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bruisedboys · 5 months

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hi!!! i luv your writing, congrats on 6k 🤍 for the celebration can I request the prompt:

❛ was that your first kiss? ❜

w/ steve harrington?

hi angel thank u so much for your request!

steve harrington x fem!reader

Steve is looking at you like he might kiss you. You desperately want him to.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. His lips move around the words seamlessly. You shouldn’t be watching his mouth so closely, but you are, and you can’t seem to pull your eyes away.

Steve must notice this because he brings a hand to your chin to tilt you up ever so gently. You’re pressed very close to each other, sitting with your legs dangling off the hood of his car. There’s plenty of room up here but Steve’s chosen to sit with his thigh pressed to yours. He looks down at you, something in his eyes that you can’t quite make sense of. The gold from his porch light reflects in his deep brown eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. “Please?”

You blink up at him. Is he kidding? Maybe you’re dreaming. Your mouth struggles to form sound, your tongue in knots.

“Yeah,” you finally get out, more of a breath than a real word.

Steve looks back at you. His gaze is so intense you feel as though it could set you on fire. “Yeah?” He asks, unwaveringly kind as always. The corner of his mouth twitches with the whisper of a smile. “Are you sure?”

You swallow hard. You really, really want him to kiss you.

“Yes,” you manage to nod and hope you don’t sound too desperate.

Steve smiles, wide and pretty. He’s got such a lovely smile. It’s the last thing you see before your eyelids flutter shut. Half a second later Steve’s mouth is on yours.

It’s wildly different to anything you’ve ever imagined. It’s eons lovelier. Steve’s lips are soft and gentle, his hand at your chin carefully angling you up towards him. Your stomach explodes with butterflies, fluttering madly in your ribcage. Steve tastes like spearmint and raspberry slurpee. His other hand wanders to your hip, fingers brushing a strip of your skin where your shirt tides up. His palm cups your hipbone, a warm, heavy weight.

Being kissed is like touching starlight, you decide. It warms you from the outside in. Burns your fingertips and makes your chest buzz with white hot electricity.

When Steve pulls away, he’s stolen all the air from your lungs. You’re embarrassingly breathless. Steve doesn’t seem to care. His hands stay on you as he tilts his head to one side.

“Was that your first kiss?” He asks quietly.

You know he’s not trying to embarrass you, he never would, but you flush anyway.

“Yeah,” you admit, shy. “Was I bad?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. His hair flops sideways. “No. No, of course not, sweetheart.” He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, his touch so tender it aches. “You were perfectly fine, honey.”

“Oh,” you say lamely.

Steve smiles at you lopsidedly. He’s so pretty, you think. You hope he wants to kiss you again.

He curls his fingers over your cheek to carefully tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His other hand slides up your side to rest in the dip in your waist. You feel something in your chest that you’ve never felt before. This lovely explosion of brilliant colours at the realisation that Steve really, really likes you. That you’re liked by someone as kind and as pretty as Steve Harrington. That in itself almost feels like a kiss.

Though, Steve must read your mind, because he angles you up again in line with his mouth.

“Since that was your first kiss …” he says slowly. “Would you like me to give you your second?”

All you can do is nod. Steve gives you your second kiss, and many more after that.

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doubleleoenergy · 3 years

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ii; BLUE BAYOU SERIES

Oh that boy of mine, by my side. The silver moon and the evening tide.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: TFAWS!Sam Wilson x fem!Reader

Summary: Sam and y/n go on their first date.

Word Count: 2326

Author’s Notes: I’m so excited for this series, please let me know any feedback you have!

Sam has been on many missions in his life, but none COMPARE to the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he’s deciding what to wear. Why was it even this hard? It was just a date, he had been on plenty of dates in his life before his tours in the Air Force. Okay, maybe it WAS his first date since then, but did that mean the Wilson charm and composure was just gone, right?

He had helped at the docks that day, carrying in the new catch and helping take inventory of the stock they had to sell for the weekend, but he still couldn’t quite get y/n out of his mind. Sarah had been busy cooking and dropping off another large order for a family reunion downtown, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her about y/n or the DATE.

Sam had just dried off from the shower, grabbing a pair of clean Calvin Klein boxers and pulling them over his hips. Fingers fumbled with his phone, hitting the Facetime button next to Sarah’s contact and furrowing his brows as he waited for her to answer.

“Cass! AJ! No running PLEASE, come and set the table for dinner.” Sarah’s voice was yelling out past the phone and out of Sam’s vision, but her face popped up on the screen as she stood in the kitchen. “Hey Sam, got that date tonight huh?” Her face turns back towards the screen, a wide smile spreading across her lips.

“Yes, in an hour actually, which is why I called. It’s weird to wear a dress shirt, RIGHT?” He had a few options laid out on the bed, looking them over and scratching the back of his neck. “Sam, it’s summer in Louisiana, do YOU think it’s a good idea to wear a dress shirt?”

“Right...definitely don’t want to be sweating.” Not that he WASN’T already. “Let me show you what I have on the bed then, you know what women like.” Sarah chuckles. “Of course I do, I am a woman.” Sam flips the video screen so Sarah can look over the choices, catching a glimpse of AJ & Cass moving behind his sister to grab the food off the stove.

Sarah takes a moment, looking at the choices he’s laid out and thinking about the atmosphere at Thompson’s Kitchen. It wasn’t SUPER fancy, but also not just a bar and grill. “If I were you I’d go with the navy t-shirt, dark denim jeans, those black sneakers and...your brown suede jacket.” Sam pulls the pieces together as she’s talking, nodding his head in agreement. That was his favorite jacket, maybe it would bring him good luck.

“Mom, your dinner’s getting cold!” AJ calls out from the kitchen table, piling some green beans onto his plate. “Alright, Sam I gotta go. Just remember to relax, be yourself, and DON’T make this messy, I don’t want to have to stop going to the boxing gym because of you.” Sam chuckles, rolling his eyes at her words. As if he would mess up THAT bad.

“Alright, I promise. Boys, be good for your mom tonight! Love you, Sis.” He waits for her to say it back before hanging up his phone, dropping it to the bed. He’s got the outfit all picked, now he just has to get himself ready and head OUT.

Y/N just finished curling the last strand of her hair, shaking out the loose curls and spraying them just slightly with hairspray. She is honestly EXCITED for this date, having not been out on a date since she was completing her Master’s. And besides, it didn’t hurt to get out of her apartment and find another spot in town for her to dine at during the week.

The ride the day before with Sarah was fine, both of them laughing at how Sam had TRIED to be smooth by asking her out. Sarah assured her that her brother was not some fuckboy she’d find if she had decided to download Tinder as she had almost done a week prior before Sarah had advised her against it.

She didn’t need time to pick out an outfit, most of her clothes from the move were work appropriate, only having a few outfits she could wear out on the town. She REALLY needed to go shopping if she was going to be spending more time out at night and on the weekends. Her days consisted of work and nights consisted of lying in bed watching reruns of New Girl or reading one of the many books she had bought at the bookstore down the street from her apartment. Y/N LOVED going out, but she hadn’t really gotten close to anyone but Sarah so far.

Her fingers smoothed out the lavender slip dress against her figure, the hem coming just above her knee. She quickly pulled on a pair of white Keds, fumbling through the jewelry on the dresser until you pulled out a pair of simple gold hoops to compliment her skin tone. She didn’t know how long they’d be out, and wearing anything heeled would not feel good after having worn her Steve Madden wedges at work all day.

“Perfect.” She smiles at herself in the mirror, swiping on a bit of chapstick before grabbing her purse and keys to walk out the front door.

Sam arrives at Thompson’s Kitchen and peaks inside, not seeing y/n anywhere at the bar or tables. He decides to grab them a table near the wall, taking off his jacket and setting it on the back of his chair. A waitress comes over to the table, a middle aged woman with the name tag “Elizabeth” on the top right hand of her maroon polo. “Welcome to Thompson’s Kitchen.” Her eyes look up from her notepad, smiling as she recognizes him.

“Well if it isn’t Captain America himself! What can I getcha darlin’?” He chuckles nervously, still not used to hearing himself called that in public. “I’m actually waiting on someone…” His voice trails off when he feels a burst of air from the door open, y/n emerging and scanning the room for her date. She looks PERFECT, the lavender dress draped beautifully against her body, the neckline sweeping low, but not low enough to be too revealing.

“And it looks like she’s just come in. Y/N!” He calls out, his voice making her turn and smile as she moved over to the table he was at. She gestured politely to the waitress, taking the seat across from him and setting her bag next to her feet on the floor.

She looks even more STUNNING up close, and he takes note of the Keds on her feet, glad that she didn’t wear heels. He definitely felt that they looked natural together, not over or underdressed for the occasion.

“Good Evening Miss.” The waitress pulled two menus from under her arm, setting them down on the table. “Could I get ya’ll started with something to drink?”

Y/N’s eyes scan over the list of drinks on the back of the menu, looking back up to the waitress. “I’ll get a bottle of Coors Light.” Sam smiles, he was a beer guy himself.

“I’ll take a Miller Lite.” Sam watches as the waitress leaves, scanning over the menu again before looking back up to y/n. “I took you as more of a WINE girl.”

Y/N scrunches her nose, shaking her head. “Definitely NOT, wine tastes like nail polish remover to me. I can only really handle beer and some mixed drinks.” Her head tilts to the side, taking in the scent of his cologne. It was nice, a very woodsy smell with a HINT of orange. “What’s your go to liquor?”

Sam has already decided what he wants, having come to the restaurant quite a bit whenever he was in town. “Scotch, you?” He raises an eyebrow up at her. “Jack Daniels, preferably the honey kind, definitely nothing with cinnamon.” A love for whiskey and beer, already TWO things they had in common.

The waitress returns with their drinks, pulling out her notepad once again. “What’ll it be tonight?”

“I’ll have the crawfish étouffée, thank you.” Sam hands her the menu as she finishes jotting down his order, turning to y/n. “I’ll get your shrimp po’boy with a side of sweet potato fries please.” She shuts her menu and hands it to her, sitting up straighter in her seat.

The waitress walks off and the table goes silent briefly, both taking sips of their beer. Sam smiles softly, he doesn’t feel NERVOUS, just wondering what to ask her about first.

“So you said you just moved here, I’m assuming from Colorado?” He’s referring to her license plate that he noticed the day prior.

“Yeah, I used to live in Boulder but I got offered a great position at Northwood University after I graduated.” Her smile is so genuine with excitement, and Sam can’t help but smile wider at her. “Northwood University is great, quite the commute for you though. Are you a professor?” It was at least a forty minute drive from his place.

She takes another swig from her beer, nodding her head. “Definitely, but I didn’t want to live in the city, that would be way too much for me. BESIDES, a former colleague of mine used to live in this area and they highly recommended it to me.” Nails tap against the table as she hears a Fleetwood Mac song drifting out of the speakers overhead. “And yes, I’m a sociology professor, I just graduated with my PhD in sociology last Fall.” She’s very proud of herself and what she’s accomplished, having gone farther in school than anyone in her family.

Sam is taken aback, she was very impressive and clearly EXTREMELY intelligent. Brains and beauty. “Congratulations, I can tell you have a passion for what you do.” She nods, eyes meeting his brown hues. “Enough about me though, Sarah told me you used to be in the Air Force, said you were in two tours in Afghanistan?”

The waitress makes it back to their table, setting the food in front of them and asking if they need anything else. After they decline Sam takes a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully before answering. “Yes I did.”

“What made you get out?” He stops his motions, taking a deep breath. “Actually, I lost my friend, RILEY, during a mission. Decided it was time to get out and...now I’m here.”

Y/N takes a bite of her po’boy, wiping at her mouth as the sauce spreads against the corner of her lip. “I’m sorry...I can imagine how hard that must’ve been.” She pauses, looking down at her plate, chewing softly on the inside of her cheek. “I actually lost my dad during that war...he was stationed with the military in Afghanistan after 9/11. About six months in him and his crew were headed to back to the BASE when their vehicle hit an IED, none of them survived...he served in the Kosova War before that.” She grabs a fry off her plate, chewing on it before looking back up at him.

Sam’s face grows solemn. “I’m sorry…” He feels connected to her through their shared stories, feeling a sense of relief that someone could UNDERSTAND him on a level that most couldn’t.

“It’s fine, I was only seven so I don’t remember it much…” She lied, she DID remember it. She remembered the call her mom got that day, how her mother fell to the floor, the scream that left her mouth embedded in her brain. Y/N remembered how she held her little sister tight to her chest, distracting her by singing Part of Your World, trying to keep her from crying, though she barely knew what was going on.

The conversation shifts as they finish their meals, talking about less serious topics; music they like, movies they’ve recently seen, places they’ve traveled. Y/N is nursing her second beer when the check arrives, immediately picking it up.

“No, y/n, give that to me.” Sam tries to pull it from her grasp but she moves it out of his way. “I’ll only offer to split it.” She HATED when others paid for anything, her mother always taught her to be independent and take care of HERSELF.

Sam can tell she won’t budge, handing her some cash from his wallet. “Fine...but at least let me also pay the tip. And I WILL pay next time.” He didn’t mean to let it slip, but y/n wasn’t bothered at all by the thought of a next time.

After paying, they excuse themselves from the table. Sam opens the door to the restaurant, letting y/n step under his arm to walk through before him.

“That was FUN.” She announced, tilting her head to look up at him. It’s not that late, but the moon was out, shining over the water as the waves crashed gently against the rocks near the shore.

“It was…” He hesitates, hand coming up to itch at the back of his neck. “I don’t suppose you’re up for some dessert?” He can SMELL her perfume when the wind blows, a sweet fragrance that tickles his nose.

Y/N smiles, she’s not ready to leave him just yet either. This was the most fun she’s EVER had on a date, and the easiest the conversation has ever flowed with someone. He was DIFFERENT. Her stomach did a somersault at that thought, she hadn’t let herself get this close to anyone in awhile. “I’m down for anything.”

Sam steps closer, hesitating before taking his hand in hers. It feels SMALL in his own, but fits perfectly in his grip. And just like that he’s not as nervous, she hadn’t pulled her hand away either, which was a good sign.

“Well then, I’ll lead the way.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson #marvel fic #marvel #doubleleoenergyworks #blue bayou series

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lily-mj-fae · 4 years

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High! Here's a prompt idea: Lucien and Elain going on a date.

Yes. This is adorable and I support. They might be mates but they still gotta get to know each other <3 Also fun fact this sent twice for some reason xD Gotta love tumblr right?

So here’s something cute. I hope you like it. Also, I’m obsessed with how Lucien calls her lady in acowar the one time they really spoke alone. Also it got longer than expected so it’s under the cut. But wholesomeness

______________________________

There had been a lot of chaos following the battle. A lot of recovery, people returning to their rightful places and just overall confusion. But as the dust began to settle, Elain had finally found herself wanting to know more. So she’d hunted down Feyre and asked her about mates. And in turn, Feyre had directed her to Rhys, claiming he’d do a better job at describing it.

It felt interesting to her, that there was this idea of a potentially perfect person for her. She’d once thought that was Greyson until her body had been changed against her will. And his love had been fragile enough to break for it. And seeing how well it worked out for Feyre, she almost wanted to see if she could have that too.

But it didn’t stop her from being surprised when Lucien returned, despite her own encouragement that he should return. But still, she could see the way he watched her.

It took her a little bit to approach him, but she did.

“Hello,” she greeted.

He looked almost surprised by her interaction, cheeks blushing slightly. “Hello, lady.”

“How was the spring court?” She’d gotten the information from her sister about where Lucien had been.

That surprise only lingered, as if he hadn’t expected her to care about his whereabouts. “It was—It was as good as could be expected.” He’d felt rather at a loss there. It lost the feeling of home sometime even before he left.

“Are you going to stay long?” she asked him, quietly.

He gave a small shrug. “I’m not sure.”

Elain nodded, understanding. There was a lot to do, and he certainly played a vital piece of it. There was a moment of awkward silence between them.

“Feyre told me about a restaurant in the city that is really good,” she started. “But everyone is too busy to go…”

She felt nervous, shy to even be bringing this up. She had never been the one to do any kind of asking. And she wasn’t making it an excuse. Everyone was too busy to go with her, to take her. They all had important things to do and she….she didn’t. Even Nesta was the Emissary to the Human lands. Elain didn’t even know what she could do. But such offers had been given to her, and she was fairly certain it was because no one could think of anything useful she could do. Even she couldn’t when her only skills had included the social season, gardening, and now she was learning how to cook with Nuala and Cerridwen.

But Lucien seemed to understand what she was trying to say. “If you like, I will go with you, lady,” he offered gently. “I think it would be nice if we got to spend some time together.”

She smiled, brightly enough to light the room, as she had in the aftermath of the battle, knowing that she had her sisters. Though her heart had been broken by her father’s death, he died to protect his daughters. “I would like that, I think,” she told him.

He looked at himself and towards the stairs. They both resided up stairs on opposite ends of the hall. Though he planned to rectify that soon enough. He wanted his own space, and didn’t feel like living in a house with so many people again. “I would like to get cleaned up though. And we’ll find out where that restaurant is and head out,” he offered.

___

A few hours later Lucien waited by the small entry hall to the house. Elain had changed. She wore a dress of pale green with simple floral embroidery in a shade only a touch darker. She might have been a member of the night court, but Elain herself, with her honey gold hair—a pink flower tucked into a small partial braid—emanated spring. Lucien couldn’t help the smile as he saw her.

He himself had chosen a simple, but nice outfit himself. A tunic of green—an unintended coincidence no doubt—and dark brown pants. For a moment he almost felt underdressed, but she beamed at him, as if it didn’t matter to her. And he’d gotten directions from Rhysand earlier.

He held out an arm for her. “Shall we, lady?”

She nodded and took his arm, following his lead outside. She had been wanting to see more of the city, now that things were settling, now that she was sorting herself out. And it was nice to have the chance to get to know Lucien, regardless of the bond between them, knowing how much he’d meant to Feyre.

They walked in a silence for a bit, before Elain managed to speak, “I see why Feyre loves this city so much. It’s so pretty.”

Lucien glanced down at her before looking around them. “It is certainly unlike anything I imagined in the night court.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Lucien paused, realizing that she had come from a different world basically, and hadn’t grown up with the rumors. “The night court…it always had a bit of an unsavory reputation,” he explained carefully. “But now I know it was because this is what they’d been protecting.”

Elain remained quiet at that, not quite sure what to say. Though she could understand wanting to protect such a place.

“There are some beautiful gardens,” she said.

“Have you always liked gardens?”

She thought for a moment. “No. and yes, I suppose. Before…before my father had lost everything, before my mother died, our parents were always preoccupied. So I spent a lot of time in our gardens. When…when we lost everything, Feyre would buy seeds for me. And I found comfort in gardening.”

Lucien smiled, finding it sweet. But she continued to speak. “I still don’t understand why she did. I…could have done so much more. But I didn’t know what. Still, sometimes there were vegetables in that garden, and I made sure that those grew. And when everything came back to us, it was almost overwhelming. So I kept the gardens myself.”

“If I know anything about wealthy households, the servants likely didn’t respond well.”

She laughed, and it was such a beautiful, soft sound. But she shook her head. “No, they thought I was crazy…But I find gardens to be a piece of beauty. And peace.”

Lucien understood. Finding something that brought peace was important after war.

They managed to find their way in a peaceful quietness, enjoying the beauty of Velaris, to the restaurant. Sevenda’s. They were seated at a small table out sight of prying eyes. Both of them were known even here.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Elain said quietly when they were settled.

“It is my pleasure, lady,” Lucien responded.

She watched him carefully. “What does it mean to you? For us to be mates?”

That metal eye whirred and Elain could see the shock on his face. He hadn’t expected her to go there. He certainly hadn’t planned on bringing it up himself. So he thought about it for a moment.

“Well, finding my mate is something I always wanted…most males do,” he admitted. “It’s a rare and special thing. Of course, it’s not always the best match, but everyone hopes for it.”

Elain took a sip from her glass and continued to watch him. Waiting for him to answer the whole question.

“I am glad to know my mate is someone like you. And I’m glad to know you,” he said. “But I don’t want to force it either. Though, I have to admit, it goes against every instinct.”

She gave a shy smile, but nodded. Rhys had explained that to her.

When she still hadn’t spoken, Lucien glanced at her. “I would like to see if it could be a good match, for both of us. If that is something you’d like.”

“I want to get to know you,” she answered. “But I am still hurting, from losing Greyson.”

She felt it was only fair to tell him, to warn him that she had things to sort through.

“I am sorry, that it didn’t work out.”

Her smile turned a little sad. “Thank you.”

Lucien felt like he wasn’t good at this. But he’d courted Jesminda. His own personal heartbreak to remember.

Sevenda came back by, taking their orders before bustling off to the kitchen, leaving them alone again.

“What’s your favorite color?” Elain asked suddenly. Such a simple, sweet question.

“I think I found I always favored yellow,” he answered. “What is yours?”

“Pink. Like that of a cherry blossom.”

Soft and delicate, just like her.

Their food came out shortly after, and they ate, finding light topics to discuss. Lucien discovered that Elain enjoyed reading light romance novels, apparently she and Nesta both did. And that she’d recently taken up cooking, wanting to learn what she felt she should have years ago.

By the end of their outing, they’d found a certain level of comfort in each other��s company, and Elain walked just a little closer to him as they made their way back to the house.

“Thank you, for your company, Lucien,” Elain said as they entered the house and stood at the base of the stairs. Lucien immediately was aware of Feyre standing at the top of the stairs. Likely wanting to know that her sister was alright.

“It was my pleasure, Lady,” he answered, taking her hand and kissing it. Elain’s cheeks blushed a pretty red, and it was a sight he could get used to. “Any time you wish my company, I will be happy to oblige.”

Elain gave him one more smile before taking a few steps up the stairs. She paused to turn and looked at him, height about even, before she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Then she made her way up the stairs, likely to change and go to bed. But Lucien smiled after her.

#Anonymous #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien #acotar #acomaf #acowar

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yelenasdog · 4 years

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unknown desires (spencer reid x russell holmes) (i’m so sorry BFRHEKRB)

really all i have to say about this is what the fuck and why the fuck. I DESERVE NO RIGHTS. enjoy i guess??? if u found this while searching for some reid x reader there’s plenty of that on my account!!

i’m deleting this bye ok-

btw it’s set at the end of s9 ep18 and then ends probably around s13?? idk. also listen to billie eilish’s “i love you” to be extra sad bc this is lowkey kinda angsty and lowkey a mess but im throwing it at u ok bye!

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary”- Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven

Spencer shouldn't have been so drawn the first time he saw Russell in person. He shouldn't have been drawn at all.

He was a victim, someone who the young doctor had stared at a photo of for days while planning his rescue.

Although he didn't feel the initial electricity, he was far too buried in the case to think about Russell's kind puppy dog eyes or plump, rosy lips. Yes, far too busy to even fathom thinking of the way his raven locks that Edgar Allan Poe himself would be jealous of complimented his ivory skin, even for an inkling of a moment. He couldn’t bear to do such a thing.

But then, there was after the case, that day at the hospital. There was loss, it was hard to see. But yet again, he saw it every day.

His brain was fuzzy, and he seemed to be more heavily affected by this case than any previous endeavors. He wasn’t sure as to why.

It had him lost in his own thoughts, swimming in a pool of unknown desires.

So lost in fact, so drowned in his daydream, that he was barely aware of the person that had been wheeled over in his general vicinity.

It was him. His pink pout (that was more of a smile) was busted, no doubt, and his porcelain skin had cuts littered among it, but god, it was him.

He should have been disgusted, scared even. The man had rabies! And this was doctor Reid we’re talking about, the biggest possible germaphobe. But he couldn’t bring himself, he was too infatuated. Not that he would admit to it, though.

And he apparently had heard about Spence and his displeasure with even slightly unsanitary situations, as he chose to greet (and simultaneously say goodbye) to the doctor with a simple wave and bashful smile.

Spencer returned it in the same manner. The interaction was quick, too quick. It also warmed his heart to a full extent.

Russell was whisked away by a nurse, looking back reluctantly at the three agents that had saved his life, specifically a certain brown haired doctor, wanting to encapsulate his stunning image in his mind.

Spencer stuck to a cycle. Save, move on, repeat. It was easiest to do so rather than deal with any tag along, unwanted, painful emotions.

Because that’s all love was.

Crude and abrupt pain. But despite this, he found himself asking Garcia for Russell's current home address. His own actions confused him, but nonetheless, he held his head high as he exited the batcave towards the light, clutching a paper with the info in his hands.

He knew he didn’t need it. But he refused to face the (impossible) possibility to forget this information, to forget Russell.

The paper was wrinkled and dampened from his gorilla grip by the time he had arrived. He flattened it out with shaky hands, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment.

“Hello, I'm Doctor Spencer Reid.”

No, no, too formal. He erased it.

“Greetings, I’m Spencer Reid.”

What was he, an alien? Even though many members of the team thought so, he decided against giving Russell Holmes that opportunity. And then it was gone in the wind with a few swipes from his pencil eraser.

“Hi! I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I was one of the agents that assisted on your case. I hope this message finds you well. I’m just checking in to see how you’re healing.”

Spencer scoffed at himself out loud. “just checking in”, his ass. He continued writing and with very low expectations, he sent off the letter.

------

“I'll be just a minute, Mom!” Russell hollered through his home as he went to go check the mail. He walked down to the mailbox, limping ever so slightly, still in recovery. He flipped through the various envelopes, doing a double take when he saw a certain name.

Doctor Spencer Reid

Apartment 23A

Wilcox Road, Quantico, Virginia, 22134

He tore into the message immediately, a growing smile resting on his face as he read.

“Hi! I’m Doctor Spencer Reid, I was one of the agents who assisted on your case. I hope this message finds you well. I’m just checking in to see how you’re healing. How's your mother been since her surgery? I hope she is doing well, too. If you need anything don’t hesitate to write back or call the number at the bottom of the page. Yet again, I'm glad we could get you home, perhaps to your boyfriend/ girlfriend, or wife/husband.

Best regards, Spencer.”

He was off the walls with excitement. There was a newfound pep in his step as he made his way up the driveway, no doubt planning on writing back.

“Dr. Reid, I appreciate you checking in on me. I do not regret informing you that there is no boyfriend or girlfriend here, just my mother and I while we both recover...”

-----

Glee and bliss. Those were the two things that could no doubt be used to describe the relationship between Spencer Reid and Russell Holmes.

Although it was nothing too formal, exchanges of news about mothers or about how work was going was going on either side soon became much more deep, bringing the two closer than imaginable, even from 689 miles apart.

Never meeting again in person, the situation reminded him all too much of Maeve, but nonetheless, to him, Russell was worth it. So they talked, and talked, for years and years on end.

They both felt a warm fuzzy feeling in their chest, quite able to place the cause on one another.

Then one day, they stopped.

Spencer had gotten home from a long case, and was very much so looking forward to an uplifting note from his distanced lover. But to his surprise, there was nothing.

Although he found it odd, he blew it off, considering the possibility of getting lost in the post, running some stat to calm himself. Pulling out his cell, he dialed the number that he had saved of Russell's if for some reason the letters were to become inadequate. Voice mail. And voicemail again, and again, and again. Spencer tried for days and weeks, but to no avail, he was met with radio silence.

Until one day, if it was fateful or not is up to you.

It was sunny in August, and Spencer Reid was not a fan.

After sweating around all day (he wasn’t sure what it meant either), he made his way to his apartment. He stripped down to his slacks and undershirt, waltzing around his apartment with a water bottle in hand.

knock knock

He squinted his honey eyes, confusion flooding his body. He cautiously approached the door, keeping his revolver in his peripheral vision, compliments of his paranoia.

Another two knocks sounded, but before a third could ring out, he swung the door open.

He gasped, his jaw water bottle falling out of his hand and rolling into the hallway.

“Russ?”

“Hi, Spence.”

He wanted to hug him, he wanted to kiss him, God, he wanted to-

“I felt like I needed to tell you in person.”

His heart dropped to his feet as Russell's own shaky hand presented itself, in it, a white envelope, similar to the one that started their not-so extravagant rondevu.

“W-what is this, Russ?” he opened with nimble fingers, sliding it from its encasement.

Join soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Russell and Jane Holmes-

He didn’t read the rest, he didn’t need to, and couldn't. Tears made their way to both men’s eyes, threatening with such a fierce hostility to spill.

“I’m so sorry, Spence.”

This warranted no response from the doctor. He looked blankly behind Russ, his mind running a million miles a minute. With his head hung in a terrible shame, Russell turned to leave.

He was shocked when he was stopped by Spencer grabbing him by his blue and red plaid shirt, pulling him back.

“Wait.”

He turned, his hazel eyes just barely meeting Spencer's own of the same color.

“Do you love her?”

He pondered for a moment, before nodding slightly.

“Yes, I,” he paused. “Yes.”

Spencer bit his bottom lip briefly, before making a choice he knew he would regret.

He gripped him by the collar of his shirt, smashing their lips together for the first time and the last.

It should have been sweet, it should have been everything he hoped for and more. It should have been a reunion as glorious as they both could have imagined.

But instead, it was a mixture of salty tears, as their lips moulded together like they were made for each other. He pulled away, trying to maintain a strong facade.

“Good.”

And with that, he took one more look, before committing him to a memory, and nothing else.

He shut his door, sliding down against it and silently sobbing, pulling at his curls as tears racked his body. He heard smaller footsteps pad up the staircase, stopping next to where he left a dumbstruck and emotion ridden Russell.

“Hey, sweetheart, is your friend going to be able to make it?” She rubbed his shoulder lovingly, so incredibly oblivious and unaware of the previous happenings.

He put a remorseful hand on hers, watching how her engagement ring shimmered, even in the dim lighting.

He put on a false smile for his future wife he thinks he loves. “I think he’s a bit busy, he said he needs to review the date.” He spoke loudly, hoping Spencer could hear him through the thick door.

She frowned, nodding in what was her understanding of it all.

“Well, I hope he can make it, he must be important if you came all the way here to deliver this for him!”

He smiled genuinely, thinking of all the letters sent and hours spent.

“Yeah, more than he knows.”

It wasn't until after he heard their steps retrieve, and their car start up and go, that he picked up the card to finish reading it.

He ran his finger over the gold raised trim, the feeling giving him goosebumps. He read the front and flipped it over, seeing an all too familiar hand writing underneath the date that the supposed union was to be held.

I'm sorry, I love you.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

literally what the fuck was that ffwbfbfbkfw what do i even tag this?? im so sorry. also this is my first character x character be nice

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #cm #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #boy x boy fic

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covrtofnightmares · 4 years

Text

&&. cauldron above, ( alexander barrett ) was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it ( he ) is affiliated with ( the human resistance ). ( he ) is a ( 34 ) year old ( human ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( jamie dornan ). ( he ) has been said to be ( determined & analytical ) but also quite ( sly & stubborn ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( a fae hunter ).

— ❝ how did i escape? with difficulty. how did i plan this moment? with pleasure. ❞

name: alexander henryk barrett

birthday: may 3rd | taurus

scent: bergamot, violet flower, tuscan iris, campfire, black pepper oil, warm woods + ( SIGNATURE COLOGNE: noir - tom ford )

appearance: 6′3″ and muscular from years of working as a skilled hunter among the human resistance. alexander is often most recognized by his curly chestnut / honey brown hair and piercing blue eyes. alex prefers to keep a full beard at all time, just as a personal preference.

personality: ( + ) quick-witted, determined, intelligent, crafty, ambitious ( - ) cunning, hard-headed, hot-tempered, sly, self-serving

current familial / relationship status: bastard-born human whose mother was killed by her faerie lover. works alongside celine dahl, lilianna shu lei, and raymond holloway as some of the leading hunters for the human resistance. currently single, though not without his fair share of tangling with other women.

biography: From his conception, Alexander Barrett had been destined to lead a life filled with difficulty and unfortunate circumstances. Born to Genevieve Barrett, a waitress who worked between the Dragonfly Inn in the neutral territories and as a maid in the human territories, Alexander was often dubbed as the “bastard child” among other servants. His father, one of the wealthier humans in Astralis, who courted Genevieve in secret, fled the moment she informed him of her pregnancy, thus leaving the young and terrified woman to raise a son entirely on her own. And while Alexander spent his childhood with one parent instead of two, he never felt as though he was in want of anything. Genevieve provided for Alexander as best as she could, raising a young man who respected and adored her more than absolutely anyone else in the world. For a long while, things were perfect; Alexander’s mother was his best friend in the entire world, and he was reminded of how much she loved him day in and day out. She’d given her son everything but the clothes off her back; her sacrifices didn’t go unnoticed, especially with her young and impressionable son.

For a long while, everything in Alexander’s quaint little family of two was perfect. Genevieve made friends with a young family who had immigrated into town; a kind couple with a young daughter, one Lilianna Shu Lei. The families became close, but none became closer than Alexander and Lilianna--young Alex looked after Lilianna, believing himself her sole guardian. The two children played together day in and day out, when Alex wasn’t helping his mother between her jobs and trying to pay rent in the room above one of the inns in town they rented out. Alex was fiercely protective of Lilianna, and vowed that when he grew up and became a swordsman, he’d take care of both his mother and Lilianna: the two women in his life he cared about more than anything or anyone else.

When Alex was old enough to care for himself without his mother’s constant watch, Genevieve allowed him to venture about town in search of a future apprenticeship, while she headed through the woods to Willowhaven to gift the human merchants with knitted and baked goods she’d made as a tribute of her gratitude for their services. But as Alexander grew older and more aware of the world around him, the stranger his mother began to behave. A time or two, Alexander would venture out of his bedroom in the middle of the night to see his mother gazing out the window, sighing with a dreamy look on her face and clutching a crinkled slip of paper to her chest. She began to speak of the faeries as though they were royalty in and of themselves; she spoke of how beautiful and unique they were…how their grace and elegance far surpassed anything she’d ever witnessed in humanity. She spoke of the strife between the humans and the faeries and how she hoped, one day, that the gap between their species would be closed. And while lusting after faeries was still considered taboo by many humans who lived outside of their court walls, that didn’t stop Genevieve Barrett from being openly smitten with their kind.

Her wanderlust passed into curiosity and eagerness to her only child. Alexander yearned to see more of the fae himself; to discover what it was his mother loved about them so much. Lilianna’s parents expressed concern over Alexander’s temporary fascination with the fae, warning the young boy that the cruel creatures were often not quite as beautiful as they appeared. Then, on his thirteenth birthday, Alexander discovered the truth. His mother was speaking in hushed tones with another one of the barmaids she worked with at the local tavern, talking of a faerie she’d been meeting in the woods between the human territory and Willowhaven for the last several months. She spoke so fondly of this man—of this stranger Alexander had never met—and it was in that moment that young Alex realized his mother was in love. In love with a faerie.

Stunned by this discovery and wishing to understand as much as possible, Alexander sneaked out one afternoon and followed his mother along the winding path to the dense forest. He watched her slip between a thicket of trees, and moments later, a shimmering pair of wings flickered from between the trees and followed his mother to a small clearing buried in the woods. Terrified of what might happen to him if his mother caught him lurking and watching, Alexander stood stock still, frozen as he watched the thick line of trees helplessly. It wasn’t until he heard a high-pitched shriek that the thirteen year old sprung himself into action, tripping over himself as he made his way deep into the forest…and what he found was enough to haunt his dreams for years. His mother: his beautiful, vibrant mother, with a heart of gold and the courage of a lion, was nearly ripped in half. And the faerie who was supposed to be her lover was hovered over her, devouring his mother and drenched in her blood. After that, everything became a blur: one minute, Alexander had been screaming in agony for his mother’s loss, and the next…he was unsheathing the upgraded iron sword he’d traded his wooden play one in and launched himself at the faerie. The creature, unsuspecting of Alexander’s weapon, had little time to prepare himself as Alex tackled the lithe creature up against the rocks, slashing and slicing at the glittering wings it bore; the wings that were once so enticing and inviting. He tore the faerielimb from limb—much like the beast had done to his mother mere moments before—and it wasn’t until he clutched its torn and tattered wings, cut from the beast’s back, in his hands that Alexander felt he had avenged his mother.

Mourning Genevieve’s loss and finding himself utterly alone in a world that did not fully accept him, Alexander turned his back permanently on the faerie world, despite how inviting it had briefly seemed; on everything his mother had been infatuated with. Alexander, for the first time in his life, had absolutely no one to rely on. Or so he thought. When news of his mother’s brutal murder reached human ears, the entire town became alive with hushed murmurs--of scandalous gossip, of horror, of pity for the bastard boy left without a mother. Alexander feared he’d be sent to an orphanage or deposited on the street; but somehow, in the darkness, came a light. The Shu Leis took Alexander in willingly, caring for him as a member of their family, and Alexander immediately began an apprenticeship working under Lilianna’s father, Jiang. Alexander was still overwhelmed with grief, but he had people left who cared about him--people who would never be his mother, but would help in whatever way they could.

By the time Lilianna’s mother had passed away, their little found family was so shaken up that it was a nearly impossible grief to bear. Alexander helped out Jiang and Lilianna in any way he could, attempting to shoulder some of the financial burden that Jiang now likely faced as a single father. And still, he continued to look after Lilianna; she had grown into his best friend, the closest confidant he had, and he couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t include her to some capacity. Still, as the threat of the faerie courts loomed over human territory, Alexander continued to grow restless; the havoc and violence they unleashed on the humans was despicable, and with each year that passed, Alex was more drawn to the idea of the human resistance. By the time he was twenty-two, Alexander had fully immersed himself in the world of the human resistance--first, as a lower-level member, before eventually working himself up to one of the most prestigious hunters the human resistance has ever known. Alexander, who had proven to be ruthless, skilled, and commanding, was cruel and unforgiving on the battlefield. He thought everything out meticulously and demanded no less than perfection from his peers--which is why he fell in with Celine Dahl, Raymond Holloway, and Lilianna Shu Lei with such ease. They were like-minded creatures, all scorned and antagonistic against the fae for various reasons, and came together as their own makeshift family to help defend the humans against the faeries that threatened to steal what little they had left.

Presently, Alexander is one of the most skilled faerie hunters in all of the human resistance. When he isn’t selling their wings on the black market, he’s collecting faeries for interrogation among other members of the resistance or engaging in plots the Head Hunters have asked of him and his team. He and Lilianna, who has grown into the Head Healer position within the resistance, live together in a cottage buried within the Underworld of the human resistance; and truly, there is no one Alexander would rather have by his side than the woman who was there right from the start, and the comrades he’s collected along the way.

affinity: human aka n/a

wings: human aka n/a

wanted connections: give me enemies! give me blackmail plots! give me angst give me scorned rivals and former business partners! give me everything!

#ALEXANDER //#the reaper: ( intro )#parent death tw #parent death mention #ptsd tw #murder tw #death mention

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peter-pan-on-neverland · 4 years

Text

Master plan

Request: Felix has to go on a mission and pan wants y/n to go with him, so when Felix wants to go to tell her, he accidentally walks in when she changes into her night clothes and he is instantly turned on but also embarrassed. Of course Y/N will react shocked and pushes him out but afterwards both start to think about each other a lot and and things will get less akward bc they are alone. Maybe they start making out and Felix takes her against a tree.

Pairing: Felix x reader

Warning: suggestive

*I'm making two part of this*

Night fell on the small, magical island, dotting the dark navy blue sky with bright, twinkling stars. Once again the notorious Pan was tucked away in his wooden tree house, researching, plotting, trying to come up with a master plan in order to become immortal. The king of Neverland grinned from ear to ear as his eyes shrinked to the size of slits, he finally had an answer to the question he had been asking himself for so long, how to freeze the hour glass.

Tightly gripped in his hands was the ancient pages of the oldest book in all the realms, squiggly black writing stared back at him, giving him all the knowledge he needed. Discarding the "true loves kiss" part, that seemed to be written out neatly in every book he had read so far, there was an alternative, another way. The heart of the truest believer, a person with a soul as pure as gold and a mind full of imagination, that was what he needed. To Pan's surprise there was a tea stained page dangling helplessly from the spine of the old book, deciding to take the poor thing out of its misery the boy wrapped his fingers around it before giving a light tug. It fell out with ease, flipping it over to reveal what was on the other side. Evergreen eyes dance over the page, taking in the features of the dark haired boy that seemed to be scribbled on it.

Cogs slowly started to turn in the leaders head, the only thing on the page was a drawing and a date, 15.8.01. He racked his brain for answers, what did this mean? And that's when it all clicked, the boys birthday was neatly written out under his portrait, now Pan knew who he was looking for and when he was born, perfect.

"Felix!" Pans voiced boomed through camp as he came flying out of his tree house at the speed of light, scaring off any animal or creature that dared to step foot near his domain while he searched for his second in command.

Silently, Felix stalked over to his boss, clutching his wooden club between his rough hands. Stormy blue eyes met emerald green ones as the leaders blonde counterpart towered over his body like a sky scraper.

“There’s something I need you to do for me.” A menacing smirk crawled onto the Kings lips, meanwhile the second in command awaited to hear what news his friend had to tell him.

“What is it?” The lost boys quite, low voice inquired.

As Pan explained his idea to him a sinister grin started to form on Felix’s pink lips, his messy blonde hair whipped about in the refreshing wind as his listened with interest.

“There’s just one thing.” The leader trailed off, “Y/n will need to come with you, she is more experienced when it comes to realms with no magic.”

The golden glow that painted Felix’s sharp features hid his blush well at the sound of your name, he was surprised that just the thought of their one and only lost girl could make him feel butterfly's. For a while the boy had contemplated over and over again what it was he truly felt for you, was it just some stupid little crush that would leave as quickly as it came, or was it something more? As the days stretched into months the lost boy came to the conclusion that he, in fact, liked you, a lot.

But alas, Felix had a reputation to uphold, not just for Pan’s sake, but for your sake too. Pan had always told the boys that love is weakness, and they were not weak, if Hook caught wind of Felix’s little crush, you were sure to be in danger.

"I'll go and let her know." The lost boy spoke in his usual monotone voice before making his way over to your tree house.

Silently, he climbed the rickety ladder, banging his knuckles against the wooden door before wrapping his fingers around the door knob, the cold metal sending an uncomfortable shiver through Felix's hand as he pushed the wooden slab open.

"Hey Y/n, Pan wants-" He froze in place as his sharp features turned as white as paper.

There you were, beautiful as ever and the most exposed Felix had ever seen you. Your flesh was on display whilst his eyes wondered over your body, drinking up the sight of your collarbone, boobs, stomach, all the way down to your lacy panties that clung to you ass nicely.

The boy would be lying if he said he wasn't hard right now, imagining all the things he could do to you. Smirking to himself he imagined what you would look like beneath him, the way you would cry out in pleasure because of his actions. Shaking his head, the lost boy snapped out of his trance, those thoughts were stored in the back of his mind, for now.

The lonely candle in the corner of the room illuminated your tiny cabin, casting everything in a burnt orange glow as it painted your skin. Your red cheeks had not been covered up by the candle light, instead the soft honey colour seemed to make your brick dusted face pop.

Desperately, you fumbled around the room, rushing to pick up the daisy coloured night gown which had fallen on the floor the minute the blonde, lost boy barged in.

"S-sorry! I-I didn't-" Felix tried his absolute hardest to tear his icy eyes away from your wonderful body, forcing himself to look away, yet somehow he always found his eyes floating back to you as you impatiently threw the dress on your exposed flesh.

"You can look now." Your quiet voice soured through the air before tunneling into his ears.

Turning to face you he couldn't help but picture what you looked like just mere seconds before.

Awkwardly shuffling, your eyes were glued to your feet, too embarrassed to meet the boys gaze, meanwhile he was struggling to keep his off you, as your finger nails trailed up and down your arm.

"So, anyways" Felix let out an awkward cough, "As I was saying, Pan wants you to come on a mission with me."

Your e/c eyes widened in shock at his words, your head snapped up meeting the second in commands gaze as if you were challenging him.

"He-he wants me to come with you?" You asked, almost sounding afraid, but Felix couldn't quite understand why.

"Um, yeah." He shrugged simply, "were leaving tomorrow, so pack up everything you need."

With that the second in command swiftly exited your humble abode, rushing out of the door before closing it quietly behind him.

Lurking in the dark part of Felix's mind the sound of your moans filled his ears, he wanted you so bad, but he couldn't have you. Suddenly he found himself becoming more and more excited for this trip of yours.

Morning came quicker than you would've liked, all night you had been shamefully pleasing yourself after that little run in with Pan's most trusted lost boy, which had left you all hot and bothered. The though of facing him made your stomach churn guilt-fully, was it wrong to think if him like that? You had been friends for years and you had came to terms with the fact that you liked him, but you had never done anything like that before.

"All packed to go?" Pan's haunting voice popped up out of no where, causing you to jump out of your skin.

Silently, you nodded as his best friend came into view, your once normal cheeks flashed red. The pair exchanged some parting words while the leader placed a forest green jelly bean into Felix's hand, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Its a magic bean." The two boy's laughed at your reaction, what do we need a magic bean for?

Without saying a word the lost boy dropped it on the floor, the ground started to swirl, all kinds of wonderful colours blended together as the wind violently whipped around us. Howling filled your ears as your hair was permanently stuck in front of your face.

"You ready?" The tall boy checked and you nodded in reply before jumping in.

Everything went black, you couldn't feel anything as your soul was plunged into darkness before your e/c eyes opened once again. You brain pounded against your skull, the sound of zooming cars filled you ears as your eyes snapped open, taking in your surroundings.

"Are we?" You asked the tall blonde boy who sat beside you.

"In your world, yes." He confirmed your suspicions.

"Pan has some... friends here, they can help us." A sinister tone masked his voice on the word 'friends' as you begin to grow worried, who exactly were these people?

With a screech of tires and an array of smoke, a cherry red convertible car halted before the tow of you, the harsh beam of the headlights made your head spin as your eyes adjusted to the light . Unfamiliar characters sat in the front seats, the taller of the two was driving. His glasses sat on his slightly crooked nose while his bronze coloured hair swooped across his chocolate eyes. The other was shorter, his brown eyes stared into your e/c ones intently as his short, dark brown hair whipped around in the air.

Without opening his tightly shut mouth, Felix climbed into the car, you awkwardly followed his lead, still not entirely sure why you were here.

Revving filled the air as you spun off down the road, instinctively holding onto the blonde boy next to you. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped onto him for dear life, if it weren't for the wind forcing his hair in his face you would've seen the light pink tint on his cheeks as your hand found his.

The feeling of your skin on his causing the boys to have a whirl wind of emotions. The only thought that consumed his mind was you, the way you looked when he had accidentally walked in your cabin without a second thought, and oh boy is Felix glad he made that mistake. All night and all day you were you were the only thing that played on his mind, it was no lie that the lost boy found you attractive, that much was evident from his boner, which he was unaware was sticking through his trousers, but his feelings for you went a little deeper than that. Yes, he wanted to touch and please you like no one else had done before, he wanted to tie you down and make you scream but he also wanted to make you smile and hear you melodic laugh. You didn't know it yet and Felix didn't know it ether, but you are each others worlds.

Thankfully that car ride was short and sweet, coming to a stop rather quickly as a grand house came into view. The Victorian styled building looked like it was a relic frozen in time, lush green vines scaled up the red bricked walls while white, laced trimming clung to the roof. Golden lights were switched on in almost every room, making the house feel like one gigantic doll house to play with until your hearts content.

The strange men stepped out of the car, not saying a word as their keys clicked together before opening the old door. Although the exterior of the house was looked ancient the interior was modern and sleek, not fitting in with the ear of the house at all.

"I'll take you to your room." The taller ones deep voice bounced off the walls.

"Room?" You inquired, suddenly you felt your face grow hot at the idea of shearing a room with the second in command, especially after last night.

Swiftly turning around on his heel the strangers honey coloured eyes sought out your e/c one, "Yes, room." He confirmed before rushing off up the stairs, you and Felix trying you best to keep up with the fast moving boy.

By the time the two of you traveled up to the top at such a fast pace you were out of breath, lightly panting as the wooden door of your room creaked open.

The room was small, but lovely, a large white window sat on the right hand wall, allowing the street light to flood into the room. A double bed sat along the back wall, little side table standing ether side of it while a large oak wood wardrobe was sat in the corner of the room. With a flick of a switch the room became flooded with soft honey coloured light, comfortably reminding you of your candles back in Neverland.

“I’ll leave you two it.” The tall man spoke, his monotone voice lingered in the air as he walked away, leaving you and Felix alone in the little room.

“I...I guess we should get some sleep.” The boy stated, his hot breath traveled down your neck, tickling the hairs as they stood tall and proud.

You found yourself speechless, no words managed to fall past your lips, slowly you raised your head, peering into the boys eyes before giving a slight nod.

His footstep echoed through the room as he went to close the curtains, but you found yourself stuck in place, unable to move but not sure why. e/c orbs were glued to Felix, the way he moved around the room before turning his back on you whilst he undid his cloak, letting it fall to the floor. Pink dust coated your cheeks as you watched him, but you still weren’t able to look away. Neck, he lifted his arms high above is head in an act to remove this shirt, his muscly back was slowly revealed to you as though his shirt there the curtain at a theater.

“It’s rude to stare.” The lost boy joked, while you jumped back, surprised, embarrassed and shocked, how did he know?

Turning to face you, you couldn’t keep your eyes off his bare chest no matter how hard you tried, “S-sorry, I... I didn’t mean-”

The second in command smiled to himself as you stumbled over your words, oh how the tables have turned, he thought.

“Relax.” He spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder, the slight contact made you melt under his touch whilst your body instantly relaxed, “Let’s just get some sleep.”

Still as hot as you had ever been you found yourself climbing into bed with the second in command before he turned out the lights, wrapping yourself up in the warm covers as if to make a mini barrier from him, but you would be a fool if you though that was going to stop him.

The feeling of his skin touching yours as he lay down lit a fire inside you, the blush on your cheeks got worse and worse as time went by.

“I need some covers too you know.” Felix chuckled.

Not a single word tumbled past your lips, not a single one, as you slyly moved over to the other side, allowing him access to the quilt. You didn’t realize how much room he had taken up until you felt his chest flush up against your back.

Turning around in the covers your eyes sought out his, peering deep into them. No words were exchanged as you looked into each others eyes, you felt his hand on your chin, bringing your face closer and closer to his.

You were stuck in a trance, a blissful daze as his lips met yours and you found yourself kissing back, you had wanted this for so long and so did he. You seemed to get lost in the kiss, not being able to pull yourself away.

In one smooth motion the second in command bought you on top of him, all the while never breaking the kiss that the two of you shared. The rest of the night was spent with the two of you between the sheets, clothes long since forgotten as you got lost in each others bodies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I got it up! I'm sorry if you dont think it's as good as my stories usually are, the ending was a little rushed (sorry)!

I hope you enjoyed it! 🥰❤😍 xxxxx

@nevereverlandboys @lady-of-lies @lonesome-loser @celestial-neverland

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

Text

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 41

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read Previous Chapters on AO3

Chapter 41 - Memory and Vision

Gold offered her his arm as they stepped away from the Cadillac, and as if in some strange court in a bygone era the two walked toward the entrance to the Festival Field. As they approached, Belle tried to take everything in; the lights hung in small strings of every shade imaginable, shining in the evening even though it would be many hours until sunset. The sounds of children’s laughter as they ran, alive and free, between colorful tents and the legs of indulgent adults. Everywhere the low murmur of voices joined in conversation and in celebration, in companionship beside tables laden with wares of every kind imaginable, over which spread colorful awnings hung with lights.

On the breeze, light for now, the myriad scents whirled like dervishes in the air, bringing the deliciousness of cooking meats and vegetables to Belle’s senses, making her realize how hungry she was, and the sweetness of juices, fruit and the tang of alcohol, how thirsty. In even more subtle intermittent waves, Belle was sure she caught the scent of sweet incenses, and rarer yet, deeper scents that made her yearn deeply, her breath catching as she felt the slow coiling of arousal hint as to its presence in her belly.

“This is…” she swallowed hard and glanced at Gold, whose smile was warm and knowing, “…amazing, and… well, somewhat pagan.”

“You’ll find that much of Storybrooke and many of its residents have their roots in other times than the present,” he replied, but hadn’t the chance to say more as they were both interrupted by the loud, excited cry given by Leroy, the Gatekeeper to the town’s festival.

“You’re here!” he called out, and stepped forward without any heed to Gold’s presence to wrap Belle in a sudden and consuming hug before holding her out to arms’ length. “And look at you!”

She couldn’t help but let out a short, but happy, peal of laughter and looked at Leroy in his finery, which for him consisted of a linen shirt beneath a padded vest, and brown pants tucked into knee length boots; no shining brocade for him, but it felt right. It looked right in a way she couldn’t explain.

Then, as if remembering himself, Leroy cleared his throat and stepped back, picking up two goblets from a nearby table.

“And Mister Gold,” he said, “Welcome to the Miner’s Day Festival!”

He held out the goblets, and Belle saw Gold gesture to her to take one, before he, himself accepted the offered goblet, and murmured a response to the man in front of him.

“May the coming year be as prosperous as this,” he said.

“Right on, brother!” Leroy responded, and Belle almost choked on the sip of sticky, sweet liquid in the goblet. Never would she had believed anyone would dare to refer in such a way to Gold, but it seemed this one evening, Mister Gold did not in fact mind such a thing, and with a nod to Leroy, downed the contents of his cup, before handing it back to him.

Taking her cue from Mister Gold, Belle also drank down the delicious mead and handed back her cup, before she took Gold’s arm once more, and Leroy allowed them both to pass into the festival grounds.

“This has grown considerably since it’s early days,” Gold told her softly, leaning closer so that she could hear. “To the point where we had to move it out here to accommodate… everything.”

“It’s amazing,” she said, her head turning as though on a swivel, and Gold chuckled again.

“Go ahead,” he nodded toward the grounds themselves. “Take a proper look around if you’d like. I don’t want to hold you back, and if you turn your head much more, you’ll be giving yourself whiplash.”

Belle chuckled, and then asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” he said with a smile, “and when you’re done rambling, you can come and find me. Most likely I’ll be in the open space by the fire.”

“Thank you,” she said, her face cracking into a grin that she hadn’t worn since she was a child, at least as far as she could remember.

“Go on,” he said, “Enjoy yourself. That’s what this is all about, after all.”

She squeezed his arm, and then before she could allow herself to feel guilty about wanting to see everything, she stepped away, into the crowds, and began to look around at all that was on offer.

The very first stall she came to was the ones run by the nuns, and it seemed they were selling an array of candles; home made, or presumably made at the convent, they smelled strongly of honey and essential oils. There was an information sheet taped to the blue fabric that covered the wood of the cart that made their stall, and Belle paused to read it.

Traditionally, the nuns at our convent exchanged candles with the Miners for coal to help power our boilers and keep the convent warm. It was through this exchange that Miner’s Day Festival began.

She smiled at the sister behind the cart, a beautiful woman with wavy, reddish-brown hair and a wide smile.

“We can save one for you,” the nun said, “If you’re like?”

“I’d like that,” Belle said. “You know what? Put me down for two.”

“You’re very kind.” The other woman reached for a pen and clip board that were behind the candles. “My name is Sister Astrid.”

“Belle,” she answered.

“Oh, the librarian,” Astrid’s smile was almost dazzling. “It’s wonderful that it’s open again, truly. You must be very busy.”

Astrid handed the clip board to Belle for her to fill in her details, and as she wrote, Belle answered, “Most days. There’s certainly been a lot of interest.”

“That’s wonderful!” Astrid exclaimed as Belle handed back the clipboard. “Well… thank you for this. We’ll get them to you as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” Belle said returning the nun’s genuine smile, before she excused herself.

“Enjoy the rest of the evening,” Astrid called after her.

Belle lost herself for a while, in the many carts and stalls; the people of Storybrooke selling their wares. So many people in town seemed to have special skills about which Belle had no idea, it opened her eyes to the sense of old world community that must exist. She’d known Storybrooke was special, but she hadn’t realized quite how much. Until now. Marco with his carvings, and August with paper made by hand - and Belle made a mental note so seek him out after the festival; Granny, of course, with her pies and baked goods… Only a few she knew by name. All manner of crafts and services were on offer, and she delighted in each and every one.

She had no idea how long she had wandered, but eventually her feet took her, by instinct - or perhaps by unconscious notice that most everyone seemed to be drifting toward the open space, where a huge bonfire - safely cordoned off - had been built and stood ready to light. She spotted Gold, and he smiled as she approached, and once she was near enough, handed her what looked like a tall iced lemon drink.

“I thought you might be thirsty after all that wandering,” he said softly.

“I am, yes,” she said, and took a sip. Flavor exploded on her tongue, lemon and flowers and honey all at once and the cool of the ice in the drink made it all the more refreshing. “This is delicious,” she said, “What is it?”

“Elderflower lemon punch,” Gold answered. “Old Missus Souter and her children make it every year. One of the highlights of the festival for me.”

“Well, it’s just perfect for a hot summer evening,” she said. “And if it’s only one of the highlights, what are the others?”

Gold chuckled, and the sound went right through her. “Can’t give away all my secrets, now can I, Miss Marchland.” He smiled, a secretive wait-and-see kind of smile, and Belle shivered.

It wasn’t long before the assembled throng, the gathered mass of Storybrooke’s citizens, began mixing and mingling in the space, exchanging greetings, some embracing like long lost friends, and when the music began, so too did the dancing.

Folk tunes filled the air with melody and laughter, and the dancers let themselves dance freely, even though they seemed all somehow in perfect synchrony; a true ceilidh, full of joy. It was only as she looked around at the whirling colors of the beautiful dresses, and the suits worn by the men that she realized that one notable person was conspicuous by her absence: Mayor Mills. She turned to ask Gold if the Mayor ever came to the events, only to find the space behind her, where he had been, quite empty.

She frowned, and looked around, but could not see him anywhere. It was as though he had suddenly vanished out of existence. She did, however, see someone else, and smiled as she saw Paige sitting with some of the other children - the ones who were not dancing their own little jigs in a separate space from the adults. She wandered that way.

“Paige,” she greeted her, “You made it. Are you having fun?”

Paige made a face and said, “I told you, I hate this thing. It’s stupid, but I have to come because Miss Trude convinced my mum that it would be good for me, and besides, they need someone older to look after the little kids.”

“Well, I would have thought that’s a good thing,” Belle said, trying not to frown at the mention of the neighbor’s name. “Taking care of the younger ones.”

“Yeah, that is, it’s just all the rest of it,” Paige sighed, “All the grown ups dancing and being crazy… drinking and then… well…” she shrugged and blushing didn’t say anything more for a while, until she said, “I like it when night finally comes, and it’s good to be able to stay awake late.”

Belle smiled. “And is your mother here?” she asked.

Paige shook her head, and said, “Miss Trude brought me. She’s out there somewhere.” She gestured to the whirling mass.

“What about your father?” Belle asked, and as she said it, realized that Paige had never mentioned her father in all the time she had been coming to the library.

Paige shook her head again, a sad expression of longing crossing her face. “No,” was all she said, then, “Shouldn’t you be dancing?”

Belle started to open her mouth to tell Paige that she didn’t know the steps and that she wasn’t much for dancing anyway, but a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“She’s right, you know?”

She turned to see Jefferson in a top hat, and long tail coat, a vibrant purple scarf tied around his neck over a shirt in pink beneath the a slightly darker pink vest.

“And may I say, you’re looking lovely, this evening, Belle,” he added with a bow as he swept off his hat, behind her, she heard Paige giggle.

“Thank you, Jefferson,” she said, and eyed his now outstretched hand as though it would bite her.

“Come,” he said stretching out his hand again. “You’ll want to be out there when night begins to fall. Trust me.”

She didn’t miss the slight shift of his eyes to look over her shoulder at the children, and she glanced behind her to see Paige staring back, and the other children sitting with her all but open mouthed with wonder at the mention of nightfall.

“You’re up to something,” she accused softly, looking back at Jefferson.

“Isn’t everyone?” he asked without a hint of guile.

A third time he stretched out his hand, and this time she took it, allowing him to lead her to where everyone was dancing, spinning and turning, and without a moment’s hesitation he took her in a dancer’s hold and joined in with the merriment, leading her, somehow almost flawlessly through the steps and turns.

She couldn’t help but laugh, becoming giddy with it, and with the atmosphere of the evening that grew ever later, and maybe… perhaps… whatever was in that punch that Gold had gotten for her.

As she thought of Gold, she began to wonder where he had disappeared to once more. She turned her head from her random efforts to search the crowd, meaning to ask Jefferson if he had seen him, an as she did, a huge smile broke on his face, so wide that it was almost dazzling. With a final spin, he let go of her hand, and sent her spinning out toward the edge of the dancing revelers, toward a slight rise in the field, almost a hillside.

There, she stumbled to a stop just as the music faded away into a crackling of fire, and looking down toward the field she saw seven men, barely recognizing Leroy among them, who approached the huge bonfire with burning brands in their hands.

“The night has come at last!” They called out in unison.

“And so,” One of the nuns, whom she recognized as the Mother Superior stood at the fireside, and answered the shout of the men, “Thanks to you all, we shall all be graced with light.”

At her answer, the men thrust their flaming torches into the base of the bonfire, and with an almost explosive crackle, the fire burst into life.

Belle gasped, a solitary echo of the collective exclamation given off by Storybrooke. It was a magical moment, truly magical; special in a way she could not explain, not even to herself.

A moment later, colorful stars bejeweled the darkening sky in blue and red and golden light. Belle was momentarily transfixed. Then, she felt a heat at her back, and strong, warm fingers closed around her own, caressing softly before their fingers intertwined.

Fireworks paled, and the world slowed, became indistinct against the presence of the man behind her. She knew this man… loved him with the very essence of herself. It flashed through her like a pulse, and a strong, soft breeze lifted the wisps of her hair that had escaped their bindings, and she remembered.

Rumplestiltskin… “Why did you come back?” I wasn’t going to, but then… something changed my mind…. A kiss. “Uh… what’s happening?” I’m coming back, Rumple. “Isn’t that sweet. Still fighting for true love, even to the bitter end.”

The visions, memories came thick and fast, gathering momentum, but like a video played in reverse.

”I’m not a coward, dearie. It’s quite simple really… my power… means more to me than you.” No, no it doesn’t. You just don’t think I can love you. “Shut up.” This means it’s true love. “Shut the hell up!” But… town? You trust me to come back? “Oh, no. I expect I’ll never see you again.”

Sensations and emotions bubbled inside of her, everything coming so thick and fast that she could make no sense of it, and yet, in her heart it made perfect sense. Everything spun, backward and forward, out of order, filling her with an ache in her heart, a longing through the whole of her, her eyes hot with tears she could neither shed nor keep from falling.

”What made you choose to come here with me?” Heroism. Sacrifice. “I want something a bit more… special.” I'm so sorry but, uh... it's.. it's chipped. “My price… is her.” I think you were lonely. I mean, any man would be lonely. “It’s just a cup.” So… what are you going to do with me? “It’s forever, dearie.” No one decides my fate but me! “Who told you that? Who knows that!” I will go, with you, fore—

Suddenly breathless, Belle snatched her hand from his, stumbled as the spinning world fell over her. She sucked in a breath, the world settling. Trembling, she let out a shuddering breath. What’s happening?

She shook her head, barely glanced at Gold, at the disbelief and pain on his face, but behind it all something else, something… ephemeral. Then, unable to steady the too fast beat of her heart, she turned and fled.

Blinded, to where she was going, she collided with someone, and barely heard Jefferson call her name. She didn’t stop. She needed space. She needed air, but if she had looked back, she would have seen Jefferson and Gold exchanging agonized glances.

#rumbelle #AU (slight)#cursed storybrooke #angst #eventual smut #the library beneath the clock tower #The Bookshop on the Corner #i will always write jefferson

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hogwartshouses2020 · 4 years

Text

The Slytherin Misfit

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

A/N : I’m bad at discribing things, so feel free to use your own imagination for details, clothing and room appearances. Also please excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, this is my first time trying to write something.

You entered your new quarters. They had a kitchen, living room, four bedrooms and two bathrooms. They were all bedecked in neutral cream and light violet. There was a note on the kitchen table telling you that you can choose what your bedroom looked like and that it will adjust itself based on how you imagine it. There was also a pot by the door that it said you could put your wands in and which would only let you take them out again. It suggested that you use this pot to avoid losing your wand. After inspecting your new living quarters in silence, you all headed back to the living room.

The living room was furnished quite tastefully with a sofa and two arm chairs, a TV (Since you could not use magic on this floor, there was no interference) a lush ornate carpet and a fire place over which hung a lovely painting of a cottage in the forest. This time Remus broke the silence.

“Since we’ll be having our meals here and there’s a kitchen, I assume we’ll have to cook for ourselves?” Remus inquired.

“Probably, by the way, who can cook?” Emilia asked

“I can.” Replied Caterina and Remus at the same time as James said “I can’t”

Remus and James looked at her with surprise. “How do you know how to cook?” James asked with suspicion.

Caterina only rolled her eyes. “I actually like having a variety of skills, and I also like cooking.”

James only looked more surprised at her statement. “You like cooking? I thought you slytherins we’re above that kind of muggle thing.” He states in a very matter of fact and slightly incredulous voice.

“Okay. Let’s be this straight right now.” Emilia started, standing up from her stop on the couch and practically shooting steam out of her ears. Caterina tried to pull her back down, but to no avail. She continued, ‘We slytherins’ are still students and human beings like you. We are not evil cold hearted monsters. Neither is your sister. We have feelings and emotions just like the rest of you. Even if we don’t wear our hearts on our sleeves, we still have them. Do you even realize what you’re saying?! Do realize how prejudiced you are? Did you know how many times you made Caterina cry her first year? If anyone’s going to be labeled a cold hearted monster, I’m afraid it’s you and Sirius, James. You were her brother, and you hated and turned your back on her the minute she started wearing a sliver of green on her robes. Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds? That’s like being prejudiced and hating someone because they like grapes, or because they have blue eyes! It’s completely unfounded and stupid! For the rest of this class, you WILL be civil and you WILL at least pretend not to be prejudiced, or so help me, I will drag you into the forbidden forest, hex you within an inch of your life then leave you there for the creatures to decide what to do with you. Got it?” And with this, she glared at him so intently and ferociously that he could nothing else except stumble out a “y-yes”

She sat back down, satisfied, whilst James seemed to be shocked into silence, Caterina was staring awkwardly around the room, desperately trying to find a topic to lighten the mood, and Remus was staring at Emilia, lost in thought. James broke the silence this time.

“Did-did I really make you cry?”

When Caterina just looked at the floor, Emilia answered for her. “Yes, you did Potter. Numerous times. Everything time you dismissed her and gave her the cold shoulder when she tried to talk to you. Didn’t you notice how unhappy she was in first year?” She said this with a little more warmth but that warmth disappeared with that last sentence and got replaced with a cold hard edge instead.

Silence. Then “Well, I suppose I’ll cook dinner. Caterina? Want to join me?” She nodded and followe him. She was also most completely lost in thought about the day that everything changed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six years ago

Caterina was with her twin on platform 9 3/4 for their first year at hogwarts. Their parent were also there and they had gotten them each an owl as a gift. She had picked a medium sized white owl and named it Marcie where her brother had picked a large brown owl and named it Hercules. They were both very excited for their first year at hogwarts, their parents had told them so much about hogwarts and it sounded aboolutely wonderful!

“But dad, what if no one likes me? What if they all hate me? What if-” James was worriedly asking, his father, Fleamont Potter. His father cut him off, reassuring him “Everything will be fine, son, you’ll be popular and have friends, I’m sure of it.”

“But what if I’m not a griffindor?”

“It’ll be alright if you’re not” he replied, “But you will be. All the potters have been grififndors for generations, you won’t be the exception, anyways, you’re so brave and courageous, you’re one of the most griffindor person I know!”

James smiles at this, and hugged him. “Thanks dad.”

“Now be sure to write to us every day, alright son?”

“I will!” He replied cheerfully then skipped off the where Caterina was saying her goodbyes to their mother and promising the same thing and grabbed her bye the hand. “Let’s go, Cat!”

Being dragged away, she waved goodbye to her parents, grabbed her trunk and disappeared into the crowd with her brother, yelling “ I told you not to call me that! It sounds like I’m your cat!”

His reply was muffled by the bustle of people hurrying to get on the train,but it sounded a lot like “But you are my Cat!”

They got on the train and waved goodbye to their parents as it departed. Then they set off to find a compartment. She had lost James by now as he’d rushed into a different compartment to wave goodbye to their parents and was now happily chatting with the boys in there. She doubted he wanted her butting in, so she sat down in her empty compartment and stared at the scenery going by outside the window. She had only been there for five minutes before a girl opened her apartment door and asked “Could I sit here?” The girl had dark brown hair swept into a ponytail and light, honey colored eyes.

Caterina nodded and she sat, saying “So, I’m Jane, who are you?”

“Caterina.” She replied with a slightly watered down smile. This was the first time she’d ever be away from her parents for months. Her companion carried on cheerfully. “Which house do you want to be sorted into? I think I’d like Ravenclaw, I like blue. I don’t want red though, imagine waking up every day to see blood red above you! I think that I’d panick that someone did every time I looked up. I wouldn’t mind green or yellow either, but red and gold is so bright, it’s like the want them to go blind. What about you? What color would you want?” She inquired curiously.

“ Well, I don’t know if I’ll have much of a choice, all the potters have been in griffindor. Although it does sound rather tiring. I heard that the griffidnor common room is always noisy and loud and full of fun. I think I’d rather have a not fun, but calm and quiet and peaceful common room for relaxing and doing my homework. I think slytherin or Ravenclaw might be best, I heard that hufflepuffs are really friendly and nice, but I think that I would get slightly tired of that much social interaction after a while. Although, like I said, I doubt I have a choice.”

Jane nodded. “I think they should just get rid of the houses altogether. I get that before it was becuase there were four founders and they each took an equal amount of students, but now it’s just the cause of rivalry and prejudice.”

“What preju—” She was cut off by the sound of the compartment door opening again.

“Hi, could I sit here?” The new girl with straight golden blonde hair half way down her back and dancing blue green eyes asked.

“Sure! Come on in!” Jane invited her in and she took a seat next to Caterina.

“Hi, I’m Jane and this is Caterina, and you you are...?”

“I’m Lithia, nice to meet you!” She said politely but enthusiastically.

Caterina was relived to have found nice people on the train ride. If she was honest with herself, she’d been expecting to spend it reading alone. The rest of the journey was spent in merriment and laughter. They arrived, and disembarked. Harris shouted “First years over here!” (I can’t write accents please just imagine it) and she and her friends enters a boat together and she saw her brother enter a boat with his friends and what looked like Sirius Black. She was very surprised, as they were a family famous for being powerful, dark and prejudiced. However, she figured that she didn’t know him, and therefore couldn’t judge. She always tried to be fair and believed strongly in justice. She was also a very logical person, and rarely let her emotions get the better of her. So she resolved to treat him like she would treat any other person until she had more information. She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of rocking andraised boices, and she realized that her brother was rocking the boat. She watched as the Sirius hesitated, then joined in, and she watched how the rest of their party tried to stop them and fail. Their boat flipped over into the water. She heard James’s laughter bad heard him say “See? That was fun!”

And she heard Sirius laugh back and say“I agree, that was wicked!” If was then that she realized with a jolt that Remus hadn’t come up, and she looked around, realized no one else had noticed, and took off her watch, necklace and wand, shoving them into her friends hands and jumping into the water amidst her friends confused protests.

She swam and swam down toward where Remus was flailing and struggling. She grabbed him around the the waist and dragged him to the surface where she dumped on the floor if their boat.

“What—” Jane started, but didn’t finish, as Caterina started gibbing him emergency first aid until he choked up water and sat up.

“Thanks, um....” Remus said trying to think if he knew her.

“Caterina.” She supplied.

“Caterina, thank for saving me!”

She smile but only said “My brother almost drowned you, I was only cleaning up his mess.”

He looked slightly surprised. “James is your brother?”

Her friends looked equally surprised when this was revealed. Although it wasn’t surprising, when they had done introductions, they hadn’t mentioned last names.

“Yes, I am, Caterina Potter, at your service.” She replied with an amused expression and a mock bow. “Also, on a not related point, could someone give me back my wand so I can warm us up?” Her friends have her her things back and she cast a warming charm on her and Remus. Remus looked slightly surprised and asked “How do you know spells already?”

“Well, coming from a magical household, they can’t track underage magic, and my parents taught me some self defense spells. I also read my textbooks and practiced some spells. Figured it might come in handy.” She replied, shrugging.

Remus and Jane looked surprised, since Remus hadn’t expected ever to go to a magical school, he hadn’t learnt spells, and Jane has come from a muggle family. But Lithia simply said

“It certainly did come in handy!” And with that they arrived, with James and Sirius apologizeing profusely and James lierally begging for Remus’s forgiveness. Remus, very surprised and taken aback, turned red and nodded almost imperceptibly. And James proceeded to dramatically thank Merlin while Sirius, Remus and peter watched amused and slightly bewildered. McGonagal gave them the usall speech, the hosts showed up and surprised almost everyone. Then the sorting came. The part she and her friends were most worried about. People went before her slowly and then came Sirius’s turn.

“Black Sirius” McGonagall said, and teh slytherins has already started clapping, expecting that he’ll be in slytherin. The hat was placed on his head and as it deliberated for a good two minutes, the applause immediately died down. Then the hat yelled

“GRIFFINDOR!”

And silence fell. No one moved. Sirius numbly took the hat off and walked, as a sleepwalker would, over to the grofifndor table. No one clapped. Everyone was too shook that a black was not in slytherin to really do anything. The other names passed in a blur as that nice boy Remus was sorted into griffindor, so did peter. Then James’s turn cane, surprisingly before her own, but probably becuase they when last name alphabetically and didn’t look at first names.

The hat barely touched his head before it yelled “GRIFFINDOR!”

And soemthing in her sank. Now if she wasn’t in grififndor she won’t be with her brother. But she didn’t really want griffindor. At least she’ll have Sirius and Remus, they seemed decent. But all her new friends were put in slytherin. She sighed as McGonagall called her name.

“Potte Caterina”

The last thing shyenu saw before the hat landed over her head was James’s smiling face looking at her. Little did she know that was the last she’d see if that smile directed towards her.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? You are a potter and you think you have no choice but griffindor. But that’s not what you want, is it? Your slow tendency to fully trust others and your ambition to be famous like your father and your cleverness would do well in Ravenclaw or slytherin. Your tendency to think for yourself and always think critically about facts you are presented with also point towards Ravenclaw or slytherin.....”

“No,”she thought. “I should be in griffindor like my brother.”

“Interesting, that you should say ‘should’ instead of ‘want’. Becuase you don’t want to do you? You want to your parent to be proud of your achievements don’t you? You are loyal to those close to you, and you are brave. But not brash, you think before you act and you think quick on your feet......better be..”

“SLYTHERIN!”

The slytherin table clapped, after a few initial seconds of shock. The rest of the tables just stared as she hesitatantly took the hat off and walked to the slytherin table, shooting a nervous look at the griffindor table. Her heart sank as she saw her brother’s shocked and slightly disgusted face, and his friend, Sirius’s expression of pure disgust, Remus merely looked slightly surprised and curious. He had likely not been subject to house prejudice before. She sat down next to her fiends and watched without really watching the rest of them be sorted. She didn’t really register the walk to their common room, but she did I realize that it was very gloomy and cold and dark. Until the prefects lead them up a some flights of stairs and lead them up to a much warmly lighted, wamer and more comfy looking and absolutely enormous. The prefect explained “The other room is a font we put up. It adds to the slytherin aesthetic. This room is the room most slytherins use, and which only slytherins can use, which is keyed to slytherins only. So even if someone were to poly juice into you, they still wouldn’t have access. You will be sharing your dorm with one other person.”

Caterina was sharing her room with Lithia, and Jane was sharing her room with Emilia. Little did they know, that soon they’d be jumping between their bedrooms to talk, do homework together and hang out. These two rooms merged in a way and it didn’t really matter which room they slept in anymore as long as it was a bed.(Don’t get me wrong, there was never anything between them except the best and closest of friendships. They trusted each other without a doubt and the closesness and rareness of such a pure friendship caused some people to be surprised, and there was even a rumor at one point that they were having a foursome!) It was like they were one soul in four different bodies. Of course, she didn’t know that any of that was going to happen, and she entered her room with Lithia.

The room was lovely and ornate. It was decorate with elegance and looked very inviting. Their beds had ornate round wooden posts with carvings, forest green curtains and cream colored quilts and pillows. There were also four white bookcases on each side of the beds, and they were both empty and were obviously for them to put their books on. Thee was a large round white fur carpet around the floor of every bed and on the the middle of the floor space. There were two sets of wooden draws with and a wardrobe each. The wardrobe must have had an undetectable extension charm put on it, as when you opened it it was an entire walk in closet, and there were shoe racks, clothes hangers and even a make up table with a mirror! Apparently getting sorted into slytherin had its perks. There also seems to be initiation gifts for new slytherins, as a note suddenly appeared along with a shelve of books each and some clothes, shoes, jewelry, hats and scarves and a lot of make up along with an elegant dagger on the bed. The note said:

“Welcome new slytherins! Here some initation gifts to help you enjoy being in slytherin, and to make up for the fact that you might be prejudiced against. The dagger is for self defense in the event that you don’t have your wand. We recommend you keep this on you at all times. There is a book self defense and how to use it in your gift book set which also has visual demonstrations. A quick tip, don’t let the other houses get you down, enjoy being a slytherin and be confident in being yourself! ~Evangeline, your Head Girl.

“Oh my gosh! These clothes and makeup are of such good quality! Oh—and look at these earings! It think those are real emeralds! Where do you think they got the money for all this stuff?” Lithia exclaimed from inside the ‘Wardrobe’

This was the start of your hogwarts years and the start of your new life in slytherin. You remembered when you were laughing with your brother earlier today and how much disgust and hatred he likely feels for you now. If only you’d asked that hat more vermently, you might have prevented this....But you couldn’t say you were completely unhappy. You had to admit, if not for your brother and your parents, you would have enjoyed being in slytherin very much. You fell asleep that day drowning in thought of your brother and your friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Caterina, that steak is burning!” Exclaimed Remus, aching a hand I front of her face to try and get her attention. She looked down and realized that indeed, the steak had almost burnt to a crisp. She hurriedly placed it on a plate and put another piece of steak on.

“Are you alright, Caterina?” Remus asked loooking slightly worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking.” Caterina replied slightly vacantly.

“ About what?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” She seems to regain her composure and shook herself back to reality. It was no good dwelling on that, she thought. What’s done is done. They hated each other. They always will. This civility is just for a good grade, she thought. It was just because she couldn’t have this bring down her class average of 95%. Yes. That was it. No need for false hope.

“You know, James doesn’t hate you as much as you might think.” Remus said as they were piling the roast potatoes onto plates. She looked up in surprise.

“He absolutely hates me, Remus. I don’t know why you would think otherwise.” She states in a matter of fact and surprised voice.

“No—No entirely. He may act that way, but he doesn’t. He told us last year that he didn’t completely hate you. Also, please don’t tell him I said that.” Remus responded

“Really? He doesn’t even know anything about me anymore. He’s just remembering how we loved each other when we were little. He’s trying to hold on to a past when I wasn’t in slytherin.” She said as she left the kitchen holding a plate in each hand.

Remus, following her with two plates said nothing and followed her silently.

#James has a slytherin sister #james has a twin #oc x regulus black #Sirius black #remus lupin #regulus x james’s sister #james potter #james’s sister fanfiction #Caterina Potter #marauders fanfiction #marauders era

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hvlfwygod · 4 years

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wheel of fortune | ben, chase & jacob

summary: tarot and tension. Jacob helps guide a path for a quest no one wants to go on.

The day after Ben was let out of the hospital, Chiron called him, Chase, and Jacob to the Big House. Jacob had mentioned wanting to tell him more about his vision, but the fact that he was being summoned like this gave the situation a new gravity. Like the nightmares weren't just something he just had to learn to live with but a problem with a solution he could reach.

Ben was starting to suspect he hadn't hallucinated his mother the other night, after all.

He walked inside, Jacob at his side. Chase was already there. Ben helped Jacob find a seat and then lowered into a chair himself. He pulled the pendant, borrowed from Chase this morning, off from around his neck and wordlessly passed it to the son of Morpheus.

Chiron was reading something in front of him and placed a bookmark in the novel before looking up at the three demigods before him. "Good afternoon. Let us get right to it, as I'm sure you're all aware of why you are here. So! I hear," he said carefully, "Jacob has a vision to share."

Chase tried to avoid eye contact with Chiron during their time alone and took the pendant readily when Ben walker in. He turned the top half of his torso to face Jacob expectantly, neck still a bit sore, but more manageable at this point.

Jacob folded his cane on his lap and took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Yes. Right. I had this vision the night before Ben returned," he explained to begin. "Of a row of colourful houses, and an ocean sweeping through them. The wind was howling and someone had a kettle on. I was on a worn stone path that later turned into a gravel road with a lighthouse at the end. In between those two tableaus, there was a figure which I believe must represent the two of you."

He ran back over the vision in his mind, relieved to have listened to his recording of it only minutes prior. "In front of the lighthouse was a man, I'd say thirties to forties, with plain features and brown hair. He was in a business suit that seemed out of place. As I watched, he untied his tie and then something from behind him grabbed it and began choking him with it." Jacob touched his own neck in sympathy. "As I tried to move around him, it was as though wading through honey, and looking over his shoulder was fruitless as well. When I tried to touch him, I was put in darkness, and when light returned there was an old woman in front of me. I was unable to move and she repeated the same word, 'spy', over and over again until it became too much."

Here, Jacob took another pause to shake off the chill creeping up his spine at the memory. He caught his breath. "It stopped all at once. She told me to shh-" he put a finger to his lips. "-and then I woke up." The last sentence was said with finality. "Now, last night I did a tarot reading to gain some more insight into what this could entail. Before I continue, are there any new developments on either of your ends relating to this vision or that may affect it?"

Ben listened to Jacob quietly, staring at a spot on the floor in front of him. He hadn't heard the details of the vision before and getting it all recounted sent a chill along his spine. When the question was posed, he glanced up and looked to Chase, slowly, so it wouldn't hurt too much. "Um," he started. "We both started to be, um," he looked away again, "controlled, in our dreams. I don't know if that counts."

Chiron had his arms crossed over his chest, looking troubled. "Do you know where this place might be, Jacob? Hazard a guess? I was advised by Olympus that you two," he looked to Ben and Chase, "were advised where to go."

Chase wrapped his arms around himself as Jacob spoke. He waited for him to stop and nodded. “I had a dream about bright houses near an ocean too.” His voice was stronger than it had been a few days ago. “Uh, and yeah, something controlled us...?” He looked at Chiron now. “Morpheus said that there was some... hag in Newfoundland? And that she was trying to sap my powers? With the mist and stuff.” He frowned, unhappy to see that Ben was apparently still a part of this, other than just being an instrument in some sort of assassination plot.

Once Chase said it, Ben knew. He closed his eyes. "Nemesis said the same to me."

Jacob exhaled. “Yes, Newfoundland makes sense. The lighthouse was prominent as well, although the province is littered with them. Somewhere on the coast, at least we know that. I’m afraid in terms of exact location, my knowledge is vague.”

Chiron took a deep breath. "Alright. The coast of Newfoundland. I unfortunately think this is something we can't delay on. You two will have to go expeditiously."

Ben stiffened, then stared at the ceiling, as if his mother could see him glaring at her from here.

Chiron continued. "Jacob, can you share your reading?"

"The lighthouse was in my dream too," Chase added quietly. He frowned at Ben and closed his eyes as he sighed. Of course.

Jacob dipped his head in a nod. "I used a spread that has been useful in the past. The problem, the perpetrator, who can fix it, how to fix it, the goal, and the outcome." He leaned forward and tapped six different spots on the table in front of him to demonstrate where each card would go.

"For the problem, I drew the five of pentacles, which usually would represent a sort of poverty or financial destitution. Outside of monetary matters, it can stand for loneliness or despair." Jacob tapped the next spot over on the table. "The perpetrator, two cards came. It appears as though you may encounter more than one enemy on this quest. The first, the 7 of cups– illusions, fool's gold, dreams. I imagine this card would stand for this hag, as you put it, who has been controlling you. The second card was the Emperor, reversed. Inflexibility, excessive control, likely a male figure so I believe this to stand for the man I saw in my vision. His suit and tie gave him the appearance of a businessman– there is a high chance, I believe, that he would tie into the financial hardships brought up by the first card. Now, this part is conjecture, but as I witnessed him slowly strangled from behind I do not believe him to be entirely behind this; more likely, the hag has been using him as well as you two."

Jacob moved his hand to the third space. "This part is simple. Who can fix it? Again, two cards. Justice and the Moon, for Nemesis and Morpheus respectively. You two." He continued down to the bottom left spot. "Three of pentacles for how to fix it. I'm afraid it is no simple black and white answer to solve your quest for you– the three of pentacles represents collaboration, between the two of you, and the value of different ideas. Both of you will have something to contribute, and to succeed you need to play off of each other's strengths and ideas."

"The goal came up as the Wheel of Fortune. It can stand for all kinds of things along the lines of success, which, quite obviously, is the goal– but combined with the original card, the problem, it appears as though something has fallen off balance or into excess. The Wheel of Fortune represents life cycles, so if it is the goal, I imagine you are trying to put something back on track. Restore something so it can continue on its original path."

Jacob tapped the sixth and final spot that he had originally motioned to and sat back in his chair. "And at last, the outcome. Again, two cards– a double-edged sword, if you will. The 3 of cups, standing for homecoming and celebration, and the 10 of swords, for betrayal and ruin." He tapped his fingers against his cane. "Although both could, unfortunately, be true, there is also a chance this is a glimpse into two different possible outcomes. One if you succeed, and the other should you fail."

With a sigh, he pulled his sunglasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have more interpretations, of course. A few ideas on how these different cards may come together to paint a broader picture, though I am unsure if it is wise to share these lest I put you on the wrong track."

As Jacob spoke, Ben started to look more and more haggard. He ran a hand down his face. "Ugh." There was no point in hiding his feelings if no one else in the room was, either. He turned to his roommate. "Thanks," he said to him, quietly. Then he brought his attention back to Chiron. "I don't, either."

"We can doctor them," Chiron offered. "I know it is rather, unconventional but, I think the time is of the essence. I will let you two decide but, considering the situation..." He sighed. "I think it would be better, for both of you, to solve this immediately. I will help you however I can. Funds, weapons, whatever you need."

Jacob nodded at Ben and put his hand on his roommate's arm, just briefly, before returning it to his lap.

Chase leaned back in the chair and frowned. "I can 'these are not the droids you're looking for' if we run into trouble crossing the border." He picked at a thread in his pants. "I think... we'll need a car?" He looked at Ben. "Do you know how to drive?" He looked back to Chiron once again, sitting up a bit straighter. He figured he might as well start taking this seriously as soon as he could. "I have a weapon. My father mentioned my scimitar specifically." He ran a hand through his hair. "When will have the fake passports by?"

"A day or so," Chiron replied. "You can take the RV and any additional supplies you need."

Ben waited for Chiron to finish before answering Chase. "I don't know how to drive," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"Cool." Chase exhaled a sigh. "Those funds you mentioned wouldn't happen to include plane tickets at all? Since this has to be done so quickly?"

"We don't know where exactly to go," Ben muttered. "And we'd need a car to get around once we get there." He glanced up again. "Any god that could give me the ability to drive so we could alternate?" He sighed and leaned back in the seat again.

Chiron sighed. "The flying RV was damaged in the last quest, unfortunately. And Bentley is correct, I can't say how long you'll be searching once you arrive. It would be better this way, so you don't have to pay for accommodation and leave a possible trail."

Chase stopped himself from sighing again. He nodded slowly and pressed his lips together. "Okay, yeah." He sucked his cheeks in. "Okay. I guess we'll meet back here when the passports are ready?"

Chiron nodded. "Yes, I'll let you both know. Thank you, Jacob, for your guidance. I'll do all I can to ensure a safe a speedy quest."

Ben was pretty it hadn't hit him, yet, what was being asked of them. It felt so impossible it was unreal. "Sure. Thanks," was all he said. "See you then." He turned to Jacob. "Ready to go?"

"Let me know if you need anything else," Jacob responded to Chiron as he got to his feet. He nodded at Ben. "I'll follow your lead."

#ben x chase #benchase5 #ben x jacob #benjacob3 #ben #wheel of fortune

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diverteddreamstudios · 6 years

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The next colored character study piece, I chose Rainwings because I just finished re-reading book 3~ Next I think I'll do the Nightwings! The pen version of this is here: https://iron-zing.deviantart.com/art/Wings-of-Fire-Rainwing-character-studies-692897827 I originally had Coconut here, but after reading the book again I decided to swap him out with Magnificat instead, since her color scheme sounded cool to me Since Glory is the queen, I depicted her with the typical Rainwing facial structure, as shown in the Nightwing's Guide to Pyrrhia. Her colors are the ones from her book cover. After coloring her I decided it would be cool to have all the other Rainwings follow a similar color pattern, aka: 2 colors for the head scales, 2 colors for body/stomach, 3 colors for the ruff, and then one highlight color for under the eyes and the stripes on their necks. So most of these Rainwings have 8 colors in their design (not counting their horns and eye colors). Ex-Queen Grandeur was described as having pale lavender scales and a light orange ruff. I also had her muzzle and the tips of her ruff fade into grey a bit, similar to how dogs get grey muzzles when they get older. The light blue color I chose for her 'highlight' reminded me of my grandma's makeup. Even though my grandma is 90 years old, she still always puts on makeup and does her hair before she goes anywhere haha. So, in tribute to my grandma I added some of that blue to Grandeur's eyelids as well, like eye-shadow. I think it makes her look very regal. Also, I have a headcanon that the older Rainwings get, the longer their ruffs will get. So Grandeur has a very long and elegant looking ruff. Jambu is just a pink explosion haha~ In various points in the book he's been described in the book as having pink, raspberry, or magenta color scales. So those are the colors I chose. His horns are slightly longer then Glory's, as he is a few years older. Kinkajou's colors are the popular pink/yellow combo I often see her depicted as, which is a great set of colors.I also gave her some purples in her ruff, and orange as her highlight color. Book 3 described her as having 'dark eyes' a couple of times, but it never said exactly what color they were. So I made them brown, I think it looks good. In book 3 Tamarin's colors don't really have a set combination, but in Moon's book she is described as being blue and yellow, so I went with that here. She is also said to have many small scars on her body from her childhood, when she was still trying to learn how to navigate the Rainwing Kingdom while blind. During the Rainwing Queen challenge it says, “She wore only one garland of flowers around her shoulders. The shades of red and pink and purple didn’t match at all, but they smelled amazing. It made Glory think of coconuts and honey without making her hungry.” With Ex-Queen Magnificent, during the Rainwing Challenge it says, "Her scales were resplendently purple with scalloped gold edging on each individual scale, which was a color trick Glory had never tried. She had taken off most of her flower necklaces, replacing them with one small wreath of lilies on her ruff, which had the effect of looking like a lacy white crown.” This description sounded SO COOL, I imagine it to look like a Golden Laced Chicken- https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f1/25/f4/f125f47b277fa719de5cbac8d6e760db.jpg However, when I added scales to her whole body and lined them with gold, she looked way more detailed then the other Rainwings in this set...so I decided to go with a more simple approach and only line the big scales with gold. It's not quite the look I had imagined, but it makes her fit in with everyone else on this page, so I went with that. Mangrove's colors switch a lot in the book to match his mood, but at various times he is described to have purple scales, and for the Rainwing Queen challenge he was 'sky blue'. So I combined those two colors for his look here. The green in his ruff is because he was often described as having green scales because he was worried. Unlike everyone else, Chameleon only has three colors, dark green, green, and light green. I imagined him as being kind of skinny and sickly looking, because he could never get enough sleep due to his snout deformity. Also, when in his Skywing form, he had a black necklace studded with gold, so I added that to him here just for fun. And finally, for Bromeliad, the book says, "The scarlet flickers in her ruff were reflected in the dark burgundy of her scales.” And that's pretty much the only description of her we get haha. I tried to give her a very unimpressed looking face, she seemed very unfriendly. Well that's it for these guys! I had a lot of fun choosing colors for them, I hope everyone enjoys them~

#wings of fire #wingsoffire #rainwing #rainwings #dragon #queen glory #glory #grandeur #jambu #kinkajou #tamarin #magnificent #mangrove #chameleon #bromeliad

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benito-cereno · 7 years

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The Further Adventures of Santa Claus, chapter 1: The Saint Comes to Wallachia (part two)

(Part one here.)

Inside the cold stone walls of the great hall of the old princely court stood as imposing a man as you could ever imagine, tall and handsome, with a tall, conical hat complete with plume only adding to his already seemingly impossible height. Over his shoulders was draped a long, heavy mantle trimmed with sable, pristinely kept and ideally designed for keeping out the chill of these eastern December nights. The handsome finery he wore beneath his cloak was likewise built for both warmth and prestige, similarly impeccably kept, matching his shoulder length but neatly trimmed hair, whose deep rich brown was echoed by his somewhat drooping but impeccably manicured mustache. The only detail that belied his courtly and cleanly appearance was the thick layer of black grime crusted red embedded deeply under his fingernails, which no amount of scrubbing could get clean. And in a certainly light, despite the boisterous joviality of his demeanor at this moment, his hardily scrubbed skin and the whites of his eyes reflected a sickly, jaundiced look like one succumbing to a great, yet unnamed plague.

Before him spilled forth a bountiful feast laid sumptuously across a table of truly improbable length, piled high with game birds and suckling pigs and crusty breads that steamed when you cracked them open as well as boiled potatoes and lark’s tongues and suets and barley stews and cheeses coated in honey and all manner of such lavish treats that if I were to name them all, you would scarcely believe me. Almost less believable than these were the company the great man was keeping at this time. The great hall, which you might expect to be filled with significant emissaries or envoys or diplomats of mighty kings or sultans, was instead crowded to its very walls with the sick and poor of Wallachia, huddled in their rags and coughing into the hems of their sleeves. Their faces, limned with the kind of dirt that comes only from a mix of hard labor and desperation, were for once lit up, both with the joy of the occasion and the light of the enormous fires crackling cheerfully in the hall’s many hearths. They cheered and clapped when their prince stood before them and raised his glass.

For prince he was. The great and terrible voivode of Wallachia: Vlad, third of his name, known as Țepeș, the Impaler, for the way he was normally wont to greet guests. But now he was pleased to welcome his people into his courts and he welcomed their esteem as he lifted his goblet, but soon calmed them with humility.

“It brings my heart great joy,” he said, waving down the people’s applause, “that so many of you could join me here this evening in Târgovişte. For it is my considered opinion that no one in Wallachia should go hungry, least of all on such a saint’s feast day!” A second roar of approbation rose from the crowd, which again the prince waved away. “But what else can I do for you? What else would you desire on this, the holiest of nights?”

The prince pointed a long, knotty finger encrusted with rings at a humble peasant, who wore a tunic so threadbare that there was likely more actual cloth in the kerchief he kept tied around his head to cover the eye he had lost to a pitchfork some years before. “You, good sir. What would you like?”

The man froze in place, his mouth half full of the meat from the leg of some fowl he had hungrily shoved into his mouth, though whose species he would not have been able to name. He was not expecting attention from the great man at the end of the table. “Er...me, my prince? What would I like?” He paused to think and swallow as the prince nodded warmly. “Well, sir, I suppose perhaps a few ducats? I could use them to repair my wagon, or perhaps a young jenny for work or milk?”

The prince first smiled broadly and then threw back his head and laughed, a loud, barking laugh that despite its volume seemed to be the only sound that did not echo in the spacious hall. “A few ducats?! Hahah, my good sir! A few ducats would last you a few days at best! Hardly to the new year!” He turned now to the entire crowd, sweeping his arm in a broad, magnanimous arc. “Would you not rather be forever without cares and never again want for anything? I can give you this! Would you have it?”

The people of Wallachia now cheered louder than they had at any moment before on this already cheerful evening. “Yes!” they shouted. “We would have it! You honor us, Prince Vlad!” they said, pounding the table and hoisting their glasses into the air.

Vlad’s once broad smile narrowed into a tight-lipped grin that for all its narrowness seemed far more sincere than his barking laugh. “Excellent,” he said, as he turned away from the table toward the great double doors at the end of the hall. As he reached those lofty, enormously heavy portals, he signaled to the two guards on either side of the doors by raising a nonchalant hand. “Men,” he said, “board up the doors and burn them all.”

The room erupted into chaos as the prince’s guests began to stand up from the table and rush for the door. But their arms, weakened from years of starvation, and their legs, wobbly from more wine than they had ever seen in their lives, were no match for the prince’s armed guards, who shoved them back into the hall and laid torches to the furniture and tapestry.

Arms grasped and flames licked through the crack of the door as the guards turned the heavy panels on their immense hinges. Soon they had laid boards across the opening and the sound of hammers mingled with the sounds of screams and the searing of flesh. In the hall, Prince Vlad was approached by his young page, who offered him a white handkerchief with which to wipe his hands, which nonetheless would never be clean.

Without turning toward the page, he addressed him. “Boy?”

The page, running with his small boyish legs to keep up with the prince’s inhumanly long strides, looked up with a look that was equal parts eagerness and terror. “Yes, my prince?”

The prince swept the handkerchief across his lips beneath the great tapestry of his mustache. He casually dropped the now wine-stained cloth behind him, and the child grabbed it midair, before it could meet the ground. The prince’s brow darkened. “Note that I have done this so that none shall have to suffer poverty under my rule.”

The prince strode silently through a large arched hallway until he reached another great hall, perhaps more splendid in size and ornamentation than the last, though by no means as cheerful and bright as the previous hall had been; no fires blazed here. It too, however, in its own way, was laid out with a feast. This was to be Vlad’s personal supper. It lacked the variety offered in the now burnt-out hall-cum-mass grave. Gone were the crusty breads and gleaming tree fruits; no suckling pigs nor pheasants; no grains, no cheeses, no honey, no walnuts. On Vlad’s table there was only platter after platter of strange gray meat whose origin would have been impossible to ascertain, and probably wiser not to ask about; and several pitchers filled to overflowing with a thick, rich red wine. All around the table, the air was thick with flies.

The page boy pulled out Vlad’s massive and ornate chair, which let out a resounding scraping sound throughout the mostly empty hall. “And now,” said Prince Vlad as he sat and the page began filling his goblet with wine, “to my own feast.”

At that moment, a second young boy in page’s garb entered the room. “Prince Vlad!”

“Yes, boy?” Vlad intoned with boredom, as he tore a few strands of stringy gray flesh from the very ripe pile in front of him. “Speak.”

“You have a guest at the door, sir. He says he is a bishop.”

Vlad cocked an eyebrow. Perhaps he would have some entertainment with his supper. “A bishop, eh? Did he say who and whence he was?”

The boy bowed his head humbly before the prince. “He says he is Nicholas of Myra, sir.”

Without meaning to, Vlad rose to his feet and slammed his fist on the table. He turned his face toward the ample shadow of the hall, which cloaked the anger and surprise that spread across his face in equal measure as he choked out two words to himself:

“The Turk.”

A wide smile cracked Vlad’s face like the first cut into a glistening roast beef. The curtain of his mustache parted to reveal a mouth full of pointed, conical teeth, reaching from the front of his face far into the dark recesses of his mouth. “Show him in.”

By the time he had turned back toward his seat, his esteemed visitor had entered the room and seemed to bring the sun with him. He wore his long bishop’s robes, red and white, and on top of them, he wore his sign of office: the omophorion, a long woolen stole worn around his neck and shoulders emblazoned with four crosses and an eight-pointed star. On his head he wore both his tall bishop’s mitre and the long white beard that children across the world recognize. His nose and cheeks were a deep but endearing shade of pink from the bleakly cold night air. In his right hand he held his crozier, an ornate staff that was another sign of his office; in his left he held what appeared to be three perfectly round spheres of gold. The whole of him gave off a sort of warmth and light that Vlad found quite difficult to look at.

“Your holiness,” the prince choked out. “What an...unexpected visit.”

The saint smiled politely. “I visit everyone on Saint Nicholas Eve, Vlad. One way or another.”

Vlad stood by his seat at the table and motioned to the chair at the other end. “Please, join me for a repast. You must be very hungry from your journey.”

Nicholas took the seat offered to him, pulled out by one of Vlad’s pages, but found himself briefly at a loss as he saw the gray mass of flesh laid out before him. He found his composure long enough to say, “Yes, well, I do traditionally take a brief rest for a small meal at the homes I visit.”

The longer he sat and looked around, the more he saw that threatened to destroy that composure totally. A thick, almost clotted wine spilling over the brims of jeweled goblets. Flies buzzing around the inscrutably many platters of meat. And, what had been hidden in shadows until the saint’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hall, a forest of spikes that ran the perimeter of the room and stretched from the floor nearly to the ceiling. They were empty now, but the crust of blood and gore upon them indicated the fate of Vlad’s previous dinner guests.

Nonetheless, the saint, in an attempt to be a polite guest, picked up a piece of meat by the end of the bone, only for the flesh to slide right off the bone with a sickening slurping noise. Nicholas cleared his throat quietly. “I see your meat is very fresh, prince.”

Vlad held up his cup and smiled. By this time, the wine from his cup had run out of his mouth and down his chin. His smile revealed that his numerous teeth were stained red. “The freshest.”

Nicholas slid the charger full of meat away from him and leaned back in his chair. “It reminds me of one of my journeys many years ago…”

And here is the story he told:

Three young scholars who had been traveling abroad needed a place to stay for the night.

“Dum sol aduc extendit radium,” said the first cleric, “perquiramus nobis hospicium.”

“Nec est nota nobis hec patria,” the second cleric replied. “Ergo queri debent hospicia.”

They sought shelter at the home of a certain old couple, who seemed nice enough.

“Hospes care, querendo studia,” said the third cleric through the door of the couple’s home, which also happened to be a butcher’s shop, “huc relicta venimus patria; nobis ergo prestes hospicium, dum durabit hoc noctis spacium.”

The old man was reluctant to let them in, but his wife persuaded him that they would suffer no loss by showing a little charity. But when the lads had fallen asleep, the old couple saw how they might benefit from this visit after all.

“Nonne vides quanta marsupia?” said the old man, eyeing the large money pouches that rested by the sleeping boys and drawing out one of his butcher’s knives. They would kill the young clerics in their sleep and steal their bags of gold.

Shortly after they had completed this deed, they received another visitor. One whose wealth was clearly much greater even than the youths'.

“Peregrine, accede propius,” said the butcher to me, greedily. “Vir videris nimis egregius.”

They offered me food to eat, but I refused it, saying I wanted fresh meat.

“Si vis, dabo tibi comedere,” the butcher offered. “Quidquam voles temptabo querere.”

“Nichil ex his possum comedere,” I refused. “Carnem vellem recentem edere.”

When he denied that they had fresh meat, I called him on his crime, as I knew his pickling barrels were full of three freshly slaughtered carcasses.

“Nunc dixisti plane mendacium!” I shouted, coming to my feet and pounding the table. “Carnem habes recentem nimium! Et hanc habes magna nequicia, quam mactari fecit pecunia!”

They then confessed to their deed without delay and begged forgiveness.

“Miserere nostri, te petimus,” pleaded the butcher’s wife, “nam te sanctum Dei cognovimus.”

I told them to bring forth the bodies of the dead and that between their contrition and the forgiveness of God, the youths would rise again.

“Pie Deus, cuius sunt omnia,” I prayed, “celum, tellus, aer et maria, ut resurgant isti praecipias, et hos ad te clamantes audias.”

And, of course, rise again they did. The butcher and his wife have since repented and entered into my service. They will be aiding me on my journeys somewhat west of here. Te Deum laudamus.

When Nicholas had finished his story, Vlad reclined almost mockingly in his chair and smiled once more. “Yes, I have heard many tales of your wonders, Turk. Few things do not reach my ears.”

The saint, parched of throat from telling such a tale, raised a goblet of wine to his nose. The curdled stench of the viscous red liquid turned his stomach, so he returned the cup to the table distastefully. “I did these things not under my own power, but God's.”

Vlad sat up in his chair. “Yes, but I have performed wonders of my own, through only my own power.”

No longer caring to be polite, the saint shoved the plate and goblet in front of him away in a clear sign of disdain for his host. “It is not with light tread that one compares himself to God, prince. Be wary.”

Vlad threw his head back and laughed sinisterly. This laugh echoed no more than the previous one, though its sound seemed to linger nevertheless. “Your God, a simple carpenter impaled on a post, should somehow threaten me, the impaler of a hundred thousand men and Turks?”

Nicholas leaned forward across the table and pointed an accusing finger at Vlad. “You blaspheme, sir.”

Vlad rose from his seat and rested his hands heavily upon the table, hunching his shoulders imposingly. “You have told me how you and your God raised three young scholars from the dead. This is no small feat. But..have you met my other dinner guests?”

At this time, Nicholas realized he and Vlad were not alone in the hall. Nor was it the page boys he was sensing in the room. The first thing that struck him was the smell: smoke, charred flesh, singed hair, burnt rags. By the time he turned around to see the crowd of the very recently dead who now lurked behind him, still issuing smoke and covered in a cracking, crackling charred layer of ash, it was too late. The guests of one of Vlad’s dinner parties was now joining the other.

“No!” the saint cried in vain as the grasping hands of the reanimated dead dragged him from his chair. He reached for his crozier, but it was beyond his reach, leaning against the table next to his three gold spheres.

Vlad smiled a smile of victory as he approached the overpowered saint, smug in his show of power as the saint found his arms pinned by an army of the immolated dead. “I told you I was not without powers of my own. There is a reason I am worshiped here after all.” At that moment, his eyes turned to the spheres of gold that lay near Nicholas’s place at the table. “And while you entertain my other guests, I think I shall entertain myself with your spheres of gold.”

However, when Vlad lifted one of the globes up to inspect more closely, he found that it wasn’t gold at all; the outside of the ball had a pitted surface with a somewhat rubbery texture. Vlad was surprised and perplexed. “Eh?” he said. “Oranges?” He turned to Nicholas and smiled. “How very exotic of you.”

Nicholas struggled under the weight of the grasping undead. “Those oranges are for the good children of the world, Vlad Drăculea, and most certainly not for you!”

Amused, Vlad raised a wry eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you bring for the bad children such as myself?”

Nicholas smiled with cracked and bloodied lips. With all his might, he managed to get one arm free from the grip of Vlad’s recently conscripted army and place two fingers to his mouth. After the deepest breath he could muster, he blew through his fingers, letting out a shrill whistle.

And outside in the dark, in the snow, a gray horse nickered. And a dozing beast stirred.

(More soon. Guess who’s next.)

#christmas #santa claus #dracula #santa vs dracula #my writing #halloween #saint nicholas #vlad tepes #not comics

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lux-i-fer · 7 years

Text

In Sickness and Hell (COMPLETE)

Synopsis: Sickness never bothered Lucifer until it got ahold of Chloe

Ao3 link

Rating: T

Notes: Guys its been a year and two weeks in the making!! I'm done!! I'm so happy that this is finished!! I'm kind of on the fence about the ending, but tell me what you guys thought. Big thanks to anyone and everyone who read, commented, and subscribed; it meant a TON to me. Also special thanks to my beta for sticking with me ;) The poem Luci reads is Serenade by Edgar Allen Poe (do you think I have a favorite poet yet?) and the Milton scribbled in the corner came from Paradise Lost. Again, many thanks for loving and supporting this piece! I will now go take a nap just like deckerstar is.

Chapter Number: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Signing the release papers was almost as cathartic as dragging himself up the beach five years ago. What had only been about fifteen hours of panic had felt like an eternity for Lucifer. As if Amenadiel was purposely slowing time just to watch him suffer.

At the last pen stroke, a weight lifted from his shoulders until only a few shadows of fear still lingered in the corners of his mind.

Walking through the door of Chloe’s apartment made them claw their way back into his thoughts.

She made no move to shrug her jacket--which Lucifer had dutifully returned to her-- off her shoulders. She was still deathly pale; only a faint sheen of medication-induced blush painted her features.

Chloe made her way through the apartment, eyes flitting from thing to thing, but never stopped walking. Lucifer followed her all the same, still in a caffeinated haze and still afraid to let her out of his sight. He didn’t even pay attention to where his feet took him until they bumped against the bottom stair of the staircase.

“...Lucifer what are you doing?” she asked, voice quiet, but demanding. His mind couldn’t help but conjure the Detective he once knew. The one he never had to fuss over.

Lucifer willed his voice into what he hoped was innocent. “Are we not going upstairs to change?”

“ I am, you’re not.”

He gave a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Darling, I’ve seen everything there’s no need to be modest.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Modesty has nothing to do with it, my sanity does,” she said, letting the annoyance drip through her words. “I haven’t been alone since yesterday afternoon. You, the nurses, Dan, have all been hovering over me and if I go one more second with your sad eyes staring at me like I could keel over any second now, I’m going to go insane. So please, Lucifer, it’s five minutes.”

When he tried to open his mouth to protest, Chloe gave him a firm, but not angry, shove.

Lucifer stared up at her, his imagination running wild with death-filled scenarios that could happen the moment that he left her side.

He must have been lost in the illusion longer than he thought because her eyes softened and her palm slid from his chest. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I promise I’ll be fine,” she tried to reassure him.

She gave him a soft smile before disappearing up the rest of the stairs.

It took everything in Lucifer’s power not to follow her.

He sighed and wished for a bottle of whiskey and maybe a cigarette or two. Something to just take the edge off until he was certain she was fine.

Lucifer stared blankly at the bundle of clothes in his hand.

They’d made a quick stop at Lux for a change of clothes. Lucifer hadn’t failed to notice that someone had cleaned up his master bath as he’d made his way towards his closet.

Unconsciously, his fingers had skipped past his suits and vests. They’d pushed aside Armani and Prada alike until they’d come to rest on cheap cotton stuffed in the very back. He hadn’t really paid attention to which shirt he’d pulled off the hangar nor which of his few pajama pants he’d swiped.

Lucifer chuckled at them now.

With Chloe banishing him from the second level, he saw nothing left to do but drag himself to the guest bathroom.

Lucifer splashed water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror, unsure of just who exactly stared back. The reflection boasted sleepless eyes, the were clothes dirty and loose-fitting, and hair unkempt. He looked so vulnerable in the dim light of the bathroom, all devilish traces seemingly scrubbed away and replaced by a thin film of fear.

Smirking bitterly at his pathetic emotions, Lucifer began to undress. He folded his clothes from the day before back into their neat creases and tutted at their filthiness. His fingers drew over a long dried blood stain from when Chloe’s head had fallen against him, and then suddenly, he didn’t mind how dirty they were.

If her smile was the mud, her laugh the creases, and her happiness the blood; Lucifer would gladly do it over again. Whether that meant letting his emotions drown him or donning cheap pajamas for her comfort, he would sacrifice his sanity for hers in a heartbeat.

He finished slipping into the worn Bowie shirt he’d mindlessly grabbed from Lux and stepped back out into the living room to find Chloe making her way back down the stairs.

A tight smile graced her lips when she saw him.

“See, perfectly fine,” she said.

For the first time, Lucifer let himself believe her.

Now out from under the glaring hospital lights, her skin had lost the hollowness he’d watched crawl up her cheeks all morning.

She brushed past him and headed towards the kitchen, bundled in one of those oversized sweaters that she loved.

Lucifer turned to see her trying to put a few castaway dishes back into their rightful cupboards.

“What do you think you’re doing, Detective?”

“I’m cleaning up my house because my partner is being overprotective and my roommate doesn’t know how to put things away.”

He watched as she tried and failed to stretch to the top shelf of a cupboard. Sighing, Lucifer stepped behind her, took the plate from her hand, and put it away for her.

Chloe turned to face him, back pressed into the countertop.

“I like you like this,” she reached out, as if to trace the BOWIE block letters on his shirt, “Easier to read without that Armani suit of armor.”

Lucifer gave her a small smile.

“How about a deal then? I dress like this more often if you sit down and stop trying to get yourself killed.”

“I wouldn’t call internal bleeding my fault,” she said slyly.

Lucifer returned her look with a smirk of his own. “No, but if you keep this up surely it will be.”

She rolled her eyes in what he thought was both irritation and jest.

“Fine, just as long as you agree to stop doing--”

Lucifer willed his eyes to soften.

“ That.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“ Right,” he offered a hand to her and she took it with a silent protest on her tongue.

He lead her out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

With a heavy sigh, he sunk into the corner of the couch, putting up the footrest in the process. It was lumpy and uncomfortable, but Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care. His eyes fell closed and made a mental note to buy her a new one on Monday.

“I think they have more comfortable sofas in Hell,” he paused, brow furrowing. “No, I’m certain they do, because I did the decorating.”

He heard Chloe hum in sarcastic agreement and felt her sit down next to him.

Lucifer forced himself to keep his eyes closed as the seconds ticked by in agony. Finally, she blew out a defeated breath and curled into his side.

His eyes snapped open.

Her cheek rested delicately on his shoulder and Lucifer could feel each breath against his skin.

Blue eyes avoided his brown ones while Chloe drew her legs up to her chest and then let them spill into his lap.

She said nothing and neither did he.

The silence was comfortable, just as it had been in his flat all those hours ago. It was a warm and pleasant honey-coated buzz that drowned the tragedies of the night in gold.

“Luce?”

The nickname dripped from her lips like a prayer and Lucifer’s breath hitched.

He willed his blood to burn hotter, if only it meant to hear his name on those amber lips once more.

He swallowed thickly. “Mhmm?”

Chloe snuggled further into him with a yawn, the energy she had before seemingly dying away once again.

“Will you read something again?”

Lucifer willed himself to reach for his battered paperback off the side table. His fingers blindly shuffled the pages, his mind still all too focused on the Detective in his arms that had tamed the Devil in his soul.

For her, he would run through a thousand hospital corridors.

The very thought terrified him beyond belief. It was a pathetic shell of whatever had crawled up the beach five long years ago.

For four of those, Lucifer had distracted himself with booze, drugs, anything to dull the emptiness in his heart. At the thought of the fifth year, he couldn’t help the grin that split the corners of his mouth. Standing over the broken body of Delilah had ripped the hole that he’d desperately tried to close, wide open all over again.

Then there was her, the Detective, stepping under the lights of Lux and looking unamused by what had satisfied so many others. She had asked for nothing, but Lucifer had given her everything: a piece of him that no one else had had before.

Yes, he thought, for her, anything.

His concentration snapped as his fingers stopped on a page.

Lucifer knew without even looking at the page that this was the right poem. His eyes skipped over the title; he knew which one this was the moment he laid eyes on the smeared Milton in the corner:

So heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate.

The line was fitting, Lucifer supposed. He’d long forgotten which nightmare had driven him to scribble those words on that specific page next to that specific poem.

None of that mattered, though. What did matter was curled up against his chest, still cold and exhausted from her brush with death.

Chloe rested a hand flat against his chest, directly over his heart, dragging Lucifer back into reality. He tried to ignore how the heat of her palm made it skip and shudder. Pulling in a shaky breath, he turned back to the pages of poetry.

“So sweet the hour, so calm the time, I feel it more than half a crime,” he began softly, “When Nature sleeps and stars are mute, To mar the silence ev'n with lute.”

Chloe smiled sleepily and willed the couch to recline back as far as it could go before urging him to continue.

“At rest on ocean's brilliant dyes, An image of Elysium lies:”

Elysium’s perfection was cold compared to Chloe’s flawed warmth. Wrapped up in her embrace, Lucifer decided there was no other Heaven than in her arms.

“But list, O list,- so soft and low Thy lover's voice tonight shall flow, That, scarce awake, thy soul shall deem My words the music of a dream.”

Chloe shifted on top of him, but Lucifer read on.

“Thus, while no single sound too rude Upon thy slumber shall intrude, Our thoughts, our souls- O God above! In every deed shall mingle, love.”

Uttering the last line, Lucifer relaxed into the couch cushions. He lay breathless and at nothing and everything.

“I--Detective?” he asked gently. Lucifer glanced down to see Chloe asleep on his chest. “Chloe?”

When she didn’t respond, Lucifer sighed and closed the book as quietly as possible, placing it back onto the table. He stared at her sleeping form for a few seconds, absentmindedly carding his fingers through her hair.

Chloe’s breathing was peaceful for the first time that day.

Lucifer turned his attention to the ceiling. He imagined if he looked hard enough he could see his Father’s disapproving gaze from behind the dusky golden gates of Heaven. He flipped the apparition off, knowing full well his Father might never see it, omniscience be damned.

A dark smirk burst across his lips and he pulled Chloe protectively against him.

“You can’t have her yet, you son of a bitch.”

Lucifer brushed a ghost of a kiss on her forehead. Chloe stirred and shifted into his touch.

“Goodnight, Chloe,” he murmured before following her into the soft in-between realm of sleep.

#deckerstar #my fic #fanfic #lucifer on fox #lucifer morningstar #isah

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sabraeal · 7 years

Note

Prompt: Obi and Shirayuki stumble across a village where the people speak in riddles and shed their clothing from dark until dawn in a trance-like state. Shirayuki has to figure out what is going on because now Obi is running around naked with them

Lyrias has not brought tribute for months.

“Is that odd?” Shirayuki asks when they stop at mid-day, lettingEpona rest. She wanders some steps off before she speaks, splashing her facewith the cool water from the pool. Although her stout-hearted mare has come totolerate Zen and much of his entourage, she has never quite warmed to Obi. Evennow she shies in the clearing, feeling his presence.

Obi, tucked firmly into a willow’s shade, replies, “What doyou think?”

She ducks her head, flushing. His tone is as conversationalas it usually is, but it is hard not to imagine impatience coloring his words,to hear clipped edges in his accent. She thinks to apologize, to explain howeasy it is to forget, but she knowsthat he would like that even less.

“I doubt Izana would suffer disrespect from his tenants,”she says instead. “He is fair, but not merciful.”

He turns one of his wicked blades in his hand, long fingersdeftly moving in a way that had she tried, would have resulted in significantlyfewer digits. “Few of his kind are.”

“Even fewer I would call fair,” she says with some measureof censure, “save of face.”

He grins at that. “True enough, Miss.”

The days grow shorter and colder as they wind their waynorth. They follow good practice at Shirayuki’s insistence and keep the riverto the west of them. Obi doesn’t protest so much a whine, mouth set in a petulant pout, calling it a useless human superstition. It’sserved her well all these years and she sees no reason to abandon it. Itclearly makes him restless, edgy, but since Tanbarun that has been the rulerather than the exception. She doesn’t precisely disregard him, but she’slearned often enough to take a sidhe’s word with a grain of salt.

One noon she comes to rest by the river’s side, and when shedraws Epona to drink, it is frozen.

“Is that –?” She stops herself, takes a moment to rephrase.“This isn’t normal.”

“No, Miss,” he says, closer than she expects and worryinglyserious. “It isn’t.”

They come to the village late in the evening, the sunalready setting behind the trees. Frost sets the brown grass white, and as theywalk toward the light, it’s as if Shirayuki is walking on glass for the way ittinkles beneath her. She might as well have bells on.

Obi, of course, makes no sound.

He’s tense, his shoulders a hard, forbidding line besidehers. His muddled magic buzzes in her ear, rattling with agitation like teeth in a skull. Folk take one look at the both of them – two hooded figures, onedark, one light – and close their doors. A mother catches the gold glint of Obi’sgaze and hurries her children inside, mouth a worried line.

They act as if heis the threat, but Shirayuki feels something deeper, something darker press against her skin here. Thedanger here does not come from without, but within.

“Mistress!” calls out a sandy-haired boy, breaking throughthe thinning crowd. “Your cloak is Cunning green, is it not?”

She’s surprised he can pick out the hue in the dying light. “Yes.I am kept by the court of Clarines.”

His eyes grow wide. “Come with me then, lady. There’s othersyou should talk to.”

The boy’s name is Kirito, and his uncle is the Cunning Manof this village.

“One of them, at least,” he explains eagerly. “He has a fewstudents under him here.”

A few turns out tobe an understatement; there’s no less than ten students that make up hispractice. Shirayuki’s never seen such a thing, not even when she lived closerto the city.

“He’s gone missing,” says his most senior apprentice, Suzu.He’s a handful of years older than her, with hooded eyes that give him analmost laconic air even as he imparts this dire news. “A month ago, I’d reckon.We’ve been trying to hold things together since then.”

“It’s like trying to build a house with balsa and bootlace,”one of the others volunteers, a girl Obi’s age that calls herself Yuzuri. “It’sjust not enough, not to keep up with as much as it’s spreading.”

“And there’s no physical reason for it?” Shirayuki asks,gaze sweeping around the sickroom. Three dozen able-bodied men and women lay onits floor, packed side-to-side, making no sound save for the harsh noise oftheir breath. “No grain left to wet, or rot in the well?”

Suzu shakes his head. “No, they just drop right in thefields like this, and only rise when the sun sets. If we get one to talk, it’sall in riddle and questions.”

“Riddles and questions?” Shirayuki stares at the endlessfield of patients. She does not need to turn to know how Obi is looking at her. “Do you mind if I try something?”

Shirayuki kneels at a patient’s side, trying hard not totouch. She doubts its communicable, but there’s no need to risk exposure.

“Tell me,” she says, voice level and stern, “what happenedto you.”

The man merely stares at the beams of the ceiling, unseeing.She notes that his pupils are blown; it is almost certainly a trance of somemeasure.

“Sir,” she begins again, “what has happened?”

“What is it you wish you could divine, cunning-child?” heasks, voice sing-song and cruel. “Do you wish to dance the mummer’s steps? Can you keep up, cunning-child?”

Her gaze flicks to Obi; seeing the way the muscle in his jawjumps. So it is as she thought.

Ah, how cursed it can be to be right.

“Do you –” Shirayuki hesitates, mulling the words around inher mouth. “You know what this is.”

Obi leans back against the sill of the window. Yuzuri foundthem a room to sleep in for the night, though it only had one proper bed. Whenhe’d balked at sharing, she’d found Obi a straw-stuffed mat to roll out on thefloor. Even now he eyed it warily; she doubted he’d do much but pretend tosleep until he could sneak out to the roof.

“I think we both do,” His gaze slants toward her. His eyesglow oddly in the moonlight, and his magic feels different tonight, thicker.The thousand layers jitter against each other, like dissonant chimes in thewind.

“Geasa.” It sits heavily between them. He must have knownshe suspected, even if they had never spoken of it. “Like yours.”

His mouth splits in a knife slash of a smile. “No, Miss,” hesays, amused, “not like mine. But a geas nonetheless.”

“Do you know what it is?”

His eyebrows lift in a mild sort of surprise. “Besides tolay abed all day and dance naked in the moon’s light?”

She flushes. Of course he would latch onto that part. “I mean its purpose. Or it’smaker?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m no help withsuch things.” His mouth cocks at a corner. “I’m not like you, Miss. I’m afraid I’m just cursed.”

Shirayuki wakes when the moon is high, light spilling through the windows as if it’s day. Something sits wrong in her belly, makes her wake nervous and full of dread, her hands shaking where they fist in the coverlet. She wants to tell herself it’s merely her imagination, merely the remnants of a dream, but she knows better now, now that she’s been beneath the mounds and felt the kiss of eternal summer –

She rolls over to see that Obi’s mat is bare.

That should not set her heart pounding in her chest. There are a thousand reasons he may not be in bed – namely because she does not believe he sleeps unless it might cause her some small inconvenience – but his absence makes the pit in her belly clench. Something is wrong, she can feel it; more than just the wrongness the geas has laid over the village. Something is wrong with him.

The scent of his magic still lingers in the room, metallic and heavy. She doesn’t know how he bears so many geasa; whenever she brushes against them it is as if she is being weighed down with a hundred heavy chains, all hungry to squeeze the life from her. Even still they are layered delicately, like a house of cards, all purposeful, and if another were to be added on by a less deft hand –

She needs to find him.

She does not have to go far.

For a man who is usually so stealthy, his trail is easy to follow. She finds a glove just outside their door, and then another, a boot at the door…

It keeps going until she finds his belt in a bed of pansies, a few steps further his shirt –

“Obi!” she shrieks, rushing to him. His hands are already at the waist of his trousers. She’s too late to stop him, but just in time to see him pull just so at the closures so that the buttons spring free at once.

He was not joking all those months ago when he said small clothes ruined the line of his trouser.

“O-oh,” she gasps, desperate to look anywhere else. She had not – oh my –

He slides his hands under the material, working it down over his hips, and –

“Obi!” She grasps at his wrists, tries to pull his hands away, but his arms are steel. So is the rest of him, she notices, pressed so close to him. How had she never noticed this all the times she had stitched him back together?

“Obi, please, stop!” she begs, breathless. The movements of his arms drag her against him, and she feels it press into her belly – “What are you doing?”

Well, that was foolish.

“My lady,” he growls, his hands closing on her own wrists, holding them behind his back. One eyebrow arches, and his mouth cants in such a familiar way. “What would you like me to be doing?”

She tries to make words, but they fail her with him so close, with the scent of him – not his geasa, but him – filling her nose. “I –”

He bends, and she has no time to react before his mouth seals over hers, before heat thunders through her veins to throb between her legs. This is not – she does not – she has never –

Her hands curl against the muscles of his back; he is so strong, so much stronger than her, and she is helpless when his tongue swipes over the inside of her mouth, when it slides so tauntingly over her own. She can taste his magic on her tongue; copper and pine for before, the honeyed taste of Izana’s bonds, and – and –

A bitter bite of cold.

She pulls back. He lets her.

“Obi?” she says against his lips, her eyes only just open, meeting the dark sliver of his own gaze.

“Miss,” he rumbles, and she feels it through her palms, feels it where his hands rest on either side of her hips.

And then she feels cold all down her front and –

His pants drop into the grass. She valiantly refrains from looking at – at what is now so very hard to miss.

With one last grin, he lurches past her, going to join the other revelers, and she – she watches him leave. She’s only human.

The chill still lingers on her tongue. Time to fix this.

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selectingalexander-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter 4

IT WAS FRIDAY, SO THE Illéa Capital Report would be on at eight. We weren’t exactly obligated to watch, but it was unwise to miss it. Even Eights—the homeless, the wandering—would find a store or a church where they could see the Report. And with the Selection coming up, the Report was more than a semi-requirement. Everyone wanted to know what was happening in that department.

“Do you think they’ll announce the winners tonight?” Milo asked, stuffing mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“No, dear. Everyone who’s eligible still has nine days to submit their applications. It’ll probably be two more weeks until we know.” Mom’s voice was the calmest it had been in years. She was completely at ease, pleased to have gotten something she really wanted.

“Aw! I can’t stand the wait,” Milo complained.

He couldn’t stand the wait? It was my name in the pot!

“Your mother tells me you had quite a long wait in line.” I was surprised Dad wanted in on this conversation.

“Yeah,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting that many guys. I don’t know why they’re giving people nine more days; I swear everyone in the province has already gone in.”

Dad chuckled. “Did you have fun gauging the competition?”

“Didn’t bother,” I said honestly. “I left that to Mom.”

She nodded in agreement. “I did, I did. I couldn’t help it. But I think Alexander looked good. Polished but natural. You are so handsome, honey. If they really are looking through instead of picking at random, you have an even better chance than I thought.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “There was that guy who had so much makeup caked on he looked like he belonged in a bakery. Maybe the prince likes that kind of thing.”

Everyone laughed, and Mom and I continued to regale them with commentary on the outfits we’d noticed. Milo drank it all in, and Gerad just sat smiling between bites of dinner. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as long as Gerad had been able to really understand the world around him, things had been stressful in our house.

At eight we all piled into the living room—Dad in his chair, Milo next to Mom on the couch with Gerad on her lap, and me on the floor all stretched out—and turned the TV to the public access channel. It was the one channel you didn’t have to pay to have, so even the Eights could get it if they had a TV.

The anthem played. Maybe it’s silly, but I always loved our national anthem. It was one of my favorite songs to sing.

The picture of the royal family came into view. Standing at a podium was King Clarkson. His advisers, who had updates on infrastructure and some environmental concerns, were seated to one side, and the camera cut to show them. It looked like there would be several announcements tonight. On the left of the screen, the queen and Prince Maxon sat in their typical cluster of thronelike seats and elegant clothes, looking regal and important.

“There’s your boyfriend, Alex,” Milo announced, and everyone laughed.

I looked closely at Maxon. I guess he was handsome in his own way. Not at all like Aspen, though. His hair was a honey color, and his eyes were brown. He kind of looked like summertime, which I guess was attractive to some people. His hair was cropped short and neatly done, and his gray suit was perfectly fitted to him.

But he sat way too rigidly in his chair. He looked so uptight. His clean hair was too perfect, his tailored suit too crisp. He seemed more like a painting than a person. I almost felt bad for the guy who ended up with him. That would probably be the most boring life imaginable.

I focused on his mother. She looked serene. She sat up in her chair, too, but not in an icy way. I realized that, unlike the king and Prince Maxon, she hadn’t grown up in the palace. She was a celebrated Daughter of Illéa. She might have been someone like me.

The king was already talking, but I had to know.

“Mom?” I whispered, trying not to distract Dad.

“Yes?”

“The queen … what was she? Her caste, I mean.”

Mom smiled at my interest. “A Four.”

A Four. She’d spent her formative years working in a factory or a shop, or maybe on a farm. I wondered about her life. Did she have a large family? She probably hadn’t had to worry about food growing up. Were her friends jealous of her when she was chosen? If I had any really close friends, would they be jealous of me?

That was stupid. I wasn’t going to be picked.

Instead I focused on the king’s words.

“Just this morning, another attack in New Asia rocked our bases. It has left our troops slightly outnumbered, but we are confident that with the fresh draft next month will come lifted morale, not to mention a swelling of fresh forces.”

I hated war. Unfortunately, we were a young country that had to protect itself against everyone. It wasn’t likely this land would survive another invasion.

After the king gave us an update on a recent raid on a rebel camp, the Financial Team updated us on the status of the debt, and the head of the Infrastructure Committee announced that in two years they were planning to start work on rebuilding several highways, some of which hadn’t been touched since the Fourth World War. Finally the last person, the Master of Events, came to the podium.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Illéa. As you all know, notices to participate in the Selection were recently distributed in the mail. We have received the first count of submitted applications, and I am pleased to say that thousands of the wonderful men in Illéa have already placed their names in the lottery for the Selection!”

In the back corner Maxon shifted a little in his seat. Was he sweating?

“On behalf of the royal family, I would like to thank you for your enthusiasm and patriotism. With any luck, by the New Year we will be celebrating the engagement of our beloved Prince Maxon to an enchanting, talented, and intelligent Son of Illéa!”

The few advisers sitting there applauded. Maxon smiled but looked uncomfortable. When the applause died down, the Master of Events started up again.

“Of course, we will be having lots of programming dedicated to meeting the young men of the Selection, not to mention specials on their lives at the palace. We could not think of anyone more qualified to guide us through this exciting time than our very own Miss Gabrielle Fadaye!”

There was another smattering of applause, but it came from my mom and Milo this time. Gabrielle Fadaye was a legend. For something like twenty years she’d done running commentary on Grateful Feast parades and Christmas shows and anything they celebrated at the palace. I’d never seen an interview with members of the royal family or their closest friends and family done by anyone but her.

“Oh, Alexander, you could meet Gabrielle!” Mom crooned.

“She's coming!” Milo said, flailing his little arms.

Sure enough, there was Gabrielle, sauntering onto the set in her crisp blue suit. She was maybe in her late forties, and she always looked sharp. As she walked across the stage, the light caught on the pin on her lapel, a flash of gold that was similar to the forte signs in my piano music.

“Goooood evening, Illéa!” she sang. “I have to say that I am so honored to be a part of the Selection. Unfortunately for me, they aren't women this time around.” She winked at us through the camera. “But before I get to meet these lovely men, one of which will be our new prince, I have the pleasure of speaking with the man of the hour, our Prince Maxon.”

With that Maxon walked across the carpeted stage to a pair of chairs set up for him and Gabrielle. He straightened his tie and adjusted his suit, as if he needed to look more polished. He shook Gabrielle’s hand and sat across from her, picking up a microphone. The chair was high enough that Maxon propped his feet on a bar in the middle of the legs. He looked much more casual that way.

“Nice to see you again, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Gabrielle. The pleasure is all mine.” Maxon’s voice was as poised as the rest of him. He radiated waves of formality. I wrinkled my nose at the idea of just being in the same room with him.

“In less than a month, thirty-five men will be moving into your house. How do you feel about that?”

Maxon laughed. “Honestly, it is a bit nerve-racking. I’m imagining there will be much more noise with so many guests. I’m looking forward to it all the same.”

“Have you asked dear old dad for any advice on how he managed to get ahold of such a magnificent spouse when it was his turn?”

Both Maxon and Gabrielle looked over to the king and queen, and the camera pAnseld over to show them looking at each other, smiling and holding hands. It seemed genuine, but how would we know any better?

“I haven’t actually. As you know, the situation in New Asia has been escalating, and I’ve been working with him more on the military side of things. Not much time to discuss romance in there.”

Mom and Milo laughed. I suppose it was kind of funny.

“We don’t have much time left, so I’d like to have one more question. What do you imagine your perfect boy would be like?”

Maxon looked taken aback. It was hard to tell, but he may have been blushing.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I think that’s the beauty of the Selection. No two men who enter will be exactly the same—not in looks or preferences or disposition. And through the process of meeting them and talking to them, I’m hoping to discover what I want, to find it along the way.” Maxon smiled.

“Thank you, Your Highness. That was very well said. And I think I speak for all of Illéa when I wish you the best of luck.” Gabrielle held out his hand for another shake.

“Thank you, ma'am,” Maxon said. The camera didn’t cut away quick enough, and you could see him looking over to his parents, wondering if he’d said the right thing. The next shot zoomed in on Gabrielle’s face, so there was no way to see what their response was.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for this evening. Thank you for watching the Illéa Capital Report, and we’ll see you next week.”

With that, the music played and credits rolled.

“Alexander and Maxon sitting in a tree,” sang Milo. I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him, but I couldn’t help laughing at the thought. Maxon was so stiff and quiet. It was hard to imagine anyone being happy with such a snob.

I spent the rest of the night trying to ignore Milo’s teasing, and finally went to my room to be alone. Even the thought of being near Maxon Schreave made me uncomfortable. Milo’s little jabs stayed in my head all night and made it difficult for me to sleep.

It was hard to pinpoint the sound that woke me, but once I was aware of it, I tried to survey my room in absolute stillness, just in case someone was there.

Tap, tap, tap.

I turned over slowly to face my window, and there was Aspen, grinning at me. I got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, shutting it all the way and locking it. I went back to the bed, unlocking and slowly opening my window.

A rush of heat that had nothing to do with summer swept over me as Aspen climbed through the window and onto my bed.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, smiling in the dark.

“I had to see you,” he breathed into my cheek as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down until we were lying side by side on the bed.

“I have so much to tell you, Aspen.”

“Shhh, don’t say a word. If anyone hears, there’ll be hell to pay. Just let me look at you.”

And so I obeyed. I stayed there, quiet and still, while Aspen stared into my eyes. When he had his fill of that, he went to nuzzling his nose into my neck and hair. And then his hands were moving up and down my waist to my hip over and over and over. I heard his breathing get heavy, and something about that drew me in.

His lips, hidden in my neck, started kissing me. I drew in sharp breaths. I couldn’t help it. Aspen’s lips traveled up my chin and covered my mouth, effectively silencing my gasps. I wrapped myself around him, our rushed grabbing and the humidity of the night covering us both in sweat.

It was a stolen moment.

Aspen’s lips finally slowed, though I was nowhere near ready to stop. But we had to be smart. If we went any further, and there was ever evidence of it, we’d both be thrown in jail.

Another reason everyone married young: Waiting is torture.

“I should go,” he whispered.

“But I want you to stay.” My lips were by his ears. I could smell his soap again.

“Alexander Singer, one day you will fall asleep in my arms every night. And you’ll wake up to my kisses every morning. And then some.” I bit my lip at the thought. “But now I have to go. We’re pushing our luck.”

I sighed and loosened my grip. He was right.

“I love you, Alexander.”

“I love you, Aspen.”

These secret moments would be enough to get me through everything coming: Mom’s disappointment when I wasn’t chosen, the work I’d have to do to help Aspen save, the eruption that was coming when he asked Dad for my hand, and whatever struggles we’d go through once we were married. None of it mattered. Not if I had Aspen.

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