet another reminder of old sins, and of bonds which had broken years and years before. "I will do what I can to contact her come morning."

"Of course." James said, sounding not exactly pleased himself. "Do you want me to go to Atlas and do a similar check?"

"If you would not mind." Ozpin sighed. "I believe it would be of great use."

"I'll make the arrangements when the time comes." James said quietly. “Getting in contact with the Winter Maiden should be relatively easy.”

Ozpin wanted to feel satisfied by that statement, but it wouldn’t be enough to do the trick. They waited for James to leave, and when they were finally alone, Ozpin hesitated. There was too much that they were going to need to do, and a lot of possibilities for things that were going to come in the near future.

They were going to need to start by checking in on Vale itself. Once that was done, then they'd make contact with their various agents.

Until that time came, all that they could really do was wait.

They made it back to Beacon early in the morning, only once permission had been given for them to return. Weiss felt like she was lagging behind her teammates a little too much, and her body was going to drop any second. She'd almost assuredly overused her semblance that night. She wanted to sleep for at least a week, if the opportunity was given to her.

Among other things. Fighting giant grimm weren't high on her list of things to do. That didn't mean that she felt like she'd actually managed to get all of that much done in the fight itself. Throughout the whole thing, she'd lingered to the back of the fight. She'd provided support and took care of the others.

It made her question her work again. Whether or not she could be a huntress like her sister, or like her mother once had been.

The other three went into the room first, all of them talking and some seeming more nervous than others.

"Weiss." A voice down the hall made Weiss pick her head up. She looked and saw that Winter was there, also looking worse for the wear and her hair having fallen loose. "Are you alright?"

"I am." Weiss mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. She wants to just go to bed and sleep forever. "Are you?"

"I am." Winter stepped in close to her and Weiss fell into the hug that was being offered immediately. Winter stroked her hand through Weiss' hair. "I heard that you did well out there."

"I..."

"You should be proud, Weiss." Winter said, taking a step or two away. "Going up against a monster of that size and being able to take it down is something to be proud of." She looked down at Weiss in a way that looked sad and apologetic. A way where Weiss wasn't going to be able to forget about it.

Weiss nodded. Blake was lingering by the door, giving her a weird look. "I'll be right in." Weiss reassured her teammate and was able to relax a little bit when the door closed. She looked back up at her older sister. "I don't feel like I did that much."

"That's fine." Winter offered, standing up tall. "You should still be proud."

Weiss nodded and furrowed her brow. "Winter, I don't..." She shook her head a little bit. "Should we be worrying about what's going to come next?"

"What do you mean?" Winter asked her, cocking her head to the side just slightly. "Because I'm not entirely sure what you're saying."

"You're only here because of that grimm, right?" Weiss locked her eyes with her sister's. "If it's gone, then you will have to go back to Atlas, won't you?"

Winter shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you right now, Weiss. I haven't been passed down any orders, and the ones that I do have have to be treated as though they're classified."

"I just don't want to lose you again."

"You won't." Winter reassured Weiss, but somehow it all just came up feeling empty and almost meaningless. "Trust me."

"Okay." Weiss whispered, forcing a smile up at her sibling. "I trust you."

"Get some rest, Weiss." Winter offered. "I'll let you know what's happening when I know. For now, I imagine you just want some sleep."

Weiss hugged Winter one last time and said a goodnight before stepping into the room and crawling into bed. The others hadn't even bothered getting out of their combat clothes. Weiss couldn't really blame any of them for that personally, since she felt just as tired.

She slept like a rock, dreaming of black wisps of smoke.

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #cinder fall #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #qrow branwen #ozpin #weiss schnee #the bones of a god #oops my hand slipped #mantiswrites

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iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 6 years

Text

Little Boy Lost- Ch 2

Summary: Sirius Black has made a troubling habit of sneaking out, exploring Muggle London, and turning his father’s hair gray early.

Or: Five times Orion Black finds Sirius in Muggle London through the years (And one time he doesn’t). (ao3)

In this chapter: Eleven-year-old Sirius is granted a small bit of freedom prior to his first year at Hogwarts and promptly uses it to get into trouble. Good thing Orion is close by to bail him out, even if he is unrepentant.

(Ch1) (Ch 3) (Ch 4) (Ch 5) (Ch 6)

II. Mugged and Numbered

Ditching his parents at Diagon Alley was easier than it really should have been, if Sirius were giving them proper credit due. But all he’d done was tell them he wanted to look at broomsticks and the pet shop for a little bit while they finished up the rest of their errands.

“Please,” he begged when his mother’s eyes narrowed.

“You already have an owl and a broomstick,” she reminded him.

“And first years aren’t even allowed a broomstick,” Reggie piped in. He’d, of course, read Sirius’ letter studiously.

“Yes thanks, Reg,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. Turning his appeal to his father he said, “You’re about to let me go to Hogwarts by myself!”

Orion stared down at him, impassive, evaluating, and Sirius stared back, though he couldn’t quite help fidgeting a little in impatience. Finally, his father nodded, just once, said curtly, “We’ll return in 30 minutes,” and swept off his still-protesting wife and remaining son.

Momentarily stunned by this show of trust, Sirius watched them retreat, to be sure his parents had meant it, and then set about doing exactly the sort of thing that would break that trust. He turned away from Magical Menagerie, walked straight past Quality Quidditch Supplies, and slipped back into the Leaky Cauldron, then out into Muggle London.

He had thirty glorious minutes away from his parents’ rules and standards of Good Behavior, away from shopkeeps who grovelled around them, away from anything proper and boring. Muggle London pulsed with adventure. He’d spent the past four years since his first excursion refining his process of slipping away, finding different places to explore, and, he was sure, he’d only just scratched the surface. He was old enough now, too, that people didn’t seem to mind if he didn’t have parents with him, at least for a little bit.

He generally knew where he was going, managing to keep the London map in his head, but there were a few times when he had to, without a map directly in front of him, circle around and reroute. He had a vague idea he might visit the London Zoo, though thirty minutes wasn’t much time allotted for that, and decided instead to pop into a candy store. In a spontaneous moment of generosity, he even thought he might buy some candy to sneak to Regulus. Reggie loved sweets almost more than pleasing their parents, and if Sirius brought him good ones, he was sure to keep where Sirius had gotten them from a secret.

He spent a while picking out different chocolates and taffies before carrying them over to the counter. The salesgirl looked up from her magazine, annoyed he’d interrupted her to actually do her job, and looked him up and down, pulling a face, before ringing the items up.

She told him the total, a number that confused Sirius. He slammed what seemed about the right amount on the counter, a few Galleons Uncle Alphard had given him as a present for starting school in the fall. Uncle Alphard was always looking for excuses to give him and Reggie money. It drove Mother mad.

The salesgirl stared down at the gold. “This some kinda joke?” She asked him, suspiciously.

Sirius shook his head vigorously. “No, Miss,” he said, remembering his manners to give her a charming smile.

“This isn’t money,” she said and, unmoved, pushed the coins back at him.

“It’s real gold,” he insisted. He gave her a haughty look, the one his mother would have used at any impertinent salesclerk who refused to give her her way. “You’ll take it. I’m paying for my goods.”

She actually laughed at him, a mean laugh, and pointed to the door. “Get out of here.”

“No,” Sirius said. “I want to buy—“

“I’ll call the police,” she threatened.

Scowling, he gathered up his Galleons. “I won’t be returning,” he told her primly, and marched out, her laughter following.

He checked his watch and gasped. His thirty minutes were almost up, and he wasn’t even close to the Leaky Cauldron. He’d wasted too much time trying to argue with that dumb girl. Scowl still etched on his face, he took off running towards Charing Cross.

He slowed a few blocks away, panting, and it was only then he noticed the man following him. He’d been in a car, but now got out and trailed Sirius at a distance, acting as though he was preoccupied with other matters.

Sirius could see the Leaky Cauldron now, but as he glanced over his shoulder to see if the man was still following him (he was), he bumped into another man. Sirius started to fix him with a haughty look and say “Excuse me,” but the man gripped his arms and manhandled him down an alley.

It was daylight, but somehow no one had seen to intervene. In the alley, there were three other men, and then the first one followed up behind Sirius and the man who had grabbed him. Sirius surveyed them, doing his best to look down his nose at them. After all, they were only Muggles and he was a wizard; what was more, he was a Black and that, apparently, meant something.

“What do you want?” he demanded, and the men jeered at him.

“Look at him, thinks he’s in charge,” a heavy set one to Sirius’ right laughed.

“The gold, boy,” the man who’d been trailing him said. “I saw you with it. Where’d you get it?”

“Treasure hunt,” Sirius said recklessly, thinking of his Galleons and the girl's reaction to them. Did Muggles not have the same money? He'd been coming for years to London without ever really having considered that.

He could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins and smiled, remembering a pictured story he'd flipped through in the Muggle library when he'd snuck down the year before. He added, “Ran into pirates a few weeks back, you know how it goes.”

The man holding him shook him, swearing at his insolence, but a moment later, he yelped and dropped his hold like he’d been shocked. Sirius tried to back away, back to the street, but the man who'd tailed him shoved him back to the middle of the circle.

“Smart guy, huh?” The one Sirius had shocked snarled, and someone asked from behind if they were sure the gold was real.

"It is," the first man assured them. "I saw it myself. Here," he added menacingly, "I'll show you."

The group closed in, but before anything could happen, a voice from behind said, “Let the boy go.”

Sirius felt a surge of something as his father approached. It wasn’t exactly relief, maybe a little annoyance. Father was always ruining his fun. He stood up straighter, though, feeling confident, as Orion pushed his way through the two men behind him to put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a comforting grip, but possessive and tight. His fingers dug into Sirius’ skin so hard he'd probably leave a bruise.

One of the men stepped forward, waving a knife he held. Never losing grip on his shoulder, Sirius felt his father move behind him and, by the way the man suddenly flew back knife clattering a safe distance away, knew his father had flicked his wand. Sirius thought of his own, new one, bought today and bundled away for Kreacher to take home, and wished he had it with him.

It wasn’t necessary, though. The man with the knife scrambled back to his feet and fled past Sirius and Orion. Orion turned his cold gaze to the others, each in turn, until every one hastily retreated.

“Didn’t cause no harm,” one muttered as he passed.

When they were all gone, Orion, grip still firm on Sirius’ shoulder, shoved him none-too-gently ahead of him back out of the alley.

“Ow, Dad!” Sirius protested, stumbling.

“You deliberately disobeyed me,” Orion hissed, voice compressed with fury.

“I was just trying to have some fun,” Sirius said.

Orion snorted. “And you don’t feel an ounce of shame about it, do you, boy? If I hadn’t come along—,”

“I was handling myself fine!” Sirius interrupted, indignant.

“Oh yes, talking about pirates and nonsense. What were you going to do, fight off five grown men?”

“Maybe,” Sirius said sulkily. “They were only Muggles.”

“And you are an untrained child!” Orion spat at him. He came to a halt and his grip pulled Sirius back. Spinning the boy around, he leaned over to glare directly into his eyes. “Is this fun for you, then? Running off, getting cornered by men who would’ve killed you without a second thought and robbed your corpse?”

Sirius shrugged a little uncomfortably under his father’s hands and gaze. “A little,” he said honestly. “It’s exciting.”

Orion drew in a sharp breath. After a moment, he straightened, his gaze cool and impassive again, but Sirius had seen something flicker in his eyes. He didn’t know or understand what.

When they started off again, Orion stayed in step with Sirius, grip still firm on his shoulder. As they approached the Leaky Cauldron, Orion spoke once more.

“I trusted you today, Sirius, and you broke that trust,” he said sternly. “How am I supposed to trust you to behave yourself away at Hogwarts when I can’t even allow you to be on your own in Diagon Alley for a mere half hour?”

It was Sirius’ turn to halt, staring up at his father in horror as the implication of what he had said set in. “Father, no,” he gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I could,” Orion said severely, watching his son’s face drain of color. “And I reserve that right, at any point in this year, to pull you out and drag you home. Do I make myself clear?”

Color returned to Sirius’ face, and he grinned when he said, “Perfectly.”

“Sir,” Orion corrected, a little unsettled by the boy’s abrupt mood lift.

“Yes, that,” Sirius said absently.

Under his hand, Sirius began to walk again, and Orion followed, brow furrowing, feeling a little confused. Orion has thought Sirius would take his threat far more poorly than he had. It was almost as if he hadn’t punished the boy at all.

He didn’t release his son until he could do so into his mother’s own vice like grip. She grabbed his arm and tugged him ahead, scolding him furiously. Regulus fell into step with Orion, little hand reaching out to grip the sleeve of his robe, but he didn’t notice, stuck in his thoughts of Sirius.

Hogwarts would be good for the boy. He was exceptionally bright, had far outpaced his tutors, and that was, he supposed, why Sirius was often bored. New, more challenging classes would keep him occupied and his tendency to look for fun (and find trouble instead) at bay.

“Papa?” Regulus said, tugging on his sleeve. Orion, startled looked around and then down at his younger son, who was chewing his bottom lip, an unsightly nervous habit, as he waited for his father to answer him.

“Yes?”

“Papa, is Sirius in much trouble?” Of course Regulus would work himself into a state of anxiety over his brother's stupidity and concern that anyone in the family might be arguing.

Orion sighed wearily. “I think, Regulus, that Sirius is trouble.”

Still, Orion decided as Regulus giggled, cheered up, he would send an owl to old Slughorn—a bit of a warning, really—and request he keep a special eye on his newest Slytherin this coming year.

#Sirius Black #Orion Black #hp #harry potter #fanfic tag #my fic #i posted this on ao3 and realized i forgot to post it here whoops #still only 2 chapters the rest will come haha

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signs-of-the-moon · 4 years

Text

Moon Rise: Chapter 33

Howls of victory echoed around the camp as warriors streamed through the bramble tunnel. A surge of energy seemed to ripple through ever cat as the patrol settled in to heal and discuss the battle.

“That was awesome!” Tulippaw caterwauled, running a couple laps around Swiftcloud. Swiftcloud limped with head held high, a smile gracing her features. She’d faced off against Treeclan’s deputy almost by herself, and won. Perhaps she should give herself more credit for her fighting abilities, just as Mistypaw said. Then again, perhaps Thornberry was having an off day.

“You did great today, Tulippaw.”

“Me? What about you? You should have seen yourself fighting off that stinky Treeclan cat. He was like ‘I’m going to defeat you!’ And you were all like ‘No way I’m backing down from a fight; especially against a sticky sap sipper like you.’ And then you tackled him! And he was like ‘grr’ and you were all 'hiss, get off our territory’ and sent that tom running.” Tulippaw leaped around dramatically as she reenacted the scuffle, changing the pitch in her tone humorously to mimic the voices of Swiftcloud and Thornberry. Swiftcloud let out a mrrow of laughter, playfully knocking her apprentice over with the swipe of a paw.

“Ok ok, I did great today too. What say we get some fresh-kill and go tell Cricketsong about everything that happened, hm?”

Tulippaw nodded enthusiastically, crouching and bunching her haunches. “Race you!” She challenged, springing forward and pelting to the fresh-kill pile. Swiftcloud chuckled, hobbling over more slowly. She didn’t mind letting Tulippaw win this time. Besides, her shoulder was hurting again. The wound didn’t seem to be reopened, but Swiftcloud would make sure to have it checked out later. Her forepaw was still oozing blood though. That wound needed more urgent care. Swiftcloud made a mental note to have it patched up after eating. By the time Swiftcloud made it to the pile, Tulippaw was already standing there, three mice placed in fron of her.

“Come on, turtle-foot, let’s go to the nursery.”

“Lead the way,” Swiftcloud mewed, padding a tail-length behind the apprentice. Cloverpetal and Quailbelly were standing near the nursery’s entrance when they approached, their bodies blocking the way inside. It seemed like the pair were reinforcing the den. Cloverpetal stood on the younger she-cat’s back, twisting thick branches, ferns, and wool in between gaps in the bush. Meanwhile, Quailbelly passed up materials, all while keeping a firm stance on the ground. The honeysuckle bush was looking more thin as the season of Leafbare drew nearer. It’s leaves were beginning to die off, browning and shriveled just as the flowers were. Swiftcloud worried if the den would be insulated enough to keep the queens and kits warm. But she reassured herself quietly; the Den Keepers knew how to thicken the walls enough to keep the cold out.

“Excuse us,” Swiftcloud meowed.

Cloverpetal looked down towards the visitors, her tail raising. “Oh, hello! We’re not in the way, are we?”

“Just a little bit. Could we get inside, please?”

“Oh yes of course. I think this part of the den is built up enough anyhow. We shouldn’t be in your way anymore. Come on, Quailbelly, lets work on the back.” With an elegant leap, Cloverpetal was on the ground, speaking to her companion before shortly leading her away. Swiftcloud purred a thank you in their direction, ducking into the nursery right after Tulippaw. But something was going on. The brown and white apprentice hesitated by the nursery’s threshold, ears lowering slightly. She placed her two mice by her paws, looking back at Swiftcloud.

“Uhh, maybe..we should come back another time.”

Swiftcloud tilted her head, utterly confused. “Why?”

“Just…because. And I don’t really think I’m that hungry. Actually, I think I might go take a nap. Is that ok?”

Swiftcloud blinked, wiggling her tail. “Um. Sure I guess? If that’s what you want to do.” Tulippaw nodded, picking up her share of prey to redeposit on the pile before padding over and into the apprentice’s den. Swiftcloud watched her the whole time before turning and picking up the leftover mouse to give to Cricketsong. As she made her way into the nursery, Swiftcloud was surprised to find other cats visiting the queens. Pollenpaw, Nectarpaw, and Lilacpaw were gathered around their mother, chatting with her and Jaybird as they all shared a meal together. Had this been why Tulippaw did not want to come inside? Without thinking Swiftcloud turned out of the nursery, scurrying across camp and into the apprentice’s den. The den was almost completely empty, Tulippaw being the only occupant. She lay curled in her nest, nose tucked beneath her brown and white tipped tail.

“Tulippaw?” No answer. Swiftcloud padded over to her apprentice, placing one of the mice in front of her nest, and the other in front of herself. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Again there was no reply. Swiftcloud let out a hum. “Does it have to do with your sisters?” At this question, Tulippaw raised her head to look at her mentor. Swiftcloud nodded, taking a seat. “Thought so. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on between you four.”

“…Nectarpaw and Lilacpaw don’t like spending time with me anymore. They say I’m still too much like a kit, and they don’t hang out with kits. They always run away if I come near, or call me names if they can’t get away. Pollenpaw is still nice to me though, but only when the others aren’t around.”

Swiftcloud let out a knowledgeable hum. “I understand. I was the oddball of my litter too.”

“You were?” Tulippaw seemed surprised, and Swiftcloud had to suppress the giggle she wanted to give in reaction.

“Mhm. I was born into a family of show cats. They’re special kittypets who are bred by Twolegs to be the most perfect of their kind and to be shown off to other Twolegs. But as much as I wanted to be good, I wasn’t cut out for that kind of life. My siblings would make fun of me because I was more interested in playing and getting dirty than staying clean and being a good show cat. And I wasn’t as proper as they were. I wanted to learn to hunt and fight while they wanted to learn how to earn rewards and praise. So they’d tease me about it. Call me kit-brained and no better than a stray. They’d get me in trouble with our parents a lot, too.” Swiftcloud sighed through her nose, glancing away. She lifted her injured forepaw, giving it a few vigorous licks to clear away the blood and to calm her nerves. “It hurt, knowing my brothers and sister didn’t like me. But I knew what they thought of me didn’t matter. I’ve still made something of myself. Maybe I’m not a show cat, but I’d say I’m a pretty good warrior.”

“You’re the best warrior,” Tulippaw piped with a meek smile.

“Thanks for thinking so.” Swiftpaw smiled, putting her paw down gingerly. “Anyways, my point is maybe you’re not what they think you should be. Just be the best you that you can be. Don’t let your sisters keep you down. But if they continue teasing you, tell me. I’ll talk to them. Or I’ll have Chicorynose talk to them.”

Tulippaw nodded. “Thanks, Swiftcloud.”

“No problem. Now, are you suuure you aren’t hungry?”

Tulippaw smiled, bending down to dig into the mouse Swiftcloud had brought.

~~~

Night cast itself upon the clearing, illuminated by the light of the half moon. Swiftcloud sat outside the warrior’s den staring up at the sky. Silverpelt glittered above her head, winking down at her from the starry hunting grounds above. It was a peaceful evening, and an important one too. Mistypaw was being made a full medicine cat tonight. All the Land’s Star’s medicine cats would be in attendance. Swiftcloud couldn’t help but feel envious; she wanted to be there to see Mistypaw named too. Alas, she would have to wait until the healers returned.

“Are you coming?” Shadowfang called as he popped out of the warrior’s den. He’d come to collect his mate, hobbling up to sit by her side. “What are you up to?”

“Stargazing,” Swiftcloud deadpanned, not turning her muzzle from the sky. A heavy gust of wind blew through their fur.

“Aren’t you cold?” Shadowfang moved over to press his flank into hers. A sigh of relief escaped Swiftcloud, one she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“Yeah, a little,” she confessed. Shadowfang rubbed his muzzle against hers.

“C'mon, let’s get some sleep. We’ve had a busy day.” Swiftcloud nodded, fatigue greeting her as if it’d been waiting to be acknowledged first. Shadowfang stood, flicking his tail to prompt his mate to come along. Swiftcloud rose as well, following him into the den. The couple curled up together in their shared nest, allowing sleep to take them.

A while passed. Swiftcloud suddenly jumped to her paws right from her slumber. The patched molly whipped her head around as she tried to gain back full consciousness. A loud yowl pierced through the night air, causing her to bristle. At first, Swiftcloud had thought the noise had come from her dream. But after a heartbeat she realized the sound was real. Shadowfang had jolted awake by this point as well, looking from the den’s entrance to Swiftcloud and back.

“Intruders!” A guard caterwauled from outside, startling the rest of Grassclan’s sleeping warriors awake. The smell of sap and bark flooded Swiftcloud’s nostrils making her growl. It was a Treeclan raid.

“Everyone, get up!” She commanded. When she turned to move, her shoulder instantly started to burn, as if it had been set on fire. Her paw was no better as she put pressure on it through her stance. Swiftcloud winced, biting back a hiss as she forced herself to lead the charge out of the den. No amount of pain would stop her from defending the clan. Shadowfang was right on her heels, as well as Ladybugbite, Cowpatch, and the rest of the warriors. Swiftcloud threw herself into the fray immediately, catching a passing black and grey tabby. She swiped at the other she-cat, lunging to sink her teeth into an outstretched thigh. The grey tabby turned on her, gaping her jaws in an attempt to bite back. Swiftcloud was smaller than this cat, having an easy time twisting and maneuvering to avoid her sharp fangs. Shadowfang grabbed hold of the enemy’s back while she was distracted, clawing at her until the warrior was wailing for mercy. He used his strength to push her to the ground, forcing her into surrender. After a hiss of warning from the both of them, Swiftcloud and her partner threw the cat away, sending her pelting towards the bramble barrier. There was a brief moment where Swiftcloud could breathe and take in the scene going on around her. Tornface and Meadowcall had emerged from the elders den, teaming up to fight against a large black spotted tom. The old white warrior was standing on his hind legs, swinging his front paws down to claw at the young warrior’s face. Meadowcall then tackled the spotted warrior to the ground, pummeling his exposed underbelly. A short distance away the queens had come to fight, too. Cricketsong, Chicorynose, and Jaybird were up against Robinspots and Foxstrike, whom Swiftcloud recognized from earlier that day. The three mollies passed the enemies around like prey, each taking a turn to strike at them. At the nursery’s entrance stood Ashwhisker tall and proud, a yowl escaping him like a roar from a Lionclan leader. It was easy to hear his declaration even from across the camp.

“You will not come anywhere near these kits, you fox-hearts!” This startled the cats who dared to approach him, but did not stop them in their pursuits. Ashwhisker hurled himself onto Fogbreath, taking the much larger tom down onto his side in a single hit. Rosebloom was there to provide backup, taking the Den Mother’s place in front of the honeysuckle bush. Then closer to Swiftcloud there was Tulippaw, slipping beneath Batwing in an attempt to reach her mentor.

“Swiftcloud!”

“Let’s help!” Shadowfang decided, springing forward to aid the apprentice. Swiftcloud followed along, reaching for Tulippaw as the black tom wrestled Batwing to the ground.

“Are you ok?” Swiftcloud checked, sniffing Tulippaw over for any wounds. Tulippaw shook out her ruffled pelt.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Why is Treeclan invading our camp?”

“It must be revenge for us claiming some of the Forest Patch earlier. C'mon, there’s no time to chat now. Find another apprentice to pair up with. Like…oh! Look, Pansypaw’s alone. Hey Pansypaw!” Pansypaw whipped around at the sound of her name, rushing over to the two she-cats from a fox-length away.

“Hello, Swiftcloud,” she greeted, sounding a bit breathless. Swiftcloud twitched her whiskers in acknowledgement.

“Work with Tulippaw. Don’t leave each other’s sides, alright?” The apprentices nodded. Swiftcloud nudged each on the shoulder sending them on their way before turning back to Shadowfang. Shadowfang nodded his head towards the crowd, prompting the partners to rejoin the fight. A ginger and white tom stuck out, all alone, trying to go towards the Tall Stone. Swiftcloud came around and stopped him in his tracks, leaping onto his shoulders while his back was turned. It took the pressure of all her weight to bring the cat down onto the ground, but it didn’t take very long for it to happen. The tom let out a yowl of surprise, struggling beneath her. Swiftcloud scored her claws along his shoulders and back as he slowly slipped away. When he stood, Shadowfang was there to greet him, smacking the warrior across the muzzle with his claws.

“Sunflower!” A caterwaul of worry came from across the way. Tigerlily came barreling over, her pelt fluffed to make her appear twice her size. She was enormous. At the sight of her Swiftcloud couldn’t help but be reminded of the fox from several moons ago. And it seemed Shadowfang shared the same thought. He suddenly flew into a blind rage, attacking the tabby and white molly the same way that he had with the giant ginger creature from before. Only this time it was he who was injured and in need of rescuing. Swiftcloud sprang to her paws, standing by Shadowfang’s side as he swiped at Tigerlily’s face. Swiftcloud ducked down, taking one of the enemy’s legs between her jaws and biting hard. Tigerlily pulled back instantly, taking a few paces backwards. Blood dripped from a few gashes on her forehead, an eye shut to keep it from oozing into the sensitive area. Sunflower had returned now, but only briefly enough to retrieve his friend. Together the two warriors made their retreat, disappearing from sight through the brambles.

“Are you hurt?” Shadowfang asked through a pant, looking at Swiftcloud.

“Yes, but the wounds I have are from this morning. I’ll be alright. What about you? How are your old wounds doing?”

“They sting like nettles,” he confessed, gritting his teeth, “but I’ll live.”

“Go put yourself away in the medicine den, you’ll get healed up again in there.”

“No way. I’m not sitting around while Treeclan’s here invading our camp. Especially not with you in the mix. I’m not in so much pain that I can’t stand and fight. I’m staying with you.” Shadowfang raised his head, standing taller in an attempt to seem stronger. But Swiftcloud could see the exhaustion in his eyes. He wasn’t in the best condition to fight. But she knew there’d be no way to get him to back down right now.

“Fine. Let’s go help Tigerfang defend his den,” she suggested, heading forward. Shadowfang came right along with her, matching her pace until they came to stop by his old mentor. Tigerfang was taking a moment to stick his head into Tall Stone’s crack, checking on his kits who hid inside.

“How are Lightkit and Thornkit?” Asked Swiftcloud, concerned.

“They’re fine now,” answered the tabby pulling his head back out of the den. “A warrior tried to fight Thornkit. Probably thought he was an apprentice. The little furball would have gladly tried fighting her too if I hadn’t been here to warn her off. Neither of the kits are hurt though, thank Starclan.”

“Good. If I get to speak to Whitestar I’ll let her know,” Swiftcloud offered.

“Look out, we’ve got company,” was the warning Shadowfang gave as Nightshade, Pepperpatch, and Greytuft approached. The she cats’ hackles were raised and teeth were bared; they looked ready to shred the Grassclan warriors to pieces.

“So we meet again.” Nightshade grinned, eyes icy and cold. Swiftcloud lowered her ears. “I’m going to take great pleasure in clawing you up.”

“Who says I’ll be the one getting clawed?” Swiftcloud prompted, raising her head. This only served to make Nightshade grin more. A dark chuckle escaped the black molly, her claws unsheathing as she took a few more paces forward.

“Confident aren’t we, kittypet? Let’s see how bold you are when I tear off the rest of that little stump you call a tail.” At once, Nightshade threw herself at Swiftcloud, bowling her over. Tigerfang and Shadowfang jumped out of the way, scurrying off to face the other opposing mollies. Swiftcloud yowled furiously as Nightshade grabbed the patched she-cat’s scruff, shaking her like a piece of moss. Swiftcloud flailed her paws, landing a lucky scratch or two on Nightshade’s eye. The black she-cat yelped, pulling back to save her face from further injury. Free, Swiftcloud jumped back onto her paws. In retaliation, Nightshade smacked Swiftcloud’s muzzle. Tiny beads of blood swelled out from the cuts the enemy warrior had made. Swiftcloud growled, headbutting her foe. Both mollies fell to the floor again, tussling, clawing at one another. Fur and blood was flying all over the place, painting the grass and earth beneath them. The pair were evenly matched. But there had to be only one winner. With all the strength she could muster, Swiftcloud pressed down on Nightshade, who now lay beneath her. Swiftcloud dug her front claws into each of the other cat’s shoulders, hind claws pressing dangerously into her fragile underbelly. Nightshade looked up at the other she-cat, pure malice glowing in her blue eyes. Swiftcloud held her gaze, drawing her lips back into a fearsome snarl. A tense heartbeat past, then another. Yet Nightshade did not budge. It seemed as if the black she cat had accepted her defeat. “You’ve lost, Nightshade. Go home,” Swiftcloud demanded, stepping off of her enemy without taking her eyes off of her. Nightshade rose onto her paws with a tremble. She panted, a smirk forming on her muzzle.

“You really think you’ve beaten me?” She chuckled darkly, confusing Swiftcloud. Before the patched she-cat could even register what was going on, she felt jaws grasp her scruff from behind. Swiftcloud could only catch a glimpse of her captor from the corner of her eye. Thornberry had joined in this battle, taking her by surprise. His face was dirty, eyes dull but fiery with hate. Despite not looking his best, the tom sure was powerful. Swiftcloud struggled in the smokey tom’s grip, her efforts pointless as she barely budged. Thornberry lifted her from the ground, throwing her in the direction of the medicine den. The last sight Swiftcloud saw was the grooves of the treebark before everything fell dark.

#warrior cats #wcs #warrior cats ocs #Signs of the Moon: Moon Rise #Moon Rise #chapter 33

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curdinway-blog · 6 years

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Laputa: Castle in the Sky

So you’ve never watched an anime before. Hey, I’m not here to judge. I’m here to help you. There’s a lot of really great films for newbies out there: The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Wolf Children, My Neighbor Totoro, to name a few. But Laputa: Castle in the Sky is probably my knee-jerk recommendation. It’s anime’s Indiana Jones; complete with breathless action sequences, mysterious artifacts, dastardly villains, stunning locales, and even a little romance. It is kid friendly, sophisticated enough for adults and return viewers, helmed by the form’s greatest director (Hayao Miyazaki), and essentially without misstep. It is the perfect introduction to mainstream Japanese animation, and nearly impossible to dislike.

The film is titled after “Laputa”, an island some crackpot claimed he once saw from the sky, bobbing inside a sheath of clouds. Years later, the crackpot’s son is working as a miner. He still carries a sketch his father once drew of the apparition; he knows the man was no liar. But he has no proof. No leads. He’s stuck working in a mine, providing power for the machines flying freely over his head in the sky. One day, the young miner (named Pazu by the way) receives a very big lead; so big, in fact, that it is being actively pursued by both the military and a gang of sky pirates.

The lead is a girl named Sheeta. In the film’s opening, she is flying under military guard in a huge flying fortress. The fortress is attacked by aforementioned pirates, the girl is lost overboard in the mayhem, and faints as she plummets towards her untimely death. In one of the truly legendary moments in anime, the necklace glows a vibrant blue and Sheeta’s fall slows to a gentle float as the opening credits roll.

You can guess by now that Sheeta falls near Pazu; directly into Pazu’s arms, in fact, and that the two must clue-dig. And bond. And do it all without falling into the clutches of the army. And dodge bands of pesky sky pirates along the way. And at last maybe, just maybe, find Laputa and uncover all of its deep and monumental secrets.

Just off of that synopsis, one can see how the plot is saliva-inducingly good. The movie moves briskly from one adventurous moment to the next without ever seeming frantic, and holy cow does it pack in the action. We are treated to some truly awesome scenes; how about a train chase, set hundreds of feet in the sky and featuring two trains and one precariously driven automobile? How about a battle between an army of guards and one hyperadvanced robot? It’s Miyazaki, so naturally we have to include flight into the mix; does piloting a light glider through a hurricane suit your fancy? You would love that? I never would have guessed.

The massive entertainment quota is leavened nicely by Miyazaki’s wonderfully drawn characters. Sheeta is a timid, gentle soul who would like nothing more than to be free of the attention-and violence-her necklace attracts. Pazu is a cheerful hardworking kid who longs for adventure and discovery, yet finds himself beat down by life and alone. The way these two help each other grow and become happier, more fulfilled people is the film’s sound foundation; it is also remarkably sweet. Dola, the sky pirate captain, is an instant hit as a strong female character with impure inclinations but a heart of gold. And Muska, the government agent heading the hunt for Sheeta, is the most wicked antagonist Miyazaki ever devised; and one of his most memorable (evil Mark Hamill, anyone?).

Miyazaki is famous for incorporating environmental and anti-war themes in his movies, and Castle in the Sky is no exception. In some sense a science-fiction story as well as a fantastical romp, the strange technology of Sheeta’s glowing pendant is indeed a blessing and a curse. An object promising limitless energy to flying machines powered by dirty coal and laborious mining…but also perhaps equally limitless destruction. Nuclear power is one obvious parallel, as a weapon in wartime and fossil fuel solution in peace, but Miyazaki’s focus is perhaps even broader, encompassing power in all forms, and what comprises its proper use. The use of power for destructive or selfish purposes is of course villainized. But the use of power to combat this destructiveness is more conflicted. In another Miyazaki film, pacifism would have won out; the destructive tendencies of the antagonists would turn against them, and they would desist or be destroyed of their own accord, reinforcing passive attitudes. Castle in the Sky tacks a different route. Terrible things are still not taken lightly; rather, it is the fact that they are terrible and will produce drastic consequences that gives the movie a satisfying emotional arc. Castle in the Sky is about finding the strength to fight an enemy that will destroy everything if you do not. Violence is presented as the most dreaded solution; and in some situations, the only solution. We navigate a perilous road of good discretion and decisiveness. The route we choose will shape and reshape our world, perhaps forever.

Miyazaki doesn’t beat us over the head with such philosophical ramblings. His themes here are well-integrated and more a complementary accent than anything. They’re just really great garnish. Make no mistake about it, Castle in the Sky is a grand adventure story. That has always been, and will always be, its main draw. It is also, I would venture, appealing at a more elemental level. The film has an almost subliminal excellence in how it looks, feels, and sounds. That may sound strange; allow me to expand on this a bit. I can objectively appreciate that the artwork in Castle in the Sky is stunning and well-executed, and I can objectively state that his partner Joe Hisaishi’s score is good. But when I watch Castle in the Sky, I am struck by how right everything feels, how it flips on all my pleasure centers like light switches. My brain is enjoying what I see and hear on a level I cannot comprehend. That is awe-inspiring.

Castle in the Sky is best described as a daydream. Not a dream, for those can be unpredictable or unpleasant; but a daydream, never. Only our favorite things reside there, a slew of things we dreamt up or remembered fondly, tossed together with reckless care of abandon. Fantasy takes care of the rest, blending and incorporating each element until the end result is bliss. Daydreams, in moderation, are good for the soul; a chance for us to reflect on what we really desire out of life, and an oasis amidst the busy madness of daily routine. There is no better escape than to disappear into a daydream for a while; filled with wondrous flying machines, plucky heroines, exhilarating verdant landscapes, and a Castle in the Sky. I hope that when you could use a little break from tough times, or are an adventurer at heart but can’t quite leave yet on your own adventure, you will check out the beautiful daydream Miyazaki drew up for everyone.

You might just float yourself.

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upstartpoodle · 7 years

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Mirror Worlds

Summary: The second chapter of my George x Elizabeth magic AU, in which Elizabeth is a magician and George is a fairy. This chapter: Francis discusses the latest attacks with his father, with little success.

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2: Trenwith

It was later than usual that Verity returned to Trenwith that day and, having heard about what had happened to the Bassets, Francis had been unable to stop himself from going spare with worry at the thought of what might have happened to her. A prestigious family of hunters the Poldarks may be, but that by no means meant that it would be proper to allow a young lady to fight the creatures in the place of the men, as their father was often keen to remind them. And besides, Verity, whose prospects of marriage were dwindling fast (something that was by no means improved by Charles Poldark's determination that she remain at home to tend to him and their aunt), had led a somewhat sheltered life confined largely to the house and the estate, with the rare outing on the odd occasion, and as such, Francis could not possibly countenance allowing her to be placed in any situation so dangerous.

Unfortunately, with this latest attack, he was beginning to suspect that such a prospect may be unavoidable. Verity had set out to Truro unaccompanied save for Elizabeth who, to his knowledge, had no more experience of fighting fae than his sister did, perhaps even less considering Mr Chynoweth, unlike many of the men from Cornwall's ancient families, was not a hunter himself. Though he and his father had been informed by the redcoats knocking loudly on their door earlier that day that the horde had gone back to wherever it had come from, Francis couldn't help but fear for the two women, unarmed and undefended as they were. Who could say if the creatures were truly gone, let alone where they might strike next?

Finally, he heard the sound of hooves on the driveway and he immediately rushed to the window to see who it was, earning himself an exasperated grumble from his father, who was sitting at the table in the parlour, perusing some documents relating in some way to Grambler--though what he had no idea. To his immense relief, he saw that it was indeed Verity, accompanied by Mr and Mistress Teague, along with Elizabeth. He watched as Verity said goodbye to her friend and the Teagues and, as she turned to enter the house after they had gone, immediately rushed to greet her.

"Good God, Verity, I was so worried" he said breathlessly as she stepped through the door, sweeping her into a fierce hug.

"There is no need to concern yourself so, Francis," his sister replied, hugging him back just as tightly. "I am quite well."

"And yet I fear I shall do so anyway," Francis returned as they drew back, entering the parlour side by side. "In these current times especially..."

Verity nodded as they both took seats in the parlour, greeting their father and Aunt Agatha, who was skulking as she usually did in the corner with her cards, warmly.

"I take it you have heard the news?" she asked, addressing the room at large.

Charles grunted in affirmation.

"About Lord Basset and his family?," he said gruffly. "Yes. Bad business. Very bad..."

"We were told that they had to call out the redcoats to beat them back, and by then the house was in flames and most of the occupants dead" Francis informed his sister, his tone grim as her expression as she nodded along with him. From the lack of surprise in her eyes, he surmised that she too had heard this whilst in Truro.

"That's what happens when you don't get proper hunters to solve problems like that," piped up Aunt Agatha from her corner, ever ready to make a point about tradition. "Utter disaster!"

Francis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. It was no secret that the influence of the old hunting families was fast diminishing in Cornwall. The fact was that times were changing, and likewise, the system that had once supported the hunters was crumbling along with them. Slowly but surely, power was transferring to entirely different sources, and it was a slippery slope that, for all they might try, they would ultimately be unable to prevent themselves from sliding down. There were those, however, who, in the face of all reason, were determined to deny it and, unfortunately for Francis, his aunt was one of them.

"But so many of our experienced hunters are long dead, aunt," pointed out Verity. "We can hardly leave civilians unprotected on a point of tradition."

"Fiddlesticks!," exclaimed Aunt Agatha. "It's worked for centuries. Why should it stop working now?"

"Because, aunt," said Francis with the tone of someone who had had to repeat these particular words many times, with no increase in their effect, "these fae encroachments are altogether different to those of the past. It was all very well when there was just the odd lost sea troll to drive back to its lands but one or two gentlemen with a star iron pistol are hardly going to hold back an entire horde of them."

"Which is exactly why we hunting families must stick together!," boomed his father all of a sudden; if he had been less accustomed to the man's manner, he might have started. "They may have their numbers but we have the advantage in strategy!"

For all that they had been taught that these creatures were mindless, only interested in violence, in the wake of these recent attacks, Francis was beginning to suspect that this was far from the case. There was simply something about them that seemed...off, not at all like the work of the disorganised rabble so many of their number seemed to think of them as. Still, he did not think it wise to confront Charles about it, who had never been any more interested about his point of view on the matter than he had been about his point of view on mining.

"...If you say so, Father" he settled for.

Charles' eyes narrowed suspiciously, and in that moment he knew that he had not succeeded in avoiding the man's scrutiny. He cursed himself quietly as he prepared himself for his father's nigh constant disdain.

"What is it boy?," he barked. "Spit it out!"

Francis sighed.

"Father, I do not think these attacks are simply random violence," he said reluctantly. "They are vicious, that is true, and they do, at first, give the appearance of being chaotic and uncoordinated, but there is a pattern to them."

"A pattern?," his father scoffed. "You give them too much credit, boy!"

"But can you not see it, Father?," Francis asked, frustration beginning to colour his tone. "Their targets are always landed gentry--usually prosperous mine owners. They raid their lands of livestock, then kill the families, then return to Faerie the way they have come."

Out of the corner of his eye, he was vaguely aware that Verity was listening to him intently. Perhaps he shouldn't have had this conversation in front of her, he wondered, for fear of upsetting her. But still, he could hardly ban her from the room, and she did appear to be taking an interest in it despite the grim nature of his words. Well, he supposed there was no avoiding some things, and this matter, having shaken the entire county as it had, was one of them.

"Their homes are prominent in the landscape," Charles explained away with a shrug. "Easy targets for slaughter and bloodshed--nothing more, nothing less."

"But if all they wanted was slaughter and bloodshed," argued Francis, "why would they not target villages and towns, where there would be more people to kill? Nor do they ever target the homes of the old hunter families, so they must know which to avoid."

Charles scowled.

"What exactly are you getting at, Francis?" he asked.

"I just think...does it not suggest that there is some purpose behind these attacks, or at least somebody directing them that we do not know of?"

"Bah!," snorted his father. "These creatures don't need reasons, and I doubt they are even capable of following orders. You're letting your imagination run wild, son!"

Verity, who was now perched on the edge of her seat, chose this moment to speak up.

"But does Francis not have a point, Father--?" she said, or rather tried to say, as Charles immediately cut her off.

"Pour us some port, Verity, there's a good girl" he said, apparently even less interested in the opinions of his daughter than he was in those of his son.

Verity stared down at her hands for a short moment, cowed, before muttering a soft "yes, Father" and heading over to the decanter to do as she had been bidden.

"And as for you, Francis," Charles said, turning to his son and fixing him with a stern gaze, "perhaps you should spend less time pondering these creatures' habits and more time learning to step up into the Poldark hunting legacy."

Francis lowered his head, fighting not to clench his jaw. This had always been a point of contention between them, his father disappointed with his lack of skill and motivation with regards to hunting. Of course, he had always looked even worse next to Ross, who had a particular skill and passion for the task, as well as the charisma to gain a proper following from those around him. With his cousin now...gone and unlikely ever to return, he had been feeling the pressure of his father's expectations all the more keenly, to the point where it was fast becoming intolerable.

"I was simply expressing my opinion" he tried to protest.

"You can express your opinion when you actually kill one of the buggers!," cried Charles, slamming his palm down on the table as Verity handed him his drink and went to sit back down. "Dammit, Francis, I have no intention of allowing my legacy to be a failing mine and a son who is of neither use nor ornament. Perhaps you had best take a leaf out of your cousin's book."

Francis bit his tongue to prevent himself from issuing a sharp retort. Was there no way he could avoid being compare to Ross?, he wondered bitterly. He missed his cousin dearly, of course, had mourned him beyond anything, but he was sick and tired of being found lesser than him, sick of being the more mediocre Poldark who did not have the talent to live up to his name. He had never asked for these expectations to be heaped upon him, never wanted them, but he found them being laid at his feet anyway. And now, he had no idea what to do. No idea at all. He could only hope that he would never be depended on as Ross had been, for he feared that if be were to be, a good many people would find themselves disappointed. Or worse. Much worse.

Next chapter: We go to Faerie, in which George actually makes an appearance.

#mine #my fic #mirror worlds #mirror worlds chapter 2 #george x elizabeth #georgibeth #(though not in this chapter)#francis poldark #verity blamey #verity poldark #charles poldark #agatha poldark #poldark #poldark au #fic #mw chapter

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cupofteajones · 5 years

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Fall is just around the corner…and there are exciting highly anticipated new releases that will make you excited for the cooling weather! And this month is perfect to make use of your library card (or sign up for a new one) because of National Libray Card Sign-Up Month. From highly sought out sequel to an upcoming romance from a popular author, September will be one busy month from book lovers:

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood

Expected Publication: September 10

And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.

When the van door slammed on Offred’s future at the end of The Handmaid’s Tale, readers had no way of telling what lay ahead.

With The Testaments, the wait is over.

Margaret Atwood’s sequel picks up the story 15 years after Offred stepped into the unknown, with the explosive testaments of three female narrators from Gilead.

Home Girl by Alex Wheatle

This isn’t my home. Haven’t had a proper home since . . . This is just somewhere I’ll be resting my bones for a week and maybe a bit. This time next year you’ll forget who I am. I haven’t got a diddly where I’ll be by then. But I’m used to it.

New from the UK-based best-selling black British author and winner of the Guardian Children’s Book Award, Home Girl is the story of Naomi, a teenage girl growing up fast in the foster care system. It is a wholly modern story which sheds a much-needed light on what can be an unsettling life—and the consequences that follow when children are treated like pawns on a family chessboard.

Home Girl is fast-paced and funny, tender, tragic, and full of courage—just like Naomi. It is Alex Wheatle’s most moving and personal novel to date

I’m currently reading this right now and I find it both heartbreaking and entertaining and would be engaging to any reader who is a fan of realistic fiction.

Bringing Down the Duke by Evie Dunmore

England, 1879. Annabelle Archer, the brilliant but destitute daughter of a country vicar, has earned herself a place among the first cohort of female students at the renowned University of Oxford. In return for her scholarship, she must support the rising women’s suffrage movement. Her charge: recruit men of influence to champion their cause. Her target: Sebastian Devereux, the cold and calculating Duke of Montgomery who steers Britain’s politics at the Queen’s command. Her challenge: not to give in to the powerful attraction she can’t deny for the man who opposes everything she stands for.

Sebastian is appalled to find a suffragist squad has infiltrated his ducal home, but the real threat is his impossible feelings for green-eyed beauty Annabelle. He is looking for a wife of equal standing to secure the legacy he has worked so hard to rebuild, not an outspoken commoner who could never be his duchess. But he wouldn’t be the greatest strategist of the Kingdom if he couldn’t claim this alluring bluestocking without the promise of a ring…or could he?

Locked in a battle with rising passion and a will matching her own, Annabelle will learn just what it takes to topple a duke….(Credit: Berkely)

Girl by Edna O’Brien

Expected UK & Irish Publication: September 5

Expected US Publication: October 15

I was a girl once, but not any more.

So begins Girl, Edna O’Brien’s harrowing portrayal of the young women abducted by Boko Haram. Set in the deep countryside of northeast Nigeria, this is a brutal story of incarceration, horror, and hunger; a hair-raising escape into the manifold terrors of the forest; and a descent into the labyrinthine bureaucracy and hostility awaiting a victim who returns home with a child blighted by enemy blood. From one of the century’s greatest living authors, Girl is an unforgettable story of one victim’s astonishing survival, and her unflinching faith in the redemption of the human heart. (Credit: Faber Faber)

Pet by Akwaeke Emezi

Expected Publication Date: September 10

Pet is here to hunt a monster. Are you brave enough to look?

There are no more monsters anymore, or so the children in the city of Lucille are taught. With doting parents and a best friend named Redemption, Jam has grown up with this lesson all her life. But when she meets Pet, a creature made of horns and colours and claws, who emerges from one of her mother’s paintings and a drop of Jam’s blood, she must reconsider what she’s been told. Pet has come to hunt a monster, and the shadow of something grim lurks in Redemption’s house. Jam must fight not only to protect her best friend, but also to uncover the truth, and the answer to the question-How do you save the world from monsters if no one will admit they exist?

In their riveting and timely young adult debut, acclaimed novelist Akwaeke Emezi asks difficult questions about what choices a young person can make when the adults around them are in denial. (Credit: Make Me A World)

The Institute by Stephen King

Expected Publication: September 10

As psychically terrifying as Firestarter, and with the spectacular kid power of It, The Institute is Stephen King’s gut-wrenchingly dramatic story of good vs. evil in a world where the good guys don’t always win. (Credit: Scribner)

Red At The Bone by Jacqueline Woodson

Expected Publication Date: September 17

An unexpected teenage pregnancy pulls together two families from different social classes, and exposes the private hopes, disappointments, and longings that can bind or divide us from each other, from the New York Times-bestselling and National Book Award-winning author of Another Brooklyn and Brown Girl Dreaming. (Credit: Riverhead Books)

Suggested Reading by David Connis

Expected Publication Date: September 17

Clara Evans is horrified when she discovers her principal’s “prohibited media” hit list. The iconic books on the list have been pulled from the library and aren’t allowed anywhere on the school’s premises. Students caught with the contraband will be sternly punished.

Many of these stories have changed Clara’s life, so she’s not going to sit back and watch while her draconian principal abuses his power. She’s going to strike back.

So Clara starts an underground library in her locker, doing a shady trade in titles like Speak and The Chocolate War. But when one of the books she loves most is connected to a tragedy she never saw coming, Clara’s forced to face her role in it.

Will she be able to make peace with her conflicting feelings, or is fighting for this noble cause too tough for her to bear? (Credit: Katherine Tegen Books)

The Water Dance by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Expected Publication Date: September 24

In his boldly imagined first novel, Ta-Nehisi Coates, the National Book Award–winning author of Between the World and Me, brings home the most intimate evil of enslavement: the cleaving and separation of families. (Credit: OneWorld)

Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell

Expected Publication: September 24

With Wayward Son, Rainbow Rowell has written a book for everyone who ever wondered what happened to the Chosen One after he saved the day. And a book for everyone who was ever more curious about the second kiss than the first. It’s another helping of sour cherry scones with an absolutely decadent amount of butter.

Come on, Simon Snow. Your hero’s journey might be over – but your life has just begun. (Credit: Pan Macmillan)

Slay by Brittney Morris

Expected Publication: September 24

By day, seventeen-year-old Kiera Johnson is an honors student, a math tutor, and one of the only Black kids at Jefferson Academy. But at home, she joins hundreds of thousands of Black gamers who duel worldwide as Nubian personas in the secret multiplayer online role-playing card game, SLAY. No one knows Kiera is the game developer, not her friends, her family, not even her boyfriend, Malcolm, who believes video games are partially responsible for the “downfall of the Black man.”

But when a teen in Kansas City is murdered over a dispute in the SLAY world, news of the game reaches mainstream media, and SLAY is labeled a racist, exclusionist, violent hub for thugs and criminals. Even worse, an anonymous troll infiltrates the game, threatening to sue Kiera for “anti-white discrimination.”

Driven to save the only world in which she can be herself, Kiera must preserve her secret identity and harness what it means to be unapologetically Black in a world intimidated by Blackness. But can she protect her game without losing herself in the process? (Credit: Simon Pulse)

No Judgements by Meg Cabot

Expected Publication: September 24

When a massive hurricane severs all power and cell service to Little Bridge Island—as well as its connection to the mainland—twenty-five-year-old Bree Beckham isn’t worried . . . at first. She’s already escaped one storm—her emotionally abusive ex—so a hurricane seems like it will be a piece of cake.

But animal-loving Bree does become alarmed when she realizes how many islanders have been cut off from their beloved pets. Now it’s up to her to save as many of Little Bridge’s cats and dogs as she can . . . but to do so, she’s going to need help—help she has no choice but to accept from her boss’s sexy nephew, Drew Hartwell, the Mermaid Café’s most notorious heartbreaker.

But when Bree starts falling for Drew, just as Little Bridge’s power is restored and her penitent ex shows up, she has to ask herself if her island fling was only a result of the stormy weather, or if it could last during clear skies too. (Credit: William Morrow Paperbacks)

Books to Read This Month: September Edition Fall is just around the corner...and there are exciting highly anticipated new releases that will make you excited for the cooling weather!

#Books #Diversity #Diversity in Books #Edna O&039;Brien #Historical Fiction #Jacqueline Woodson #Margaret Atwood #Meg Cabot #Rainbow Rowell #Stephen King #The Handmaid&039;s Tale #The Testaments #UK Bestsellers #UK YA Books #We Need Diverse Books #YA Authors #YA Books

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rxbxlcaptain · 7 years

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Faith (Jyn Erso Appreciation Week Day 1)

Welcome to Jyn Erso Appreciate Week! Thank you so much to @jynappreciationweek for putting this together :)

Day 1 Prompt: Faith

Summary: In which Luke Skywalker is curious about the kyber crystal around Jyn's neck.

Words: 1790

AO3 / Below the Cut!

“Good morning!”

Jyn glanced up from her bowl – what was the Alliance pretending this food was? Porridge of some kind? – to see a young man with floppy blond hair sit down across from her. It wasn’t a mystery who the boy was, of course. Ever since the Battle of Yavin, the name Luke Skywalker became common place over Yavin. Jyn had seen him wandering around base, his wide innocent eyes scanning the fleet of battered X-Wings and his glowing smile greeting every rebel who spoke to him.

What was a mystery was why Luke Skywalker was seeking her out. While the Rebellion immediately deemed Luke a friendly, likeable guy, it did not do the same for Jyn. After she and the batter remains of Rogue One returned from Scarif, she’d spent several days locked in the medical ward, healing. She was released for the celebrations after the Death Star was destroyed, but, still feeling the weight of the past few weeks sitting heavy on her chest, she’d avoided the other rebels and their drunken cheers.

Mixing mutiny and a standoffish attitude did not make friends in the Rebellion, apparently.

In the hustle of preparing to evacuate Yavin – the Death Star may be destroyed, but the Empire knew where they were now – most of the rebels left her alone. So, why was the most notable rebel of them all stopping by her table for breakfast? Surely Red Squadron or Captain Solo – or literally anyone else in this rebellion – would have welcomed him with open arms.

At Jyn’s silence (and what else did Luke expect? It wasn’t even 0700 yet), Luke starting talking again. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m—“

“You’re Luke Skywalker,” Jyn finished for him, her voice neutral. “The hero of the rebellion. I know who you are.”

Luke smiled. Jyn marveled that the boy was only a couple years younger than her; he just seemed so innocent. “And you’re Jyn Erso. Also a hero of the rebellion.”

Jyn stared for a moment, unsure what else he wanted from her.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said after the moment stretched long enough to become awkward. “For Scarif.”

Jyn shook her head. “You don’t need to do that.”

Luke gave her another smile and a quick shrug. “I wanted to. But I have another question for you, too.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about that crystal you’re wearing.”

Jyn froze at the mention of her kyber crystal, which was currently safely hidden under her shirt. Unless Luke had seen it at some other point – and Jyn considered that unlikely, because the crystal was almost always hidden from view – he knew about the necklace just like Chirrut had. With wary eyes, Jyn examined the boy again. Rumors floated around base that Luke Skywalker was Force sensitive (who else could have made that shot on the Death Star?) and most people had seen his lightsaber. But Jyn had been around for enough years to understand Force sensitivity was not a requirement to own a lightsaber; for the right amount of credits, there were markets for such a weapon.

Jyn leaned closer to Luke, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s true, then? You are Force sensitive?”

Luke nodded, glancing down at his fidgeting hands. “Well I only just started learning, but my father was a Jedi.” He met Jyn’s eyes as he continued. “I want to become one, too.”

Something about the determination behind his words moved Jyn. This was a whole new world for him – the Rebellion along with learning how to be a Jedi – yet he embraced it so fully.

“Why?”

He cocked his head to the side at her question. “Why what?”

“Why are you so sure you could become a Jedi like your father?”

Luke shrugged again, but he smiled too. “Faith, I guess. It’s served me pretty well so far.”

Faith.

The crystal resting on Jyn’s sternum seemed to warm at the word, like it knew someone nearby believed in its power.

After another moment’s pause, Jyn reached around her neck to pull the crystal out. She held it in her hand for a moment, watching the way it caught the early morning light. Luke’s eyes grew wide as he too examined the crystal.

“You can hear it, can’t you?” Jyn asked and Luke nodded. “Chirrut can, too.”

“Where’d you get it?” Luke asked, reaching out to touch it. On automatic instinct, Jyn pulled it closer to her. No one besides for her had touched the necklace in many years. Those who had… Well, their hands and fingers didn’t leave in the same condition. Luke seemed to understand, pulling his hand back to his side of the table.

“My mother,” Jyn said softly, unsure if Luke heard her over the noise of the mess hall. “She was a geologist before the time of the Empire. She studied the crystals.” She met Luke’s eyes again. “She believed in it all. The Force.”

“But you don’t?”

Jyn snorted. “The last thing she told me before she died was to trust the Force. Whole lot of good that did her.”

Luke stayed quiet for a moment, scratching at the table top. Then he cleared his throat, saying, “The Empire killed my aunt and uncle. That’s when I decided to become a Jedi, but then…” He drew in a deep breath, still avoiding her eyes. “Then Old Ben died on the Death Star, and I thought that path was gone, too.”

Jyn heard the talk, that the Clone Wars general Obi Wan Kenobi had been part of the plan to rescue the Princess from the Death Star. Hearing his name brought back old memories of her time on Coruscant; her mother had known him, apparently, and was using their desire to hunt the man down as proof for her father that the Empire was not what it said it was. Jyn understood none of it at the time – likely never would have remembered the conversations if his name had not come up again – but she understood how he could have mentored and taught Luke, shaping him into a Jedi that would be the shining beacon of hope for the Rebellion.

“It wasn’t until I was on the Death Star run that I really understood,” Luke continued. He dragged his eyes away from the table to meet Jyn’s, desperate for her to understand. “I heard his voice. Still watching over me and ready to teach me. He may be dead, but, with the Force, he’ll never be truly gone.” He gave her a half smile. “Maybe your mother does the same thing.”

Jyn stared at the farm boy. Part of her longed to punch him, give him a black eye to mess up the perfect angel persona he had going on, but the other part longed to listen, to hear him explain the faith that her mother held so dear to her, even in death, and to help her understand the burning flame of hope that shone through him.

Before she changed her mind, Jyn ripped the kyber crystal off her neck, placing it on the table in front of Luke. Her neck felt cold and light without the necklace and her fingers itched to restore it to its proper place, but she kept them back as Luke reached, not for the necklace, but to his hip. He pulled out his lightsaber and placed it beside the kyber crystal.

For a few second, nothing happened. The objects just laid there, inanimate against the table. After a moment, however, the kyber crystal twitched towards the lightsaber. It even seemed to glow a little brighter, shining in a way Jyn had never seen before.

No, she told herself: the light was simply reflecting off the crystal; someone must have jostled the table to send it closer to Luke’s lightsaber. It wouldn’t move of its own accord.

Luke, however, grinned, like he just won a large pile of credits in a game of sabacc.

“See?” He said, motioning to the pair of objects. “They recognize each other.”

Jyn raised her eyebrows at him. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe,” Luke shrugged. “Like I said, it’s all about faith.” He picked the necklace off the table and handed it to Jyn. She accepted it, pulling it back around her neck, leaving it on top of her shirt this time. With one last smile, Luke rose from the table.

Before he walked away, Jyn called out to him. “Wait, Luke! What was your question?”

“I wanted to know if you were a believer in the Force, because of that necklace and, well,” Luke motioned around the room. “Because you’re here. But I can tell that’s a more complicated answer.”

“I don’t have faith in the idea of some mystical force holding the universe together.”

“My friend Han—“ Only Luke Skywalker would refer to Han Solo as his friend two days after meeting him, Jyn mentally rolled her eyes “—he said pretty much the same thing.” Luke shrugged. “So you never know.”

Jyn watched the new hope of the rebellion stride off, lightsaber swinging by his hip, people calling out to him across the mess hall, and thought about his faith, the same faith her mother swore in her childhood. The same faith that, in a way, powered the Rebellion. No rebel left for a mission without hearing “May the Force be with you,” after all. Jyn had said it to Rogue One as they pulled away from the Yavin base.

Had she accepted it, though? Had the stories her mother told her – those tales that tucked her into bed at night and lulled her to sleep – been true? Was the existence of people like Luke Skywalker and Chirrut Imwe enough to prove it to her?

Was Rogue One’s success on Scarif and Luke Skywalker’s defeat of the Death Star a sign of this power directing the universe? Was, as Luke suggested, her mother – and her father and Saw – looking down on her now, watching the decisions she made?

She gripped the crystal tight for a moment, running her finger over its familiar hard edges and cool surface.

She didn’t know, really, but she also found it didn’t matter. Jyn Erso had faith, after all.

She had faith in the survival skills she’d learned over the years, and the truncheons that so often protected her. She had faith in a good blaster. She had faith in the rebels who’d accompanied her on Rogue One.

None of her faith came with deadly swords of light or shining crystals to be mined, but it kept her alive all these years, both with the Partisans and on her own.

And that, Jyn decided as she pushed back from the table, was all she needed.

#jynweek #kat writes #Jyn Erso Appreciation Week #Jyn erso #luke skywalker #Rogue one #Star Wars

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 7 years

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Jives and Java

For the final day of Cassiestephkara Week the prompt was Favorite Troupe. Now I couldn’t think of a favorite troupe besides the high school au and I wanted to keep that as a verse for me to play around with more later. As such this is a mesh of a coffee shop au, a meet cute, and an identity reveal. Can also be found here on ao3. Rated G; 1,723 words Cassiestephkara

Steph knew she had to find a summer job but she was hoping to avoid working as a barista. As usual, her luck didn’t quite hold up so she found herself wearing a baseball cap and apron, working a cappuccino machine for the summer. Tim had offered to get her a paid internship at WE but she was still averse to him doing and buying things for her. Though he insisted on coming to her for his coffee and tipping extra, but it was a small, family owned shop with quality brew and pastries so Steph didn’t mind him doing that.

One afternoon as she was wiping down tables the bell over the door jangled causing her to glance up. Tim waved at her as he walked in, trailed behind by two boys and a pair of blondes. Steph’s coworker motioned that she was to come take Tim and company’s order. She grabbed her towel and weaved her way between the tables to behind the counter.

“Hey there Timbo,” she said with a grin. “What can I do ya for?”

Tim smiled and searched his pockets for his wallet. “When do you go on break?”

“Whenever I want. Why?”

“I want you to meet my friends, you know, outside of uniform,” Tim gave her a conspiring wink. Flipping out one of his credit cards he just asked for his usual and whatever the others wanted. She tapped his extra-large black coffee and chocolate croissant into the system and wrote Timmy-boy onto a cup with a little bat, because she thought she was clever. He went off to find a table and the tall dark-haired boy came up to the counter.

“Welcome to Jives and Java! How can I help you? And don’t bother paying, Tim’s already got it covered,” Steph gave her most charming grin as he studied the menu.

“Hi, yeah, uh… I have no idea what I want,” he admitted with a slight grimace.

“Well, do you like sweet or bitter?” Steph asked brightly.

“I’ve got it Kon,” the blonde with curly hair laughed. “Whatever Tim got, give him the exact opposite.” The others all laughed and Steph smirked.

“Well, I normally do that too so I’d go with the cotton candy frappe,” Steph suggested.

The boy wrinkled his nose but the other girl smiled. “I’ll take one of those!”

Steph tapped in the order. “Can I have a name for the cup?”

“Kara, K-A-R-A,” The girl spelled as Steph scribbled it down. On a whim, she drew a heart after the girl’s name.

“Can I have a decaf macchiato with whole milk?” the other boy asked and Steph bobbed her head. “A medium?” Steph grabbed the proper cup and uncapped her sharpie once again, patiently waiting with the tip just above the paper. “Bart. As in Bartholomew. But just the first four letters,” he told her, rapid fire. She wrote it down and added a squiggly lightning bolt on the end. Placing the cup in line on top of the machine she turned back to the last boy, who was actually the first.

“Can I have a cinnamon apple tea? That’s for Conner with an E-R at the end. I know, lame,” he chuckled.

Steph wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nah, your order is actually the easiest and so my favorite,” she shot the group a smile. She hadn’t realized that Tim was going to introduce her to his Titan friends, well introduce Steph seeing as how Batgirl already knew them all. Since taking their orders she knew exactly who they were, three of them didn’t wear a mask anyway.

The final girl had finished studying the menu and came closer to the counter. “Can I get a large caramel mocha and a strawberry crepe? For Cassie,” she smiled warmly and Steph returned it. Scribbling the name down she added a star over the I and at the end. She finished ringing everything up and swiped Tim’s card, passing it to Cassie.

Her coworker had already started on the drinks so Steph plated the pastries and grabbed her own cotton candy frappe. “I’m going to go on break then.” Her coworker just shrugged as Steph grabbed the tray and walked to the back corner where the teen heroes had commandeered a table.

She handed out the drinks before flopping into the booth next to Tim, slurping her pink and frothy drink up her straw. Tim practically inhaled the first third of his coffee before realizing that everyone was waiting on him to make introductions. Steph knew she could just introduce herself but she liked forcing the boy blunder to be social. When he realized that he was who they were waiting on he settled the paper cup on the table and self-consciously ran his finger over the black ink of his name. His eye caught on the bat and he shared a self-deprecating grin with her.

“So, this is my friend Steph. Steph these are my, uh, camp friends. Kon, Kara, Cassie, and Bart,” he pointed to each in turn.

“Camp?” Steph asked with a raised brow. “Tim. Really? Camp.” His cheeks colored and the others squirmed uncomfortably. Steph waved her hand at them. “Relax. I know. My only question is, where’s Tam?”

Tim swallowed his coffee quickly before answering. “She’s on vacation with her family. I thought you knew?”

“Practically and actually a Wayne are two very different things,” Steph responded dryly.

Kara’s eyes widened. “No way,” she whispered.

Steph laughed and nodded. “So, what’re you lot doing in Gotham? You know we have strict rules around here.”

“We know he’s off world right now,” Cassie smirked. “Tim said we had to check out the best coffee shop in Gotham, while we could.”

“He also said that it had the best look barista in all of Gotham too,” Kon said with a wink. Steph nearly whacked the back of her head on the booth she laughed so hard. Tim’s eyes narrowed to half Batglare™ level at his best friend. Kon was able to shrug it off but suddenly doubled over with an “Oof!” From Bart’s laughter and the girls’ grins they had apparently elbowed him in the stomach simultaneously.

“I like you friends,” she stage whispered to Tim.

“We like you too! I mean I do, uh like you that is,” Kara stopped as her face reddened.

Bart smiled at her before turning back to address Steph. “You ever in Cali let us know!”

“Trust me, I will. No way I can afford a hotel out there on these tips,” Steph laughed.

“You’re more than welcome to crash in my room,” Cassie said with an easy smile.

“Thanks! I’ve got to head back,” Steph said. She finished her frothy pink drink and slid out of the booth. “I get off at three if you guys are still in town and wanna hang?”

“We were going to head back to the manor and play video games,” Tim said as he looked at the table for their responses.

“Why don’t you guys game and Kara and I can meet Steph and hit the shops?” Cassie suggested.

Everyone nodded and Steph grinned. “Ok! I’ll meet you here at three then,” she said before walking back to the counter.

***

Steph stuffed her apron and hat into her messenger bag as she waved to her coworkers. Cassie and Kara were waiting patiently outside the shop. Kara with her sundress and Cassie with her jean short overalls and crop top, they looked like any two teenagers hanging out on a warm summer afternoon. Not a single Gothamite passing by would have guessed two of the most powerful people in the world were right there playing Pokemon Go. Then again, they didn’t realize the true night life of their first family either.

“Hey guys!” Steph called as she walked towards them.

They both raised their heads from their phones and smiled at her. Kara waved it toward her excitedly. “Look! I caught an Eevee! I know they’re not much of anything but I think they’re adorable. I have about 10 and every evolution,” Kara trailed off as her cheeks started to turn pink.

“Kara, I’m not the type to judge one on their favorite pokemon. Now what team you’re on is another story entirely,” Steph raised her eyebrows imploringly.

Cassie burst out laughing. “Valor all the way!” Steph gave her a victorious high five as Kara’s cheeks turned a deep red. “She’s on Instinct,” Cassie said.

“Aw. That’s actually really cute. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, cause he’d totally kill me, but so is Dami.” Steph clapped Kara on the shoulder. The other girl just looked at her incredulously. “On my own grave I swear it!”

Cassie winced at that. “I don’t mean to be rude but uh, are the death jokes necessary?”

“As Jason says, ‘They’re a coping mechanism’,” Steph shrugged.

Kara exchanged a concerned look with Cassie. Steph noticed Cassie pursing her lips back at Kara. If she knew Cassie better than Steph would have been able to see the concern in her expression too.

“Why don’t we go hit the shopping district? Tim left me his card so we can have some fun,” Steph said, trying to dispel the slight chill that had fallen over the three girls.

“Ok,” Kara said with a bright smile.

“I’m always down to spend Wayne family money,” Cassie smirked.

The three girls left the front of the coffee shop and headed downtown, their blonde hair fluttering in the wind. The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of fun. Cassie told them all about her mom’s latest exhibition in Peru and how she had been helping in her free time. Kara talked about moving to the Kent farm and helping with the chores. Feeding the newborn calves was her favorite. Steph entertained them with tales from the coffee shop. Regaling crazy costumers, crazy orders, and just plan odd encounters.

By the end of the day the three had made plans to meet again, this time to go Pokemon hunting in San Francisco. Steph had been so glad that Tim had introduced her, Stephanie Brown that is, to Cassie Sandsmark and Kara Danvers. Hanging out as Batgirl, Supergirl, and Wonder Girl was certainly fun, but as three average girls was ten times better.

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initiala · 7 years

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this idea hit me while driving to work. I blame weird logos for unrelated businesses and binging on Brooklyn 99. an Outlaw Queen surprise for @idoltina

A chime sounded somewhere in the back of the store, breaking the otherwise silent gun range. Regina took a breath to calm her nerves, then squared her shoulders and marched to the counter. No one seemed to be manning the desk, but she figured -- hoped -- that the door alarm had signaled whichever slacker was working today to take her business.

“Sorry, sorry --” A British accent cut through her thoughts, somewhere in a back room. “Be right there!”

Regina allowed herself to drum her nails against the glass case once before distracting herself by inspecting the guns for rent. She didn’t bring her own -- wasn’t allowed to have hers back until she passed the requalification -- and it irked her to have to borrow one that would likely be too... unpolished. Battered. Uncared for.

Having a firearm was not a particular favorite of being a detective, but the one she did have was regularly cleaned, adjusted, and fit in her hand like an extension of herself.

She looked up as a man came out of the back room, apologizing all the while. She took him in as she might a suspect in a case -- medium height for a man, sandy brown hair, blue eyes, scruffy beard, dressed for the outdoors -- and waited for him to stop speaking. “I need to rent time on the range,” she said shortly. “Nine mil should be fine for now. And I need a spotter. I’m on limited time, so I don’t need someone chatty or who thinks they know how to fire a weapon better than me. Are we clear?”

The man raised an eyebrow, giving her a skeptical look before nodding once and picking out a Smith & Wesson for her, slapping a box of ammo down next to the case, and then beckoning her to the unusually quiet range.

Regina had deliberately picked mid-morning on a Tuesday for this, knowing the range would be decently, if not completely, empty. People worked, after all. And since she was practically being ordered to start preparing herself for a return to field work, this counted as working.

Even if it was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now.

She stalled for time, inspecting every inch of the handgun and doing everything short of taking the damn thing apart and reassembling it herself to get a feel for how it was put together. She was careful loading the magazine, careful putting her protective goggles and earmuffs on.

She was careful as she took the proper stance, gun pointed downrange at her target, and did nothing.

Panic did not claw its way up her back the way it had six months ago when she’d tried this last. She did not have flashes of memory, didn’t see Henry’s face in place of the unfamiliar children she’d been trying to recover from their estranged father a year ago. She didn’t smell smoke from the dumpster fire the man had started as a distraction, she didn’t have any of the signs of the post-traumatic stress that had kept her from being shifted from desk duty back to field work.

But she couldn’t fire the gun.

She didn’t know how long she stood there before she abruptly flicked the safety back on, discharged the magazine, and set both handgun and ammo on the shelf. She stepped back over the line as she took off the earmuffs and slid the safety goggles up on top of her head, taking several breaths.

Why couldn’t she do this?

She didn’t say anything as she packed everything back up, and blessedly neither did the range master, even as she paid him for something she didn’t use. He almost refused her money -- she saw it in his eyes -- but she silently insisted and he took it without a word, handing her a receipt.

The only thing he said was “Have a good afternoon, ma’am,” as she left, her back still straight and her shoulders still square.

Still, something compelled her to go back there the next week, and the week after that, and the week after that.

She’d gone to a few different ranges over the last year, every venture a failed attempt at regaining her right to own a firearm and her ability to use one for her job, but something about the quiet acceptance at On Target made the whole harrowing experience less embarrassing. The range master said nothing, offered no judgments, as she returned week after week and basically threw her money in his face to stand in a bunker like an idiot for thirty minutes. Lucky this was work-related and the station counted it as work expenses to compensate, but part of her scolded herself for throwing away hundreds of dollars every month that could otherwise be used for her son’s school supplies or replacing the school uniform that she swore he grew out of every other week.

But something about this place made it easy to return to, even as she failed to discover why exactly she couldn’t accomplish what she’d come to do.

One Tuesday, about six weeks into this futile exercise, the range master was waiting for her at the counter. “I have something I want you to try,” he said, beckoning her to follow.

It was the first thing he’d said to her in weeks. Curious, Regina followed him to the outside range; curiouser was the fact that he handed her a bow and indicated a case full of arrows. “I’ve been pondering this for some time,” the range master said. “Perhaps the key is not to keep beating yourself against the wall in hopes of breaking it down, but learning how the wall is built, brick-by-brick.”

Regina raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his analogy and annoyed that he was putting her off track. “What, exactly, does playing Cowboys and Indians have to do with walls and gunfire?”

The range master grinned. “Well, I would have you start with throwing spears or slingshots, but neither are weapons I am qualified to teach. Instead, we start with another primitive firearm. From what I’ve observed, you’re quite comfortable with the weapon in your hand, but it’s the act of firing that’s causing you to freeze up.”

“I do not freeze up,” Regina snapped. Her patience was almost gone, thin already from the shoddy police work her beat cops were doing on a case. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I am not paying you to teach me how to play with twigs and string, nor lecture me on how I’m supposed to figure out my own idiocy. I am paying you to let me try and fire a damn gun.”

“My name is Robin, Detective Mills, and with all due respect you’re paying me to waste both of our time when we both could be doing more valuable things with it.” At her stunned look, he nodded at her belt. “Badge, ma’am, and you answered your phone once on the way out the door with your name and rank. And you pay with a credit card. I may run a simple shooting range, but I work with a lot of police officers and I am not simple.”

Regina closed her mouth, staring at him hard for a long moment. Something in her shifted, as if a puzzle she’d been trying to piece together was shifted and suddenly the pieces started to fit. It had never occurred to her to ask his name, though he was there every week and had done as she asked every time. It did occur to her, however, that she should probably feel ashamed of her behavior, but at this point in her life she could only summon a small amount of contrition. “Fine,” she said, her voice softer in concession. “Robin.”

He nodded, one corner of his mouth quirking up, then proceeded to explain. Apparently, his line of thinking was that she needed to get comfortable with shooting projectiles first. Arrows were not nearly as expensive as bullets and were reusable; they were also more finicky than bullets, requiring more concentration and easily taken off-track by the wind.

It was enormously frustrating.

Robin was trying not to laugh, she knew it, but his voice was calm as he stepped in close. “May I correct your form?”

He was warm, practically radiating heat along her back as he placed his hands on hers to fix her grip. Regina was aware of his breath on her ear as he quietly explained why her hand needed to grip here and how she should pinch the arrow between her fingers like this. She stepped with him when he nudged her feet, correcting her stance, and stood with her as she drew the string back, letting him bring the string to rest against her cheek.

Everywhere their bodies touched tingled with warmth and awareness.

They loosed. The arrow flew. It struck one of the middle rings.

Regina laughed, a gusty whoosh of air from her lungs that felt like the first time she’d laughed in a year. Giddy with the success, she forgot about the warmth and the tingling awareness of bodies too close, and she turned to find Robin’s face too close to hers. She was warm again, her cheeks this time, and her eyes flicked from his down to his lips and back up again, but he apparently paid no notice to their close proximity. Instead, he grinned and told her to do it again, this time without his help.

It got easier, even as she found her back suddenly cold even on this balmy spring day. Robin fixed her stance or her grip here and there, but never again in such an intimate way.

At the end of their time, Robin declared her sufficiently competent. “I won’t be giving you a bow hunting license anytime soon, particularly as moving targets are quite difficult, but you’re a fair shot.”

Regina ducked her head, tucking her hair behind her ear to hide her smile.

They did bow work for another week before Robin presented her with a new challenge: crossbow. “Packs a punch to the target, so we’ll give you a longer range to work on. There’s a slight kick when you pull the trigger, so that should be familiar to you.”

It was, in a startling sort of way. He only had to show her once how to load and how to hold the crossbow for her to understand. Between her old familiarity with guns and her new familiarity with arrows, it wasn’t difficult at all to pick it up. Robin moved her to longer ranges and she felt his eyes on her as she slowly mastered each target. Once, she looked up and caught his gaze; it was startling enough to see him smiling at her so softly that she didn’t hesitate to return it.

“So what’s next?” Regina asked when all of her bolts had been fired downrange. The archery butts had an employee to collect the arrows from the targets, leaving Robin and Regina free to pack up the crossbow and head back inside. “Another week on this, or are you moving me to muskets and bayonets next?”

Robin chuckled and Regina found it interesting how he found her comments funny rather than irritating; all of her partners at work had made pointed comments about it at one point or another, her brothers dealt with it by trying to out-snark her until they all hated one another, and her son was entirely too sweet-natured for her to be particularly snippy at -- unless he left his shoes on the stairs again. “No, unless you want to pay for double the time and extra for unpacked gunpowder. It takes bloody ages to load those. No, we’ll go for a shotgun or rifle next, reacquaint you with gunpowder and bullets, and after that we’ll see how you adjust to handguns again.”

Regina nodded, vowing to ignore the sudden return of anxious gnawing in her gut. Robin hesitated a moment, then put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Detective. I promise.”

She resolutely refused to rub the spot his hand had touched as she left.

It was not fine.

Well, not at first. Regina loaded the shotgun, familiar with the two-barrel system and the need to reload often, but when it came time to actually fire...

She didn’t freeze, no matter what Robin said. She just didn’t pull the trigger.

However, it shocked her that he just up and left the range. Shocked, and a little hurt if she was being honest with herself for once. It felt like he was giving up on her, like he’d finally decided that she wasn’t enough, that she wasn’t worth seeing through to the end -- Regina shook her head. No, she was allowing herself to be fanciful. She was paying him to let her use this space, to practice and hone her skills. Robin had taken on more of an active role than a passive one, and she was grateful for the help he’d offered, but she didn’t need him to babysit her. Though she’d asked for a spotter, he’d likely send in another employee -- he was decent as a range master in that way.

She resettled her stance and stared down the barrel at the target, trying to use her conflicting emotions as fuel to pull the trigger. Her finger settled on the metal and she willed herself to pull...

Regina dropped her stance in disgust, hating herself for being unable to jump over this hurdle.

Movement caught her eye and she looked over at the door -- shock returned, and a warmth in her chest she couldn’t put a name to. Robin held a shotgun in the crook of one arm and a box of ammo in the other. She moved the earmuffs off of one ear to hear him say, “We’ll do a few rounds -- first one to fire twenty shots into the target wins. Second round will be clusters, a challenge with these guns. Third will be timed kill shots. Come on, Detective, where’s your competitive spirit?”

Regina barely got her earmuffs back on in time before Robin got into position and fired downrange. He glanced over at her, giving her a clear, challenging look, and fired again.

Well, Regina was hardly one to back down from a challenge.

He graciously allowed her two shots, and from there it was a race to finish. Regina let herself fall into a familiar, comfortable competitive mindset, focusing on nothing else but the goal at hand -- beat this man who somehow knew every trick in the book to get her over herself.

Even her brothers couldn’t get into her head this much, and Liam was her twin.

Robin still won the first round, but Regina took the second. She prided herself on her ability to cluster-fire. The third they had to declare a tie; they had another employee in with a stopwatch and they went one at a time to see how quickly they could fire six rounds into the head and chest of the target, but the time was so close that the fractions of fractions a second were too minuscule to really matter.

Regina felt better than she had in ages. She wasn’t sure how the handgun would go, but just being able to say she’d come this far exhilarated her. Her shoulder would ache from the shotgun’s kick and it was absolutely worth it. “I’d say I should buy you a drink in thanks, but with all the money I’ve given you I probably can’t afford it,” she said as they walked back to the front.

Robin looked at her with a raised eyebrow, that lopsided smile on his face. “And considering you’re paying me for a service, it’s likely inappropriate, but the sentiment is appreciated anyway, Detective.”

She inclined her head, a concession to that bit of truth. “Still, I’d probably still be standing there like an imbecile if it wasn’t for you. I don’t give thanks or praise easily, so I would cherish this if I were you.”

“You just needed the proper motivation, that’s all. I find that appealing to one’s baser instincts often helps.”

His words tripped her up slightly -- a slight hesitation in her step, allowing his longer strides to propel him to the door faster and giving her a moment to watch the way his vest hiked up and showed the plaid shirt underneath twisting its way to freedom from his well-worn jeans as he pulled open the door. “Indeed it does,” Regina murmured, following him inside.

“You’re not taking the qualifications here then, are you?” Robin asked on her second week with the .9mm.

Regina shook her head. Last week had been difficult, but he’d insisted on competing with her again to get her used to the feeling again. She’d gone three rounds with him before asking if she could take some shots by herself.

This week, she’d begin and end alone.

“We have a facility,” she explained. “It’s too... much, though. For this. I like the space to practice, to get used to things again.”

“No one watching too closely,” Robin suggested.

“Present company excepted.”

He chuckled at that and Regina slid the earmuffs on. The weight of the gun in her hand felt more comfortable now, the knowledge of what came next less unsettling than it had been in previous weeks.

But though her finger tightened on the trigger, she couldn’t pull.

Hot fury burned through her, angry at herself and her choices and her lack of conviction. Though she fumed, trying to psych herself up for it, she felt Robin’s presence behind her and didn’t jump when he laid a hand on her shoulder. She set the gun on the ledge and removed the earmuffs. “What?” she asked, her voice quiet in self-defeat.

“Deep breaths, Detective. You don’t have to prove anything today. You haven’t signed up for a test. It’s just practice.”

“But I do,” she said. “If nothing else, I have to prove to myself that I can do this, that I can get past--” She broke off. She hadn’t told him -- anyone, save for her captain and the precinct’s shrink -- why she’d been pulled from field work. She took a breath. “A year ago, a man kidnapped his own children. He didn’t have custody. I had the lead on the case, tracked him down. He got violent -- with us, not the children, but used them as human shields. The boy was my own son’s age, so pale and scared... I froze up. Someone else took the shot, took out the father, and they got the kids out relatively unharmed. I don’t... generally my line of work doesn’t deal with many children. Special Victims gets the brunt of it. This was a special circumstance, and I think realizing that my son is just as likely to be hurt, or that I could leave him an orphan again...”

“It got to you,” Robin said.

Regina nodded. “I adopted Henry when he was just a few days old. It’s been just me, though my brothers help when they can. It’s good for him to have male role models in his life, though I question Killian sometimes. I know they’d care for him if something happened to me, but I’d rather not have to put my son through the loss of a third parent.”

Robin’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “I understand. My wife died in childbirth several years ago, complications. I would do anything -- fight my way back from the seventh layer of Hell -- to ensure my own son isn’t left alone in the world. It’s commendable that you’re even trying this. I’m not sure I’d be able to.”

“I’m practically being forced,” she admitted. “But I admit that I’ve been getting bored sitting at a desk all day. I’d do a lot more good by being in the field again, and I wouldn’t have to threaten junior officers every other hour for missing steps in policy and procedure.”

She felt Robin’s soft chuckle more than she heard it, a soft vibration just behind her. He was close enough that she could easily detect his woodsy scent. “Funny, you seem the type to enjoy threatening someone.”

Regina smiled wryly. “On occasion. Though it loses its enjoyment after too much use.”

“I see. Well, then to preserve what good is left in the world, I suggest you buck up, Detective Mills. The bad guys won’t arrest themselves, and perhaps after this I’ll let you buy me that drink,” Robin said, and he stepped back.

Regina looked behind her, raising an eyebrow. “After I arrest someone, or after I empty this magazine?”

He gave her what could only be described as a cheeky grin. “Whichever happens to come first, Detective.”

Her other eyebrow went up and she couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, if I’m going to be buying drinks, you’d better start calling me Regina.”

She settled the earmuffs over her ears once again and hefted the gun. She raised it, lining up the sight with her target at the far end of the range.

She took a deep breath, and fired.

#outlaw queen #oq ff #oq fanfic #outlaw queen ff #outlaw queen fanfiction #ouat ff #idoltina #amanda writes #gun cw #i don't knowwwwwwwww #you ever just have a scene in your brain and then you're like 'well yeah gotta write that now #that was this #just a scene blooming in my brain

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nicoolios · 7 years

Text

Days Past

Here’s my gift to @laceandlyrium for the @holidayharbinger gift exchange. Hope you like it!

“How you proceed is up to you, Rosie. I say romance. Candles. Bubble baths. Dinner. Unless more intimate. Then alone time. Should inspect you first. Want to make sure you’re fine. Unless you prefer Chakwas-”

“Mordin, please. Not necessary. I don’t even know what we’re doing yet.” Her mind supplied the word date, causing a deep blush. It was her first time planning a private outing with Kaidan since the destruction of the Normandy SR-1 and she was nervous as all get out. They had done things together before since Huerta, but they had all been group activities. Alone was terrifying. “And if I remember correctly, all I asked for was life advice. Not detailed analysis of my sex life.”

“Ah, yes. Apologies. Carry on, then.”

Sighing heavily, Rosie left the med bay. Served her right for asking the overeager salarian about interpersonal relationships. Nothing was ever straightforward anymore. Not in her professional life, her social life, and now apparently her love life. Her trip to Mordin hadn’t been entirely useless, though. An idea began to take shape in her mind. She toyed with it as she prepared a cup of tea. As it brewed she became lost in thought, wondering how on Earth she was to reconcile her relationship with Kaidan. Instinctually Rosie felt the need to be in charge of the whole affair. It was in her nature to look out for others and solve their problems however she could. Ever since she could remember she always classified herself as the “mom friend.” As she grew older and joined the Alliance, therefore being introduced to the exotic new species the galaxy had to offer, only cemented the personality trait. Other races didn’t view it as strange, leading to some very awkward late night chats about boundaries.

But all her friends got wise of the situation and insisted she should step back. Let somebody else do the work for once. Let the man prove his respect, her worth to him. Eventually they wore her down. Relinquishing control wasn’t easy for someone born to be in command. Consequently she had nothing to do today. The Normandy was docked at the Citadel and most its occupants enjoying the change of scenery. Even Joker convinced EDI to attend a movie with him. All that was well and good. Rosie had no desire to leave before noon. The Normandy was home more than the Citadel would ever be. Her training prevented appreciation of sudden drastic change. A few days before Anderson gave her permission to use his local apartment, but doing so felt wrong. Like he was giving away his possessions in preparation for death. So long as he was alive Rosie refused to treat it as her own.

There was always Silverson Strip. Arcades and fighting arenas were nice when joined by friends. Otherwise alone it felt like work. The Citadel remained relatively untouched by the war. Why taint it with a war relic? Besides, Rosie liked the quiet. It wasn’t often total silence enveloped the mess hall. Even the warp core took a rest. Steam twirled up in gentle plumes from the mug. The tan liquid wobbled slightly in her shaking hands. Cerberus repaired old tendon damage brought upon by years of abuse, but machinery wore down. Computers failed. Sophisticated wiring didn’t hold up to days of use and no proper care or rest. Hands able to steady a gun couldn’t hold a mug properly. Quite sad.

A hand slapped her shoulder out of nowhere, resulting in spilled tea soaking her shirt. Rosie yelped in surprise and pain. The scalding liquid forced her frantic spin to the sink next to her. Hurriedly she blotted her chest. As the tea was absorbed by the towel she glanced up to see Tali standing eagerly before her. The young quarrian seemed way too excited about something. She bounced on her toes, her fingers deciding whether to intertwine or reach out to Rosie. She apparently decided a mix of the two was best. Rosie set the towel aside to give her friend her whole attention. “What’s got you all worked up?”

If Tali hadn’t been wearing a face mask her expression would’ve made it obvious. As it was, she still took Rosie’s hand excitedly. “I was wondering if you would allow me to assist you in your daytime preparations? Like you used to help me before we went to the Citadel?”

“You mean when you asked if we could play dress up because you were bored?” Her dipped head confirmed her answer. This is what she got for making friends with young, impressionable girls. Still, perhaps some good would come out of it. “Fine. Yes. But only because I have no idea what to do.”

“Oh, this will be such fun!” she squealed. “Come on while the day is still young.” She grabbed Rosie’s hand to lead her to her cabin.

What followed was a very long, very complex, very…interesting game of “Making Rosie Look Presentable.” Her hair was pulled in a million different directions. Numerous shades of makeup painted her face, combinations never thought possible attempted. Dress after dress was shoved over her head only to be tossed aside. As the couch slowly became swamped, so did the coffee table under piles of everything else: shoes, jewelry, and the like. The entire contents of her closet were turned inside out until Tali found the perfect match. Rosie’s hair was swept up in a messy braided crown. Her eyelids were dusted with green, her lips silver, and her nails a lighter mix of the two. Her dress draped low over her back, scooping her chest in a wave of sparkles. The whole thing was a deep grassy green, knee-length and skintight. On her neck was a simple charm, a Christmas gift from Ashley years ago. Last but not least, strappy silver heels clung to her feet.

All in all Rosie felt overly dolled up, like she was attending a wedding instead of wandering the Citadel. Was all this really necessary? Just to impress rich civilians who didn’t give a damn about what she was trying to do? Tali admired her handiwork for a split second. It was rather impressive, its unpracticality notwithstanding, given its source. Standing before the bathroom mirror, Rosie had to admit she looked good. She thanked Tali while leading her to the elevator. Now she had to go out. They made it as far as the galaxy map before the pinging of the personal computer drew her attention. Only a skeleton crew remained on the ship; those out and about more than likely had their omni tools on them. There was no need for the computer to be receiving messages. “Go on ahead,” she told her friend, urging her towards the airlock. Eyeing the flashing image, Rosie clicked the box.

Hey Rosie,

Sorry I had to tell you this through text. You were so busy I didn’t want to bother you with something unimportant. Meet me at Apollo’s at noon for lunch? Figured you could use a distraction and besides, they still have steak on the menu.

Meet you there. Kaidan

It wasn’t automatically stamped with his rank and job title, meaning he took the time to type it out personally. He knew she had nothing to do today, knew they needed some personal time to sort out whatever their relationship was. The man knew more than she ever would. How could she say no to the flood of memories returning at the sight of his name? From their post-mission chats on the SR-1 to the endless lonely nights hunting Collectors to the hell that was their trip to Mars. The clock on the edge of the screen read 11:30. Either she must leave now or feign ignorance.

Rosie bolted to the door. Running was so much harder in heels. Curse Tali for bypassing the comfortable boots. Wait a minute. Tali’s dress up request seemed awfully convenient after reading the message. It was almost like she knew Kaidan planned an outing. Highly suspicious. Regardless she rushed to the nearest cab station and summoned a ride. The trip was relatively short, thank the stars, and the driver accepted her credit chit with ease. Now running looked out of place. Toning it down to a brisk walk, Rosie passed oblivious citizens and hyper security alike. Then, standing at the base of the stairs leading to the restaurant, she saw him. Too late to back out now.

He sat at a table overlooking the lake, staring at the intricacy of the artificial sun illuminating the calm water. A menu and glass of beer already sat before him. He didn’t notice her at first, but when he did, he smiled warmly. He knew something she didn’t. He managed to surprise Commander Shepard.

Kaidan rushed to pull a seat for her. Rosie sat awkwardly, feeling too dressed up and noting each set of eyes lingering on them. Not every day two war heroes enjoyed a casual lunch date in public. “Why’d you ask over e-mail? And why did Tali know before me?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Kaidan replied, “You were so busy with psych evals I wanted to give you some time. And I know you two spent a lot of time together on the first Normandy. It always ended with you in a good mood. I miss this side of you.”

She blushed. She knew Kaidan loved their time together before she was spaced, knew she loved her breaks from the job with Ashley, Tali, and Liara. “This side of me isn’t out there saving lives. The entire galaxy depends on me. Every minute I’m not out there fighting more innocent people die.”

“I don’t intend to keep you from that, Rosie. But we need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Horizon. Suicide mission. Staying faithful. Revival. House arrest with no visits. Mars. Cerberus. Saying I’m a husk. “You made your side pretty clear when you called me a terrorist and equated me to a damn abomination.”

The waiter saved an immediate response by collecting drink orders. The alcohol would be welcome. Kaidan pretended to peruse the menu while he thought of how to word his answer. “Rosie, you know I’m more than sorry about that. I should’ve known you’d never return to Cerberus.”

It was an apology she’d heard a thousand times before. But this time, with the setting and atmosphere and him actively trying to start anew, it felt more…believable. Like it was said enough ties to breech her hardened exterior. “What if I accept your apology? We can’t pretend none of this ever happened. You still said some nasty things, I still ignored you…”

Their drinks were set before them and food ordered. Kaidan’s promise of steak held true. A long discussion ensued, starting at square one and only moving forward. Their sandwiches disappeared followed by their drinks. Despite Rosie’s observation of death lurking everywhere, they even took a walk around the Presidium. By the end their heads were clear, their hearts full, and their sense of purpose renewed. Come late afternoon they found themselves enjoying the Silverson Strip. Laughing harder than she had in ages, Rosie admitted this was a great decision. She might even have a future with her old flame. Come nightfall, they even found themselves leaving the casino in favor of her cabin on the Normandy. The night was old, but they were young. And Rosie wouldn’t have it any other way.

#mass effect #shenko #fanfic #gift exchange #laceandlyrium

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meretiic · 5 years

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CIS FEMALE / KATHERINE MCNAMARA — is that ROSALIE MERIT wandering through Briar Creek? They’ve only been here for TWO MONTHS and word around the town claims that the 24/155 HERETIC is ADAPTABLE, but also a bit VOLATILE. that would explain why they are usually listening to FRIENDLY REMINDER by AGAINST THE CURRENT. They can be found at BRIAR CREEK UNIVERSITY as a DRAMA PROFESSOR. Perhaps, Briar Creek, is in for another massacre? With them being ON THEIR OWN, it’s only a matter of time before blood is shed.

About Me:

I’m not the best with talking about myself, so bear with me. I go by Liv, I’m 24 years old, and I live in the EST timezone. Pronouns are she/her. Um...I like to think I’m a fairly chill person, generally speaking. I’m not in school right now, but I do work the morning shift five days a week at a bagel shop. That means I’m usually up early, so I tend to head to bed early-ish as well. Exceptions being Friday and Saturday, as I don’t work weekends.

Basics:

Name: Rosalie Evangeline Merit Species: Heretic Age: 24/155

Personality:

Rosalie isn’t nearly as hardened by her experiences as one might think. Instead of allowing that pain to fester and pull her towards the darker side, she always has done her best to rise above it and allow herself to be happy. Sometimes easier said than done, but she knows that her joy is truly the best way to get back at those who have wronged her (read: non-biological father, ie the man who raised her). That’s not to say she doesn’t occasionally let that inner darkness out. Her kindness is not to be confused with being weak, a lesson she is more than willing to make clear to anyone who might dare to cross her.

Quick Facts:

This bit is gonna be a mess cuz it’s just a quick jumble of facts

she’s done a few shows on Broadway

a couple back in the 1920s, and then again a couple of years ago

she’s a ripper like her biological father, which translates into both her bloodlust and tendency for siphoning too much from someone

it’s because of this that she tends to avoid siphoning, as well as sticking to a diet of animal blood

even after her initial arrival in America, she never tried to find a coven, for fear of being outcast and hunted down simply due to what she was

she’s kept her species fairly hidden over the years, allowing people to believe she is either a witch or a vampire, but never letting them see that she is truly a combination of both

a good part of her life has been devoted to finding her biological father, as she knows that Mr. Merit wasn’t him

Background:

If you have any questions or would like to plot, feel free to hmu to chat !!

#☙🥀❧ most girls are smart and strong and beautiful // about

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