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#another day of wishing I could magically make my family not poor
restinslices · 2 months
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Everything
PJO Show Ares x Child!Reader (no gender specified)
Word count: 2459
Summary: Ares supposedly hates kids, so it’s really strange that he comes when you call. (Do not let the summary fool you, this is not fluff. Based on a dream I had a couple days ago. Warning for possible ooc Ares and brief mentions of abuse. Blink and you’ll miss it type shit)
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“I don't wanna say”, Grover fingers fidgeted with each other as he purposefully avoided eye contact with you. 
“We're friends, right?”
“Of course!”
“Then you have to tell me! You spoke to my father, I gotta know what he said! What was he like? I bet he was really cool! Man, I wish I could've been there and talked to him”, you looked down at your shoes and added more misery to your face than was necessary. It was extremely childish and petty but Grover kept refusing to tell you what your father Ares was like. You had to know though. You doubted he brought you up, but you still wanted to know what he said and what he was like when he was just out and about. Grover had the opportunity to have a long talk with him and that was something you'd kill and suffer for. 
“I doubt you'd wanna do that” he mumbled, but you heard him. 
“Why'd you say that?” You asked. 
Grover refused to expound on what he meant… at first. 
Everyone knew Grover couldn't hold water so it didn't take too much prodding before he spilled his guts. 
The memory replayed in your head more than you'd like to admit, and if it were up to you, you'd no longer be a half blood. 
It made you feel pathetic. Tons of gods- no. All the gods were shitty parents. After all, they had children with mortals and left the children on Earth, knowing they'd be hunted down. Plenty of half bloods died in a gruesome painful way and at a young age. Plenty of gods never claimed their children, even if they made it to Camp Half Blood. But Ares did claim you, so you assumed that that meant he cared for you in some way. He even gifted you with a double sided sword. Surely, he must've loved you. 
You were foolish and you hated how foolish you were. You should've known he didn't care. He left you here with mortals and watched as your home life got worse and worse which was due to multiple factors including a piss poor mother and step family, the aura children of Ares give off that makes people around them experience rage and of course the random monster attacks that your family blamed you for. It was as if they thought you begged Ares to be his child. As if you'd ever do something as stupid as that. 
The rain soaked through your hood, making your hair all wet and gross. You were an idiot. You tried coming home for the school year, thinking maybe your family changed. They said they did. They tended to lie a lot though. You got into a huge fight and stormed out and you were in such a hurry that you completely forgot to grab your pouch full of drachmas and you didn't wanna step another foot in that house. So now here you were, outside with freezing cold hands that couldn't be warmed because your hoodie was soaking and you couldn't call Chiron. Perfect.
You checked your pockets once again, hoping to find something other than the lighter and fruit roll up that was there but alas, nothing magically appeared. You held the two objects in your hand and an idea formed in your mind. 
You could always set the fruit roll up on fire as an offering. You could pray to your father and hope he hears you and sends you something to help. 
No. That's incredibly stupid. Could you even light a fruit roll up on fire? It didn't matter. Not only was that the stupidest offering ever but you refused to pray to him. You'd rather sleep out in the rain then sneak inside when your family was gone to get your shit. 
You put the two objects in your pocket and let your head rest on your knees, exhaustion hitting. It wasn't even physical exhaustion. It was all mental and emotional. Like a leech was sucking on you constantly. Or a vampire. You'd prefer that. At least you'd die quicker. 
The hum of a motorcycle filled your ears, getting closer and closer. Best case scenario, it was a neighbor. Worst case scenario, it was a murderer. Honestly, you'd welcome both. 
The hum stopped and a familiar voice made you look up, “rough night”. 
It was him. Ares. God of war. Father to who knew how many. It was someone you definitely did not want to see… or so you thought. Part of you absolutely despised him now and everything to do with him and wanted to rip him apart. The other part of you though still felt an immense amount of joy when you saw him and you wanted to cling to him like a child clings to its favorite toy. If you were alone, you would've screamed. 
Then a thought crossed your mind. You didn't burn anything. You didn't make an offering. 
“You were going to” he said, seeming to read your mind. 
“Why are you here?” you managed to get out after some time of just staring at him. 
“Why do you think I'm here?” he asked and you could tell by his tone he meant it sarcastically. Like “the reason is so obvious. Stop being stupid”. 
Something about that sarcastic and irritated tone made you think back to what Grover told you. 
“Why don't you like me?” You asked and you hadn't meant to. It was supposed to stay in your head. 
He squinted his eyes at you and looked you up and down, “what?”. 
You could've let it go. You could've said nevermind, thanked him and let him help. You couldn't though. You didn't know when you'd have this chance again (the camp visited them but damn, there was a lot of you) and if you did something to make him not like you, you wanted to fix it. But that wasn't your job, right? Parents are supposed to care for their kids. 
You did that a lot. Your mind juggled opposite thoughts and it drove you insane. This was just the latest bit of juggling you'd been doing. 
“Grover said he spoke to you-”
“Who is Grover?”
“Percy's friend. The satyr”. A look of anger flashed in his eyes. You knew he remembered Percy. You didn't give him time to start yelling about the 12 year old that beat him in a fight. “Grover said that he spoke to you. I asked what it was like and he said that you said that you hate kids. Even your own. And when we visit, it's the worst day of the year. So, I was just wondering why you don't like me. Is it something I've done?”. 
Ares just rolled his eyes and sighed, “you're taking that personal?”. 
“It's kinda hard not to”. 
“I came to take you back to camp, not talk about whatever crisis you're having right now”. 
You didn't know if you were angry because of what he said, or because of his effect on others. Either way, blood started rushing to your head. “I'm not asking for a lot. I'm asking for an answer. A simple answer. Why don't you like me?”
“I don't like any of my kids”
“And that makes it better?” You asked in disbelief. Ares just stared at you, emotion void on his face. 
“Why do you do this? You keep having kids even though you hate them. Why?”. 
“It's not that simple and I don't have to explain anything to you”. You wished he'd show emotion. Any sliver of it. He was too calm, too numb. You'd prefer him yelling at you but nothing seemed to phase him. He was talking to you the same way you'd talk to a toddler. 
“It is incredibly simple. Just stop having sex with mortals. You already have Aphrodite -who is a married woman but whatever-” you rushed the last part. You didn't particularly care for the affairs between the gods. “How could your eyes possibly wander?”. 
Seeing him show a sliver of anger when you mentioned Aphrodite only filled you with more rage. That’s what angered him? That’s what got emotion out of him? “Really? That's what gets you? What about me being drenched?”
“You chose to come out here” he said through gritted teeth. If you knew Aphrodite was the key to him showing any piece of human emotion, you would've brought her up earlier. 
“I didn't choose this!” Your voice rose, “I didn't choose to be abandoned by my father and be stuck with a dysfunctional family for the rest of my life. You should be angry at that, not me mentioning Aphrodite. You should be enraged at the thought of anyone putting their hands on me and your hands should be covered in their blood! That is how it should be”. 
“Believe it or not the gods aren't too keen on the idea of killing mortals”
“But turning them into various objects and ruining their lives when it's a boring Tuesday is ok?”. His face went back to being blank and emotionless and your plan to stop talking was scrapped. You weren't even sure what you wanted. You wanted him to show something besides anger. Sadness? Regret maybe? Just something to show that maybe, just maybe, he cared deep down and regretted leaving you. 
“None of us asked for this. You all just decide to create and leave us. And you hating the people you created is… I don't know. And it's so stupid that I've spent years of my life trying to get you to be proud of me, only for it to be impossible!”. 
“I claimed you didn't I?” he defended himself, but you scoffed. 
“That's the bare minimum dad! That's like saying your kids should be grateful because you feed them!” You were full on screaming by now and you wouldn't have been surprised if a neighbor came out to see what the fuss was about. “I don't even know why I'm having this conversation with you. You probably hate being called 'dad’ and you don't care. You're never gonna get it”
“I try everyday to make you see me and you do everything in your power to not see me. To not see any of us. I would work myself to death for you. I would betray anyone close to me for you. If you asked me to burn down the world for you, I would. If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”. 
You couldn't tell if your face was wet from the rain, or from tears of sorrow and anger. It could've been both. Your eyes certainly stung and you hated it. You knew you had every right to be frustrated, but you hated how weak it made you feel. The children of Ares weren't supposed to cry. They were supposed to be headstrong and fight their enemies. They were supposed to be fierce warriors capable of bringing armies down to their knees. They were meant to shed blood, not tears. 
You thought for a second you saw an emotion cross his face. You couldn't pinpoint it though. It happened too fast and there was a good chance you were imagining things. 
“You can go. I'd rather sleep in the rain. I wouldn't wanna be even more of a burden” you spat with such venom you didn't know it was possible. Sure, you could have a bit of a temper but this felt different. It wasn't just anger or annoyance. There was a mix of grieving. 
It went silent for awhile, and the adrenaline you felt slowly went down. Reality started to sink in. You just yelled at a god. People who were known to cause destruction for something as small as “I think my shoes are better than yours”. 
“Are you gonna curse me? Or, I don't know, strangle me with my own shoe laces?”. Ares reached into his pocket and you looked away and closed your eyes. You expected to feel a burning sensation. That's what you assumed being cursed was like. A burning sensation and then you'd lose a limb or something. 
All you felt was something land on your lap. You looked down and saw a red pouch with gold string keeping it closed. You looked up at him, but he didn't say anything. You untied the string and opened the pouch and inside laid a pile of drachmas. 
Now he spoke, “call Chiron or whoever else works at that camp. Don't die out here”. 
“You're leaving?” You asked. You didn't know why you were disappointed. You should've been happy. After all, you just went off on him about how shit he was. 
“I have a busy schedule”. You wanted to ask if he'd be seeing the married woman he slept with or another unfortunate mortal, but you figured you pushed your luck enough today. 
“Thanks uhh…” you debated on calling him dad but instead you called him by his name. “Ares”. Then you remembered some gods could be particularly upset when you used their name. “God of war and all those other honorifics”. 
“Yeah” was all he said before he sped off, leaving you alone once again. You didn't know what he was saying “yeah” to but you didn't have enough time to ask and he probably wouldn't even answer. 
You called Chiron and asked to be brought back to camp but you didn't tell him about the conversation you had with Ares. 
You couldn't get the conversation out of your head, even after you showered and laid down to finally get some rest. 
Of course you kept thinking about the conversation and how lucky you were Ares didn't throw you into the street and run you over. 
Another thing stayed on your mind though. 
You didn't give an offering. You were told the gods would listen if you burned something that mattered, like the thickest piece of meat on your plate. You weren't sure they were actually listening and honestly you thought it was a real asshole condition. 
All you had was some stupid candy and you didn't even burn that and the minute you thought about it, he appeared like he was already watching. 
But you doubted he was watching. You doubted he listened to your prayers at all. 
You were one of his children which was something he hated. He'd claim you, possibly send a gift then be done with you. He didn't listen to you anymore. He didn't watch over you anymore. 
It was a coincidence. That's all it was. 
You were sure of it. 
At least, you tried to be. 
This is definitely ooc Ares but YA’LL KNOW I’M A LITTLE FUCKING SLOW! BE PATIENT WITH ME GOTDAMMIT😭 If you saw any errors, no you did not. I already proofread it once and I don’t feel like doing it again like I typically do. It’s 1am. I should be asleep.
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ystrike1 · 6 months
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Reforming My Regretful Husband - By Leeritae (5/10)
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An extremely awkward, overpowered yandere. They aren't for everyone, but there is plenty of blood and drama in this reincarnation story. It is too stereotypical though. Neither of the main leads are relatable, and the art quality drops fast.
Corina is a pretty orphan protagonist with magical powers. One night she ends up in bed with a handsome Duke, who immediately becomes obsessed with her. He uses her possible pregnancy as an excuse to kidnap her, and declare her his fiance. Ertein Belcita is an incomprehensible man with way too much power. He often leaves his orphan wife alone, with his vengeful relatives. They obviously do not want their beloved genius war weapon to taint his perfect bloodline with...orphan genes. Corina is relentlessly bullied by everyone when Ertein isn't present. Eventually she has a miscarriage and she leaves him for the master of the magic tower, which makes sense because they are both passionate about magic.
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Our actual main character is an unbearable fangirl who loves yandere red flags. She resents Corina for choosing a man she actually likes, and she wishes Corina toughed it out. Poor Ertein Belcita. He really did love Corina. He just wasn't what she needed or wanted...and that's totally Corina's fault...for some reason. Annoying fangirl gets the opportunity to become Corina, and she takes it.
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She feels so bad for Ertein Belcita. He begged for love. He wanted Corina and nobody else, but he didn’t get rid of the literal pack of anti-orphan bullies in the house for some reason. Ertein Belcita qualifies as an idiot yandere in my opinion. He didn’t bother to romance the pregnant orphan he fell for. He just dumped her in his castle, put a ring on her finger, and he went back to work the next day. Totally oblivious to the fact that he lives in a bubble where he can do whatever he wants. Regular people don't have that bubble. Corina suffered horribly in his home, and his sweet love made it worse...but nope Fangirl is going to make their marriage work.
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She genuinely hates Corina for choosing another man without psycho bully relatives. It's crazy. I could not believe my eyes. Fangirl loved watching Ertein Belcita get jealous. Like, crazy jealous. She never expected his crazy and childish jealousy to turn off the female lead. No. She was shocked when this story ended in divorce.
Nobody has a brain here...
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The story begins again AFTER Ertein Belcita is already yandere for Corina. So Fangirl doesn't even have to try to earn his love. How convenient.
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She is also most likely pregnant from DAY ONE as soon is she reincarnates into the story. This is so gross to me. I had the ick for entire chapters. I was frowning the whole time, but it keeps getting worse. This is fine as a train wreak, but I can't believe that I'm supposed to take this story seriously.
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He shows up to take her away from her shack, where she lives in squalor. Poor Corina! She was poor and loan sharks harassed her daily because she's soooo pretttyyyyy.
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In the original story Ertein Belcita was too busy being coddled to notice that his best friend Rebecca wanted to marry him for power. She was the leader of the bullies. Corina didn't speak up in the original story because....duh...
She's a penniless orphan with a rich man's child in her belly. Original Corina didn't want to end up on the street. She never dared to speak ill of Ertein Belcita's childhood friend, or his rude family.
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Fangirl is different.
She's brutal, and willing to use Ertein Belcita. I'm not saying it's not entertaining. It's great, but Ertein Belcita and Fangirl are not fun characters. Ertein Belcita is a yandere with no filter. When Corina gets insulted he makes the perpetrator throw up blood with his magic. That's cool. Too bad the tone constantly shifts between "complete joke" and "yandere gore".
Fangirl isn't embarrassed by things like pregnancy tests and bullies, because she does want to be with Ertein Belcita...unlike the original Corina.
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She's a total snake. Her story will end well. She'll have money, power, and worship from her favorite character. She'll get validation for being cruel, because everyone else is worse.
Stories like these actively make readers dumber, so proceed with caution. Treat this like junk food.
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treytheslay · 1 year
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Hi Author-nim! Could you please do my request? If you don't want, you can ignore it.
If yes, could you please do GN!MC as Lock from "Trash of the Count's Family"?
(sorry if i have grammatical mistake)
Have a good day/evening Author-nim ♡
oooh! Is that a webcomic? Trey's never heard of it before but Trey will do their best! Trey did some reasearch beforehand so it should be acurate? if it isn't I'm very sorry! You didn't specify what characters to do, So I'll just do the Riddle, Azul, and Jamil if thats okay!
GN! Reader!
HE LOOKS SO CUTE THO!!! AWWWW!
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Riddle
When he had first saw you, he figured you'd be just like Ace and Deuce, he was slightly correct, in a sense, as you weren't the brightest, and were quite naive, but when he spoke to you for the first time, he now realized you were more on the shy and timid side, you tried your best to follow the Heartslabyul rules, but you find it hard to memorize all 810 of them... the only one you only slightly remember well is "If you eat a steak on a full moon, a cat must play the violin."
He finds your naiveness slightly adorable, and how shy you get while speaking to him, because of this, he never thought that you had another side to you... Prior to Leona's overblot, during a fight with Jack Howl of Savanaclaw, you had entered your berserk mode and you shine out as a more delinquent like version of yourself, being stubborn and courageous, and insanely strong, you swung at Jack with your hands, which now had claws, your presense was threatening now, and he began to grow slightly scare of you... but after the fight you began to grow far too exhuasted to even move, Ace and Deuce carried you to the infirmary while dragging Jack with them so he could spill the tea on what the hell was going on with all the injuries happening around campus.
Azul
Oh dear... you poor, poor unfortunate soul... your naiveness is hilarious, falling for his tricks almost immediately, thinking he's trustable in the first place, but he also finds your shyness quite adorable, stuttering when speaking to anyone you come across like a shy little puppy... a perfect oppertunity for blackmail, pre overblot, he only saw you as a means for easy business, but post overblot, he's grown quite attached to you, praising you for your efforts and for helping him around the lounge, he feels so lucky to have someone as kind, yet so naive as you. He's at least lucky you've never used your berserk form on him, though the tweels say otherwise when reporting back to him...
Jamil
You're similar to Kalim... very similar. Besides the fact you can actually take care of yourself instead of relying on others, he first took advantage of your naiveness and weaknesses, luring you in to become a part of his plan to overthrow Kalim from his position as dorm leader, though it was quite difficult to get you under his unique magic, as you hardly ever make eye contact due to shyness, but the second you do, he's got you right where he wants you.
Post overblot, he treats you more like a close friend, if you're sick, he'll help treat you, you got injured and can't cook today? he's already got some dinner made for you and ready on your table. You do the same for him as well.
He only saw your berserk form once, and he never wished to again. The durastic change in your personailty and actions... he couldn't handle them well, especially since this was pre overblot. He had underestimated you and your strength. He still probably has a few scars and bite marks from when he fought you in full berserk mode, you tend to feel guilty about that, but he always says "No, no, I deserved it, really."
You always tell him to treat himself, and if he doesn't? You're treating him. You don't care how packed his schedule is, you'll deal with it later, right now, you're taking him to a nice resturant for dinner and treating him like a sultan for a day, which makes him quite happy.
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ellievickstar · 1 year
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Look Pretty (Eris x Reader)
A/N: I was listening to 2016 songs and Sit Still Look Pretty by Daya came one and let me tell you, inspiration is real. Shout out to Eris for choosing wisely. I really want to do an Azriel version. Idk. This follows the song quite closely, hence the lyrics in the dialogue. A lot.
Summary: After finding out your being betrothed to the Lord of Autumn in place of your sister Mor, you begin to visit the woods more often to have time to yourself when a hooded stranger meets you. 
Inspiration: Sit Still Look Pretty by Daya
Requested: Non-existent
Warnings: Beron Vanserra, Arranged Marriage, Mentions of domestic abuse
~*~*~*~*~
“You can’t do that!” You yelled as you stood from the table. Your father, Keir, had just broken the news that you were going to marry the heir to the High Lord of Autumn, Eris. Your father simply pursed his lips as he reprimanded you for your poor manners, you mother began to yell at you for not dutifully accepting that you need to play a part to extend your family power. You shook your head in disbelief as you stormed out of the room, telling them you needed time to think.
You walked down the long halls of the Hewn city as you made your way out of the castle and stormed to the forest on the outskirts of the city. Once you had gotten far out enough, you sat down as you looked at the beautiful night sky. A week. That’s all you had lefty before the High Lord’s son would whisk you away and make you his wife for the rest of eternity. You knew that the females in the Autumn Court suffered way more then the ones in the Night Court, you wouldn’t survive. You would be used as some breeding tool to breed powerful heirs because of your stupid magic.
You wept silently as you wished that things could change, that by some luck you could get away. But, after what happened with Morrigan, they kept tabs on you often and you weren’t allowed past the border in the forest from the Illyrian camps, you couldn’t get back if you tried because everyone would bring you right back and males would know to stay away from you so giving away your virginity was out of the question.
The sound of crushing leaves made your ears perk up as you wiped your face. “Why do you cry, young one?” A voice said, male. You rolled your eyes as you looked to the source of the voice, a hooded male. You debated sharing your woes to this stranger, ill talking your father was probably a bad idea, but you didn’t have anything left to lose.
You broke down as you told the male about the engagement, your powers, your restrictions, how you were forced into everything your whole life, how you had no control. Going to the Autumn Court would only make you more suffocated as people made you prepare and build you become the dutiful wife of the Young Lord of the Autumn Court.
“But, wouldn’t someone so beautiful as you want to be pampered your whole life? By marrying the Lord you would be set for life,” He stated. You only laughed dryly. “How are you so sure that means happiness?” You asked, he only stayed silent. You sighed as you looked back at the sky.
“I spent my whole life under the control of my parents, being spoilt might be what I’m used to, but I want fun. I want to make the wrong choices, I want freedom. And this,” You gestured to your gown and jewellery, “Isn’t it.”
“You don’t like a lavish life style?”
You pursed your lips at the question. “Not exactly,” You frowned s you considered your words carefully, “I love dressing up, but I’m not doing it for myself, I’m doing it for my reputation, for my parents, and marrying Eris…” You trailed off as your eyes darted from the male to the border of the Autumn Court far off.
“It would just be another guildes cage. I could always dress up and pretend, but, on the inside I don’t think I’ll be happy,” “Why? Many females would be happy to dress up in pretty jewels and call it a day, let their husband do all the work,” He questioned. You huffed again, annoyed at this prying and mosey male, but it wouldn’t hurt to explain.
“I could dress up to get love. But, I never will be that female,” You said disdainfully. “I could play dutiful wife and pretend that I need some strong male. But I don’t. Especially not a male who probably abuses his power and will treat me like some plaything, from what I’ve heard,” You corrected. He nodded, encouraging you to continue.
“I mean, I know that sitting around and only worrying about what I’m wearing is probably a dream for a lot of females, but I’m not a puppet, I’m a human and I want to…” You thought for a moment and the male cocked his head, intrigued. “Want to change the world,” You laughed at yourself, but he seemed genuinely interested. “Why?” He asked again. You shrugged. 
“Cause I want to,” You said, “Because that’s where I wanna be, I don’t want to sit still and look pretty,” You scrunched up your face as he laughed, it was genuine laughter, something you hadn’t heard in a while, and it wasn’t at how strange your dreams were, it seemed to be something else, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 
More footsteps approached and you sighed, it was probably the guards that were sent out by your father to make sure you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were about to bid goodbye to your new companion, but he had already left, only a note remained. 
~*~*~*~*~
The note had stated clearly that if you wished, he’s be back there the same time at night. You quickly gobbled down your food and excused yourself, telling your parents that you wanted to go for a walk, when your father had tried to protest, you simply explained that you wished to enjoy your last few days in the Night Court before you go to Autumn with your betrothed. He didn’t say a word after. 
You crept to the same spot that you had gone to the night before, and true enough, he was there. You could see the flash of a grin from under the heavy hood he was wearing and you smiled in return. That’s when he handed you a bottle. You sniffed it and recoiled at the strong scent of alcohol. 
“You seemed like you needed to let loose last night, so I brought alcohol,” He deadpanned. You looked at the awaiting bottle, and looked back at the male before grabbing it and gulping the contents. He chuckled as he reminded you to slow down. 
A few minutes of drinking in silence later, you finally caved to the wait of your struggled. “I don’t want to be a dutiful wife,” “You said that yesterday,” He hummed. You rolled your eyes as you sat down on the ground against a tree, he quickly joined you. 
“I mean, Eris could easily be the type of male that likes to control everything and that would include me, and I would much rather fly solo,” You whistled as you gestured a bird flying with your hands drunkenly. He smiled at you, and you giggled at your own actions. “There’s a children story,” He started, and you turned your head to look at him, “It’s called Snow White and there were technically seven men to do the chores for her,” He stated. You clapped as you agreed replied, “Because that isn’t what a lady is for,” You cheered. 
He chortled at you childish acts and you punched him lightly in the shoulder. 
“Even if he is nice, the only thing his father is going to give me would be captivity,” You mumbled, suddenly saddened at the thought. The atmosphere seemed to shift as he turned his body and rubbed circles on you back as you cried drunken tears. “You’ll be alright,” He promised and you sniffled while wiping your face. “How do you know,” You asked, he stayed silent before saying, “I just know you will change the world, Little flame,” And with that, he left. 
You didn’t see him the next night. 
Or the one after. 
~*~*~*~*~
The day you dreaded finally arrived as you dragged yourself out of bed that morning. You tried to look out the window to see if you could spot that familiar hooded male with the deep and enchanting voice. Nothing. You sighed as the handmaiden came to call you to the meeting room, it was time to meet your betrothed and then leave for the Autumn Court. 
You slowly entered the sitting room as you straightened your skirts, your eyes flitted from your father to the two red-headed males. Your father, introduced you smoothly and you bowed your head slightly, lips tightly pressed together. 
“She is rather young, isn’t she?” Beron mused as flames shot out, you were startled as a shield of starlight blocked the blow and created a shield of night around you on instinct. Dark starlight glowed in your hands as you raised you arms. You winced at the impact and he chuckled darkly, Eris remained seated as he kept a neutral expression. 
“Eighteen is old enough to have power, my lord,” You breathed as you lowered your shield and straightened your skirts again, the posture of ever-loving elegance and grace. He hummed in agreement as he motioned for your father to step out of the room for a moment. 
You sighed as you approached the seat allocated for you and turned your hands over as starlight glowed. Your eyes flitted to Eris and you were intrigued when you saw amusement glow in his eyes. 
“Quite the show there, little flame,” 
~*~*~*~*~ A/N: I AM FINALLY DONE WITH THIS :D There will be part 2 cause why not. BYE LOVES <3333 (Idk I’m very high on sugar today)
taglist: tag list: @moonfawnx @bankerfrog @younxii @starlit-terror @hideing@flightlesslittlebirdie @menagerofmischief @famousbasementpainter@owllover123 @cityofidek @gigisssz 
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The Princess and The Pilot • J.H.S • Sneak Peak
Synopsis: To be fair, Jake didn’t know Maya was the daughter of an admiral when they started dating. Or that her father was none other than Wilson “Hitchcock” Hayes, the legendary pilot famous for having a chip on his shoulder larger than the state of Texas and four sons who all graduated from the TOPGUN program. With her entire family set to come down to San Diego for her graduation, Jake enlists the help of his friends to woo his girlfriend’s family.
Warnings: swearing, angst(?), more to come
a/n: i have no idea if this series is going to pan out and i’m still writing my other story but i thought of this concept and i can’t let it go lol. also, i will be using a name because i don’t like using Y/N but i try to keep my characters as non-descriptive as possible because i want y’all to imagine her as whoever (whether it be yourself or a random face claim) :)
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“So, you really had no idea?”
“No.”
“And you just found out today?” 
“Yes.”
“You had to have known–”
“For the last time, Phoenix; no, I didn’t know and no offense, but this is really not helping my case here,” Hangman groans. He straightens his posture from where he was bent over the pool table and runs a stressed hand over his face. “I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
The group of pilots share a look before collectively turning their gazes to Bob, who’d been distracted by the cup of peanuts in his hand. He looks up to find them all staring at him expectantly, hoping he could provide a voice of reason. 
“Don’t look at me, I’m not the one dating the admiral’s daughter.”
Hangman’s shoulders visibly deflate as he sets aside his pool cue. He sits on the bar stool across from Coyote, downing his drink in one go in an attempt to ground himself. 
“I just don’t get it,” Phoenix says. “You knew her last name, she told you her dad was in the Navy, and yet you never made the connection?”
In hindsight, there were so many clues that could’ve told Hangman that her dad was not just an admiral, but the admiral. She’d briefly mentioned him being a Naval aviator when they’d first met, but the weight of his accomplishments didn’t strike her as something to mention off-hand. She rarely talked about him after that first time and Hangman never wanted to push, assuming that they probably didn’t have the best relationship.
Oh, how wrong he was.
“In my defense, it’s a common last name,” Hangman counters weakly.
“In the entire country? Maybe,” Rooster says, grabbing the abandoned pool cue and lining up his own shot. “In the Navy? You should’ve known, dude.”
“Thanks,” Hangman states flatly as he glares at his friend. He fiddles with the glass in his hands, wishing that if he stared at it long enough it would magically refill itself. He definitely needed another drink.
Payback, ever the mediator, chooses this moment to step in. “Look, man, I don’t know what you want us to tell you. If this were any other admiral, I wouldn’t see a problem, but this is Hitchcock. We’ve all heard the stories, his daughter’s like his pride and joy.”
Hangman knew his friend was right. Admiral Wilson “Hitchcock” Hayes was, in layman’s terms, a hardass. He notoriously ruled with an iron fist and anyone that stepped out of line under his watchful eye would have hell to pay. His ever-present scowl and booming voice were enough to make a grown man cry, as evident to the poor lieutenant who had gotten in his way on a particularly bad day. The one exception to his icy exterior was his one and only daughter, affectionately referred to as Princess by her father’s colleagues.
Princess, who also happened to be Hangman’s girlfriend of nine months. Go figure.
“Isn’t he stationed in Virginia? The hell is he coming to San Diego for?” Fanboy asks.
“Her graduation,” Hangman explains, but even the slight twinge of pride he got from the thought of his girlfriend completing medical school wasn’t enough to dull his anxiousness. “And it’s not just him, her entire family is going to be here.”
“You mean–”
“Yup.”
Payback holds out his full beer bottle towards Hangman. “I think you might need this more than I do.”
He mumbles out a thanks and takes a swig.
“If I were you, I’d worry about her brothers first,” Rooster says. “Because right now, you’re severely outnumbered.”
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sitp-recs · 6 months
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3 Tacky shorts to read this week
I ran against time to get this post out before midnight ET but am still a bit late 🥲 I know T won’t mind so here’s my belated gift to my sun and stars, my first and dearest partner in crime @tackytigerfic! T, I have no words to describe how much I appreciate our friendship. It’s been so special to experience this fandom with you in the last few years. I love that we immediately hit off and share one stupid brain cell when it comes to these idiots; it feels like we’ve known each other forever and 24 hours (especially living so far apart) is not enough to talk fic, headcanons, kinks, squicks and all other irl and existencial topics with you. Navigating such a big fandom can be really scary but even when nobody knew me I’d never feel lonely, invisible or like I had to pretend to be someone else, because I had you by my side. Thank you so so much for being my safe harbour, my sicko soulmate, my confidant, my role model and my biggest cheerleader!
As I thought of new ways to celebrate your day I tried to remember which fics I hadn’t written a rec for. I came to realize that I was never able to put my thoughts into words when it comes to my 3 favorite short fics of yours. They got me in such a Drarry fever, a tingling incoherent state of emotional devastation that I immediately put away the idea of doing recs because there was no possible way to translate my raw, ugly and chaotic feels about them. I tend to do this with fics that leave me with the so-called hangover once I’m done; funnily enough, the last time this happened - when I read Lettered’s By the Grace - it was you who helped me get that rec out by reviewing it and cheering me along the way, tysm 🥹 now it’s time to respond in kind and share love for these short gems that I have the privilege to revisit every time I need some comfort food. Lucky me, it turns out my best pal writes the exact brand of tender romance that checks all of my boxes. You are a fantastic friend and such a brilliant, talented writer. I love and admire you, and I’m so proud of everything you’ve achieved. Can’t wait to see what comes next. Happy day T! 💜
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👩‍🚀 Far Side + Relic Radiation (M, 1.7k)
Draco goes into space, leaving behind his son Scorpius (who has just started at Hogwarts, at least), and his not-quite-boyfriend Harry Potter. But Harry can't stop loving Draco just because he's approximately 408km up, in constant orbit.
“You’ll kill that plant,” Draco said, and flicked a lazy charm over the pot with his fingers so the spicy smell of the lavender sharpened the night air.
“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.
When I say the heart kick factor may hit you in the solar plexus when you least expect, this is what I’m talking about. I’ve obsessed so much over these 2 tiny shorts with single dad!Draco (one of the tropes Tacky does magic with, they are so disgustingly romantic and emotionally satisfying - gimme T’s dad!Draco anthology or give me nothing!!!) that I came up with a whole theory to prove these stories are actually connected. Whether I’m on the right track or just another delusional reader it’s yet to be seen 🤣 Draco’s devotion to baby Scorpius - and Harry’s gentle yearning for the both of them - does things to my poor heart I can’t quite put into words. Let that boy have his found family happy ending, damn it. Every time I reread these gems I get teared up and wish I could stay in this verse forever, watching Scorp grow while these two lovely men find each other time and again. To make your heart melt a bit more, check the breathtaking artwork by the one and only @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm. I cannot— *cries in Drarry*
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🏜️ Between the Power Lines (M, 3k)
For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy.
In New Orleans, they got drunk on Bourbon Street, and Malfoy danced on his own (arms bare, laughing; Harry could have watched him all night) and later on, so late it was almost morning, they let themselves into the St Louis Cemetery—Malfoy unpicking the lock so sweetly—and walked around until the sky was pink-edged with the promise of another day’s heat. Then they sat on the steps of a crypt, watched over by sightless eyes of the statue of an angel. She looked exhausted rather than sad, Harry thought, and that made a lot of sense when he thought about his own longstanding, dull-edged grief.
The best word to describe this (literally) hot fic is “atmospheric”. T does a flawless job building impeccable Americana vibes and packing so much story while keeping it 100% character-driven. I love the elegant, contained, confident writing, I love the evocative prose and how the mutual attraction bleeds through these quiet but intense road trip vignettes. The scenario is rich and immersive, the heat so palpable you can almost taste it, and the confession at the end is my definition of peak romance. A whole sensorial experience, both introspective and exciting, vibrant and melancholy, packed within 3k. Absolutely genius.
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🎯Aim For My Heart (M, 3.4k)
Harry's in love, Ron's in control, and Draco just wants a nice lunch. They say three's a crowd, but Harry doesn't always agree. Not when he gets to be in the middle, anyway.
Neither of them had asked Harry what he likes best about them, but Harry watches them and feels the sick curl of excitement low in his belly, like something lost and gained all at once, and he wonders what he’d say if they did ask; would it be mouth or hands or arse, the gleam of clean hair or the hidden scent of a freshly-revealed patch of skin, blue eyes or grey? He doesn’t think he’d tell them what he really loves the most, and that’s the fact that both of them have been his for such a long time, in one way or another, and he loves that he gets to keep them.
For reference, this will always be the Dronarry classic I refer to when I think about this ship. The way Tacky explored the implications and complications of a triad relationship in its early stages (I am so fucking weak for that mix of want, jealousy and vulnerability) combined with exquisite characterization is so well executed I could cry. Beyond that banger of a starting line (“Big hands,” Draco says, and blushes) that made me blush and squeal in delight, Harry’s POV is a triumph. He’s genuinely lovely and relatable in all his yearning and insecurities, soft and longing for both Draco and Ron. The ideia of him realizing that he gets to be loved by, and keep the two people he loves the most in the world, makes my heart burst with warmth. I can pinpoint all the small, quiet but meaningful moments that made my breath stutter and my heart beat faster. This fic is a masterclass in elaborating complex and conflicting emotions, while solving them with a light hand of tenderness and understanding. It is subtle but efficient and all-encompassing in a way that stays with you for a long time after you’ve finished reading. The perfect triad fic.
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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years
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Part One ¦ Part Two ¦ Part Three
Part Four - Cassian has a fever... and there's only one bed
A bruised purple sky had taken up residence above Cassian’s head. It had been snowing steadily for a couple of hours, but he could not go inside that cabin and bear witness to the sad life she had been condemned to. Why couldn’t he take this mortal to Prythian? There could be a place for her at the library. Her life would pass quickly like a comet streaking past the stars, but the thought of her spending every day alone here in misery was too much to bear. Rhys would scold him. Mor would make him bring the poor female back, likely traumatised. Az might see it from his perspective. He had in the past, when they were boys, and Cassian kept bringing home stray dogs and abandoned kittens, determined to give them a home. Az had been the one who helped him smuggle them into the house, past Rhys’ mother and into the bedroom. A female full of fire was decidedly more difficult to sneak home.
It had been a productive enough day filling up the log store for her. Cassian had felled a couple of young trees, throwing his shoulder behind them to help them crash onto the frozen undergrowth. For all of her fire, Nesta was a skinny thing with arms like twigs. He had to chop logs to half of the size he’d handle just to accommodate her weakness. There was no obligation to ensure she had a supply for winter but Cassian did not want to think of anyone suffering through a bitter winter. He had been there many times, knew how painful and miserable it could be. He would not wish it upon any, even a half-wild mortal.
When his hands glowed red from the cold, he finally entered the cabin. A blast of heat hit him. Nesta was tucked up on her bed, squinting slightly at the book she read under the dim light. A broth was simmering on the hob. It was more water than substance.
He sniffed at the steam. ‘Where’s the meat?’
Nesta stilled. She shared the same exasperated expression that Azriel often wore, though she was more dramatic with it. ‘Can you explain what aspect of exile you are struggling to comprehend? I cannot be in my village. I rely on the odd basket of food being dropped off to sustain me. Winter is hard. There are few vegetables. And as for meat, does it look as if I have a farm nearby? Do I look as though I am tending to the fields at dawn?’
One measly carrot chopped into thin slices floated in the broth along with chunks of potato. Cassian said nothing, merely slipped his boots back on to head out into the dark.
They were close to the Wall. There were holes in places that he could fumble through to find the Spring Court, but there was an expansive forest to pass through. He settled for the human villages instead in search of food. His magic was still lacklustre, sputtering like a rarely used tap. Without his wings, it was foolish to even approach the mortals, but he wasn’t having Nesta starving either. His movements were far more sluggish than he wanted. There was an ache in his shoulders, right down to the tips of his wings. Keeping them upright was beginning to fatigue him. He put it down to the ash still.  
Treading carefully, Cassian found a farm. He left a golden coin out of politeness in one of the chicken coops once he’d pilfered their supply of eggs and wrung three necks. It wasn’t late enough for families to be sleeping, so he avoided the homes with yellow lights illuminating them. One that was shrouded in darkness had a fairly good supply of food. Another coin was left for this family and Cassian had seized jars of pickled fruit and vegetables along with fresh ones.
When he set all the food down on the table, Nesta had stared at him. She stared and stared.
‘You’re a thief.’
‘I gave them coin!’
She gnawed at her lip, the scab still running through the centre of it where his wing had hurt her. ‘Coins won’t fill starving bellies. I don’t need all this food.’
‘Nesta, if those baskets stop coming, what will you eat?’ The female remained silent, her eyes wearied as she catalogued the jars of food he’d carried to her table. ‘I’m not having you starve.’
She surveyed him with that cool gaze of hers then jerked her chin to the narrow kitchen counter behind him. 'There’s tea for you.’
It was peppermint again and gloriously warm enough to chase the frozen feeling that had stiffened his fingers.
After he had drained the first cup, Nesta had tipped her had back in laughter.
Dread flooded his veins. ‘Have you poisoned me?’
The corner of her mouth curved into a smirk. Nesta did not answer immediately; instead, she resumed her systematic plucking of the chicken whose neck Cassian had wrung earlier. Her movements were rapid. The feathers were discarded into a pile ready to be repurposed.
‘Isn’t a bit too late to ask me that?’
‘Is it poisoned?’ He asked again, nausea rolling his stomach.
‘No.’ Nesta’s fingers were well-practised in preparing the chicken. It had been plucked quickly then she was preparing it on the side, not flinching at all from the innards. ‘Once you fill up the wood store, well, be on your guard, soldier. I’ll have no more use for you.’
Cassian chopped vegetables and add them to the broth. He was pleased to see Nesta using nearly all of the chicken; the bones were used for stock, the protein-rich gizzard added to the stew and the skin was hung over the fire to crisp up as a snack for them. The remaining two chickens were hung outside in the snow storm. It was coming down heavier now, the wind howling past the wooden walls of the cabin. Despite the fire, Cassian felt cold all the way to his bones.
‘Maybe I’ll stop filling up the wood so you have to keep me forever.’
The rhythmic sound of her knife hitting the chopping board ceased. In a quiet voice, she said, ‘You’ll be sick of me in a couple of days.’
‘I don’t think that’s true, sweetheart.’
She had rolled her eyes then added the chicken to the pot and let it simmer. Cassian caught her wrist before she could move by him. Her skin was so soft yet cold despite the fire. Her gown was not suited for winter. When Cassian returned to the Night Court, she’d be left to fend for herself. He had not seen proper winter boots nor a hat or scarf. Any other female would jump at the chance of returning to their families, but Nesta seemed in no hurry to return to her people. It shouldn’t have made him worry. This female should have meant nothing to him. She did mean nothing to him. It was his conscience telling him not to leave her unprepared for winter.
‘How did you know I was a soldier?’
‘Witchcraft.’
Cassian could not help himself from drawing her closer to him. She was weak where he was powerful, but little force had been required for her feet to edge towards him. There were mere inches between their bodies, and still he cradled her wrist with his bear paw.
‘With your size, I did not think you to be a graceful dancer.’ Her grey eyes roved over his face, snagging on the faint scar running through his eyebrow. ‘You have likely earned your tattoos – and your scars. You can cook too. Only men - mortal men - who have served in the army know how to cook.’
The observations on him were stunning. She’d sized him up well. ‘Anything else?’
‘You keep your boots tidy. You picked up my dress. And you said nobody had hit you so either you’re a soldier or one who gets into bar fights often. I think the former.’
‘I’m the general of my court’s armies.’
‘A general? And you still managed to be shot three times by mortals.’ The derisive snort Nesta emitted made his temper surge.
‘I was distracted.’
‘By?’
‘Nosy females.’
Nesta shook her head, mirth still brightening her expression as she filled a pot with the snow that had settled on the window ledge then began heating it on the stove. Just that sharp blast of cold that entered with the opening of the window had him trembling again.
There had been movement from Hybern. Their emissary, Amarantha, a foul sadistic female, had invited herself to Prythian. Although not their concern, Rhys had wanted a sweep of the mortal lands in case any of Hybern’s forces were pressing below the Wall. Cassian had been so concerned in his attentive search at finding hostile fae that he’d missed a mortal watch tower. Its fire had roared to life, signalling to the next post that a fae was spotted. He’d deliberated. It was always a mistake to second-guess his instinct, but he had to choose between snapping the neck of the next male at the next signal post or fleeing. To be a killer or a coward. It resulted in three arrows clean through his wings. He’d managed to fly a little further then hit the ground, get airborne, hit the ground, until the pain wracked his body too much and he’d landed on Nesta’s roof.
‘Can I use this?’ He was unsteady on his feet as he approached the bed. His teeth were beginning to chatter despite the flames leaping up to the chimney. With the speed that Nesta was throwing logs on the fire, she would get through her wood store in a handful of days.
‘Whatever for?’
‘I’m cold.’
A pain bolted from his groin to his stomach. Within that pain, was a strange sensation of pleasure. Too much pleasure that it hurt.
He whirled round, wrath seizing him, to haul Nesta off of his wing which her hand had been massaging, and pressed her against the bed.
His pulse had leapt. Hers too as it thumped against his arm. He had one arm wrapped across her chest, clinging to her shoulder, and the other held her hip against his body. Cassian was ready for her movements so never allowed Nesta to stamp her foot. Her heel flicked up aiming for his groin again, but this time, Cassian wedged her foot between her legs.
‘Get off me!’
The bitter taste of fear could be scented from the female. That fear pierced the red mist that had threatened to swallow Cassian. He was large and strong where she was tiny and mortal. Nesta was still bent over the bed, the mattress cutting into her ribs as Cassian kept her pinned. She had said she was a maiden; it was a comment that he had not paid attention to then. Now, he was acutely aware of the trembling body trapped against his own.
What the hell was he doing?
He relinquished his grip and stepped away, expecting fury to greet him.
With a pale face, she backed towards the wall, clutching a hand across her chest. She blinked quickly, trying to hide the silver rimming her eyes.
He’d terrified her.
***
The man dropped to his knees, regret drowning him.
‘I’m so sorry. So sorry.’ Cassian’s fingers flexed towards her then he withdrew the hand, thinking better of it. ‘Did I hurt you?’
It had scared her more than anything. One moment, her fingers had been inspecting the wound then he’d hurled her at the bed. It was a reminder that this fae was dangerous. Nesta was little more than a fly for him to swat.
‘Nesta, did I hurt you?’
She could not take the pain in his hazel eyes. This man could hurt her. Any man could. But this man had spent hours in the snow chopping food and stealing food for no reason except to help her.
‘Just made me jump.’
Cassian dipped his head in submission, black hair sweeping across his shoulders. She moved a step closer and lifted his chin with two fingers inspecting his features. A sheen of sweat lined his brow and his skin was duller than the morning.
‘You’re unwell.’
‘I’m freezing,’ he complained.
‘Sit at the table,’ Nesta ordered, frowning slightly. When he was sat, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. ‘You have a fever. I’m boiling the water to clean your wounds. Will you attack me again if I try to clean your wings?’
‘My people are taught from birth to guard their wings.’
‘Fae?’
Cassian dutifully removed his shirt on her orders though he shivered despite the searing heat of his skin. ‘Illyrians. We’re lesser fae. Looked down on by high-fae. My people have wings and rounded ears.’
Nesta stroked her thumb against the curve of his ear. Like a cat, his eyes closed at the touch.
‘When you touched my wings, I thought it was an attack. I didn’t hear you approach. That never happens. Wings are sacred to my people. Not even a casual lover is permitted to touch them.’
Involuntarily, her cheeks heated and she found herself unable to meet his gaze. ‘You let me touch them last night.’
‘To clean them. Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re the only female that’s ever had that honour.’
‘And how many males have there been?’
He shook his head with a laugh, but Nesta saw the exhaustion creeping into his expression. She hauled the blankets from the bed to drape around his front while she cleaned his wounds. It should have been done in the morning, but he’d seemed to heal much quicker so Nesta had presumed he was well.
The puncture marks on his beautiful wings were healing well. The skin was thinner, almost translucent as it repaired itself. Each time that her fingers touched his wings, she felt herself tensing in case an attack came. Cassian gripped the blankets to his chest, fighting against the urge to move her from his wing.
The worry was the wound in his shoulder. The arrowhead might have been dipped in poison for all she knew – Nesta wasn’t a healer. What she did know, was that the wound was infected. The skin was red raw and burning at her touch. The scab was black in parts and oozing in others. She washed it as best she could with the boiled water, using more tea tree to flush it out. There were no herbs here to make a salve so Nesta had to hope his magic would spark to life and heal him quickly.
When she presented a bowl of chicken broth to him, Cassian murmured a thank you but he ate slowly. There was a quiver in his hand as he brought the spoon to his mouth.
‘I didn’t think fae got sick.’
Cassian shook his head. ‘Our healers are skilled enough that we don’t often.’
Nesta watched with pursed lips as he spooned another few mouthfuls in, each one slower. His eyes had shut.
Only Elain had Nesta ever done this for. With surprising ease, Nesta prised the spoon from Cassian’s hand then fed him a mouthful of stew. She continued until the bowl was empty. Spoon after spoon went down his throat as she held his face.
Against better judgement, Nesta was peeling off his trousers and hanging them up by the fire before guiding the fae into her bed. Sweat stuck his black hair to his scalp, but still Cassian shivered as she tucked the blankets around him. She ate her stew alone at the table, keeping a wary eye on him as he slept.
The snow storm barrelled around the cabin like a juggernaut. Each howl of the wind had Nesta moving closer to the fire place. It was strange to consider how natural it had felt to move alongside this winged fae. Even in such a tiny space, Nesta had not felt as if she needed space from him. Their cottage was only slightly larger than this but she and her sisters were at each other’s throats constantly. It was a novel feeling.
Once Nesta had eaten, she added another gnarled log to the fire and slipped into her night gown. There was no possibility of her sleeping on the ground without any sort of blanket. The alternative was squeezing into the narrow bed with a fae – but this fae was snoring and his face was slick with sweat.
Using only the glow of the fire, Nesta climbed into the bed. She read for a time, comforted by the crackle of the fire and the whoosh of the wind hitting the side of the cabin. In between turning pages, Nesta pressed a damp cloth to Cassian’s brow. He shifted so that his wings were against the wall. The movement made her chuckle; even in sleep, he protected them. It did mean that his face nuzzled towards her arm seeking the wet rag to take the sting out of his fever.
When the fire was no more than embers, her eyes closed too.
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jumpybox · 1 year
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Future Mikey back in time
cus I'm still on about it and have another version for it so far so here are mainly stuff that happened during it so far...I'm always up for questions/suggestions/ideas to implement! Either one day I write it or try drawing it...but writing seems more possible for me hehehe...anyway!
Michelangelo after using all his mystic powers to open the portal , somehow ends up going back in time himself
Yet its not with his own body, no, his energy and soul ends up in the Mikey from that time, and it ends up in a dormant state
Mikey during the following months starts getting nightmares of Michelangelo's future/past and his mystic powers getting stronger each passing day
At first Mikey hides it from everyone but after a sudden surge of the mystic making his arms hurt a lot, he admits to his family that he seemed to not be able to control it
Mikey soon starts getting lessons from Draxum
A few weeks after Mikey starts that, the boys get into a fight with a new mutant villain that can control plants (its a sort of butterfly mutant) 
During one of the attacks, Mikey gets thrown against a wall and gets knocked out for a few seconds
Its during that time that Michelangelo finally wakes up, opening the eyes of the body he was in, only to groan in pain 
Michelangelo during all that time had been awake and knew what was going on, if anything he feared that the body he was inside wouldn't be able to control more of the mystic power.
So while he gets help from Leo to stand up, Michelangelo decided to use his mystic powers to put a stop to the mutant.
Of course he uses them flawlessly but at the same time he had meant to do that to try and …
Michelangelo tries to stop existing, he was aware that he couldn't be a part of his younger self, it was unnatural, not how it should go.
If anything, he was pleased during those months to have been able to see Casey again, starting a new life as a normal teenager should….or as normal as someone with PTSD from an Apocalypse could be
And...he was glad to see the rest of his family, he really was, if anything he wished his Leonardo could see all of this.
The body he is in, suddenly starts to lose consciousness and he can feel part of the mystic power go out of it, at least with that Mikey will be able to slowly be able to control the mystic powers instead of being some kind of ticking time bomb because of Michelangelo.
The body faints once more and this time Mikey doesn't wake up after three days.
Michelangelo had thought that he would finally reunite with his family but instead he wakes up with a startle, coughing out water and feeling his whole body in pain and hard to move.
He questions himself if death is supposed to feel like that but once he opens his eyes, he is met with a pair of heterochromatic eyes that have tears in them.
"THANK THE ALL MIGHTY YOU ARE ALIVE MY CHILD!" The loud voice makes Michelangelo whine softly and he can hear the person holding him gasp and whisper 'sorry' before cradling him close to a chest.
And that was the first time Michelangelo met Yua ('binding love and affection') , a witch-yokai that had been experimenting for decades in the hope of being able to make a child of her own
So sue her, she might or might not have stolen Baron Draxum's idea(or papers, you can’t prove anything, everything exploded that time...she might or might not have also something to do with the lab destruction... Again, no evidence found) of super soldiers mutant and instead of soldiers, just trying to make a family for her own to raise.
Of course she wasn't really an expert or knew what was missing, but she had ended up successfully being able to create a mutant child, a Red Footed Tortoise type.
Sadly the poor thing didn't seem to have a conscious of himself and even seemed to be in a vegetable state, yet Yua refused to exterminate him, he was the first to  survive of many other types she had tried before.
So after 10 years of taking care of the body of her child (making sure of taking him out of the magic filled tank she would put him in to help with keeping his body stable, to move his limbs and exercise them) the moment she didn't think would happened, happened and that was the awakening of her child.
Of course she had been worried, she hadn't even attached the breathing gas before he took a deep breath and started to choke.
So that's how it had happened and Michelangelo or Asahi/Nikkō( 'sunlight'/'sunshine') was once more living and in a new body at that. 
He isn't sure how to feel about this second? Third? Chance in living but he guessed that he had to keep his family waiting for him for a bit longer, because he wasn't about to leave his new mom alone...stars, she was a mess and she needed him.
Nikko has to admit, the first few months he starts living with her are a bit hard on his poor body, after all, the muscles weren't fully there yet and as much as Yua copy Draxum's notes, she didn't exactly make a super soldier, sure, his body is regenerating but is not as fast as if he had been in his old body, still he is happy to slowly start moving or crawling around the first few months
And speaking! Its hard because again, this body didn't have the chance to speak during those 10 years
Its after a year of rehabilitation, love and dedication from Yua that Nikko(Michelangelo) can walk a certain amount(with help of a cane) and talk 
And Nikko has to admit, Yua is the best parent he has met in all his life...well Splinter was a good parent too but...not good good, if he had to be honest.
Yua is from Japan but moved to the hidden city many decades ago .Why? Because she just got bored and wanted a new change in her life...and maybe because she had done something that had her kicked out of her Clan.
Nikko tries to ask about the Family, Clan, but he can tell that it is some kind of a sore spot for his mom, so he instead enjoys listening to her when she talks about other stuff.
Imma keep writing more but honestly I would love more ideas! Also sorry if some phrases sound weird, I talk more in Spanish than in English, so my mind just translates some stuff weird lol
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yoonoclock · 1 year
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head & heart | myg + jjk
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PART TWO
❝yoongi had your heart and your soul. however, after following the poor guidance of family, that bond was broken. years pass before another man walks into your life…reminding you what it felt to be in love. a man who surprises you more than you realize — jeon jeongguk. but all of that begins to falter upon the return of yoongi. what should you follow? your head or your heart?❞
• pairing: captain yoongi x female reader | knight jeongguk x female reader
• genre: fluff, angst, royalty au, fantasy au
• warnings: none
• word count: 3.5k
• tags: @seokjinkismet @princxssly82
• note: changed the banner! jungkook’s vampire shoot has me in a chokehold…anyways…the angst is increasing with this one! yoongi will officially return in the next update! also, i promise more of the “fantasy elements” will appear. it will slowly come to light with each part! let me know what you all think!
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PARTS
prologue | pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | pt.6 | pt.7 |
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The day moved in an agonizing slow motion. From the moment you woke up, you felt a heaviness on your chest that wouldn’t subside no matter what you tried — pacing back and forth, reading your favorite novel, searching the library of your mind for antedates regarding the darkness. Nothing. As much as the mystery and magic of a world unknown to you is, there is a grief that swallows you whole. 
Min Yoongi. 
How utterly pathetic does it feel to cling to the man of your past? How regret and love interact in a tangled concoction that makes no sense…leaving you far too conflicted to function. 
There is no possibility of change concerning your prior relationship with Yoongi. He has proceeded with a future of wealth and adventure. As for you? You are trapped in a family who couldn’t care less of your fortune. Why help you when they can tend to themselves? Perhaps it should destroy your heart, but it doesn’t grasp you quite the same as heartbreak. 
How pitiful. 
All that you desired was a new start in a direction you are uncertain of. What would you do and where would you find yourself blossoming? Only time will tell. However, time is not on your side today. 
It is clear that you had risen to the early morning where the sound of servants packaging traveled up the stairs. Nearly everything was put away or sold. What remained was the large furniture for the future tenants to claim. It easily impressed you at the speed in which all of this came together. Just yesterday it felt as if the world was still spinning for your fathers benefit. All it takes is for an entire twenty four hours to prove it wrong. 
You are intrigued by this process. It offers a breath of fresh air that could do you some good. 
Only some. 
“My lady,” Maude appeared startled by your appearance in the hallway. “I apologize for waking you.” 
“Please,” you dismissed her apology. “I am too burdened to find proper rest.” 
A moment's pause as Maude dove into work mode to supply for your needs. 
“Should I call upon a doctor?” 
You offered a smile, “Not at all. Seriously movement would do me some good. May I assist you in anything?” 
“I thank you for your kindness,” she bowed slightly. “However, we have everything prepared. All that is left is the bedding.” 
“You all work diligently.” 
It’s no surprise how tirelessly the servants work to supply for the needs of any household. From going to bed long past dusk to rising before the sun kisses the earth good morning, you understood the dedication. Every second poured into a family that may or may not care for you in the slightest. 
You attempt to understand their circumstances and abilities as individuals. Except in the end, you will never be the same. You forever will be nobility while they are not. Claiming to be one with the servants is untrue especially while you continue to be served by them. It’s a complexity that can never be navigated easily. Roles in society define who you are. Rank and fortune guide your lives. Quite absurd and unnecessary. You desperately wished it was something new entirely. 
There were a lot of things you wished were different. 
“Is everything in order with the new tenants?” 
Maude attempts to get your attention through a gentle cough. It doesn’t take long before you look at her in confusion. 
“I would assume so,” you furrowed your brow. “Is there a piece of news that I am unaware of?” 
Maude sighed, “Your father stated that you agreed to remain here to greet the new tenants while he and Florence travel ahead.” 
You roll your eyes. It comes as no surprise that they are quick to leave and force you to do the extra work. The less they have to ensure the better. As for you, who cares? All the time in the world exists at your fingertips. Nothing else encourages you to protest this request seeing as it was already decided. 
“Let the show begin.” 
The next few hours were filled with constant shouting from your father and Florence. Naturally, they had a great deal to say about the contents of the home they could not take with them. It became your sole responsibility to ensure that the new tenants would not ever touch the tapestries or roses in the garden. You smiled in amusement at their audacity. How could they dictate what happens with property that can no longer be claimed? It made you all the more content that you would make the journey alone. Hearing their persistent boastful words of vanity can and is draining. Witnessing this behavior since birth is more than you can bear. 
Peace is all you desire. 
“I assure you that I will make their stay here unbearable,” you assured your father. “In no way can they ever be comfortable.” 
“Precisely,” he nodded his head. “We can’t have peasants tainting our home.” 
“One day we will return and I intend to see it just as it is now,” Florence stated confidently. 
There is no confidence that they would learn to manage their finances any better. However, perhaps a persistent voice of reason is what will set them straight. Lady Frances is the only one to take on that burden. And a major burden it is. 
“The carriage is waiting,” you motioned out the open doors. “It is wise for you to leave hastily as the new tenants arrive shortly.” 
At those words, they immediately rushed out the doors to leave you alone in the midst of the final touches. Truth be told you had no idea when the guests would arrive seeing as it was quite early in the morning. Since all of your personal belongings had already been put away, such as your books, you turned to entertainment from nature. 
Unlike the previous night, you intended to wander the garden to gaze upon the final blooms of the season. You were careful to trace your fingers along the petals in admiration. Every part of it offered a wave of comfort. When you failed to find solace between the four walls of your bedroom, you snuck out to these intertwined paths. The memories poured over you as every significant life circumstance was felt here. Slowly weaving through the bushes, you expressed your emotions wholeheartedly. 
This is one of the few qualities you will miss about this home. You grew up here. From birth and into adulthood…surely, it is difficult to part with the entirety of your existence. 
Nonetheless, life continues. 
You can only cling to what is good and hope to escape what is not. 
Slowly you began to circle back around the way you came when you heard footsteps beyond the towering gates. Normally this was an entrance specific to those who reside here. It is unlikely the new tenants would approach the backside. Although it still was best for you to check so that whoever it may be does not wait longer than what is acceptable. 
Once you turned the corner to the point you could see the gaps through the metal frame, you immediately captured a glimpse of something familiar — glistening armor. 
“Jeongguk?” You ask in confusion. 
Clearly it was him but a part of you still held an ounce of doubt. At the sound of his name he shifted on his heel to meet your gaze. 
��Y/N,” he whispered before taking a bow. 
“Is everything alright?” You pushed open the metal doors until you stood several feet away from him. “Are you…well?” 
Jeongguk’s expression shifted, “Forgive me, my lady. I couldn’t help but wonder…” 
You furrowed your eyebrows, “Wonder?” 
“About you,” he finished his sentence. 
The way he spoke those words had an effect on you. It wasn’t a grand feeling or an emotion to be worried about. Instead, it is a fluttering that you forgot existed. Years have passed since you last experienced anything remotely close. Perhaps it’s the longing for any ounce of love that determines your responses. 
It has been 5 years….sigh. 
Jeongguk sensed that this may come off inappropriately so he stumbled over his explanation. 
“It is uncommon for me to interact with any person aside from those I serve,” he adjusted his stance in an attempt to ease his nerves. “Running into you offered a different escape I found to be like a breath of fresh air.” 
“That is high praise,” you offered a smile. “I do thank you for your kindness…as well as your company.” 
His eyes possessed an innocence not due to the lack of anything, rather, to the appearance of eagerness for life. Being limited to the same duty in honor of your king can take a toll. From surviving the same routine to protect (when no serious threat takes places) it can be a rather lonely livelihood. 
On top of that, he was built like chiseled stone statues that filled the halls of nearly every establishment under your cousin’s reign. As odd as an comparison this may be…he truly is a sight that your sister would consider “swoon worthy.” 
Doubt still happened to plague your mind, “Is our interaction that significant? I would assume that I am more of an obligation than a celebration.” 
“Every woman should be celebrated,” Jeongguk answers with no hesitation. 
You couldn’t help but release a loud laugh. 
“Quite a charmer you are,” you slowly move closer. “I can’t recall the last time I was this flattered.” 
Liar. 
You vividly remember the last time you had been flattered to the point of burying your face into your palms. It was after church where you were determined to walk in the rain back home to avoid the ongoing bickering between your sisters. Unwilling to allow you to travel by foot alone, Yoongi accompanied you. 
The rest is history. At least, that is what you should be claiming it to be. 
“I do desire to ask you a question,” Jeongguk built up the courage to proceed with his original goal. 
“By all means, please do share.” 
“Would it be premature to ask that we share further walks together? This time due to our own free will and not based on chance.” He presented it cautiously so as not to alarm you. “If this finds you well, of course. I do not intend on making you uncomfortable.” 
Your expression fell, “I fear this cannot take place as I am unfortunately leaving this home. I’m awaiting the new tenants before I myself depart.” 
Disappointment consumed his entire being. You took note of how his shoulders fell just slightly. Even in such thick armor, you were able to catch a glimpse. 
“Would it be appropriate to communicate by written letters?” He then offered an alternative that would suit this change in distance. 
You eased into a smile, “It would be quite appropriate.” 
“May I inquire about your new home? Where shall you reside?” 
“About a day's journey up north, to Beacon Village.” 
“I wish you safe travels, my lady.” 
“Thank you,” you bowed your head. “I look forward to our conversations.” 
“As do I,” he felt an ounce of hope despite the disappointment he expressed. “I hope you feel welcome to inquire about whatever it is you wish to know.” 
“The same can be said for you.” 
Before anything further could be said you heard the bells ring as it is not official that the tenants have arrived. You look to the gate as Jeongguk mirrors your actions. Your time together has ended. 
“Until we meet again,” Jeongguk pressed his right hand over his chest while he nodded a proper farewell. 
Slowly he watched as you returned back through the gates. Now disappeared from his sight. 
No matter what, he still showed you honor. It is embedded in his system that cannot be erased after one interaction. Truly he does hope that the future is in your favor. Being able to converse with you will add a new dimension to his life. Never once has he had this situation but he could not silence his mind when it came to you. Goes to show that the longing is very much active. Although he doesn’t want this to be the deciding factor. 
Yes, he has never given his affection to anyone. Except now he believes there is a possibility (with time). He is riddled with worry about how to properly convey this. Thankfully, he has discovered how understanding you are. 
He has hope. 
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“This is beyond what we envisioned.” 
It is no surprise that they have fallen in love with what was once your home. They traveled through every room to gaze in wonder of its design. When you see it through another person’s perspective, you soon realize what it is you are losing. 
A part of you aches but another part of you is relieved. 
The couple who is so captivated are exactly as Lady Frances described — a hard working husband and wife who are responsible. Captain Andrew and Miss Adaline are beyond kind. You are thankful that these are the individuals who are now taking ownership. 
“I am delighted in your contentment,” you stand back as they proceed through the back doors towards the thriving gardens. “Is there anything else you wish to see?” 
“My dear,” Lady Adaline grasped into your wrists in a gentle embrace. “We have a lifetime to discover all these wonders.”
“Yes indeed,” Captain Andrew beams. “I can see us finishing our lives here.” 
You admired their relationship. How beautiful it is to grow with the one you wholeheartedly love. 
“Must you leave us so soon?” Adaline turns towards you. “We are expecting our cousin, Captain Yoongi, to arrive. A grand dinner in our new home is required!” 
Oh. 
Yoongi is coming back. After all this time…Yoongi is truly going to return from the sea. 
“I thank you,” you forced a smile. “Unfortunately, I think it is best I rejoin my family to ensure all preparations are fulfilled.” 
Adaline nodded in understanding, “We are grateful to you. All blessings for you and your family.” 
Captain Andrew then stepped beside his wife, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “May you have a safe journey.” 
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The journey was long as it was gloomy. Not once did the sun appear for a heavy rain formed shortly after your departure. You mindlessly gazed through the glass of the carriage as all kinds of scenery passed you by. Even through the heavy veil of droplets, you managed to see through the grey haze. 
When hidden in loneliness for such a long period of time, it reminds you of how loud your thoughts are. These thoughts intertwine with memories you had assumed were barricaded. Now that Yoongi’s name had been mentioned numerous times in the last few days…it’s natural for the past to return to either bring comfort or haunt you. 
The rain. Rain holds a fondness in your heart. 
“I beg of you to be careful,” Yoongi voiced his concern the second you ran ahead of him. 
“Is the great sea captain afraid?” You called back through laughter. “Fear not, I am indestructible.” 
You could feel the ocean breeze pinch at your skin the closer you came to the shore. Fresh hair filled your lungs with new life that couldn’t be put into words. Everything about this destination evolved into your favorite comfort. Yoongi knew this well as he attempted to bring you here whenever it was suitable. No matter rain or shine, you adored it. 
That is one of many reasons as to why Yoongi cherished you so. His lifestyle was not ideal for many due to being away for months at a time…and now that he has accepted the offer as Captain, it proposes even longer journeys. When he is with you, time moves slowly. He soaks up every second possible so that the future can be bearable in your absence. 
“Would you look at this,” you beamed. “Water is also falling from the heavens.” 
The wet sand felt freeing beneath your bare feet. You began to twirl in circles with your arms spread outwardly. For a moment you closed your eyes to savor the growing blossoming sensation in your chest. Slowly you felt yourself losing balance. Before you could fall, Yoongi was right at your side to catch you. His hands guided you by your waist through a gentle touch. He stabilized you. 
You finally ceased all movement to then meet his warm gaze. The proximity between you two resulted in a warmth spreading along your skin. 
“Oh,” you blurted beneath a whisper. 
He searched your eyes for a moment, “May I kiss you?” 
“Yes,” you answer immediately. 
Yoongi scoots closer until his chest presses against your own. He shifts his right hand to your cheek, not before trailing his fingertips along your frame. Tingles shoot down your legs to the point of quickening your breath at this. Never once has anyone ever caused such a reaction. 
He angled his head to the side, “You are everything.” 
In an instant he feathers his lips upon your own. You melt into his touch, perfectly molding your mouths together. 
Every fiber of your being ignited into a burning passion. This is all you desire. He is what you desire. 
The carriage hit what appeared to be a rock in the path. Everything shook to the point of tearing you back into reality. When you blinked rapidly you came to see distant structures. You were almost there at your new home. Excitement should flood your veins but it is merely disappointment. 
Why are these visions and thoughts troubling you so much? Could it be that you truly were still in love or are you simply lonely? There is a lot of conflict in your heart. 
A major concern is the intent with Jeongguk. Is there intent for something beyond a friendship? No one can quite place it when you have only interacted twice. For some, twice is enough to determine if they are meant to be (quite like for your sisters). You are not the same as them. 
Whatever the intent may actually be, in no way do you intend on leading Jeongguk to believe romance is a key factor. If you are unsure of yourself, why would you harm someone else? 
Jeongguk must know the reality of your heart. 
You are determined to make it a priority to write to him as soon as you are settled. 
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“You look awful,” Florence smirks. “At least I managed to maintain my looks.” 
“That’s the difference between you and I,” you removed your gloves. “I don’t have to maintain myself, it comes quite naturally.” 
Florence gasped, “Insulting to insinuate that I am the ugly one.” 
You grinned at her to further stir the pot when your father appeared to kill the mood, “Y/N, please fix yourself. We require a level of sophistication that is required of nobility.” 
“What nobility?” You raise an eyebrow. “We are forced from our home because you abused the sanctity of what was nobility.” 
“Our fortune is used to showcase our wealth,” Florence intercedes. “Can you not see the value in that? No longer will we bother to give to charity.” 
“Splendid,” you roll your eyes as you begin to step away. “I shall find my room to rest. Please leave your fortune at bay” 
You didn’t care to listen to any further bickering. There is a great deal that has transpired in the last few days to leave you bed ridden. Except you still had the energy to write to Jeongguk. 
Perhaps you were putting too much thought into it. Or maybe it was everything it was supposed to be. 
“Oh Y/N,” you bury your face into your hands. “Be cautious.” 
You took a seat at the writing desk that had been preserved over the journey for you to use. It was positioned beside the window where now it had turned into the night. The moon cast high in the sky to offer a blanket of soft light. For you it was not enough to see the paper, so you take out a candle and light it. 
Before you a flickering flame brought a wavering warmth. Slowly you reach for the ink to scribble any coherent sentences that come to mind. 
Dear Jeongguk, 
I pray that this letter doesn’t appear hastily on my end. I desire to make it known of my heart before you. Sincerely do I wish for us to form a friendship that is honest and pure. As it stands, I am conflicted with a previous love that has long been dismissed. However, I find myself facing waves of feelings that rekindle what once was. I am uncertain as to what that entails. 
He is not a part of my life in any shape or form. But that doesn’t mean traces of him are not present. 
These are my truths that I desire to share. If you wish to no longer proceed with our previous decision to communicate through this distance, I understand. 
Thank you for the honor of your protection and guidance from my foolish mistake. 
May you always be safe,
Y/N. 
73 notes · View notes
siro-cyll · 1 year
Note
Long time follower here, would love to hear about your OCs if you ever want to share!!! I love the ones you've shown, they're creative and fun, and your art style is so fun to look at.
Ain't going anywhere if you wanna post more than gravity falls!
Aww, thank you so much! QAQ I have quite a few rattling around in my head, I just never really get the courage to really post/say much about them on here. (I'm fighting my anxiety just to post this fhfghfhdgk)
But, here's the main ocs I think about (under the cut because this is gonna get long)
Zinnia Conifer
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An absolute ball of sunshine, Zinnia is the sweetest girl you could possibly know. She's 13, loves anything about ghosts, aliens, and dragons. She also has narcolepsy with cataplexy and deals with it the best she can, with the help of her friends and family. She is one of the few people in my universe with time altering powers and has been slowly learning how to control them. Her main story involves her waking up in Limbo one day, and traveling through it trying to figure out how and why she got there, while meeting others who share her abilities.
(She's my baby oc and must be protected at all cost. She's completely oblivious to any danger around her)
Riddell Hazard
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Riddell's an old barn owl familiar who had been blessed (cursed) with immortality. While his physical body may die, his consciousness is sent to another plane of existence while his body reconstructs. He's died many times over the years, and the strange way his immortality works has taken a toll on his body, to the point it'll give out on him without outside influence. Riddell was always a quiet and private person, but with this curse attached to him, he's become jaded and bitter, wishing to find a way out. However, he has a soft spot for birds, especially owls.
His story involves him meeting @lord-rosenth0rne's oc Cross and @junodabeach's oc Stark, dealing with the trauma and abuse he's dealt with over the years while finding a family that actually loves and cares for him.
(he gets a happy ending I swear)
Zane Selene
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Zane is an anxious person who lives with their adopted family, full of magic users, while they are the lone 'powerless' human. While in truth, Zane possesses mysterious powers not even their adopted mother can place. Their story is more slice of life of them dealing with stuff going on in their hometown, Lyre's Hollow, that borders on the human and arcane realm. Lots of human and magic shenanigans, with background hints about where they came from.
And then the following ocs are ones that are fandom related that I think about a lot. All of them are pretty much 'but what if the protag had a friend the whole time'.
Ignacio Vasquez aka Vas
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My Half Life oc, Vas worked as a general practitioner at Black Mesa before the resonance cascade. They're friends with Gordon and Barney before everything blew up, and during the events of the game, Vas travels with Gordon making an attempt to save as many people as possible on their journey out of the facility.
Vas is normally an easy going person, quick to immerse themselves into the latest rpg and make silly little bets on who can win a desk chair race. They also have a cochlear implant and sign often, especially with Gordon. Vas has to quickly adjust to being a combat medic with all the chaos around them.
Bellamy Espinoza aka Bell
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My Dead Space oc, Bell is an engineer working on the Ishimura when the necromorph outbreak started. After being left for dead by their panicking crewmates, Bell had been hiding out, having to create some new gadgets just to stay alive. They eventually meet Isaac as he tries to get the Ishimura's engines started again, and help him get the ship up and running again (this poor man deserved the help I mean COME ON)
Bell is the type who uses humor to cope with the mounting horror around them, coming up with silly names for the creatues (like death pancake) and trying to ease tensions by making off the wall comments. Not that they don't take this seriously, they just need something to laugh at in a panic as they run for their life.
They do manage to survive the events of the first game, not without being mauled first.
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and finally, Arsenio Conifer
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My Pokemon oc. The past few Pokemon games I've played, I've played as Zinnia, I found it more fun playing as one of my child ocs rather than myself. So, Arsenio is Zinnia's parent in the Poke-verse (as well as canon parent, but for now they’re mainly Pokemon based).
Arsenio lives in Paldea, growing up with the reputation as being a living shiny charm because of how often shiny Pokemon seem to appear around them. They quickly got tired of being dragged around by fake friends, only using them to draw out rare Pokemon and quit being a trainer altogether. Instead, they created a care center that works to rehabilitate abandoned or neglected Pokemon, finding good homes for them, and working with the Professors by providing starter Pokemon for new trainers.
They grew up knowing Sada and Turo, and because of their job, they see them often. With the Professors disappearing for long periods, Arsenio had taken Arven in to watch over him. By the events of the game, they have practically adopted him. Also Poke-verse Zinnia sees Arven as her brother the entire game, they have an adorable sibling relationship going on.
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Wilder than Mountain Thyme
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Latest chapter on AO3. Teaser:
“See you tomorrow, bright and early, if you’re hungover I’ll know!”
Nicola’s voice rang cheerfully behind him as he tugged his coat on, and he flipped her off with a twitch of his lips before he left the library behind. He took a deep breath as soon as he got outside, the darkness had already settled heavily across Edinburgh even though it was barely past four in the afternoon.
He folded his collar up against the strong wind, shivering a little as he made his way across George Square Gardens. People were hurrying past him, most of them with their heads bowed and gazes lowered, barely acknowledging the festive decorations around them. Remus didn’t blame them, it started earlier and earlier every year, and by the time Christmas came around he felt all Christmassed out.
Christmas Day was only five days away, Remus had a couple more shifts to put in at the library before he was finally due some time off. So far he hadn’t bought a single Christmas present, his and Mary’s tradition was to do all of their shopping in one day, usually on the 23 rd , before heading back home to spend Christmas with their families in Pitlochry.
“REMUS!!”
The sound of his name startled him and he stopped abruptly, feeling the weight of someone running straight into him from behind and he stumbled slightly.
“What the– Dorcas?”
He blinked at the figure in front of him and he could vaguely make out a pair of familiar dark eyes underneath a large hat that looked to be home-knitted. She was wrapped up in a ridiculously fluffy coat, big enough to make her look like nothing but a round ball, but her grin was bright as she beamed at him.
“Been shouting your name for the past minute or so, are you deaf?”
She was panting slightly, as if she’d been running to catch up with him, and he gave an apologetic shrug.
“Sorry, deep in thought. How are you?”
“Great,” she said brightly, nodding towards town. “You going this way?”
“Aye,” he nodded, falling into step as she started walking. “You?”
“Yeah, on my way to meet up with Marls. You’ve been at work?”
He nodded, the fact that he worked at the main library of Edinburgh University wasn’t a secret, and none of the girls had batted an eyelid when they had found out that he had a Muggle job.
“Going to Merlin’s Hat, told Mary I’d meet her after her shift.”
“Brilliant!” Dorcas said excitedly. “Mind if we tag along? I could do with a pint and I think a break from the Paw would do us good, it got a bit wild last time.”
“Sirius poured his beer over some other poor sod?”
The words were out before he could stop them and he quickly pressed his lips together, but Dorcas trilled a laugh.
“I wish. Nah, he wasn’t there, but me, Marls, Reg and James ran into some idiots from school. The magical world is too bloody small sometimes,” she shrugged, then quickly shifted the topic. “Come with me to Marls’ shop, I said I’d pick her up.”
They headed briskly through George Square Garden, their conversation minimal as they both tried to hide themselves as much as they could from the assaulting wind. This time they approached Ravenclaw Road from the other side, through another non-descript red door squeezed in between two long-forgotten offices on Guthrie Street by Hastie’s Close.
Dorcas went first, discreetly tapping the tip of her wand against the door before it clicked open and they both slipped through. Ravenclaw Road was buzzing, people milling about loaded with packages and clearly already full of some kind of holiday cheer. They weaved through the crowds until they reached a shop that Remus hadn’t paid much attention to before.
It looked like any of the other storefronts lining the street, a sign over the door declaring it to be called The Golden Snitch , and Remus could make out brooms in the windows behind the gaggle of kids that stood with their noses pressed against the glass. Dorcas pushed the door open, a bell chiming happily as they stepped through. The shop was bigger than Remus had thought it would be, brooms lining the wall on one side and robes along with other kinds of equipment along the other.
Remus knew next to nothing about Quidditch. They had an old Cleansweap at home that Lyall had taught him to fly on, but his father wasn’t keen on flying so it hadn’t been something that they had spent any amount of time on. Remus sometimes thought he might have got into Quidditch if someone had taken the time to explain it to him properly. As it was, he never quite managed to grasp the rules.
He had got into football instead. They lived a mere fifteen minute walk away from Tynecastle and Remus had been fascinated by the white and claret crowds that gathered around Gorgie Road on matchdays when they had first moved in. Mary had come with him a few times in the beginning, but these days he mostly went on his own whenever he could afford it. So it wasn’t that he was against the idea of sports, it was just Quidditch still eluded him.
“Hello love,” Marlene’s voice rang through the shop as she caught sight of them, “Oh, hi Remus. Sorry, I’m going to be a moment, it’s been crazy in here today. Everyone and their house-elf is doing their Christmas shopping.”
She made a flapping sort of gesture around the room and Remus could see that she was right; the shop was full to bursting with wix people of all sizes that were pulling things from the shelves. Dorcas squeezed herself through the room and Remus followed awkwardly, nearly knocking over a rack of Quidditch robes but luckily no-one seemed to notice.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dorcas said easily, leaning over the counter to give her girlfriend a quick kiss. “Remus is going to meet Mary at Merlin’s Hat and I thought we could tag along.”
“That sounds perfect, let me just finish up here, you go ahead.”
“Did someone say Merlin’s Hat?” James appeared behind Marlene, wielding a broom dangerously over his head. “That sounds like just the thing, let me check with Reg if the sitter can stay a while later. And I’ll let Padfoot know.”
“I dunno if–” Remus attempted a weak protest, but the others didn’t seem to hear him over the noise in the room and before he knew it Dorcas had tugged him back out on the street.
“Merlin’s Hat next,” she said cheerfully, not waiting for him to reply before she dragged him along down the street.
Continue on AO3.
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flatmingo · 1 year
Text
Finished! Click for better quality see end for character notes! :)
Zane and Nana/Kawaii-Chan do not belong to me! They belong to Jessica (Aphmau). This is simply my rewrite for them.
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Nana was born poor in Tu'la. Her mother brought money home by doing sex work, she too grew up into a prostitute known as "Kawaii-Chan."
When she was a child, she learned how to bring life into inanimate objects. She used this power to make friends.
Eventually, word got around about the mefiwa who could bring life to the not living. The people swore her and her family to be tested in a witch trial.
Running away, she runs into an old man who happened to be searching for her 'miracles'. He wanted her to bring his daughter back from the grave, who had plunged a dagger in her heart after hearing of the marriage she would have been forced into.
He offered her a place to stay in his village and keep her power a secret, Scaleswind if she could grant his wish. Even though she was still inexperienced, she agreed immediately.
As soon as Nana began the ritual, she already knew she coud not use the dead body as a vessel. She asked the man to give her 3 days to bring his daughter back.
Working hard, she learned how to transfer essense into another vessel and she made a doll that could eat, breathe, and grow just as well as anyone else could. She had revived a living human, albeit she still looked like a doll. Nana could live safely in Scaleswind as she took a new name, Kawaii-Chan.
In order to keep herself safe from being burned for her witchcraft abilities, she created the story of being a traveling prostitute, and she adorned a bell to signify. As she traveled, her sex work managed to get her into dangerously powerful places. She almost became a lord's wife, but when the lord she was having an affair with got caught, she was accused of using magic to seduce him and they came to Scaleswind to chase her out of her home with flames. She only managed to save one doll to keep her company, to which she names Beatrice.
Beatrice is the only surviving doll from a terrible accident brought to life by Nana, who quickly adopted her as her own. They built a new home together, far enough away from any village to be safe.
But having only each other to keep themselves company, Nana soon became lonely, and Beatrice being new to the world, never got an opportunity to play with other children.
This leads to Kawaii-Chan bringing more dolls to life and starting a secret magic-users-only café. It is rare that anyone stops by, so she still travels as a prostitute sometimes to earn more money or offers her work to any willing trader who passes by.
Eventually she meets Aphmau who comes to her cafe for shelter and she is welcome to the village anytime. They don't live there...yet, but they di help out with reviving Phoenix Drop (and building an army lol but we won't talk about that yet!)
Zane Ro'meave is a corrupt priest. As head of the church of Saint Irene in Ro'Isle, (there is no pope), he has the power of the church and an undercover Jury of Nine by his side.
He recrutes people onto the jury by invading their lives and forcing them on his side if they refuse his first offer. (An example of this scenario is Katelyn the mermaid *cough* I mean Firefist. More on her story in the future *wink wonk*)
He is defeated by Janus when he tries to recruit him and left for dead. Beatrice finds him nearly dead on the ground and Nana helps him recover. After spending some time together, Zane is not grateful at all and debates killing them, but decides not to "for some reason." He is weary of them, but intrigued. Later, he proposed a deal to Janus and he is recruited! Yaay!
A few years later, after exiting the Irene dimension, Zane is left in critical condition once more and this time he does die. Nana finds him once more and brings his carcass to her home. She repeats the ritual she used for the lord of Metelli's daughter on Zane. Because his soul had not yet left his body, he does not get transferred to a doll, he stays in his own. During his recovery, he finally grows to be fond of the two. Nana and Zane start a platonic-romantic relationship. But Zane is still evil tho D: but they don't know he's evil, oohh but Aphmau and Garroth are onto him again! Oooh what's gonna happen???
- Outfits -
While Nana's and Beatrice's dresses are meant to be more doll-like rather than accurate, Zane's dress is the most accurate to the era, but is still very much stylized. It is made with expensive fabrics such as velvet for his mask and botice, and he wears gold jewelry. The dress is also made of a silk cotton skirt, feathers lining his color, and a see through silk shawl. The dress is styled similar to Irene's and has 6 inch heels that make him 5'11.
That's all I have for right now!
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prongsfootandco · 1 year
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Ship: James/Sirius Rating: T Summary: When James is having a bad day, Sirius tries his best to cheer him up!
_
James was having a bad day. There was no reason for it, but it was the sort of bad day where he didn’t need a reason for it to be awful, it just was. For one, he’d rather be in bed and not scratching Sirius’ name into the old wood of his desk. It’s not like he even needed to be in transfiguration. Poor Minnie hadn’t been able to teach the Marauders anything since their little project. An unfortunate side-effect of learning highly advanced, and not to mention illegal, transfiguration magic since they were twelve. Even now, three years later, Hogwarts lessons hadn’t quite caught up with the hours of studies they’d put in to become animagi, and James really, really wanted a nap. He hadn’t really wanted to get up in the first place. 
There were more days like that than he was ready to admit, especially since his parents had been admitted to St Mungo’s. 
Sirius’ shoulder bumped against his and when James peered up at him through foggy lenses, he couldn’t help but return his best friend’s smile. Although, compared to Sirius’ blinding smile, James’ felt rather weak, but he was trying his best. What was the point in being the most popular kid in school with good grades and enough money to coast through life if he couldn’t even manage a smile for Sirius?
His attempt clearly didn’t fool his friend though and Sirius leaned in, his breath making James’ unruly curls tickle his cheek. “Come on Prongs, you can do better than that.”
Merlin knew he couldn’t but it didn’t stop him from trying again. It felt to James rather like trying to conjure a patronus for the first time. Only none of his memories seemed happy enough to battle the dementor that was his own feelings. 
“Some of us are trying to learn,” he hissed, shaking Sirius’ arm off him. 
“Oh yeah? So is that why you're scratching- Is that my name?! ” Sirius’ voice jumped beyond a whisper and the class around them fell into an awkward silence. 
For a moment, James considered transforming into Prongs and flying through the halls of Hogwarts just to get away. At least McGonagall would be impressed with his magic and wouldn’t be glaring firecrackers into his soul. On normal days he thrived on having the whole class’ attention, laughing as he and Sirius came up with the most elaborate lie that they could get away with. 
That was something of a game for the Marauders. The trick was being confident and knowing just how gullible each teacher could be. It was a laugh and the four of them would cackle about it in the common room later that evening, but James felt very much like a deer in the headlights. There wasn’t a single lie that came to mind, and he really just wished he’d stayed in bed. 
Luckily Sirius saved the day. 
“Sorry Professor, temporary amnesia. I’m afraid it runs in the family, another side-effect of the infamous Black Madness. All that pureblood inbreeding, terrible, terrible stuff.”
“Five points from Gryffindor for interrupting the class, Mr Black.”
James shook his head and gave Sirius a fond smile. It was a stupid lie, but it was idiotic enough that the class just laughed and didn’t question the outburst any further. 
“Why are you scratching my name into the desk, Jamie?” Sirius whispered, much quieter this time.
“Why not?”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” There was a touch on his leg, Sirius’ fingers brushing his knee under the table. 
“Mr Black, Mr Potter! I suggest you be quiet before I give you both detention!”
“Sorry Professor!” they chimed in unison. 
And for the next few minutes they settled back into a bored silence. Behind them, James could hear the soft sounds of Remus snoring but with a full moon due this week, most teachers cut him some slack. It helped that Remus was right there behind the other three Marauders at the top of the class in Transfiguration. Still, if Moony could sleep then surely James was allowed a little nap, in solidarity of course. 
“You’re sad,” Sirius murmured as James let his head drop onto the desk, pulling off his glasses so he could get comfortable. 
“I’m just tired, Pads.”
“Hmm…”
Another few minutes of silence, the lilting sounds of McGonagall’s accent lulling him into an easy slumber, counting hippogriffs as he went until-  
“Psst! James!”
“What?”
“You need to hold this, it’s really important!” Sirius was grinning. Even without his glasses, James recognised the blurry shape of this smile, and there was just something in his voice that made it clear that Sirius was beaming like the star he was named after. 
With a sigh, James pushed his glasses back up his nose and placed his hand, palm up on the desk. He fully anticipated it to be some kind of prank, that his hands would be stained red and gold, or merlin forbid, green and silver. Instead, Sirius’ hand fell into his and laced their fingers together with a cocky confidence that he usually reserved for pissing around with teachers, or flirting with girls. 
James blinked as he stared at their hands, trying to process what the fuck had just happened. 
“That’s your hand,” he stated, feeling stupid for pointing out the obvious.
“Yup!”
“You want me to hold your hand?”
Sirius nodded sagely, doing his best impression of Dumbledore. “It is very important.”
And for the first time that day, James felt a real smile cross his face. It wasn’t as brilliant and world shattering as Sirius’, and he definitely wouldn’t be casting any fully-formed patronuses any time soon, but it was a smile, an inkling of happiness in the whirlpool of sad indifference that had become his life. 
“I’ll treasure it always,” he whispered back, letting his head drop onto Sirius’ shoulder.
“Potter, Black. Detention. My office after dinner,” McGonagall sighed wearily.
But James didn’t care. Sirius was still holding his hand tightly on top of the desk, grounding him, stopping his thoughts from flying away like a Nimbus in the clouds. His best friend, his Padfoot, his world.
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proxylynn · 8 months
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MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS (part #4)
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[I have no idea why I went so hard on this chapter. It has everything! How the hell did I cram all of this into a cohesive narrative?! I hope Little Lynn's messed-up backstory wasn't too bad. The poor girl had it hard. But the makeout scene made up for it...right? Anyway, thanks for reading this far. The next chapter will be in the works after I recover from my relentless need to finish this one. Seriously, I powered this bad boy out in two weeks. My drive for this story is nuts!! Take care you lovelies, hope you have a good day/night. ^_^]
Traveling wagons are a usual thing to be seen on the outskirts of towns and villages. It's an easy way to make money provided you have something of value to sell or have a talent others would want to see... or you have magic of some kind. People eat magic up like ants with a mound of sugar. Truly insatiable.
One such wagon is “Horner's Pies”. A basic yet humble wagon run by, as the name implies, the Horner family. Mr. and Mrs. Horner, along with their eight-year-old son Jack. Established bakers from a minuscule settlement, they managed to save up for the wagon and began traversing the land in search of a decent place where their goods could be appreciated. However, there's just one tiny problem. They specialized in pies. Plum pies. One of the lesser pies. Not a popular flavor. Not even breaking the top 50 of pie flavors.
Yet, they had something that made it a bit easier to make sales. Jack wasn't just their son, no. What made them so reputable in their settlement was that Jack was one of the rare souls born into this world that would be destined to be special. This came in the form of a Nursery Rhyme. Sadly not a good one.
“♪Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, eating a Horner pie. Stuck in my thumb, pulled out a plum, and said, "What a good boy am I!"♪”
The boy did his best to put on a show, draw in a crowd, and gain attention. But very few look his way.
“Hey! Look! It's a magic puppet.”
Immediately all eyes go to another wagon. One that was far more decked out and glorified. It had lights, it played music, it had confetti cannons and even merchandise! All of it centered around this old man's wooden puppet that was magically brought to life named Pinocchio. And since it's magic, they loved it.
“♪‘Cause I'm a real boy. No strings attached!♪”
The cannons blast confetti, the puppet takes a bow, and the crowd goes nuts throwing gold coins at it.
This annoyingly was a sight that the Horners have witnessed often, leaving them rather dejected.
“Geppetto again?”
“I swear, he shows up everywhere we go. How are we supposed to compete with that?”
While his parents sulk further about once more being overshadowed, Jack boils over with spiteful envy.
“What's this guy's hook? He's not a puppet?! I don't have strings and I don't brag about it.”
Knowing their boy and how he tends to get when upstaged like this, his parents try to calm him down.
“Jack, settle down. There's no point getting upset.”
“Your mother's right. Just ignore them and help bring out the fresh batch. Maybe the smell will pull some of them away.”
But Jack doesn't pay them attention. His temper was getting the better of him.
“This guy's greatest wish is to be a real boy? What's impressive? I've been a boy the whole time! And you're more impressed by HIM?!”
Jack yells and throws multiple pies in a fit at people, drawing some attention but not in a good way, before he runs off. His parents shout for him to come back, but he doesn't listen. His father attempts to chase after him, yet despite being overweight, Jack is very quick on his feet and outruns his father with ease. He runs and runs and runs more. His little legs carry him all the way into the nearby village.
This place was dark and dreary. The people looked either depressed or agitated. And Jack stood out like a sore thumb. He was the brightest thing around what with his fair pale skin, faint periwinkle blue eyes, pink bob cut hair, tiny fairy tale pink bow, white long-sleeved shirt, purple trousers with suspenders, black boots, and of course his bright purple thumb.
Adults pay him no mind, though they give a double take due to his color. By the looks of it, it seems children running through the streets unattended is common. So when he passes by muttering hard words under his breath, no one bats an eye. His tantrum has him blindly wandering around, not paying much attention to his surroundings. He doesn't notice the incoming youth running as if their life depended on it. They collide rather harshly, both being knocked to the ground.
Jack rubbed his head and glared daggers at this idiot that couldn't watch where they were going. Before him is a girl around his age, looking disheveled and scared. The second she shakes off the collision and sees his vicious stare she panics, scrambling to get away. Yet Jack doesn't let her get far. He snatches her by her hair and yanks her back. He'd found a target for his pent-up frustration to be unleashed on. Large movement draws his attention away slightly. A man, a very angry one, storms down the way looking for something. Or likely someone. Putting things together, he drags her away and out of sight in the back spaces behind buildings. They wait. Ducked behind crates and other miscellaneous gobbledygook. Listening as the stomping steps pound on the stone path as the man passes. Slowly getting softer as they move further and further away. A sigh of relief is shared between the two kids.
Then he remembers why he did this and the moment of peace of avoiding an adult is tossed away. He shoves her. He was roughing her up while shouting demeaning things. Venting all his frustration, rage, and jealousy on her. He does this for who knows how long. For them, it felt like hours. All the while something irked him. A nagging little thought. Why? Why was she just taking it and not fighting back?
This made a new annoyance for him.
“What's wrong with you?!”
He fumes, holding her by the scruff of her top and shaking the slightly taller girl.
“Why are you letting me do this? Do you like this?”
“I'm sorry.”
She pleas but there's something about it he begins to like. There's something about controlling this situation and having someone's full undivided attention that pleased a part of him.
“You're a wuss. A pathetic scaredy-cat. I bet you'd let me beat you up if I wanted it. Wouldn't you?”
He slams her back into a wall and she yelps intensely, a sound that resembled that of a hurt dog. It was finally a sound with emotion, all the faint noises she made during his fit were empty. It took him by surprise enough to let her go. She slides off the wall and falls to her knees. She whimpers in pain much to his confusion. Then he looks at the wall. The dark stone is now damp. Curiosity grips him. He moves to her side and nudges her enough to see her back. There's a patch of red that's slowly growing bigger.
“What the...? Why are you bleeding?”
“I'm sorry...”
Her voice is weak.
“I thought I had healed.”
This was awkward now. He just wanted to blow off steam. He didn't expect things to get serious.
“Uh...You should go home. Maybe have your mom...”
“No!”
She practically snaps before immediately recoiling in fear.
“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I'm a good girl! I'll behave! I promise! ”
He takes a few steps back, about to turn tail and flee. She slowly picks herself up and holds her sides, sniffling softly. For some reason, this was the point where he got a good look at her. Somehow she was paler than him, malnourished, the parts of her exposed arms and legs are bruised to varying degrees. Her brown hair is long down to her ankles and matted. Her clothing, a pale blue dress and faded grey pants, both tattered. She's barefoot. But what really got him, aside from her bleeding back, were her eyes. Dark circles made her yellowish-green eyes stand out. Such a weak girl yet she had strong eyes.
It makes him pause. Clearly, something isn't right. He should just leave and forget this encounter. Whatever is wrong with her is none of his business. Yet, for some unknown reason...
“Hey.”
He can't bring himself to ditch her. She meekly looks his way, those eyes of hers glisten with building moisture. He flinches lightly, the sight catching him off guard a bit before he regains his former bravado.
“You know how to get out of here, right? Like to the edge where the vendors park their wagons.”
She tilts her head for a moment, giving it some thought before nodding.
“Great! Tell you what...You guide me out and we keep this whole thing a secret. And if you do a good job, I might be generous enough to help you with that mess you got behind you. How does that sound?”
She's stunned. His offer smacked her as if he had used his hand.
“...R-Really?”
The disbelief in her voice highlights by a smidgen of hope makes him smirk.
“Yeah, sure. Why not? It's just basic business. You do something for me and I do something for you.”
In the time it takes him to blink she suddenly has her arms around him, hugging him surprisingly tightly. It takes him longer than he cares to admit to realize what's happening. How this girl who looked like she'd break if she fell over was faster than she seemed and was now embracing him. His face heats up and she pushes her away in a fluster.
“W-What do you think you're doing?! Do you want me to change my mind?”
He dusts himself off.
“Gross. You better not give me cooties or some other nasty girl germs.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, you better be.”
“...Thank you.”
That got him to look at her funny.
“For what?”
She rubs her hands sheepishly.
“For being nice to me.”
He scoffs.
“You're kidding, right?”
She just smiles and he rolls his eyes.
“You're weird, you know that?”
He starts walking off and she is quick to get to his side before taking the lead. She kept them traversing through the back alleyways, actively avoiding going out onto the main streets. It got him wondering.
“So...Why were you running? When we met I mean.”
His question made her shrink a little.
“I took something.”
“What did you take?”
She hesitates, but she pulls a small bag from her pants pocket.
“Is that...Caramels?”
“I know. It's wrong. But with this, I won't be too hungry for a while.”
“Don't you have food at home?”
She shakes her head.
“Mama says bad kids don't get to eat. A lot of us have to do this.”
She looks at the bag with sullen remorse.
“...I try to be good a good girl. I really do.”
He shakes his head.
“Don't feel bad about it.”
He interjects.
“I shouldn't?”
“No! You have no other choice right?”
“Not really, no.”
“Then don't feel bad about it. Because if your mom isn't feeding you, then you got to eat somehow. Otherwise, you're going to die. And you don't want that, clearly.”
“...I never thought about it like that.”
“Hey...Want to make another deal?”
“Another?”
He points to her caramels.
“You give me those. And I'll give you a pie.”
That brought a weird look to her face.
“What's a pie?”
Such words have never been heard by him before.
“Are you serious?”
“What?”
“You don't know what pie is?!”
She shakes her head.
“Well, then you're in for a life-changing experience. I'll have you know, me and my parents are bakers. And our pies are the best.”
“Bakers can make pie? The baker man here only does bread.”
“That explains that then. Still, you're going to like it. And it'll be way more filling than that stuff.”
She looks at her bag. She has no reason to trust or believe him. After all, he was tormenting her not too long ago. If anything she shouldn't be entertaining any idea he gave her. But here she was, giving him the bag with all the faith of someone that didn't just hand over what was going to feed them this week.
“Thanks.”
He wastes no time popping a small palmful into his mouth.
“Not bad...”
His lip-smacking as he chews is very unbecoming yet strangely hypnotic to watch.
“They're not all that great really, but for a snack, it's decent.”
Her empty stomach growls from that alone.
“Sorry.”
“You apologize a lot, don't you?”
She nods.
“Don't apologize for things you didn't do or can't control. It's annoying.”
“Sorry.”
“What did I just say?”
“I'm sor-...”
She covers her mouth before she can finish.
“You're really weird.”
It only now dawns on him.
“What's your name anyway?”
“You...want to know my name?”
Her reaction was as if he had asked her to jump over the moon.
“Yeah. What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't have a name.”
“N-No, I have one. It's just...No one's asked before.”
“Wow. You just keep getting more depressing.”
She rubs the back of her head with an awkward laugh, clearly about to apologize but holding it back.
“My name...My name is Lynsie.”
“And your last name?”
Her blank stare answered for her. This girl was all sorts of odd to him. He mulls her name over in his head.
“Nah. I'm going to call you Lynn.”
“Heh. Okay. And what about you? What's your name?”
He puffs out his chest with pride.
“The name's Jack. Jack Horner.”
She smiles.
“It's nice to meet you...Jack.”
--------------------------------------------------
“Jack...”
A faint voice calls to him softly.
“Jack...”
He groans and tries moving away from the voice that starting to get louder.
“Jack...Come on. Wake up!”
He snaps awake with a gasp, a little on the confused side as if lost completely when coming out of it.
“Jack?”
He looks over at his side and there she is. Hard to believe she was once that frail beaten-down little kid.
“Are you alright? You were muttering a lot in your sleep.”
“I'm fine. Just weird dreams brought on by stress is all.”
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair.
“I'm not looking forward to this.”
She frowns in concern.
“How did this even happen? I can't imagine they twisted your arm that much.”
“It's your fault...”
He mutters.
“You've made me complacent.”
She looks at him funny.
“I used to be able to focus on everything. Now if you're not around, I space out and things get by me that shouldn't.”
She looks away. He's always like this. If she's unable to help him for whatever reason, he blames her for not being there for any mistake he makes. She's used to it, but it's why she doesn't like being apart from him for too long. Being made to feel at fault for something beyond her control is an unpleasant weight on her soul that keeps her down. She sinks in her seat and keeps quiet. On his end, Jack averts his eyes to the window and gazes out at the passing scenery. The carriage they sit in has made good time it seems. They'll reach their destination sooner than originally anticipated.
And he hates that.
Happily Ever After Acres.
Nestled in the foothills of the great mountains, is a premiere active adult retirement community situated along a crystal clear lake. It has become one of the best retirement communities in the land. With a moderate four-season climate. From championship golf courses to waterfront living, it has all the luxury amenities anyone could want.
From the moment you step into this upscale retirement community, you'll be hit in the face with the serene ambiance it provides. Spectacular mountain views make for a special retirement destination. Complete with a 5-star restaurant, a sports & aquatics complex, an indoor and outdoor oasis pool complex, a 400-seat ballroom, bowling alley, 54-Holes of championship golf, creative arts center, 9 badminton courts, 4 tennis courts, a softball field, a multi-purpose gymnasium, community garden, dog park, and much more.
The enchanting welcoming gates open forth for a rather large carriage being pulled by four pitch-black shire horses. To some, this sight is awe-inspiring, surely it belongs to a member of nobility and is either here to offer finical aid or to visit/leave someone here. However, the staff maintaining the area, unfortunately, know all too well who's inside that elegant display that goes by to the houses.
The carriage pulls up to a stop and the wide door opens to a woman with long flowing brown hair that reached as low as her thighs. Nothing too out of place unless you took into account her choice of attire being that of a man. Her outfit consists of a grape purple vest, a crimson linen shirt with frills on the cuffs, maroon knee breeches, black silk stockings, and black leather shoes with stacked heels that were medium height. A carmine full-skirted knee-length coat tops it all off. Her only accessories are that both of her ears are pierced twice with steel ball stud earrings and around her neck is a silver choker band studded with a line of five amethysts.
She takes a moment to look around, surveying the area before opening the door more, and out steps a much larger more annoyed-looking man. Short pink bob-cut hair and piercing cold periwinkle eyes. Donned in a purple dress vest detailed with little plums, a white buttoned dress shirt, dark grey leather pants, and black knee medium buttoned leather boots with small heels. A long wine-colored overcoat is casually draped over his shoulders like a cape. Despite all that, the most striking thing about him is a bright plum stain on the thumb of his right hand.
“Ugh. This place gets more detestable with each visit.”
She sighs as she digs into her jacket to pull out a flask and offers it to him.
“So, you can be good for something.”
He takes it with indifference and quickly drains it down his throat.
“At least you had the good stuff on you.”
“I've taken the liberty of stocking more on the both of us. Even so, do try to pace yourself please.”
He sneers and shoves the flask at her.
“Don't tell me how to drink.”
She rolls her eyes while taking it back, getting a tad irritated at his attitude.
“Fine. I won't. Just don't expect sympathy when you start acting a fool for chugging Slivovitz.”
“Good. I don't want your sympathy. I'm not some lightweight pushover. I can handle it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!!”
“FINE!!”
The door to the home opens and their demeanor changes as fast as a coin flip.
“Mother. Father.”
Jack is stoic in an almost emotionless professional way.
“Mr. & Mrs. Horner!”
Lynsie is the delighted one as if being presented with a puppy for the first time.
“My boy!”
A tall blonde woman comes rushing out and embraces Jack much to his chagrin.
“My sweet little man. Look at you! Oh, I could just love on you all day. Yes, I could!”
This would be his mother. Long wavy golden locks tied up in a humble yet elegant bun. Bright violet eyes that put flowers to shame. Her attire is a simple yet comfortable champagne pink dress consisting of a full skirt braided round the hem and an upper skirt with a wider braid, the square-cut china pink bodice, also braided, being finished with a turned-down linen collar, everything lightly done white accents, and pink slippers.
She holds Jack's face, smushing his cheeks like one does a chubby-faced baby. Jack, understandably, hates this with a passion. But he holds himself back, biting his tongue as his right eye twitches.
“Mother...Please, would you mind not doing this?”
“Boy, you let her have this...”
A large man with brown hair stands in the doorway.
“It's not every day she gets to see you.”
And this is Jack's father. Short shaggy auburn hair that mops at his neck. Deep sapphire eyes like the water of the sea. A strong pronounced chiseled square jaw. Donned in a faded powder blue leather jacket, a white buttoned linen shirt with frills on the cuffs, dull black leather pants, and black boots.
Jack rolls his eyes at his old man.
“God forbid raising me wasn't enough time.”
“Be nice.”
Lynsie chides and Jack snarls at her.
“No one asked you!”
“Lynsie!”
Mrs. Horner switches her attention to Lynsie and the smaller woman is easily lifted off the ground in her parental hug.
“My precious little lady!”
As more inclined to enjoy this kind of attention than Jack, Lynsie still isn't used to it. Especially when everyone else was bigger and tended to handle her as if she were a toy. Jack is 7'7” naturally, his father is 6'6”, his mother is 6'2”, and Lynsie at 5'7”. She might be a decent height when compared to others, but there's a reason her nickname is Little Lynn and it's not just to pair up with the “big” of Jack's handle.
“Mother, could you refrain from smothering her for five minutes?”
Mrs. Horner lets Lynsie go and then gasps.
“Goodness, dear! Did you get paler? You look dreadful.”
Lynsie is a bit taken by that but it makes Jack snicker.
“Oh, that. That's from the blood loss.”
“Blood loss?”
“There was a burglary attempt at the factory. I got careless and the thief managed to wound me.”
“What?!”
“Fear not. They didn't manage to take a thing.”
Lynsie states such things as if talking about a paper cut. But, like a normal person and the concerned parent that she is, Mrs. Horner doesn't take this well. Taking Lynsie by the arm and dragging her inside, leaving the men together.
“You have your woman fighting your battles for you now?”
“It's literally her job. And don't say that.”
“Say what?”
“She is not 'my woman'.”
“Shame.”
Jack leers at his father.
“And what's that look for?”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
Jack huffs, choosing to not take the bait his old man is dangling in his face, and brushes past him to enter the home.
“Well, this is going to be a long visit.”
Mr. Horner shuts the door. Mrs.Horner continues to pull Lynsie along.
“I swear...That boy knows better. Letting you get hurt like that.”
“It's fine, Mrs.Horner. Really.”
“No, it's not fine. A woman has no business fighting.”
“But it's literally my job.”
Mrs.Horner rolls her eyes.
“He has other guards. You don't need to put yourself at risk. Not after all you've gone through.”
“Mrs. Horner...”
“Give it a rest, Mother...”
Jack interjects only to get slapped on the back of his head by his father.
“Don't disrespect your mother, boy.”
Jack sneers.
“I'm not a child.”
“Then don't act like one.”
Thus begins something that could be called neutral chaos.
Mr. and Mrs. Horner, aka Jonathan and Elizabeth, are two of the nicest people one could hope to encounter. This is why it's all the more baffling to those around them how their son could be, for lack of better words, kind of an asshole. Granted, raising him wasn't easy. They struggled for a good portion of his formative years, garnering financial success in his early to mid-teens...only for him to force them both into retirement once he hit his prime. It was a complete takeover. Most would see that as rude. Yet...This was a welcomed relief to them. Especially when Jack set them up in such a fine place. One would assume he would have them left in the woods or sent on a ship never to be seen again. But no. Seems even someone as callous as Jack is capable of general respect to the ones that brought him into this world. So this easy life after years of hardship was a gift. One they occasionally like to use as a means of giving their always working son forced time off to relax and not burnout.
However...The disconnection between them couldn't be any wider.
To tolerate any of this, Jack drinks and avoids his mother. Which is easy when she's mothering all on Lynsie. But then that just leaves him as the sole attention point of his father. And Jonathan likes to get under Jack's skin by plucking at nerves that Jack never indulges in due to his single-minded self centered ambitions.
On the opposite side of things, Elizabeth does a similar thing with Lynsie and treats her like the daughter they never had. This dynamic is a bit complicated. Granted, unlike Jack, Lynsie takes to this better. Her submissiveness and obedience to parental figures differently help with that. Even if she's awkwardly uncomfortable with being pushed into more lady-like things.
Once pleasantries are out of the way and the welcomes have become lukewarm at best, the pair are separated. Elizabeth takes Lynsie into another room, muttering small motherly chides and concerns. But Jonathan pulls his son aside and leads him outside, taking him to nowhere in particular, merely strolling along the community grounds.
“So how are things?”
Jonathan starts things off.
“Business is fine.”
Jack bluntly states.
“That's good. Very good.”
Jack rolls his eyes. This is how this usually begins. Unassuming small talk. Then his father will blindside him with the more annoying chatter once his guard drops for even a second. Absentmindedly feeling his coat, the outlines of more flasks tucked inside bring him comfort. Hopefully, he'll be good and sauced by the time his father starts laying on the personal talk.
“Tell me, boy. Are you up for playing a few games with your old man?”
“That all depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“Where you're going with this.”
Jonathan chuckles.
“Always blunt and to the point. You still have much to learn about tact.”
“Just answer the question, Father.”
“Fine. Fine... I know how much you enjoy our conversations. So, I figure, how about we make a friendly wager.”
This has Jack eyeing his dad with suspicion.
“What kind of wager?”
Jonathan smiles to himself. He knows his boy well. Jack doesn't back down from challenges, not even small ones, so long as it inflates his sense of superiority and has a prize he can lord over others.
“You know that bottle I've been saving? My prized Armagnac that I've been saving for when you announce your betrothal?”
“...You're serious?”
“Quite serious. We partake in a few of the activities provided around here. The winner picks the next game. And whoever has had the most wins by supper time, gets the prize.”
“What's the catch?”
Nothing is ever so straightforward when dealing with Jonathan Horner. His cunning and ruthlessness in business were something Jack inherited after all. All the decency they show is purely to the ones closest to them. To anyone outside their family, the Horners are to be feared and respected. Empires don't just pop up overnight. Sometimes it takes shady dealings and less-than-honest means to emerge from the grave of poverty this world expects souls to die in.
“The catch, my boy, is this...”
Jonathan pokes his son's side and smirks.
“You can't sneak your little drinks till we get back to the house.”
Jack's eyes widen.
“What?!”
“I want you sober while with me. That and I promised your mother I'd ensure you keep your wits about you.”
“Oh come on! That isn't fair!”
“What's not fair is how you ignore that which is in your face and rather than acknowledge it, you dismiss it and drown it out with distractions.”
“There you go again with your inane ramblings that make no sense. This is why I drink when I come over.”
“I swear you can be such a child. Always whining when things don't go your way.”
Jack's face reddens in building annoyance, his right eye faintly twitching.
“I. Am not. A child!”
“Then you should have no trouble in accepting this challenge.”
“Fine! But on one condition.”
Jonathan cocks his brow curiously.
“Name it.”
“If I have to do all this without a drink, then you have to not bring up anything about my personal life.”
“Sounds fair.”
“And that goes double for my romantic life too.”
“Of course.”
“Seriously. Why are you so fixated when it comes to useless crap like that? I don't gush over you and Mother being a thing. So what is it about my nonexistent social life that gets you all eager to integrate me? Oh! And the weird insinuations you make too. I can't stand it when you do that.”
Jonathan merely chuckles.
“Well, you got me there. But can you blame me? You're our boy. Our only child. You're the generation to continue the line and pass the Horner blood into the future.”
“This bloodline dies with me and you know it.”
“It doesn't have to though.”
“I have no interest in such matters. Attachments are nothing more than self-made weaknesses waiting to be exploited. I don't need companionship. I loathe children. I mean, I guess they're useful for cheap labor and tax benefits. But otherwise, they're just more annoyances and liabilities...”
Jonathan chuckles.
“What? What's so funny?”
“Don't need companionship? This from the boy that has his only friend live with him; works by his side, and even brings her along to visit his parents.”
Jack flinches.
“T-That...That's completely out of context! She lives with me because she has nowhere else and it's the most logical position for a bodyguard to be. She's also my assistant so of course she'd be at my side when working. I bring her with me so Mother has someone to coddle that isn't me. And she is not my friend.”
“Sure she's not.”
Jack snarls.
“That woman means nothing to me and I won't have you trying to make it seem like there's something more when there clearly isn't!”
“You know...I seem to recall there was a time long ago when you came running up to us and demanded we take her in because she was yours.”
“...Are you seriously justifying your entire argument based on something I said as a child?!”
“Mama! Papa! Can we keep her? It's not like anyone will know.”
“Not like I was wrong. And I'll reiterate...I. Was. A. CHILD!!”
“And you liked her.”
“I did not!”
“For someone that claims that I remember you doing a lot of begging.”
“I didn't beg! I demand!”
“So you were demanding we keep her?”
“Yes! Because she belongs to...”
Jack cuts himself off once the smug look on his father's face finally registers and the realization of falling for yet another of Jonathan's stupid ploys hits him like a pie to the face.
“Well? Go on. You were saying...?”
Jack huffs and ignores him. This only makes Jonathan grin.
“Such stubborn pride. You get that from your mother.”
Says the man that won't let this talk die.
“Come on, old man. Let's just get this over with already.”
Jonathan chuckles and leads his son to the golf course.
“As you wish.”
Back at the house, the conversations aren't any less contrived.
“So...How did it happen this time?”
Lynsie asks Elizabeth while seated in front of a vanity, the older woman brushing out the younger one's hair.
“You know how that boy gets. His mind was so focused on other things we just made him answer yes to a bunch of nonsense then threw the 'will you come visit' question at him. Sweetiepie agreed and we left it at that before it dawned on him.”
She knew gifting them that two-way communication crystal would bite them back, but did Jack want to listen? Of course not. Because "Big" Jack Horner is never in the wrong or makes mistakes.
“It's amazing how much grew back. Your hair is nearly as long as it was when you were small. Oh! I bet if we braided it you'd look gorgeous.”
“If you say so, Mrs. Horner.”
These were aspects Lynsie didn't particularly take interest in. Her appearance didn't concern her. And the lengths of time most women use just to peacock themselves for the approval of others seemed like like a big waste. Looks mean nothing if you have no substance to back it up. Like a sword made of gold. Sure, it looks pretty. But gold is a soft metal and it makes the sword worthless as a weapon. What's the point of having something like that if not just to parade it around for bragging rights? Nonsense.
Elizabeth on the other hand, not having a daughter of her own, sees the potential that a young lady in her prime has to offer. Sure, the girl is skilled in a variety of things. But it's such a waste that she doesn't apply her charm while she still has it. You could have the world's largest diamond but if it's dull and not shaped right then none will want it. At least she knows Lynsie will allow her to make her over while here. Perhaps if she does a fine enough job she'll convince the tomboy to get in touch with her more sophisticated feminine side.
“You really are a lovely woman, Lynsie.”
Elizabeth remarks.
“But I'm sure you get that all the time.”
“Not really.”
Well, that was shot down faster than an archer shooting ducks.
“What? You can't seriously tell me my little girl isn't noticed.”
“Then I don't know what to tell you. Most avoid me.”
“Really?”
“Probably the death threats keep them away.”
“Oh.”
“And I don't honestly care about what others think of me as well.”
“So...There's no one whose opinion of you matters? Not even the slightest?”
“Well, I care what you all think of me.”
This takes Elizabeth back for a moment, to which Lynsie looks at her funny.
“Does this truly surprise you? Why would anyone else matter to me? Your family was the one that showed me any decency. The rest of the world can fade away to nothing. After all...it expected me to.”
She sadly knew that to be true. She can recall it so clearly still. Those memories from their past of when they were still traveling around in that wagon and that one day their son came back from his typical fit with a scared beaten little girl at his side. A child in need that none so much as batted an eye or acknowledged was even there.
“It's hard to believe sometimes. Seeing you as you are now. What you've become. You've come a long way since then.”
Despite the positive words, Lynsie says nothing, her expression is blank but there's trouble in her eyes. The silence that builds is a bit unnerving. Mother mode activates.
“Is something the matter, dear?”
Again, there's only silence.
“If there's something on your mind, you know you can tell me.”
She stops brushing. So Lynsie looks up at her.
“Mrs. Horner...Did you ever do something you've come to regret?”
The serious tone of such a question has Elizabeth cease her doting to pull up a seat beside her.
“Everyone has something they regret. It might be something small. Or something large. But having regrets is normal.”
Lynsie puts her hands on her knees, taking slow calming breaths through her nose.
“You know the life I had as a kid. And what I did after I fled. I learned to steal. I learned to lie. I learned to kill. And not once would I ever cry. I have taken lives or been the cause of many to be laid to ruin. And I have not once felt anything about it. But there is one...”
Her hands tighten on her knees.
“One life stains my hands. Haunting my dreams. Tormenting my soul. Bringing me to the brink of it all.”
Elizabeth hasn't seen her this vulnerable in a long time.
“Would it help ease you to talk about it?”
Lynsie eyes her with concern.
“I fear to burden anyone with this. I should shoulder this weight alone as I had done it to myself.”
“Lynsie...”
Her tone, that parental “you better tell me now or else” tone, it always works on the girl.
“Very well...”
There's a pause as she collects herself.
“It started as a normal day. Jack sent me on a simple item collection mission. Nothing overly complicated. But...He came along with me. That should've tipped me off that something was wrong.”
Elizabeth made herself comfortable, this was going to get interesting.
“I take it he doesn't go with you often when doing these tasks.”
“No. Jack knows I'm capable. I'm usually alone when workings on such missions. This was different. He wouldn't tell me what it was and insisted on coming along. He was actually kind of giddy about it. It wasn't until we got close to where it is that I realized what the 'item' was. And it all spiraled out of control from there.”
Her grip tightens.
“That house. That stupid god-forsaken shoe...”
Jack looks smugly as they stand outside. A large shoe, possibly that of a Giant which fell from the sky, converted poorly into a house. A house that is in very poor condition. The leather is chipped. The laces were stripped. The tongue flopped out like its namesake. The windows are cracked or broken. And the roof is one bad storm away from collapsing. It's honestly an eyesore and appears to be abandoned to rot.
“Wow. What a piece of crap. You really lived in this dump?”
Lynsie can't take her eyes off it. This was her home. The house was a living hell. This is where she and countless siblings were under the remorseless rule of their mother. She swore never to return.
“Why are we here?”
Jack rolls his shoulders.
“Isn't it obvious? This. We're here for this pile of garbage.”
“What?!”
He snorts.
“What's with that reaction? You know how I collect trinkets like this.”
“Yeah, you collect things of value. But THIS?!”
She points.
“Since when do you give a crap about Nursery Rhyme icons?! If you can even call this circle of hell on Earth an icon.”
Being here was agitating her, she wouldn't be like this normally. But uncharacteristically, Jack just smirks playfully at her.
“Who said that I do? This isn't for me.”
Confusion smacks her in the face.
“Huh?”
He pulls out a rolled sheet of parchment.
“You see, I've been thinking a lot lately...Revenge is like a fine whine. The longer you let it sit, the sweeter the flavor when you pop the cork. So...”
He tosses it to her and she fumbles but catches it.
“Go ahead. Pop the cork.“
Her confusion only grows but she takes the hint and unrolls the parchment. Reading it, her eyes widen and she looks at him in disbelief. It's a deed. A land deed. With his name on it as the majority owner. ...And her name as minority co-owner.
”I...I don't understand.“
”Not a bad surprise, right? Figured you earned it. Can't say I don't do nothing for you.“
She is at a loss for words, so he continues.
"Oh yeah. This hunk of dirt is mine and that goes for anything on it as well. That includes this crummy thing. There's just one annoying problem...”
“What's that?”
A sound rattles from inside.
“It's still occupied.”
Her heart falters its beating.
“Y-You don't mean...”
He slaps her back in mock support.
“Yep. That old bat is still loitering in there. It's just her though. I got no reports of any other people going in or out. Seems like she finally learned how to close her legs.”
Disregarding the insult to her mother, no matter how true it was, she asks the question she knows the answer to but dreads.
“So...What is it we're doing then?”
“We? Oh, no no no. YOU are the lucky one here. You get to evict that old bitty.”
“...You can't be serious.”
“I made you a shareholder to something of mine. You damn well know I'm serious.”
He holds her by her shoulders.
“After everything she's done, wouldn't it be bittersweet if she lost what little she has left at the hands of her own kid?”
She looks at the deed in her hands.
“You can't tell me this isn't something you've thought of at least once. You're the one in the position of power here. Not her. This is yours. And there's not a thing she can do about it.”
She couldn't deny it, thinking of it that way did bring on some feelings. She was always the helpless one. But now...Now the shoe was on the other foot. It tickled some spiteful part of her that craved retribution for all the suffering that she went through in her youth. And so, she listens to it.
With a nervous sigh from her and a shove on his part, she approaches the door to the shoe-house. She never was the praying type. But at this moment, she begged for any deity that no one was home and that the sound they heard before was merely the inside crumbling on itself. She knocks on the degraded wood. Her heart pounding. Then...She hears it. Footsteps. A sense of dread fills her and she nearly flees, but the door opens before she can react.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
Her voice alone was enough to have Lynsie freeze. All her growth as a person flashed to dust once her mother was before her. She turns her head to look back at Jack, only getting a “well, go on” expression. It wasn't all that helpful.
“Well? Say something or shove off!”
She gulps down her nerves.
“By order of Master "Big" Jack Horner, I am authorized to inform you that you are to vacate these premises.”
“What?!”
Such a familiar shout. It nearly broke her.
“Y-You...You are trespassing on private property. You are to pack up what you can carry and relocate elsewhere. This house and what remains are now forfeit.”
“You have no right!”
“Ma'am, it is well known you've illegally been squatting here for years. And we have a deed.”
She holds up the parchment.
“Please do not bother with resisting. There is quite literally no point.“
The Old Woman fumes, her face getting red with anger. But something gets her attention. It distracts her anger long enough for her to realize something. She takes hold of Lynsie's face, making her flinch. It's the reaction that brings about recognition.
“Yes. I know that look. You're one of mine.”
The lack of response is enough to make the Old Woman grin.
“You came back. You kids always come back.”
“W-What?”
It happens so fast. The door slams shut and both women vanish inside. Leaving Jack outside with the horses.
“Well damn. ...I should've brought snacks.”
Inside, however, it's not any better. Trash, dust, cobwebs so thick they've killed spiders, broken furniture, and dishware. There's nothing to indicate that children of any kind once lived in this place, minus a few marks that only a former child of the home knows about.
“Dear lord...”
A bit of the floor gives way and her foot goes through it, tripping her up.
“You've really let this place go.”
“I let it go?! You brats did that. You lot were the ones maintaining it. It's not my fault it's like this.”
That makes Lynsie roll her eyes.
“But that's going to change. Now that you're here. You'll fix this place up as good as new. And then things will be as they should be. Just like before.”
The Old Woman must be delusional.
“You can't be serious.”
The Old Woman cocks her head.
“What?”
“I don't know what you think I do for a living. But I'm not a carpenter or a repairman.”
The Old Woman scoffs.
“That's not my problem.”
Lynsie sneers. Damn Old Woman hadn't changed one bit. Refusing to take any responsibility and expecting things to be done for her or for things to just fall into her lap without any effort on her part.
“Actually, that IS your problem. I'm not helping you.”
The Old Woman glares.
“Yes. You will.”
“I said, no. You're not the boss of me...”
This was something she'd never say to her mother back when she was a kid. Such words would be met with a beating. But she's not a child anymore. She's an adult that has trained to kill for coin. Plus she deals with Jack 24/7, so she's gained some level of spine. That and a smidgen of pent-up frustration slipped out while she stands her ground.
“You don't understand the situation. I'm not here to clean up your mess. I didn't come here for you. I don't care if you are my mom. I've been gone for years and dealing with my own life. One with responsibilities of my own.”
“What do you know of responsibilities?!”
The Old Woman practically spits venomously.
“You ungrateful urchins never struggled for anything!”
Such a blatant lie makes Lynsie snarl.
“Never struggled for anything?! Do you not even know the rhyme based on us?! There was an Old Woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children, she didn't know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread. Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed. How the hell can you stand there and say we didn't struggle?! Because we all knew you sure didn't have a problem!”
“You watch your mouth.”
“No! You know damn well you didn't have it bad. You were able to eat full meals anytime you wanted. You were able to have decent clothes every day of the week. You had a real goddamn bed while we slept on the floor without blankets or pillows. You didn't do a damn thing for us. We had to fend for ourselves because you gave us no choice. We stole. We rummaged in the trash. We learned to forage. We scavenged for our lives because you sure as hell didn't care if we were even alive the next morning!”
The Old Woman flinches.
“I lost count of how many of us died in this place. Or when I stopped caring when we'd wake to find some of the others not moving. Either succumbing to injuries or other issues. All we knew was when it happened to take what we could get and pass on the scraps to the others. So don't you dare say we didn't have it bad. The only reason we had to do any of that was because of you!“
She huffs to keep her breathing steady but the stream of hate is strong. Repressed emotions unleashed.
“You know, there was a time when I used to wonder why. Why did you bother giving birth to us? Why did you keep us if you were just going to ignore us? Why not abandon us to our fathers so you didn't have to do any of the crap you did? But then...It hit me. It didn't matter. Even if you did have a reason for why you were the biggest piece of shit of a person that ever dared to call themselves a mother, it doesn't matter. Nothing can ever justify anything you did. You are without a shadow of a doubt a miserable excuse for a human being and it sickens me to the core that I spawned from you.”
Fueled by this, she looks down on the Old Woman.
“But I digress. As I said, I'm not here for you and I have my own responsibilities. Like, for example, telling you once more to leave this place.”
The Old Woman balls her fists in rage.
“All be damned if you think I'm going to let you talk to me like that in my own home.”
“It's not your home. It never was. And now it's a matter of fact by law.”
She shows her name on the deed under Jack's.
“Now get out of MY house.”
Maybe it was the authoritative command in Lynsie's voice. Perhaps it was the power that growled in her tone. Maybe it was the defiant way she stood her ground. Or maybe it was the steely resilient look in her eyes that burned with unyielding spite.
“You insolent whelp!”
The Old Woman is as spry as ever when it comes to dealing out punishments. She cracks Lynsie in the face with a backhanded slap that has her back up a step.
“You dare speak to your mother that way? Disgraceful!”
She expects this to do what it has always done. To have instant subjugation.
“Is that all?”
Yet that's not what happens. The fire in Lynsie's eyes only burns stronger and the Old Woman flinches.
“Well, I've got to hand it to you, Mom. You're still living up to all the memories I have of you. Bravo. You've met the bare minimum of my expectations. Then again, when the bar is set so low that worms can pass it there's not really much room to fail now is there?”
A look comes to the Old Woman, one that Lynsie's never seen before. Sure, there's anger. But there's also fear. And seeing that on her mother's face...it makes her smile.
“Such a strange sensation. I don't think I've seen that look on your face before. It suits you.”
“S-Shut up...”
“Were you expecting me to crumble? To fall to my knees? To grovel for your forgiveness? Perhaps your age has caught up with you; because you don't seem to notice what's in front of your eyes...”
She takes a step forward and the Old Woman backs up.
“I took your beatings for years. And after that, I was subjected to harsh grueling training. Hard to believe murderous rouges treated me kinder than you. But thanks to all that, my pain tolerance is now quite high. Unlike my patience for this pointless delay of the inevitable.”
She keeps up her approach, making the Old Woman back up further till her back hits a rickety table.
“Stay back!”
“I truly hate repeating myself, so this is the last time I'm saying this. Leave. Now.”
“I'm not setting foot outside this house.”
“That wasn't a request. I'm telling you. Get out.”
The Old Woman snarls.
“You're giving me an order?”
This seems to be the last straw on the Old Woman's tolerance. She hurls a chair at Lynsie and she's able to avoid it just barely due to the close range. But it is merely a distraction. In an instant, the Old Woman has her hands around Lynsie's throat, squeezing to either choke her out or snap her neck. For her part, Lynsie is brought to kneel as she holds her furious mother by the wrists.
“You miserable brat! Who do you think you are?! You forget your place! Children do as they are told! They obey their mother! Ingrates. The whole lot of you. I always knew that you mongrels would turn on me someday, but I never knew when.”
“Let go of me...”
“So I had to make sure you all stayed down in the dirt where you belonged. Yet it wasn't enough. You lot thought you were real smart, didn't you? Running off into town, grabbing goodies with your grubby little hands, did you think I never noticed?! I'd hear about it from the people and sometimes see you with my own eyes. I never gave any of you permission to leave!!”
“Mom...Stop this...”
“And you...Don't think I don't remember you. I could never forget those eyes. From the first time you looked at me with those eyes, I knew you were nothing but trouble. A bad seed. A bad girl. And that is why I had to teach you by punishing you. I had to hurt you more to make you an example. All of you had to know who was in charge and what lengths I would go to. For a time, it worked. You all stayed in line. But it was a façade.”
Her grip tightens and Lynsie gags.
“Don't...Don't make me hurt you...”
“Now, I see that you were just waiting for the stakes to get high enough before you played your hand. I'd say it was a commendable effort if you all came back together. But you've decided to do the one-by-one approach, a poor decision. Slowly you runaways come back for some reason or another. Yet once you're back in this house I see to it you never walk out that door again. It's like I always told you wretched little heathens. I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it. You all were born in this house and none of you will ever truly escape it. So I hope you've enjoyed your time on the outside, my darling dear, because you're about to join the rest of your brothers and sisters. Now die!”
*crash*
A rock comes breaking through a window.
“Hurry it up in there! I've got better things to do than stand out here waiting on you!”
Jack's voice calls out. This gets Lynsie to sigh before her hold harshens, making the Old Woman wince and release her grip.
“Damn it...Well, you heard the man. I don't have any more time to waste on your petty power-tripping crap.”
She stands back up with no issue, the Old Woman trying to pull from her daughter but not budging an inch.
“L-Let go of me you brat!”
“Poor choice of words.”
Spinning on her heels quickly, she flings the Old Woman across the room and into kitchen cabinetry then hits the floor.
“Look what you've done, Mom. I had the smallest bit of hope you'd be civil enough to talk without your god complex getting involved. But now you've gone and annoyed my boss. And that means I'm done being nice.”
She draws closer as the Old Woman trembles and staggers to her feet.
“How dare you... Have you forgotten what I am?! I AM YOUR MO-!!”
“You're pathetic.”
The words die in her mouth.
“From the moment you gave birth to us, we had to trust you. There was no say in the matter. We only had you. We needed you to protect us. To care for us. To prepare us for the world so we could traverse the hardships, madness, and soul-crushing journey that life can throw our way. You did NONE of that! You took the unconditional love and trust of all of us, then crushed it into dust on a self-fulfilling prophecy to destroy something that you killed the moment it was born!”
The Old Woman feels around the counter behind her.
“So what are you going to do? Get revenge? Make me pay for everything I did?”
Lynsie scoffs.
“You seriously haven't listened to a damn thing I said. I don't care about none of that.”
This confuses the Old Woman.
“You don't care?”
“No. Why should I care? You severed the bond of motherhood the second you laid your hands on us. You're a bitter old hag that got a kick out of controlling her children and lording over them like a demented cat playing with its prey. And as for my siblings...They can rot. Not once did they help when I needed it...”
She grits her teeth.
“No matter how much I begged it to stop...No matter how long I wailed till my voice was shot...No matter how much I bled from the fresh or old scars reopening...None of them did anything. Not even something as small as a comforting word. So no, I don't care about them or what you did to them. I guess I have to congratulate you there, Mom. You succeeded in gifting one lesson to us. Survival of the fittest. The only one that's going to care about you is yourself. Now...”
She cracks her knuckles.
“No more games. I don't care if I have to drag you out, kicking and screaming, I'm getting you out of this stupid shoe. Whether you like it or not!”
Lynsie lunges to grab the Old Woman's arm...only to be met with the sting of a knife slicing across her palm, making her recoil with an intense hiss.
“You want me out of my house? I'm never leaving here. And neither will you!”
The Old Woman comes slashing wildly, aiming to end her child's life as she has done to countless others. However, while Lynsie was humoring her mother before, that time has passed. She, instead of moving away from the coming swing, flows into it to grab the Old Woman's arm with both hands and uses the momentum to flip the Old Woman onto the floor. While stunned, she quickly sits atop the Old Woman, pinning her, and forcing her to hold the knife up to her own throat.
“Are you quite finished? Resistance is futile and useless.”
“Get off of me, you insolent wretch!”
“You're a sad creature. Barely recognizable as a person. You are clinging to the shattered remains of a past that can never return. It's time you wake up and face reality. You are no mother. I am no child of yours. You have burned every bridge and cut all ties. You have no one and you have nothing. And you never will. All you have awaiting you is bleak emptiness in the cold unforgiving void.”
“Do it! You hate me so much; you might as well just kill me!”
“Is that what you want? Have you desired your end so much that you ensured that one of your brood would harbor enough resentment to grant you such a wish?”
She sighs.
“Yes, I do hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being. The thought of you makes me ill. Looking at you fills me with contempt. This world would be better off without you. And while I would have no trouble killing you, really, death is kind of a specialty of mine. I think I have a much better Idea.”
A devilish grin smears her face.
“Yes...I guess this is the one time I'm not afraid to disappoint you. A more fitting fate for a coward like you would be to allow you to live. To wander this Earth alone, a meager shadow to be ignored and looked down on till the day fate reaps your worthless soul. And you know what? No one will care.”
The Old Woman's eyes widen as Lynsie savors this. A long overdue victory. A child has bested the parent and rather remorselessly at that. Yet, if there's anything the Old Woman is known for, it's how traumatizing she can be to her kids and how far her pettiness is willing to go to have the final say.
“I favored you so much. Why couldn't just have continued to obey me?”
This is enough to confuse Lynsie enough for the Old Woman to make her move—the pressure on the knife shifts. No longer is the Old Woman pushing it away...she pulls it in...cutting it into her neck.
“M-Mom!!”
Blood spurts out like a broken fountain everywhere, showering the space and Lynsie in crimson.
“What have you done?!”
She tries in vain to clamp the gash shut with her hands, ignoring her instincts that scream it's pointless.
“No! No, no, no, no, no! Don't you dare die on me! Do you hear me?! You're not allowed to die!! Not like this! Don't you run from me, you bitch! Don't ignore me now! Answer me! Answer me damn you!!”
“Lynsie...”
She flinches. She hadn't heard her mother use her name in years. To hear it now, in a voice so weak and gurgling on the verge of death, it's haunting.
“Y-You did t-this...”
The Old Woman grabs her by her hair and pulls her down, getting in her face, seeing the fear return to her daughter's eyes make's her smile.
“Y-You such...a b-bad...g-g-girl...”
The telltale rattle of a last breath leaves the old Woman and her hand falls limply along with the rest of her body.
“Mom...?”
It's such a thing to leave imprinted in her eyes. Her mother, lifeless and smiling, blood everywhere. Those words repeat like a ghost whispering in her ear. It was the final hit to her resolve. Tears storm her eyes and fall like rain. Utterly distraught, she isn't aware of the anguished howls that leave her. It's these pained cries that alert Jack that things have gone awry. His size preventing him from entering, he rips a part of the leather wall away by use of a missing window, and the sight he finds would cause a weaker soul to crumble. This wasn't what he wanted to happen. This wasn't what he wanted at all.
“I was hysterical for a while after that. Jack did what he could to talk me back into a state where I at least ceased my sobbing. He explained this was a massive flop and there was no point now in the house being there. So...We burned it. It was so dry that it ignited easily and all the broken openings allowed excellent ventilation. The blaze was intense. Nothing remained but ash that the wind was eager to blow away. It was almost like nothing was ever there. It was kind of relieving in a way.”
Elizabeth had been silent the entire time Lynsie told her story. She knew her mother was an awful person, she'd seen the scars that litter her back as a child and remain even now from the constant whippings. But for that horrible woman to do that? It has even someone as sweet as Elizabeth wishing the worst to be happening to the soul of that witch.
“It's funny. I have taken many lives with these hands. I've never felt bad about it, aside from the first one. The first time is always tough. That's what the rouges taught me. It made things easier knowing cutthroats had a hard time killing at the start too. But nothing prepared me for that day. It's affected me. And I don't like. The nightmares of that day leave me restless. The lack of proper sleep makes me sloppy. I don't perform optimally. I snap. I get hurt. I fail Jack. I...I can't do that. I can't fail him!”
She turns to look at Elizabeth. Her eyes watering with the threat to cry.
“It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I was just better...If I...If I was a good girl...”
Elizabeth can't stand it any longer and pulls the girl into her arms, holding her in an emotional embrace.
“Mrs. Horner...?”
“It's not your fault.”
The buildup of telling that event is too much, and Lynsie became too soft to contain her feelings any longer. And what made it hurt a little more was that she was being comforted by the woman she wish was her mother. She clings to Elizabeth and weeps.
“You're a good girl, dear. I promise.”
Elizabeth does what any decent mother would and tries to soothe a youth when they're feeling hurt. Little do both women know though their entire conversation was overheard from the hallway by Jack.
He was just passing by on the way to grab his father's lucky bowling ball when he caught wind of familiar-sounding bits, the kind that piqued his curiosity enough to listen to everything. And by the time their talk had ended, he had learned things he didn't know. Things that made other stuff make sense now. He takes his leave before they notice his eavesdropping or things get too emotional. He'd need a much stronger drink if he had to deal with two sorrowful women looking for comfort. Such sentimental dribble.
Elizabeth pets the back of Lynsie's head, gifting the woman more affection than she's gotten from a parental figure in a single day than she'd gotten throughout her lifetime.
“I do... I do have something I've come to regret.”
Lynsie does what she can to hold back her cries so she can hear Elizabeth.
“I regret not taking you with us when we had the chance.”
Lynsie's hold on the woman tightens and Elizabeth nuzzles the top of her head. There was a time back when her son would bring the young girl to their wagon and the idea of adding her to the family was brought up. They could only see a battered starving child that seemed to get along with their antisocial son so long before it became a question of should or shouldn't they adopt her. And they would've done it too, but the issue was their situation at the time. Business wasn't good. They were just scraping by enough to cover what they needed at the time to manage. Another child would've been too much especially since they didn't know if or when things would get better financially. It was a choice that guilted them for the longest time as they never thought they'd see her again or worse, that she died due to her situation. Then, one day, Jack visits them and isn't alone. The odds were insurmountable, yet, here she is, back in their lives. And while these visits aren't long, mostly because Jack tries to leave as soon as he can, they make the most out of the time they have to make up for a life that could have been.
“Little one. Would you like to help me with dinner tonight?”
She feels a nod against her chest. It makes the motherly woman smile.
“Do you need a little more time before we get started?”
Another nod is her answer.
“Okay, dear. Take your time. There's no rush.”
It wouldn't be long before things went back to normal. The event between the two women was not spoken of more as the evening went on. The home would soon be engulfed by warmth and savory aromas once cooking was underway. The men return to a welcoming abode and hot meal at the ready. It's a rather peaceful reprieve. Almost domestic. No one speaks. Just savoring the moment as well as the food. It's nice.
But all things, good or bad, must end at some point.
The sun rises and sets. The moon takes its place in the sky, gracing night's darkness with brilliant light. And while most slumber in their beds, some remain awake. Either for work, play, stress, force, or the cruel joke of some magical hex. Some are up in these fleeting hours of solid peace.
Case in point...Jack Horner.
The man tosses and turns unable to rest in the guest bed that he lays on. All the damned annoying rhetoric his father kept prattling on about and not a drop of liquor passed his lips since he got here. His head was pounding. He was irritable. But...He was victorious. He dealt with all of it. All the accusations. All the grasping at the tiniest of strings to force a narrative where his inane nonsense made it seem like fact. He heard it all and disputed the outlandish claims with sound, totally calm and not at all seething, logic. He was going to save the bottle for when he got the map to the Wishing Star, but at the rate, the night was treating him, he might as well savor his prize in hopes it helps him pass out.
So with the bottle in hand, Jack leaves the guest room and quietly wanders down to the kitchen to fetch a proper glass. Brandy is not the kind of drink to just guzzle out of the bottle. Silently he passes by rooms, slipping through the living room where Lynsie lies sleeping on a chaise longue. She almost looks peaceful yet he sneers her way, continuing to the kitchen and scours the cabinets for a cognac glass.
*groan*
The sound makes him pause. Surely he hasn't made any noise to stir her. When the room goes still once more he resumes. Finding the proper glass and then being as gentle as possible with popping the cork...that was a failure, as it popped with quite a loud snap. Surprisingly, this doesn't jolt her. Allowing him to indulge in his drink, swirling it around in the glass before taking a deep inhale of the aroma and getting a nice mouthful.
“Mmmm...Notes of oak, smoke, nuts, candied fruit, spices, possibly some chocolate, dried fruit, caramel, and a rich mouthfeel. Heh. I'll give you credit, old man. You have a damn good taste in drink.”
He's able to finish his first glass when she starts whimpering. It draws his recognition to what he heard earlier. Her nightmare, reliving that day over and over. The foolish woman must've forgotten to bring the potion he gave her to suppress them. And her telling his mother the entire thing likely didn't help to keep it off her mind either. Why? Why did that kind of irked him? She tells him everything. So why didn't she...?
She jolts up with a sharp gasp and holds her trembling self. He hated that the suddenness made him jump. He held still in hopes that she wouldn't notice him there. Her breathing is shaky and she curls in on herself like a scared child seeking any form of contact for comfort. Pathetic. Letting mere memories get the better of her to the point it has more control over her than he does. Well, that won't do at all.
“More nightmares?”
Not expecting to hear anyone, she takes aim with her pillow as if to throw it at an intruder. Only for Jack to chuckle as he saunters over to her.
“Look at you. Were you so lost in your head you didn't recognize my voice?”
She looks away and sniffles. This was a result of not having the potion he gave her and likely talking about it with his mother earlier didn't help either.
“Are you crying? Ugh...You're such a baby sometimes, I swear.”
He shoves her over and sits down beside her, pouring himself another glass.
“Giving me the silent treatment or are you just too much of a wuss to talk?”
She just keeps silent with her eyes on the floor.
“Fine. Either way, I just want you to listen. So try not to sulk too much.”
He swirls his glass around, eyeing it before drinking deeply.
“I heard what you told Mother.”
She flinches harshly.
“Man, I knew that hag was sick. But to do that? That's a new level of messed up.”
She claws at herself.
“Why didn't you tell me? This whole time I thought you lost it and offed her because she was trying to kill you. But even after she tried, twice I might add, you were still holding back and she's the one that did it? Then she blames you? I mean, what kind of psycho does that? And that's coming from me.”
She remains silent.
“Don't tell me...You didn't want to bother me, right? Didn't want to trouble me with your problems or some other weak excuse. Correct? Well, knock that off! Because you bottling your stupid feelings isn't going to do anyone any good.”
When she still doesn't say anything he smacks the back of her head.
“Enough with the pity party. You're better than this. I don't keep you because you’re some sniveling little bootlicker. You're tough. You're clever. You don't stay down when beaten no matter how badly. So do it! Get back up. Pull yourself together and out of this pit that old hag tries to keep you in. I know you can. You're something of mine. I don't keep useless crap.”
That seems to get to her, the dim fire behind her eyes began to come back. She's about to speak till he cuts her off by putting the glass near her face.
“What's this for?”
“Don't be stupid. You know what a cup is for.”
He pours some brandy into it.
“Drink. You'll feel better.”
She sniffs it and grimaces.
“You've never had a hard drink in your life, haven't you?”
She shakes her head.
“Well, there's a first time for everything.”
He yanks her head back and practically forces the glass to her lips.
“Now open your mouth. I'm offering you something of mine. You know how rare that is. Are you really going to refuse my generosity?”
She hesitantly obeys. Her lips part enough and, surprisingly, he gently tilts the glass for the golden brown liquid to flow in. If it weren't for his other hand holding the back of her head she'd be jerking away from this strong taste, but she has no choice but to swallow it down till he's emptied the glass and lets her go. He watches as she retches a little before settling down. The whole event made him laugh.
“With a reaction like that, I can tell you're going to be having one hell of an experience.”
“What does that mean?”
He pours a drink for himself and lets her stew in confusion as he drinks. It amuses him. Part of him wonders what kind of drunk she'll end up being. Will she be a happy drunk? An emotionally honest drunk? An angry drunk? A stupid sloppy drunk? A blackout drunk maybe? Or would she be able to hold her booze with no sign of change whatsoever? His money was on the blackout one though. She gave off the vibes of someone that couldn't last a few drinks before hitting unconsciousness. The very idea makes him chortle as he offers another drink to her. This time she doesn't resist and sips it slowly, trying to get used to it. Even in the dim light of the room, he can tell her cheeks are beginning to flush. It won't be long at this rate to see if his little self-bet wins out.
[An hour and one very empty bottle later...]
How?
How did it end up like this?
They were sitting in relative silence and drinking one moment. The next, they were cracking jokes and telling stories. Then the stories went from tales of wondrous adventures to personal events. Things that were kept secret slipped out. Vulnerability shown. One thing led to another and, without sound judgment or clear concern for what the consequences could be, they cave to the lack of inhibitions.
Whom so ever made the first move is quickly lost to memory. But what came next at least was chaste...For a moment anyway.
She is over his lap, held to his chest in his arms, both leaning in to get their rose-tinted faces close to one another. His eyes searched her half-lidded ones for signs of hesitation or reluctance. When he was sure there was none, he continues to draw near till his lips press against her forehead, brushing them delicately against her soft skin and sending shivers through her that made her whole body tremble. At that, he vaguely expects a small remark or word of protest. But no such things come from her. So, he keeps going, experimenting with what he can get away with. His mouth traces along the frame of her face, like following the path drawn out on a map. His lips grace the hollow of her temple, then the warmth of her cheek, and peppering along her jawline. Each instance of tenderness is accompanied by the sound of her soft sighs and the quickening of her breathing. It was so much. Too much. Like he was dumping kerosene on a small flame. This was something that set a tiny spark into becoming a roaring inferno.
She reaches up and pulls him to her, rendering him stunned against her lips, but not for long. He kisses her back tenderly, his mouth smothering hers and leaving her breathless. Gone was the time to handle each other like fragile porcelain. Being gentle wasn't enough now, not after being deprived of such affection their whole lives. They were starved for so long and now, the hunger was unleashed and it demanded to be fed. She claws her fists into his shirt, pulling him hard against her, the need for contact is strong. He groans softly, low in his throat almost like a growl, and his arms tighten their grip on her. The tameness they began with had ended and the intensity that followed was embraced fully. The kiss grew in the wake of ignited passion. His tongue is forced inside her mouth, strong and demanding, it wrestles with her own. Every inch of her body feels as though it burns for him. Her hands journey upward, feeling their way over his broad shoulders and encircling his neckline, one clutching him for support while the other combs into his hair.
His hands aren't idle either, no longer content with merely holding her. His massive hands could easily palm her head like she could hold a ball, even one of his hands encompasses her waist with no issue. He was so much bigger than her. The size difference certainly made him enjoy this more. There is something so enjoyable about being able to handle her like she were a small toy to play with as he pleases. So he takes to exploring her figure with meticulous skill, roaming over each supple curve as though trying to commit her form to memory. One of his hands slides up into her hair, his fingers running through her fine locks before gripping hard and pulling her head back, eliciting a wimping gasp from her as they lock eyes. Her heart is racing and her breathing is heavy, her cheeks inflamed with blush, her head was swimming in intoxication as well as the effect of his actions. She was putty in his hands...and he knew it.
His eyes fall to the choker around her neck, the first proper thing he ever gifted her with and she seldom takes it off. Something about that stroked his pride. An idea form in his sauced-up mind and he grins mischievously. Still holding her head back, his other hand slowly makes its way up to her neck, his fingers brushing along the edge of the choker and making her squirm. Seems her prolonged wearing it had made her quite sensitive there. The reaction only fueled his idea. With his thumb, he nudges the choker up more to expose her nape then brings his mouth to it. His hot breath makes her shiver before he even does anything, her level of sensitivity is rather tantalizing. His lips pepper the smooth skin and then begin to nibble, her breathing getting shaky. His hand in her hair changes its grip to hold the side of her head, his thumb pressing over her lips. She eyes him in confusion till her breath hitches sharply, muffled by his thumb as his teeth bite into her neck. His thumb presses down more to signal her to keep quiet as his teeth dig lightly into her skin. She tries in vain to fight her whimpers and she clings to him, her nails digging into him as he sucks on the supple skin. After what feels like an eternity, he detaches from her nape with a sickening wet pop, lazily dragging his tongue across the faintly bleeding and already bruising wound making her shudder. He can't help but grin while admiring his work.
With his thumb still on her lips, he traces the outline of her mouth and then takes hold of her jaw. His eyes are glossy but bright. He motions to her and then toward where the guest room is. Her mind is too washed with booze and latent yearning to register what this implies, she merely nods like the good girl she is. With that, his grin widens and he stands up with her held close. No words are spoken as he effortlessly takes her to the room and locks the door behind them.
Morning comes. A roster crows off in the distance. The sounds of birds beginning their songs are heard. Flowers slowly start to open up and greet the sun. A nice peaceful start to the day. Till the faint sound of knocking happens. With a groan Jack resists the urge to shout or throw something at the door, limply rubbing his face before sitting up. His mind was slow and groggy, his body feeling heavy, standing took a bit more effort than usual but he does get to his feet eventually. He lugs himself to the door and yawns as he gets it open.
“Yes?”
Jonathan mulls over the discarded brandy bottle before casting his eyes on Jack and his next words die in his throat once he takes in the whole scene before him. His son stands there disheveled, his face portrays someone that is still half-asleep. He's topless, still wearing pants, but his neckline along his shoulders has faint welts as if something tried to claw him.
“Um...You okay?”
Jack rubs his face to get the sleep from his eyes.
“Tired.”
There's a sleepy slur to his speech. He knows his son can handle a hard drink, but maybe the vintage of the brandy made it hit harder.
“Have you any idea where your woman is?”
Jack groans and lazily glares at his father.
“It's too early for this crap.”
“I merely ask because...”
Moment behind Jack is just barely visible, a body shifting beneath the bed sheets, yet this is enough to make the older gentleman smirk.
“Ah, never mind. I see the brandy treated you favorably.”
Jack eyes him funny.
“What are you talking about?”
“Who knew all you needed was some liquid courage to man up and shoot your shot? But I didn't think you would've taken her to bed so quickly.”
Confusion twists Jack's face. He looks back at the bed and grimaces upon seeing her there, knowing damn well he won’t hear the end of it if he isn't careful.
“So...Do you want me to tell your Mother the good news or would you like to do the honors?”
“This isn't what it looks like.”
“Oh really?”
Jonathan's smug “I caught you red-handed” tone made Jack want to slam the door in his face.
“She's been having nightmares about her mom. Been troubling her for like a month now. I let her have some of the Armagnac to take her mind off things. The girl can hold a drink to save her life. So, rather than leave her a mess out there, I let her crash on the floor in here. Clingy little thing must've crawled in bed while I was sleeping.”
If it wasn't for what Elizabeth told him before bed, Jonathan would call Jack out for the obvious lie. But he does know. And he knows Jack. He doesn't lie. He might not tell full truths but he never lies.
“And you locked the door because...?”
“Would you allow a drunk woman to roam freely and potentially cause chaos?”
A fair and reasonable answer.
“Good point. Sorry to trouble you.”
“It's fine.”
“Will you both be joining us for breakfast?”
“Give me, like...an hour.”
“And her?”
“I'll shove her out in a bit.”
Jonathan chuckles to himself.
“You know...You're really lucky.”
Jack tilts his head.
“There aren't many that would stay with you as long as she has. Lord knows no other woman will put up with you.”
Jack's expression becomes flat irritation; he shuts the door without a word. Jonathan laughs and walks away to help his wife with the morning meal. Can't let the misses work too hard to feed four people. Jack in the room sighs and looks over at the bed. Last night is something of a blurry memory. He remembers bits, enough that the story he told his father wasn't all that false, but it gets harder to picture what happened when he brought her to the room. He doesn't remember losing his shirt or nodding off. But at least judging by how he's still wearing his pants, nothing too crazy happened. His back feels a tad sore, but he blames it on the mattress...Not knowing about the scratches that litter his back.
Coming to the bed, he sits down and holds his head in his hands. Part of him wants to go back to sleep like nothing happened yet he's too awake to conk out now. She rolls over, her bear arm hitting his leg. He glances over at her and two thoughts pop in his head. The first was wondering where was her shirt. Lifting the covers a little bit answered his second thought enough to let him sigh with relief. Pants on; shirt off. Giving her a looking over, her neck and shoulders are marked heavily with bite-riddled hickeys. What the hell was in that brandy to make them riled up hormonally charged-up teens? Though there is a part of him that likes seeing her like that. Something about her small body laying there innocently, sporting his marks. It hits a deeply buried part of him in a certain way. And it feels good.
He shakes the feeling away. Now's not the time or place. He gets up once more, gathering his discarded clothing and a pillow, before making his way to the door. He gets out to leave the room but hurls the pillow at her as he shuts the door. From the hall, he can hear her bark in surprise and the pillow flung back at the door with a harsh thud. It gets a chuckle out of him as he goes to the bathroom to freshen up.
What a strange way to start the morning.
Aside from the most unusual means of waking and one having her first hangover, the pair act as normal as ever. Breakfast is a welcomed moment. Good food made with care always tastes better. And nothing beats the care of a mother in an oddly cheery mode. For that matter, his father seemed to be in good spirits as well. Jack merely ignored it all. Lynsie was too concerned with soothing her throbbing skull to be aware of anything. Jack uses her condition as a quick excuse to leave and is more than a little suspicious when his parents don't try to pull some ploy to keep them here like offering to take care of her for him or making some obscure outlandish remedy. Yet he's not going to question this bit of luck.
When the carriage pulls up to the home, the farewells are warm and about as awkward as their welcomes when they arrived. Elizabeth hugs Jack and leaves an obnoxious motherly kiss on his cheek that he rubs away at like a little kid would. She then does the same to Lynsie but the girl is just out of it at this point and doesn't fight the smothering. Jonathan offers his hand to his son and Jack shakes it. Then he provides a small basket to him.
“What's this?”
“Something to help with her situation. Take it from someone with experience. You don't want to be stuck in a long ride with a woman that's hurting. Deadlier than any dragon and twice as unpredictable.”
“Thanks, I guess?”
Jack takes the basket and heads into the carriage, eyeing his father curiously the entire time.
“Okay, Sweet-Tart, that's enough. She and the boy have to go.”
“Oh. If only we weren't so far away. Then these visits would be longer.”
“I know, dear. But also...I'm pretty sure she can't breathe and the boy might get jealous of all the attention you're giving his woman.”
“She's not my woman!!”
Shouts Jack and his mother relents in letting Lynsie free from her crushing embrace, only to hold her head due to the shout causing her pain.
“Will you please not be so loud?”
She winces as she heads for the carriage, Jonathan giving the girl a little head pat as she passes.
“Take care you two.”
“And come back soon!”
The moment the carriage door shuts it takes off, a cloud of dust left in its wake as the horses race away.
“Did you see her neck?”
Jonathan remarks playfully.
“That boy needs to learn how to be gentle. My little girl is too fragile for him to just rough her up like that.”
Elizabeth answers with worry before punching her husband in the arm.
“He gets that from you. You Horner men can be such brutes.”
Jonathan merely laughs as he scoops his wife into his arms and takes her back into their home.
Meanwhile in the carriage...Lynsie takes her vest off and shields her face from the sunlight, it makes her head hurt more. Jack looks through the basket. A pouch containing assorted berries. A couple of pomegranates. A bar of dark chocolate. And the one that got him puzzled was a familiar brandy bottle. Opening it and taking a sip, however, revealed it to be filled with water. It's not much, but all of it will aid in speeding up her recovery. Taking into account how long this ride home will be, he peels the tin from the bar and taps her hand with it to get her attention.
“Better eat it now before it melts.”
She fidgets in taking it, letting her vest drape over her head like a veil, she stares at the bar before breaking it in half and holding the separate piece to him.
“It's for you. You keep it.”
“We don't often get to have chocolate and I know you like sweets. I don't mind.”
She wasn't wrong. He was a man that like his treats. He takes the offered half and bites into it, her eating the half.
It's a very quiet ride for a while. Them just there, him passing her the occasional aid from the basket and her offering to share. Sometimes he accepts, like with the chocolate and water. He passed on the berries though. She finishes the berries off soon enough and pulls her vest off her head, the light not being so bad now.
“How do you feel?”
She rubs her face and combs up into her hair.
“Decent. Not quite better. But close.”
She eyes the brandy bottle.
“I'm not sure I can be your drinking buddy if I end up feeling messed up afterward.”
“Eh. You fared better than expected.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. I figured you'd be blacked out after the third glass. Not bad for your first time with something that strong.”
That makes her smile a little.
“For now, at least, you're not touching anything stronger than juice. I wouldn't want you getting hooked on the stuff and acting weird.”
She tilts her head.
“Acting weird? Why? Did something happen last night?”
He flinches. She hadn't asked anything after she woke up and he was hoping she wouldn't.
“Not really.”
“It's okay to tell me if something happened. I wouldn't want to have done something stupid, not know, and then drink later to do it again.”
Seems she didn't recall anything after getting significantly drunk. Luck was on his side.
“Jack? Please?”
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck.
“Fine. But it wasn't so bad. You got a little tipsy and acted a bit clingy.”
Her face gets red with embarrassment.
“I did?”
“Just a little.”
She hides her face in her hands and groans as he bites his tongue to keep from laughing at her.
“Oh lord...I am so sorry...”
He snickers.
“Come on, it wasn't too bad. Trust me, I've seen worse. You were tame.”
“Was that why I was in your room?”
“Well, I couldn't just leave you alone when like that. I'm not a scumbag.”
He says while withholding the more important details for the sake of making the situation better for himself...like a scumbag.
She looks up at him, an expectant gleam in her eyes as if giving him the chance to keep talking. But when nothing more is said she sits back in her seat and puts her hand out for a pomegranate. Instead of being handed the fruit, he pulls her closer to have her sit across his legs.
“What are you doing?”
“Reliving a moment from last night for my amusement. Did you expect me to not find some way of entertaining myself?”
“What?!”
He pokes her head and chuckles.
“Heh heh heh. So small.”
She growls a little but just huffs it off. Better to let him have his way than fight it. He gives her the fruit anyway so it's not like she has much to complain about. Still...
“So I got on your lap last night?”
His chuckling stops and she smirks when his cheeks tint faintly. Such a dangerous question. Something he can't rush yet he also can't take too long to answer. His expression sours and but he doesn't miss a beat.
“I did say you were clingy. Don't go making assumptions like my old man.”
“Daww. What's the matter? There's no need to get defensive.”
“I am not getting defensive!”
“Did little drunk me give big Jack hugs~?”
“I'm three seconds away from throwing you out and making you walk.”
She snickers and bites into the fruit, peeling the flesh off to make the insides available.
“Easy now, there's no need for that. I was only teasing you.”
She offers him some of the seeds. He sneers but feeds along with her.
“Why do I put up with a pain in the ass like you?”
“Because I make your life less boring. That and...”
She pauses, the words getting caught in her throat. Something doesn't feel right. Something's changed.
She doesn't remember much of last night. Much of it is fragmented and foggy, the brandy hit her brain hard. But some parts shine through. Like clean spots on a dirty window but the image is different under each spot. She remembers laughing it up with him and a sense of joy. She remembers throwing her arms around him for comfort when hit with sadness. She remembers a burning need to be close to him and the searing heat of his bite. She remembers the hit of cool air on his skin when he removed her shirt before doing the same to him. She remembers feeling his weight when he climbed over her and being crushed when he passed out on her leading to her own unconsciousness. She remembers all that and also isn't dumb to not notice the bruises when he woke her up. She'd have to be a moron to have not noticed any of that. Especially when waking up topless. It's a no brainier honestly.
She remembers all this. So it's like he remembers stuff too. Yet...They weren't talking about it. Granted it wasn't something to mention while his parents were around, but still. It's just them now. They're alone. Yet he's acting the same. Like nothing happened. And if he's not going to acknowledge it, then she isn't going to either. Things have changed between them. But at the same time, nothing's changed.
“And...What? You going to finish that or did you lose your train of thought that quickly?”
His voice breaks her thoughts. She shakes her head and palms her forehead.
“Sorry about that. Must be the booze still lurking around in my dumb brain.”
She laughs it off before sighing.
“I was going to say...That and because...”
She gazes up at him, giving him a soft sincere smile.
“Because we're friends.”
He just rolls his eyes.
“Bah. There's nothing sentimental like that involved here. We're associates. Nothing more or less.”
Yep. He's still the same old Jack. And she's still his ever-faithful lapdog.
“Right. Of course, Master Jack.”
Nothing has changed.
Yet that's obviously wrong. Their energy was different. Their behavior has altered. They're grown close.
Change has happened.
Whether they acknowledge it or not.
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oldwriters-blog · 2 years
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Why Typewriters?
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I fell in love with typewriters long time ago, must have been 8 or 9 years old. I visited my schoolfriends place, and his older brother had a typewriter on his desk. Somehow I was immediately fascinated by that wonderful machine. Unfortunately I don’t remember the exact model anymore I think it was a black one, one of the older classy ones. I was fascinated by the notion that you could press a button and a letter would appear on a page of paper. My friend showed it to me, and for me it was like someone had just showed me that he invented fire.
My handwriting was not the best, and I had to erase a lot while I was writing. My teacher and my mother reprimanded me a lot because of that. I got punished often as a child. What nobody noticed in those times, I have a very slight form of dyslexia so when I write sometimes my mind reverses the word without me noticing it. I usually would put the end of the word in the front or generally interchange letters. Sometimes even from the next word or the word after that, I merge words. So growing up in a totalitarian communist system where the teachers believed in such great things like: pulling your ears, hair, and making you stand in the corners with your arms streched out in a stress position, was not really fun. As I said I got punished a lot, because my writing was „messy“, from all the erasing and smearing.
Different times. My mother equally believed in discipline, her choice of enforcing it was usually a beating with the belt.
And still, despite all of that difficulties there was nothing more important to me than the wish to become a writer one day. I scribbled some stories with my pencil on some paper my dad organized for me, and after I saw that magical machine on that one afternoon I had the feeling, one day I could acchieve my dream of becoming a writer. Because the typewriter would fix all my problems. In my childish heart I believed if I only could get my hands on a typewriter the novel/book would practicaly write itself (I didn’t know how hard writing is back then hahaha).
I come from a poor working class family, so buying one was not really a option. But the image of that one afternoon, the typewriter in all its glory, the picture of it in a interplay of light and shadows of the room, the wonderful typing paper with its own watermark, feeling it touching it, was burned into my mind forever.
A couple of years later, we moved to Austria (there was a war in my country and unfortunately my dad died in it, so we had to move to my moms family to Austria) and in those hard times I managed to get my hands on a typewriter. I helped translating for a refugee-helping organisation, when they needed someone. Despite being very young (13-14) they took a liking to me and usually awarded me with some chocolate or some money. One day they asked me if there was something that I would maybe need, and there it was, my big oportunity I told the nice lady that I would wish to have a typewriter. And a couple of days later they came to my home and brought me one. It was a grey Adler typewriter, the ones you would buy for a schoolchild. Not very sophisticated but I was overjoyed. It was a used one, and the ribbon was very light, it typed a bit clunky and hardgoing, but this was the best gift unto today I ever recieved in my life. Sometimes I wish I could feel that kind of joy again. From that day on I never stopped using mechanical typewriters. My collection grew over the years and I learned about the best brands and models, and how to spot one in perfect condition.
The next lesson I learned on my Adler typewriter was, the book will not write itself, even on a typewriter, but that is a story for another time.
So why do I still use typewriters? I like working offline, for years I was chasing the dream of having the best laptop, and after I started to entertain the thought of writing more seriously I bought a wonderful macbook and even a markdown writing programm. Been there done that. It didn’t work out well for my writing discipline, the writing felt somehow distant and sterile. I felt no connection to my words, and after I was writing, it was hard to grasp the progress, only shown in a digital word count on my screen.
I needed to change that. Reading up on writing I found out that there was a reason why most famous writers worked in longhand or with a typewriter. The connection between your brain, your hand, and the paper, is more intimate and it actually boosts your creativity. Some writers like Neil Gaiman, or Joe Hill, still in this day and age use fountain pens and a notebook. A lot of writers own a mechanical typewriter as well, David McCullough still writes all of his books on his old Royal.
Of course this is maybe not for everyone, as far as I can tell there are mostly two kind of writers when it comes to writing the first draft, one group where a lot of words come out at once, like a waterfall, Stephen King comes to my mind as an example for that kind of writing. If that is the case, a pencil/pen or a type writer might slow you down too much and be contraproductive. But there is also a another style of writing, where the words come out slower, and sometimes only a paragraph at a time. I am in the second group. Usually, before I write, I think about a topic a lot, start making notes of ideas, characters, etc. Working with a fountain pen and a notebook or on a typewriter helps me. It slows me down, or actually they move in the same slow speed I do. Maybe that is a better expression for it. It also helps my dyslexia, if I write on a laptop I tend to write very, very fast, and with my mind racing (probably the reason for interchanging the letters) I make mistakes all the time. Which of course makes editing a manuscript a nightmare.
On a typewriter I can work as slow as I want to, there is no screen and a cursor rushing me, no convenience of edit as you go, temper with the text. My mind is calm, I think, I write, I stop. The machine stops. If I don’t feel like writing anymore I can just stand up, and if I want to continue, I don’t need to open up a file, scroll through the document, I just sit at my desk again and in about two seconds I can write exactly at the same spot where I left off. On an mechanical typewriter everything stays the same if you don’t touch it. I find that very comforting.
And the best part are of course the typed up pages at the end of every writing day. There it is, your writing, in print. You can touch it, feel it, see it, cross it out, if needed. You and your manuscript are connected. I love that. If you wondered I am writing this blog entry on an Erika Model No. 10 from East Germany, some people consider it one of the best typewriter ever made. Typing on it is very easy because of the touch control, a lever with which you can decide how much resistance you need while typing. I have it on the lowest step, so basically the machine is doing all the work for you. If you ever typed on a mechanical typewriter, you will probably know what I mean.
If you maybe have other questions about writing on typewriters feel free to send me a message any time, if I can, I will answer it or at least point you in the right direction.
Until then I hope you have fun writing and your book/story -project is going well. If not, I would like to leave you with some words my grandmother used to say: „New day, new luck.“ Helped me when I was going/am going through some hard times.
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edosianorchids901 · 2 years
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Hedge of Protection
@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt "The Dazzling Screen"
When Crowley first started planting rose bushes along the front edge of the property, Aziraphale hadn’t questioned it. Crowley liked roses, after all—they both did. They made the place smell absolutely lovely, and there were always fresh flowers in the cottage, and when they all bloomed it was a dazzling sight.
But then he kept going, planting bush after bush until roses marched around the cottage like a short wall. And Crowley didn’t stop there, either. He encouraged the rose bushes to grow higher and higher, either by installing trellises or standing out in the bright afternoon sun and screaming at the poor plants for hours.
Aziraphale tried not to interfere or to pry into his rose barricade. They each had their own odd ways of coping with freedom, thousands of years of repressed trauma, and the ongoing worries of retaliation from their old Sides.
Aziraphale baked obsessively and supplied everyone in the local area with free food, especially the families that seemed to be struggling. He fussed over the safety of his demon and the ducks and even butterflies. And he had developed a persistent belief that if he forgot to make tea in the morning—as he had on the days leading up to the near apocalypse—then everything would go absolutely wrong for the entire day. Or week. Or perhaps that would be the final straw that set off a new war.
It made no sense at all, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. So if Crowley wanted to cope by shouting himself hoarse at increasingly giant rose bushes, who was Aziraphale to judge?
But when he looked out the kitchen window to see Crowley planting even more roses—these ones closer to the cottage—he stopped in the middle of feeding his sourdough starter and went outside.
“Dear boy?” Aziraphale called as he approached, stomach tight. “What are you doing?”
Crowley, down on his hands and knees fiddling with the ground around the latest bush, gave an irritated look. “I’m washing the Bentley, giving her a good scrub. Come on. What the Heaven does it look like I’m doing, Aziraphale?”
“It looks as though you’re recreating a scene from one of your old ‘horror classic’ films. Is there one about roses devouring the countryside?” Aziraphale asked, trying to keep his tone light. His demon’s sharp sarcasm was normal enough, but this behavior… “Really, Crowley. I-I think one wall of giant rosebushes is enough.”
“It’s not a wall.” Crowley dusted himself off and hopped up, smiling now. He came to Aziraphale’s side, lifted his hands, kissed them. “It’s a hedge. A hedge of protection, to be specific.”
“A…hedge of protection?” Aziraphale let himself be pulled close, Crowley’s long arms wrapping around his waist now. “What do you mean?”
“It’s to screen us from view.” Crowley pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Aziraphale’s brow, the gesture full of overwhelming love. “M’ not gonna put another full ring around the cottage though, don’t worry. I just need some other clusters with magic worked in to complete the sigil.”
Aziraphale drew back and gazed at his demon, in awe. “You’ve created a…sigil from rose bushes? To protect us?”
“Yup. It’s already active, just not at full power.” Crowley swooped to kiss his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “It’ll stop either Side from being able to see, photograph, or record anything we do here.”
“Oh my!” That did rather explain a lot. “That’s marvelous, my dear. And they are very dazzling.”
“Yeah, figured I might as well make it look awesome.” Crowley grinned, then drew Aziraphale forward into a hug. His hand drifted across Aziraphale’s curls in slow, soothing strokes. “I know you’re still anxious all the time, angel. Wish I could help more, but…”
The grand gesture left Aziraphale breathless, unable to even manage speech. He just pressed closer, nuzzling into Crowley’s shoulder. “You did all that work for me?”
“Eh, I like protection too.” Crowley rocked Aziraphale gently from side to side. “But yeah. It’s a gift for you. I hope it helps you feel a little safer, in time.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes against tears and surrendered to his wonderful demon’s protective arms. “I already do.”
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